Chapter 1: Darkness and ChaosA Chapter by Ross Brannigan
Previous Version This is a previous version of Chapter 1: Darkness and Chaos. .Chapter 1 Darkness and Chaos
“Ready the archers!” bellowed Derúlus. The bloodcurdling screams of fallen soldiers from both sides resounded from all over the battlefield of Mirachkahn and the crashes of metal and metal rang around Derúlus and his men. High above, (around the corner to which Derúlus had been staring) crouched Druidin: General of the Northern Chac Army, by the gates of the City of Camazotz. Like Chac, Camazotz was surrounded by a great circle of pointed logs. The carriers of the battering ram were taking heavy losses due to the rally of arrows being sent down from behind the great walls. Druidin was a fair looking man. He had blonde, shoulder-length hair, a very straight pointed nose, set jaw and brilliantly green eyes. In his hand he grasped his sword, Latafortis. Its long blade - uncommonly narrow for a man of his position (Druidin preferred swift graceful craft to great weapons) joined to a hilt with rubies set on either side of the cross guard. Its grip was made of black twisting leather and fused into the pommel was a beautiful sapphire; the jewel of his ancestors. On his left wrist, he bore a single black bracer, covered in beautiful and intricate symbols that protected half of his forearm. Across his shoulders, ripped and torn by battle, hung a flowing white cape. Across his face were flecks of blood, and a helmet was nowhere to be seen. “Heave!” he shouted to the wearying men, urging them to keep going. He was not going to be beaten right outside the enemy’s walls. As the men continued to beat the gates of Camazotz, Druidin gazed to the East and South. All that could be seen was wide marsh completely surrounded by snow-capped mountains. They were wholly isolated. Crash! went the battering ram against the split in the gates. One, two, three - four strikes until the gates showed any sign of defeat against the continuous pounds of the ram. By now, a third of the men who had been holding the battering ram now lay dead on the path; red feathered arrows sticking out of their bodies. After three more crashes the gates finally split apart. Druidin dived from his cover through the gap between the loosely hanging gates. Behind him flooded a further four hundred men, all wielding axes, spiked clubs, greatswords and bright shields. They poured through the city like locusts; killing and destroying as they went whilst screaming great war cries. The grass, Druidin noted, was not black as the tales told, but it was certainly an unnatural dark green. Upon entering the city Druidin also looked with disbelief at the walls. They were two walls thick! Between them lay a long platform for the archers to stand on and overlook the entrance. As Druidin stood in the clearing at the entrance of the city, watching his men pour down the side streets, he knew where he had to go: he knew what he had to do. Looking North to the hillock in the center of the city he saw a flawlessly cylindrical black tower; Camazotz tower. He ran, with as much haste as his heavy armour would allow, down one of the dark side streets. Screams, roaring fire, and clangs of sword fight filled the tiny mud track streets. Druidin counted at least eighteen men to fall before Latafortis; its beautiful blade slicing through armour and flesh with as much ease as if it were air. He came to a wider street that looked almost like a square some six hundred yards from The Tower. Here he came across a great struggle between the wave of Chac soldiers and the intensely skilled Camazotz warriors. Archers were positioned on some of the roofs, sending rallies of arrows into the fray. A great crumbling well stood in the centre and its broken roof was scattered across the ground. As Druidin watched a dozen or more small blades were thrown by the Camazotz soldiers into the advancing allies. He had to find a way around the blockage. Camazotz gazed from the top most window of the South-facing wall of his tower, the wind blowing his black hair behind him. He could see the hundreds of green clad soldiers pouring into the city but there was no need to run. Things were falling into place exactly the way he always knew they would. He stroked his pointed black beard and watched as the white caped soldier cut through his forces with as much ease as if he were a farmer scything his crop. Camazotz sighed. He’d expected things would come to this. “Aaaargh!” yelled Druidin as he wrenched Latafortis from the chest of a Camazotz soldier. He was less than three hundred yards from the base of the tower. He was less than three hundred yards from the entrance to the tower. Camazotz turned and began to descend the spiral staircase that would lead to his throne room. As he walked, his black bear-fur gown flowed behind him; so soft that, as he passed the many brackets on the walls, a rainbow seemed to dance across its fibers. The resistance was not as intense as he came within over two hundred yards from the great wooden doors at the foot of the tower. Camazotz busied himself with getting comfortable upon his throne. Time to end this! Druidin thought to himself. Not long now…not long now. Druidin cut through the neck of the soldier in front of him; instantly beheading him. Camazotz stared intently at the wooden doors. Druidin raced up the stone steps towards the wooden doors, which stood like the black gates of the Dead Lands in front of him. Bearing down on him menacingly, behind which, he knew, lay victory. Camazotz showed no sign of surprise or alarm as the great wooden doors burst open to reveal Druidin, General of Chac, standing on the threshold. Druidin entered slowly. As if by some magical power the great doors closed behind him with a dull boom, leaving a ringing silence in the entrance hall. The only sound was of his high leather boots on the black marble floor. The entrance hall was flanked by large black marble columns, upon which were flaming torches which seemed to provide no form of light or warmth to the room. Black sculptures sat on white marble plinths; each one depicting pain, suffering, anguish, or domination. At the far end of the hall sat Camazotz. On either side of him stood two towering statues of great knights; both with their heads turned to face Druidin, great swords of black sat in their belts, and upon their heads lay black crowns set with blood read rubies. Their faces bore down on him. Druidin had never been able to conjure a ward before. But Camazotz was too astonished to react as Druidin, grinning broadly, leaped forward, and grabbed the front of Camazotz’ gown in his gigantic left hand. Druidin watched the last ebbs of life leave his brother before sliding Latafortis from his body. Camazotz crumpled to the floor and lay curled upon the steps beneath his throne. Druidin tilted his head and felt no remorse. It was necessary, he thought. He knelt down, leaning on his blade, and turned over his brother’s wrist. Darkness lay open upon it, as though it had finally released its grip on its old master. Druidin took it and put his right wrist between its open jaws. He closed the bracer. Suddenly there was an enormous sound of an explosion and fire coursed through Druidin’s veins. He was lifted from the black throne room and hurled through galaxies and past stars and through time as well; everything was whirling around him, filled with noise and colour and then...he knew no more. © 2013 Ross BranniganAuthor's Note
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StatsAuthorRoss BranniganScotland, United KingdomAboutHey guys! My name is Ross and I'm from Scotland. I'm currently writing a book that has no title at the moment! I will be posting random pieces of it to avoid people copying the plot. I enjoy gam.. more..Writing
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