Wednesday, January 20, 2010


Vx-commander centaur
King Symphon-human/soldier/warrior
Sheron-commander monotaur

The mountains of Bein glared and glimmered, snow fell on the mountains. It was very cold. The snow exhausted the mountains. The mountains came from the rain, and rose out of the wind. The wind was cold. Everything was cold. Still. Around them. Nothing moved, not even the gentle wind. The wind was a monster. It became the world.
Five centaurs galloped across the barren plains. The desert was very dusty and red and plants could not grow. The wind moved and the world was still, stiller than anything. No men came. Dust and bones remained.
The first centaur was named Williard. He had a dusty mane of black hair and eyes reflecting the sun. The dust rose out of the sun and the sun glimmered and glared above them and the sky was blue, bluer than anything. It was cold. The cold chill wrapped around the centaurs and they shook and shivered and nothing else moved. The wind was still. Their hearts were still. They were dreading their next big event. They were dreading talking to the men.
They hated talking to people outside of their race. They were racing; running; falling; diving. They ran on the wind. They were Wind Walkers, Wind Talkers.
“Henlick!” the centaur called. “I think the human scent is over this way.” The centaur galloped over the valley. His back was steely and gray like ash. He hissed at the human approaching him from a distance. He didn’t like humans. They were smelly, grubby, and they were gross. They were tall. Vx’s clan lived far from humans. They didn’t understand what humans did or said and most likely wouldn’t find out. The centaur was worried they wouldn’t be able to have enough to return home. Their supplies were at the bare minimum. The soldier’s name was Sheron von Deckil. He was a monotaur of the Brissilick army and wore gold armor and a gold visor that was too big for him. He was a First-in-Command of the Brissilick army and was glorified by the gifted and legendary King Symphon. King Symphon was a fat old man. He lived in a castle thirty miles from the battlegrounds and King Symphon bore no children. He was the last in his line. Sheron knew it made him nervous. He took it out on the other soldiers and made them do pointless things like walk in the woods while whistling under his breath.
“What are you doing here?” Sheron hissed. His eyes flashed. He hated talking to centaurs. They didn’t take kindly to humans. Plus, he didn’t want anyone to hear his whistling. He stunk. The king made him practice whistling every afternoon after mid-lunch.
The centaur’s eyes narrowed. “I’m here because I have to be here,” he snapped. “Just as you are.” He shook his head and muttered, “Idiot!” under his breath. Humans made him so angry sometimes.
“Why are you really here?” he demanded.
The centaur hesitated. His eyes were flaming red. His tongue flicked in and out of his mouth and he looked like he was going to throw up. His ears swiveled in his head. “My people are at war with your people,” he said at last.
Sheron was surprised. And a little worried. “Well, I know that,” he admitted. King Symphon only liked war when his side won. His side never won. They had shoddy armor; stupid swords; and soldiers who couldn’t count. It was a no-win situation. Stupid people were also barbaric, and deeply angry-about what, he Sharon didn’t know. Sheron didn’t like it at all. They weren’t allowed to be mad. They were human. Humans were stupid. “Can’t you ask your king to back off?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” he replied harshly, shaking his head. “I can’t.”
Sheron raised his eyebrow. “What do you mean by you can’t?” he demanded.
He spread his hands. “I just can’t. My commander wouldn’t like it. My kind do not like how you move in on Centaurion territory. It’s ours. We claimed it.”
Sheron shrugged. “I don’t know about that,” he said casually. “Everything belongs to the land. Everything belongs to everyone else.”
“I know that,” he replied. “I just don’t like being lied to about it. We own it. We want to keep it.”
“Fine,” King Symphon said impatiently. “Come by my castle and sign the papers for it.”
The centaur scowled. “You don’t understand,” he said darkly. “We don’t go by human rules. You’re a human. You have rules we do not abide by.”
“You said that already,” Nigel informed him, scowling.
“What do you want from us?”
“Your territory. We want Brissilick.”
“Brissilick is massive in size!” he protested. “We can’t move all humans out of Brissilick. That’s insane. Most people don’t even listen to us!”
The centaur’s nostrils flared. “Find a way!” he snapped. “Or we won’t be held responsible for our actions.” With that, he flung his cape around his long neck, and galloped away, dust billowing behind him in the wind.
“You’re being too demanding,” Farrow told him.
“Idiot,” King Symphon snarled, his face twisted in a grimace. “I wonder what we’re having for lunch.”
Farrow looked at him and shook his head. “What are you talking about? We’re at war and you’re worried about lunch? You must be insane!”
“I’m not the one who’s insane,” King Symphon said under his breath. “I don’t try to kick people out of their territory.”
* * *

(not finished but that's the story I'm working on)

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