After seeing several of these types of threads since I've been a part of the escapist, I decided to add one of my own. This is a small scene for an original novel idea that I have. It will mostly be a fantasy novel, though I hope to avoid most of the typical fantasy cliches and keep it from being a cheap Tolkien rip-off. I've put the scene into spoiler tags keep the initial message from looking too crowded. Please read and leave at least constructive criticism.
"You have desecrated my temple and profaned my altar." Tharane said, leveling an icy, hate-filled glare at Holstan. His Altaran saber hung limp at his side and his legs felt heavy as stone.
The manifested goddess advanced, still glaring. "You have spilled the blood of my faithful, slaughtered them like pigs. All for a mere fistful of gold." She gazed around at the splayed, crumpled bodies littering the floor. She knelt down and pressed a hand into a slowly spreading pool of blood.
Tharane returned her gaze to Holstan, eyes narrowed to mere slits. "I curse you, mortal. You dealt in death, made it your living. Now you will suffer with life. You will live for each life that you have stolen. The years given to each man, woman and child that you have slain are now added to yours. You will not enter Golartan's realm until you have repaid that which you stole. From this day forth nothing shall claim you. Not hunger, not thirst, not age, not blade."
She knelt down and pressed a hand into a slowly spreading pool of blood. In a blur of motion she climbed to her feet and lashed out, striking Holstan in the chest with her bloodied palm. A spear of blazing, white-hot agony pierced his leather cuirass and flesh, deep into his heart. The pain radiated outward, coursing through his veins and setting his blood on fire. His vision began to fade and a loud roaring sound filled his ears. Time lost all meaning as he was engulfed in the agony.
An eternity later the pain receded and Holstan found himself flat on his back, staring up at the wide, gleaming arc of the River of the Gods high overhead. Neither moon was in the sky, indicating that it was well past midnight and that he had been unconscious for at least half a day.
Holstan staggered to his feet, lightheaded and joints aching, and took a quick stock of his inventory. His saber was securely sheathed and belted on his left hip, his dagger was tucked away in his right boot and his knife was sheathed at the small of his back. His bow lay unstrung at his feet, along with a full quiver of grey-fletched arrows. His pouch of spare bowstrings, fletching and arrowheads was tied to the shoulder strap of his quiver. The pouch containing his poisons and antidotes was tied tightly to the inside of his left thigh.
All of his weapons accounted for; Holstan then took in his surroundings. Less than ten full strides away, where Tharane's temple once stood, was a massive pile of shattered stone, a cairn to the dozens of acolytes and priests that he had slaughtered.
"Go forth, Once-Mortal.' Tharane's voice echoed in his mind. "Take your tools of murder and walk the earth. May you never find rest. May you live long after all has turned to dust and shadow. May you never end."
The manifested goddess advanced, still glaring. "You have spilled the blood of my faithful, slaughtered them like pigs. All for a mere fistful of gold." She gazed around at the splayed, crumpled bodies littering the floor. She knelt down and pressed a hand into a slowly spreading pool of blood.
Tharane returned her gaze to Holstan, eyes narrowed to mere slits. "I curse you, mortal. You dealt in death, made it your living. Now you will suffer with life. You will live for each life that you have stolen. The years given to each man, woman and child that you have slain are now added to yours. You will not enter Golartan's realm until you have repaid that which you stole. From this day forth nothing shall claim you. Not hunger, not thirst, not age, not blade."
She knelt down and pressed a hand into a slowly spreading pool of blood. In a blur of motion she climbed to her feet and lashed out, striking Holstan in the chest with her bloodied palm. A spear of blazing, white-hot agony pierced his leather cuirass and flesh, deep into his heart. The pain radiated outward, coursing through his veins and setting his blood on fire. His vision began to fade and a loud roaring sound filled his ears. Time lost all meaning as he was engulfed in the agony.
An eternity later the pain receded and Holstan found himself flat on his back, staring up at the wide, gleaming arc of the River of the Gods high overhead. Neither moon was in the sky, indicating that it was well past midnight and that he had been unconscious for at least half a day.
Holstan staggered to his feet, lightheaded and joints aching, and took a quick stock of his inventory. His saber was securely sheathed and belted on his left hip, his dagger was tucked away in his right boot and his knife was sheathed at the small of his back. His bow lay unstrung at his feet, along with a full quiver of grey-fletched arrows. His pouch of spare bowstrings, fletching and arrowheads was tied to the shoulder strap of his quiver. The pouch containing his poisons and antidotes was tied tightly to the inside of his left thigh.
All of his weapons accounted for; Holstan then took in his surroundings. Less than ten full strides away, where Tharane's temple once stood, was a massive pile of shattered stone, a cairn to the dozens of acolytes and priests that he had slaughtered.
"Go forth, Once-Mortal.' Tharane's voice echoed in his mind. "Take your tools of murder and walk the earth. May you never find rest. May you live long after all has turned to dust and shadow. May you never end."
