Post by danteslover on Dec 22, 2005 20:51:56 GMT -5
Rated T
A Twisted Secret Ch. 1
Clank… clank… clank… clank. Her metal-bottom shoes clanked as she stepped towards him. His eyes weighed heavy by exhaustion as he struggled to keep them open. Her blade drug along the hard rock ground as she stepped towards him; she was full of energy, but refused to strike the finishing blow just yet. Stepping next to him and putting the sword to his neck, she was barley able to speak to him in her state of rage.
“How could you?” the girl asked him. Under her glare, Murtagh didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were mad and bloodshot, making her look scary in the never-ending twilight. He knew that Galbatorix himself couldn’t stop her now. After all, he’d done so many things to pit her against him…
Murtagh looked past the girl to see what he thought he’d never. “The dragon… “ he breathed.
Standing a menacing twenty off the ground from claw to horn was the last of the dragons. It was polished emerald in color, but it’s wings were black as coal. The dragons claws and weapon-like bones at the end of it’s tail were glossy ebony; the wings were massive for the size of the dragon. It’s eyes were as large as Saphira’s and the same shape as Thorn’s. The gleaming ivory spikes down it’s back were covered with blood from what seemed to have been a harsh fight. Most of the creature’s muscle was in it’s wings, chest, and back legs, leaving it slim and fit throughout the remaining parts of it’s form. With teeth like shimmering chalk, stained by ruby red blood, the being was overall a very worthy opponent to even the strongest of normal Riders. Murtagh shivered with fear as the dragon’s yellow-green eyes glared like polished glass with narrowed pupils at Thorn and himself.
“Yes, Murtagh. I did steal the last dragon egg, and it did hatch for me. His name is Greefithr. And to think that even Eragon had a more powerful name for his dragon then you. Did you pick that name on a night of celebration, while you were drunken and impaired?” she asked in a mocking voice. Murtagh bit his lip, unable to answer her with such scorn in her tone.
“I wish it would all just go away. Just leave and stop hurting us.”
“You died a long time ago, Murtagh. When you died, us died.”
“I didn’t die… I just got lost. Then you found me again. Please, confuse me like you used to. Be the only person I can whisper to in the night and expect to follow me.”
“This is not you, Murtagh. You used to yell and scream and draw your sword on me. Now, one aerial battle and you’re too weak to draw your sword?”
“I’m not too weak.” He lied boldly as he stumbled to his feet. The sword which she held had dug deep into his skin and made him bleed when he tried to stand, only making it harder to use his arms then it already was. Zar’roc’s deep, wine red color was countered by the layer of blood covering it’s surface; the sword laid twenty feet to the side of where Murtagh sat.
As he approached the weapon which he was to use to fight, Murtagh couldn’t help looking over at Thorn. He was sprawled out on the moist parts of the limestone slab, and the wounds in his wings and neck and in his back legs looked far too large for any one man to heal. He doubted if even Galbatorix himself could heal the massive lacerations. The sympathy in Murtagh’s eyes must have reflected into the emerald dragon’s sights, for he roared with what sounded like laughter.
You feel pity for this pathetic excuse for a beast that you call a dragon? Greefithr grumbled with apparent amusement.
Hurt and rage shot through Murtagh as the dragon mocked Thorn’s true power. He knew he should have defended Thorn, but that that was not the way to go if he wanted to live. Murtagh knew good and well that she had power far beyond his own. After all, she had had the privilege to work both with Galbatorix and the elves. She knew all that Murtagh knew and more. He feared her now, even though he had mocked her before. No more would he place false judgment on her; indeed, she was superior in many ways. But, he knew her weakness, and forever would know it. He’d never tell anyone else about it. All that she needed to know, was that he remembered what it was, and that she best be careful with her movements…
Murtagh winced as he leaned over to grab his sword, writhing with pain of the mind as she shifted through his memories. As usual, the only one who knew the secret of entering his thoughts.
“Do you enjoy torturing me by looking through my memories?” Murtagh asked the girl with obvious pain. Despite how she hated him now, he saw her eyes soften, and she slipped away from her mental contact with him. He smiled. One of the things she still could not stand was to see him in pain. If it had really worked, then how had she fought him for so long? Fought, until his muscle wore thin and his blood ran shallow? It was not in her nature. He guessed it was the dragon’s doing, that she lasted so long. She was only hurting herself by continuing. He knew what else would hit her hard…
“Much has happened to you, Murtagh.” she said after a few careful moments of consideration. Almost as if she was dumb, Murtagh responded in a bitter fashion.
“You’re d**n right. A lot can happen to a person when the only person left for them hits them so hard.” His eyes showed venom, and he trembled as he tried hard to remain standing.
Drawing the sword up to it’s ready position, the girl waited for Murtagh to commence the fight. She’d never been one to start a fight; she said it was bad luck. Smiling with melancholy delight, Murtagh brought Zar’roc to the game place, and looked up at her. Staring her straight in the eyes, he said but one thing: “Let’s begin, Selena.”
A Twisted Secret Ch. 1
Clank… clank… clank… clank. Her metal-bottom shoes clanked as she stepped towards him. His eyes weighed heavy by exhaustion as he struggled to keep them open. Her blade drug along the hard rock ground as she stepped towards him; she was full of energy, but refused to strike the finishing blow just yet. Stepping next to him and putting the sword to his neck, she was barley able to speak to him in her state of rage.
“How could you?” the girl asked him. Under her glare, Murtagh didn’t know what to say. Her eyes were mad and bloodshot, making her look scary in the never-ending twilight. He knew that Galbatorix himself couldn’t stop her now. After all, he’d done so many things to pit her against him…
Murtagh looked past the girl to see what he thought he’d never. “The dragon… “ he breathed.
Standing a menacing twenty off the ground from claw to horn was the last of the dragons. It was polished emerald in color, but it’s wings were black as coal. The dragons claws and weapon-like bones at the end of it’s tail were glossy ebony; the wings were massive for the size of the dragon. It’s eyes were as large as Saphira’s and the same shape as Thorn’s. The gleaming ivory spikes down it’s back were covered with blood from what seemed to have been a harsh fight. Most of the creature’s muscle was in it’s wings, chest, and back legs, leaving it slim and fit throughout the remaining parts of it’s form. With teeth like shimmering chalk, stained by ruby red blood, the being was overall a very worthy opponent to even the strongest of normal Riders. Murtagh shivered with fear as the dragon’s yellow-green eyes glared like polished glass with narrowed pupils at Thorn and himself.
“Yes, Murtagh. I did steal the last dragon egg, and it did hatch for me. His name is Greefithr. And to think that even Eragon had a more powerful name for his dragon then you. Did you pick that name on a night of celebration, while you were drunken and impaired?” she asked in a mocking voice. Murtagh bit his lip, unable to answer her with such scorn in her tone.
“I wish it would all just go away. Just leave and stop hurting us.”
“You died a long time ago, Murtagh. When you died, us died.”
“I didn’t die… I just got lost. Then you found me again. Please, confuse me like you used to. Be the only person I can whisper to in the night and expect to follow me.”
“This is not you, Murtagh. You used to yell and scream and draw your sword on me. Now, one aerial battle and you’re too weak to draw your sword?”
“I’m not too weak.” He lied boldly as he stumbled to his feet. The sword which she held had dug deep into his skin and made him bleed when he tried to stand, only making it harder to use his arms then it already was. Zar’roc’s deep, wine red color was countered by the layer of blood covering it’s surface; the sword laid twenty feet to the side of where Murtagh sat.
As he approached the weapon which he was to use to fight, Murtagh couldn’t help looking over at Thorn. He was sprawled out on the moist parts of the limestone slab, and the wounds in his wings and neck and in his back legs looked far too large for any one man to heal. He doubted if even Galbatorix himself could heal the massive lacerations. The sympathy in Murtagh’s eyes must have reflected into the emerald dragon’s sights, for he roared with what sounded like laughter.
You feel pity for this pathetic excuse for a beast that you call a dragon? Greefithr grumbled with apparent amusement.
Hurt and rage shot through Murtagh as the dragon mocked Thorn’s true power. He knew he should have defended Thorn, but that that was not the way to go if he wanted to live. Murtagh knew good and well that she had power far beyond his own. After all, she had had the privilege to work both with Galbatorix and the elves. She knew all that Murtagh knew and more. He feared her now, even though he had mocked her before. No more would he place false judgment on her; indeed, she was superior in many ways. But, he knew her weakness, and forever would know it. He’d never tell anyone else about it. All that she needed to know, was that he remembered what it was, and that she best be careful with her movements…
Murtagh winced as he leaned over to grab his sword, writhing with pain of the mind as she shifted through his memories. As usual, the only one who knew the secret of entering his thoughts.
“Do you enjoy torturing me by looking through my memories?” Murtagh asked the girl with obvious pain. Despite how she hated him now, he saw her eyes soften, and she slipped away from her mental contact with him. He smiled. One of the things she still could not stand was to see him in pain. If it had really worked, then how had she fought him for so long? Fought, until his muscle wore thin and his blood ran shallow? It was not in her nature. He guessed it was the dragon’s doing, that she lasted so long. She was only hurting herself by continuing. He knew what else would hit her hard…
“Much has happened to you, Murtagh.” she said after a few careful moments of consideration. Almost as if she was dumb, Murtagh responded in a bitter fashion.
“You’re d**n right. A lot can happen to a person when the only person left for them hits them so hard.” His eyes showed venom, and he trembled as he tried hard to remain standing.
Drawing the sword up to it’s ready position, the girl waited for Murtagh to commence the fight. She’d never been one to start a fight; she said it was bad luck. Smiling with melancholy delight, Murtagh brought Zar’roc to the game place, and looked up at her. Staring her straight in the eyes, he said but one thing: “Let’s begin, Selena.”