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Magnus
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since 2001-10-10
Posts 14135
South Carolina, USA

0 posted 2002-02-18 10:20 AM


Looking down into the valley from a precipice high above all of the King’s creations. A dragon slayer watches patiently for a sign. Four days sitting on a trusty mare, motionless, waiting for a sign.  Hunger ignored, duty driven, strong, silent, piercing eyes. Seasoned hands holding a rein and a sword of awesome size and weight.

No common man can sit as this slayer does. No common man can lift the steel destined to slay, to kill a beast.  No common man has ever faced death fearlessly, not a twitch of an eye.

Smelling an odor from far away. Human food smells wafting into the heights. A sign that a fateful moment for one is near.  For no dragon can ignore a feast.

The slayer sitting quietly, gazing across the vast expanse of this valley. Watching for signs of movements, shadows, scurrying of animals. Senses awake, feeling the heartbeat of the earth, does a quiver come? Watching for a shadow flowing over each hill, each bush, each eye.

Known for trickery, the dragon waits below out of sight.  Lying motionless...knowing that the timing of a meal must be right. Knowing that this slayer is a special man,  given at birth to be the one.
Knowing that he must be cautious.  A mistake will mean one’s demise. Sitting, waiting, watching, recognizing that the moment is near. Realizing that no caring tear will be shed for the other.  For these are lonely lives waiting, born and bred instinctively to kill.

--------------------------------------------------------

Winds blowing from the north, Winter coming to a troubled land. Flocks returning from the meadows, herding home, hastily. Dark looms over the near horizon, danger approaches.

On the precipice, watching an orange ball sink into a far land, Karbar the Great, most fierce of all slayers near and far away. Standing, guarding,  now a fortnight without sleep,
eyes piercing the darkening land below, vigilant, calm, waiting....

Dressed in mail, cold from the chill, a tear falling from a chilled eye. Silent, steadfast and still, watching for the slightest movement or sound. Not even a fleeting thought of a sensual moment with a wayward maiden. Chillingly stalwart in his task, focused on any and all things in view.

Below, hundreds of feet beneath the slayer’s feet, the Dragon lies awake. Having only napped in fitful parcels, famished, raging inside, disciplined in wait. Moving cautiously, shifting a giant clawed foot, spreading a wing, wondering. Stirring a pot full of deviousness, plans for waged war with a warrior above.

A rock falls from a crevice, moved suddenly by a startled rat scared by the sight of two terribly frightening eyes, spellbinding eyes that cause a victim to freeze in place out of fear, fear of the most ominous and terrible living force.

Feeling and hearing the movement, our Slayer’s eyes narrow slightly, now focusing ever more intently upon the surrounding sounds and sights.  Darkness has totally engulfed the land as a lazy moon rises over a castle peak. Sounds of goats, sheep, fowl, occasional bird of prey breaking the silence.  Distant laughter of children playing, knowing a warrior guards over them.

A slight shifting  of the shadows, feeling air moving suddenly, ducking, slashing, missing the object of the Slayer’s steel.  The Dragon has sprung from his lair.

Hearing a shrill cry from a distant dwelling, sensing that this evil smelling, flying beast has snared  human prey.  Knowing that not much time is left to rescue a distressed maiden, for a dragon’s favorite meal is a virginal damsel, unblemished by human sensuality.   This would be the ultimate dragon’s feast.

Racing down from the precipice, headlong in darkened flight, eyes wide, probing with all senses, steel drawn in search of a scaley kill. Nostrils aflare as this guardian rides into destiny, into harm’s way.

I will fear not as I walk through Death’s door
for I am destined, the chosen slayer.
A sentinel guarding, traveling no more,
in search of an evil dragon’s wretched lair.

-----------------------------------------------------

Branches cracking, whipping, causing Karbar to wince from the sudden sting. Galloping blindly down the mountainside, almost certain  where they must ride. Getting there a  most difficult task.   Slaying the dragon to be a pleasure after this chase.

Blinded by wind, pieces of wood, wind blown tears streaking from eyes to ears, cold, terribly tired and very determined.   Guided only by the light of a lunar lamp low on an invisible horizon from afar.  

He knew this dragon would certainly be trouble.  Having heard many tales told during times at a pauper’s rustic inn.  Drunken lips driven by wine’s magic sewing a tale of woe. Karbar knew
that not all he heard was true.  

Magnus, the King’s weaver had informed him of things that he took to his heart as true, deadly and painful to many ears.  This dragon had come from a land on the southern shore where winds never ceased, darkened moonless skies where a foul stench emits from the ground in every conceivable place a man could step.   Ten thousand rotting corpses lying outside a cavernous hole.  Dug by huge claws, maggot infested dirt piled higher than a castle’s main peak.

Coming out of the forest and into the meadow, sweat running freely down the back of a trusty steed.  Winded, thirsting for a cool drink, goaded on into the darkness.  A maiden’s life and innocence at stake.  The steed needed little coaxing, for he too could smell the odor left by the dragon.  Following a scent trail, a trusty equine hound leads on.

Gripping the reins tightly, mail rubbing against places, causing tenderness and pain.  Ignored, focus on one thing, one thing only.......  Slay the dragon and save the wench.  Must not fail. Riding on, searching, smelling a nasal trail of death, our slayer knows he is near.  For the odor has now become  horribly real and nauseous.

Approaching the lair cautiously.  Riderless horse left behind, untethered.  Why do that?
Give the horse a chance to defend itself by running, Karbar would never let his trusty
friend become a dragon’s next meal.  He would rather lose a limb than give up this friend
who had protected and served him well for so long.

A shrill cry in the night.  A chill sent telegraphing down the slayer’s back.  Dashing toward the sound, Fearing that a feast was now direly near.    Heart pounding with each hurried step,
bolting into harm’s way with a vengeance.  Sword drawn, no shield, feeling naked, exposed to
the elements and an unmerciful enemy awaiting him,  fearlessly charging into a darkened lair, bones of carcasses crushing under boots as a destination nears.

Two eyes, giant yellowish red coals, staring, steady, unwavering.  The dragon knows a mortal
enemy approaches in cloak of darkness.  Senses alert, smelling horse sweat from the clothes
of the man, the chosen one.    Gripping his prey ever slightly tighter, constricting her breath to
keep silence in the lair.   Knowing this man’s powers were something to respect, feeling
uneasy but calm as death’s messenger approaches.  Unwavering eyes detect a shadow less
form converging, steel drawn, poised to strike.   A scaley flying lizard leaps down from it’s ledge........

--------------------------------------------------


He knew that this dragon was very sly, quick.  Startled, in spite of knowing that his adversary was lying in wait just ahead, Karbar lashed out, touching nothing,  steel cutting only foul air. Groping along the walls, no torch, he forges forward with just his senses.  Stepping cautiously, warily anticipating the dragon’s attack.

Eyes ablaze, nostrils aflare, a dragon stalks a slayer.   Having left his unconscious  prize behind,    quietly and slowly comes up behind Karbar.  Drool falling from horrific  ghastly teeth onto a dusty maggot-covered floor,  squirming for a drop  to eat that they  might become  flies, leave this hellish display.

Fooled not by the dragon’s ploy to ambush from behind, Karbar  turns, lashing out once again.
Steel finding sinewed scaley flesh, cutting swiftly through. Chilling, demonical scream uttering from the depths of  the dragon’s very soul. Millions of flying bats scurry from blackened walls.
Was this a killing blow?

Caught by the sudden swiftness and accuracy of the slayer’s steel,  stunned, crashing to the floor, life forces ebbing. Yellowish-green blood oozing from a near fatal wound,  flowing onto squirming ground, absorbed quickly by billions of greedy  creations, born a  hell’s fate.

Lying still, no longer able to guard  his prize, to kill a foe...... the dragon collects all of his remaining strength.  Can he take this slayer to a rotting grave?  

Karbar leaps to the ledge above the abominations seen below.  A knight’s future prize softly lying  unharmed in the shadows before him.  Quickly he must take this maiden.   Sprightly
he must ride toward a castle afar.  Far away to a safe haven for this young lady.

Whistling, calling a trusty friend from the darkness, Karbar mounts and rides  into the stillness of a waning moonlit night.   Heart gripping emotions stifled by discipline.  His focus must remain on the quest at hand. Karbar must deliver a dragon’s stolen prize before revenge returns once again.

Having placed a shaken maiden into the hands of his weaver friend Magnus, Karbar hastily departs from the castle gates.  Reversing his direction, he must backtrack  to the den of this demon to ensure that another prize is never taken and placed in the hands of hell’s messenger.

Tired, excruciatingly sore from a hell bent ride down a steep mountainside, arriving outside the
cavernous opening, reminding one of a skull’s darkened eye socket glowering back into his soul.

Deafening stillness, sounds only of his heart beating within a brave chest, he edges around
the opening, smelling, sensing only blood, bat dung and death.   Deeper, deeper into the
pit and still nothing, no sign of this serpentine nemesis.    

The sudden cry of a trusted friend from outside hell’s gate.   Only one possibility,   surely it cannot be, this is certainly a formidable foe.    Breathless, angry, steel drawn, Karbar searches for his lifelong companion.   He searches with heavy heart and empty soul.   Not a living creature to be seen or found near death’s gate. Turning away slowly, sighing heavily, he  heads into the darkness of a cold night, saddened but ever determined .............

---------------------------------------------

Five miles back down a mountainside covered with treacherous and dangerous reaches, crevices,
sounds of things foreign to man echoing through a still night.    Heavy and sad heart burdening his trek back to humanity.  Grim face telegraphing his mood, his determination.  Worry flowing from hazel eyes resting under a furrowed brow.  Not knowing where his friend might be,
noticing not a trace of skirmish or hearing a plea of pain, urgency.

Thinking through this event, he becomes ever more determined in his insatiable desire to smite
this winged, foul smelling, evil, cursed creature  from the surface of this earth.  Hallowed expanses graciously given by God to be shared by all but one.....  The devil, his apprentices and this dragon, surely related to a demonic mentor.  

Hark!  Who Goes There?   A tired, sleepless sentry calls down from high above, directly over the
castle gate.   “KARBAR,’‘ greatest slayer throughout the King’s realm,” a booming voice replies.
Shaken by the report and the reputation that precedes this fearless one, the sentry scurries to open a gate.  An impossible feat if not for tons of counterweights straining against ropes thicker than a man’s thigh.  Great wax coated  ropes made of the finest hemp.  A knights wages for 5 years to pay for these ropes for failure of the gate could mean certain death for all.  

Groaning in answer to the strain of the lifting forces, a massive oak gate trembles and begins
to open.  Centuries old, bearing the evidence of countless battles waged, 10 generations of
watchfulness.  Ever faithful to the kingdom it protects.

Once Inside, Karbar instinctively goes to Magnus for assistance and possible visionary assistance in finding his equine friend.   Listening to Magnus weave while relaxing, enjoying a peaceful, warm bath as a small delicate auburn haired maid assisted.  Dozing briefly from the feelings that he had not experienced in over a week of time.   Drifting into fitful sleep, seeing his adversary in his dream.   Coming directly at him, causing him to awake, screaming a curdling scream from the depths of his soul.  Heart pounding, sweat pouring off his brow, Karbar wakes to his task.

Learning from Magnus that the dragon had returned to it’s primaeval home in the south, Karbar
knew there could be no hope for return of his trusted friend, a companion for almost a decade of
time.  Shedding a sorrowful tear, he steels himself for the journey ahead.  Resting would now be
necessary.  This trek would take him through a land of many evils, of few humans and countless winged abominations.  Though these were  half the dragon’s size, they were twice as quick and would require great discipline, strength and wisdom to escape unharmed.  Hungry foes awaiting a human surprise.

Three days of rest, aching muscles once again ready for the task, provisions packed on a horse
bred from the womb of another.  Familiar blood flowing through veins and hearts sharing a common goal.  A clear morning, many children laughing, many playing.   Campfires burning sporadically in places as a morning meal is prepared, a bath’s water boiled.   Noticed by few as he departs, no maidens waving, no tears shed.  An ominous familiar groan escapes from an oak friend, bidding farewell  as another Dragon Slayer’s quest begins.

A  shadow of evil crosses between the sun and the earth, passing over a slayer’s shoulder, mockingly calling, challenging from high above.    Noticed only by one, a rider spurs on his horse, scabbarded  hardened steel sharpened to a hair cutting edge......headed once again into doom and abomination, knocking on death’s door.  Waiting patiently for the time when.......  

© Copyright 2002 Barry J. Tackett - All Rights Reserved
amusemi
Senior Member
since 2001-12-08
Posts 1262
A State of Disarray
1 posted 2002-02-19 02:51 AM


So far this is incredible...I love it.  

I wonder about the choice to use the word 'telegraphing'...you've used it twice and it is too modern a term for a period piece, maybe???  

Also, punctuation s/b:  
"Hark!  Who Goes There?" a tired, sleepless sentry calls down from high above, directly over the castle gate.  

“'KARBAR,'greatest slayer throughout the King’s realm,” a booming voice replies.

Okay, I am on to the next post....!!!!!!!

Cool write...BTW I have been looking forward to reading this all day and finally have a moment to really enjoy it!

Sunshine
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-25
Posts 63354
Listening to every heart
2 posted 2002-02-24 02:45 PM



Well I'm liking the way your mind works...and I would agree with amusemi on the suggestions made...

some editing and you never know where this might take you...

ThisDiamond
Member Rara Avis
since 2002-02-22
Posts 9353
Michigan, USA
3 posted 2006-03-21 08:59 PM


Found ya...Up ya go!

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