So far we are at 7,571 words for Novel November. Below is a small excerpt for everyone! If you are interested in getting the full chapters, check out my Patreon, it’s only $2! Enjoy!
“You’re friend had a weak flicker.” The voice was low and fast behind Gregor. “The faintest glimmer of white flashed as I took his life.” The voice was now carried on the wind that kicked up around the guard.
“Show yourself!” Gregor unsheathed his blade, it’s ornate hilt baring the King Algeera’s sigil.
“What color burns within you?” The voice was in front of Grgor, a body accompanied it.
The silhouette of a man stood in the black forest bearing down on Gregor. It was somehow blacker than the night that surrounded it.
“You…you’re one of those pieces of filth from the west. A refugee from one of your many glorious Jarl’s?” Gregor’s sarcasm was ill placed.
The figure stepped forward, allowing the small flame from the torch to light his face. The hooded figure stared deep into Gregor, his eyes cloudy and glassed over, the pupil’s unable to pierce the grey veil that covered his vision. Intricately placed on his face were tattoos, reds and blues intertwined over his cheeks forming runes of the old gods.
“You’re one of those shamans! You will hang for this! Then your body will be sent back to your monastery so that they may defile you in the afterlife!” A sudden confidence surged through Gregor, he was a soldier after all.
The guards ego was quickly snuffed out as a flash of purple scattered from the blind man’s eyes. Swirling balls of compact air blasted into Gregor’s ornate armor. The dented metal cracked ribs and dropped the guard to his knees. The shaman moved faster than the blowing wind, he gripped the broken guards throat and lifted him to his feet. Gregor starred as blue flashed from the blind eyes. Ice blitzed from the hand clenching the guards throat. It spread down his body, quickly encasing him in a shell of solid ice.
Gregor tried to swear, he tried to scream, but he couldn’t. The frozen water was crushing his lungs. With despair and pleading in his eyes, the guard searched for help. From deep within his robes, the shaman produced a stone. It was blank, smooth and unremarkable.
“I’ll ask nicer. What color burns within you?” The shaman was close enough to smell the wine on the guards breath. He waited.
Green burned from Gregor’s eyes as anger shattered every other emotion. The guard erupted from the ice, his fists and forearms massive and mountainous with muscle. The metal that covered his arms was shredded and bent from the surging muscles beneath.
“Screw the hanging, I’ll beat you to death!” Gregor was a fury of angry strength.
The blind man barely escaped, his palms facing Gregor, a gust of wind shooting out and thrusting him backwards, away from danger. “The strength rune, delicious.” The shaman came to a stop as his eyes released the purple.
Gregor ignored the words, his fists were boulders as they swung toward the stranger. The outpost was only manned by two men, with only a messenger appearing every week from Hilkyr, the closest village to the east. With Dante murdered by this monster, Gregor was all that stood between the shaman and Autria. The realization brought more strength to his fists as his missed attacks shook the ground.
“Born beneath a blue moon. Your control of the rune is notable.” The shaman was toying with his prey.
“Enough!” Gregor spread his arms wide. With all the power within him he forced his arms to collide together. Sound and air erupted from the collision, focusing on the blind man.
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