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The red sun rose, it's faded brilliance shedding a bloody hue upon an already blood-red battlefield. For six square miles, the ground was covered with armored bodies. Some of the bodies were of young men, many of whom were teenage boys who were barely old enough to have completed their training. There were others also-men whose bodies were so large and muscular that they had probably been considered immortal amongst their people. The bodies, both young and old, large and small, had been thrown back and completely crushed.
In the center of the desolate grounds, an empty circle marked the place where the only survivor knelt, breathing slowly. His bare arms were extremely muscular and revealed numerous tattoos which covered every part of his visible skin. The lines of the tattos flowed and curved in beautiful runic symbols, their meaning lost on all but the the most studious. Only the right half of his face was left unmarked by the tattoos, and even that was marred by a deep scar, stretching from the side of his chin up through his right eye and into his hair. The scar was deep and had a red coloring, giving it the eternal appearance of a fresh wound.
His hair was blood red and was cut off at the shoulders. His eyes were deep green and his face, expressionless. He looked again over the dead armies strewn over the field. Indeed, they was not one army fallen on this blood-drenched patch of land, but two fallen armies. On one side of him lay 200 bodies bearing the black dragon of Dread the Conqueror. On the other side of him were six hundred bodies bearing the Red Dragon of Gathiel the Warlord.
The lone warrior slowly stood to his feet and tears streamed from his tightly closed eyes. "How?" In his despair he thought aloud, almost screaming in anger. "How, Tsaris? How do you do this? How do you so easily betray your own?" He glanced at the red sun and then the other direction at the last glimmer of the setting moon. He instantly went into convulsions and his eyes became a violent red. "KILL! DESTROY! KILL!" The words reverbarated through his body, mind, and soul with the equivelant, uncontrollable impulses. "KILL! DESTROY! KILL!"
It took all his strength to turn away from the moon and it's vengeance-filled cries. Even as he did, he heard the cries of those he had already killed with immistakable clarity. This drove him to despair and to an anger which needed no further provoking. Tsaris took his blade and plunged it into the bloody earth at his feet so that only the hilt remained above ground. Tsaris breathed heavily, the red in his eyes slowly giving way to the natural green.
Tsaris released his grip on the blade. "Never again shall I kill for the moon." He turned his gaze towards the sun and added "Or for anyone else." Tsaris stood up slowly and walked away, decidedly leaving his infamous sword and his bloody past behind him forever...
Or so he had hoped.
- by Ryan Russell |
- Fiction
- | Submitted on 07/22/2008 |
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- Title: Tsaris, Moonslave
- Artist: Ryan Russell
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Description:
This was a concept writeup I did, but decided not to go through with finishing it. (Partly because the majority of the story is practically a vengeful bloodbath)
Anyways, I liked the concept stuff I did. ( :
Rate and comment!
Constructive criticism is always appreciated! - Date: 07/22/2008
- Tags: tsaris ryan russell moon slave
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Comments (4 Comments)
- PhantomSeeker293 - 07/28/2008
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Well, I liked it, but you're right-it is a little bloody sounding. Beautifully written nonetheless! 5/5
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- 0-0-0-P-S - 07/26/2008
- i found this very detailed and you have great story-telling capabilities..=3 i thoroughly enjoyed reading this.. ^_^
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- Cyanide Wolf - 07/23/2008
- i undersand that problem. i tried to edit my submitions and it wuldn't lemme... but anyways this is good. looking forward to future events. 5/5 and favorite
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- Ryan Russell - 07/22/2008
- I made two typos in there: I said "they was not one fallen army" and I'm pretty sure I mispelled studious, but my spellcheck won't work and gaia won't let me edit my post. ) :
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