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War of the Burning Sky - The Novel
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<blockquote data-quote="RangerWickett" data-source="post: 5098837" data-attributes="member: 63"><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 22px"><strong>War of the Burning Sky</strong></span></p> <p style="text-align: center"> <strong><span style="font-size: 18px">Book One: The Scourge</span></strong></p> <p style="text-align: center"> by Ryan Nock</p> <p style="text-align: center"> <img src="http://www.enworld.org/forum/blog_attachment.php?attachmentid=104&stc=1&d=1257014672" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <strong><span style="font-size: 15px">Act One</span></strong></p><p> </p><p> <strong><span style="font-size: 12px">Chapter One</span></strong></p><p> </p><p> Torchlight fell upon the inquisitor as he knelt over the corpse of the sorceress. Beneath the carved bear skull he wore as a mask, shadows concealed all but his amused smile. The gleam of fire reflected off a brass clawed gauntlet on his right hand as he flicked idly through the woman’s robes, looking for clues to whom she had been on her way to meet.</p><p> </p><p>The body was still twitching slightly, but corpses always took a while to realize they were dead when their souls were ripped from their flesh.</p><p> </p><p>“Guthwulf,” said the lieutenant behind him.</p><p> </p><p>Guthwulf, inquisitor for the Ragesian Empire, glanced over his shoulder as he lifted the woman’s hand by her bracelet, then dropped it with disinterest.</p><p> </p><p>The lieutenant stood among three soldiers, two of them holding torches to help Guthwulf investigate the dead mage in the gloomy late autumn night. The third – a thick-jawed, tusked herethim with a black muttonchop beard that made him look almost aristocratic – wheezed shallowly, too proud to even grunt his pain. </p><p> </p><p>The sorceress had tried to crush the man’s chest, but Guthwulf had managed to absorb the brunt of the attack’s essence. Not that the soldiers weren’t eminently expendable, but Guthwulf had seen no reason to let the woman’s mana be wasted. Her own power had been the fuel for the spell he had used to snatch her soul.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir,” asked the lieutenant, “must I have my men kill him for being tainted by the sorcery?”</p><p> </p><p>Guthwulf gave him a dubious look, which was no doubt lost through the concealment of the mask.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he laughed. “She was trying to kill him, not control his mind. You men are brave and not incompetent, and I’m certainly not going to kill you just because Leska can’t word her decrees more precisely. I’m not cruel.”</p><p> </p><p>The soldiers shifted nervously at such casual mention of her name. Ragesians had long feared her mysterious, witch-like powers when she was merely Supreme Inquisitor, but now, just weeks after Leska replaced the nation’s fallen emperor, many feared her as they would a vengeful god.</p><p> </p><p>Guthwulf turned his attention back to the dead sorceress. She had been a smart enough spy not to carry any clues to her destination, and the inquisitor’s mood darkened as he prepared himself. He held up his clawed hand to warn the soldiers to be quiet and keep back, and then he willed the soul he held in his other hand to speak to him. He lifted it up to his face, his fingers loosely viced around the spirit, invisible except as a memory of magic and pain.</p><p> </p><p>In an ancient Otharil tongue he commanded:</p><p> </p><p>“Your existence is defined by the grip of my hand. If I release my grasp, you will be free. If I wish, I can crush you, snuffing you for eternity. But unless you answer me truthfully, I will keep you as long as I live to torment you, and my dying curse will consume you so you never reach the afterlife.”</p><p> </p><p>The soul’s fear gave it shape as its wisps briefly assumed the form it had in life, cowering in his palm. The figure nodded desperately.</p><p> </p><p>Guthwulf spoke now in Seren. “Tell me your mission, where you were headed, and who your contacts were. And be quick about it. Neither one of us really wants you to stick around.”</p><p> </p><p>Memories from the soul tried to flood into Guthwulf’s mind, but his mask kept them from overwhelming him. He took his time to find the answers he sought, a moment passing as he reviewed the knowledge he had stolen. Torches crackled behind him. The frigid night wind blew snow across the body. It had finally stopped twitching.</p><p> </p><p>Guthwulf turned to the soldiers.</p><p> </p><p>“Gate Pass,” he said. “The armies are already preparing to march there, so we can catch up with them later, but she still has accomplices here in Ragos. You men interested in capturing some mages tonight?”</p><p> </p><p>The subordinates looked to each other nervously, but the lieutenant cleared his throat and said, “Yes sir. Whatever you command, but we aren’t well equipped for a raid.”</p><p> </p><p>The soul squirmed in the inquisitor’s left hand. He put his right hand to his chin, chewing errantly on the tip of his brass thumb claw.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said. “We could use some help.”</p><p> </p><p>Guthwulf reached within his bearskin cloak, dabbed his fingers in a pouch of black ash, and then traced a pair of concentric circles in the snow around the woman’s body, keeping his grip on the soul casual but tight. The spirit could only be dimly aware of what was going on, but the air was beginning to brim with power, and Guthwulf felt her terror rising.</p><p> </p><p>He invoked the name of an infernal creature and reached his left hand into the summoning ring, then released his grasp. The soul swept free from his palm, but the black ash rings flickered a red darker than the torchlight, and the spirit screamed, realizing it was bound within.</p><p> </p><p>Distorted features, like a second set of eyes and teeth, twisted the corpse’s face, and then the body sat suddenly bolt upright, lashing out with its hands to grasp the invisible soul. The soldiers behind Guthwulf drew sharp breaths in horror as the corpse drew its meal to its mouth and began to chew on something intangible.</p><p> </p><p>Once the demon-possessed corpse had consumed the soul Guthwulf had offered it, it turned its lifeless eyes to him. The woman’s pale face looked almost peaceful as the demon waited, but her posture was twisted, her eyes focused into something beyond the corporeal, and she did not breathe.</p><p> </p><p>Guthwulf turned again to the ancient tongues as he gave his newest servant its orders.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RangerWickett, post: 5098837, member: 63"] [CENTER][SIZE=6][B]War of the Burning Sky[/B][/SIZE] [B][SIZE=5]Book One: The Scourge[/SIZE][/B] by Ryan Nock [IMG]http://www.enworld.org/forum/blog_attachment.php?attachmentid=104&stc=1&d=1257014672[/IMG][/CENTER] [B][SIZE=4]Act One[/SIZE][/B] [B][SIZE=3]Chapter One[/SIZE][/B] Torchlight fell upon the inquisitor as he knelt over the corpse of the sorceress. Beneath the carved bear skull he wore as a mask, shadows concealed all but his amused smile. The gleam of fire reflected off a brass clawed gauntlet on his right hand as he flicked idly through the woman’s robes, looking for clues to whom she had been on her way to meet. The body was still twitching slightly, but corpses always took a while to realize they were dead when their souls were ripped from their flesh. “Guthwulf,” said the lieutenant behind him. Guthwulf, inquisitor for the Ragesian Empire, glanced over his shoulder as he lifted the woman’s hand by her bracelet, then dropped it with disinterest. The lieutenant stood among three soldiers, two of them holding torches to help Guthwulf investigate the dead mage in the gloomy late autumn night. The third – a thick-jawed, tusked herethim with a black muttonchop beard that made him look almost aristocratic – wheezed shallowly, too proud to even grunt his pain. The sorceress had tried to crush the man’s chest, but Guthwulf had managed to absorb the brunt of the attack’s essence. Not that the soldiers weren’t eminently expendable, but Guthwulf had seen no reason to let the woman’s mana be wasted. Her own power had been the fuel for the spell he had used to snatch her soul. “Sir,” asked the lieutenant, “must I have my men kill him for being tainted by the sorcery?” Guthwulf gave him a dubious look, which was no doubt lost through the concealment of the mask. “No,” he laughed. “She was trying to kill him, not control his mind. You men are brave and not incompetent, and I’m certainly not going to kill you just because Leska can’t word her decrees more precisely. I’m not cruel.” The soldiers shifted nervously at such casual mention of her name. Ragesians had long feared her mysterious, witch-like powers when she was merely Supreme Inquisitor, but now, just weeks after Leska replaced the nation’s fallen emperor, many feared her as they would a vengeful god. Guthwulf turned his attention back to the dead sorceress. She had been a smart enough spy not to carry any clues to her destination, and the inquisitor’s mood darkened as he prepared himself. He held up his clawed hand to warn the soldiers to be quiet and keep back, and then he willed the soul he held in his other hand to speak to him. He lifted it up to his face, his fingers loosely viced around the spirit, invisible except as a memory of magic and pain. In an ancient Otharil tongue he commanded: “Your existence is defined by the grip of my hand. If I release my grasp, you will be free. If I wish, I can crush you, snuffing you for eternity. But unless you answer me truthfully, I will keep you as long as I live to torment you, and my dying curse will consume you so you never reach the afterlife.” The soul’s fear gave it shape as its wisps briefly assumed the form it had in life, cowering in his palm. The figure nodded desperately. Guthwulf spoke now in Seren. “Tell me your mission, where you were headed, and who your contacts were. And be quick about it. Neither one of us really wants you to stick around.” Memories from the soul tried to flood into Guthwulf’s mind, but his mask kept them from overwhelming him. He took his time to find the answers he sought, a moment passing as he reviewed the knowledge he had stolen. Torches crackled behind him. The frigid night wind blew snow across the body. It had finally stopped twitching. Guthwulf turned to the soldiers. “Gate Pass,” he said. “The armies are already preparing to march there, so we can catch up with them later, but she still has accomplices here in Ragos. You men interested in capturing some mages tonight?” The subordinates looked to each other nervously, but the lieutenant cleared his throat and said, “Yes sir. Whatever you command, but we aren’t well equipped for a raid.” The soul squirmed in the inquisitor’s left hand. He put his right hand to his chin, chewing errantly on the tip of his brass thumb claw. “No,” he said. “We could use some help.” Guthwulf reached within his bearskin cloak, dabbed his fingers in a pouch of black ash, and then traced a pair of concentric circles in the snow around the woman’s body, keeping his grip on the soul casual but tight. The spirit could only be dimly aware of what was going on, but the air was beginning to brim with power, and Guthwulf felt her terror rising. He invoked the name of an infernal creature and reached his left hand into the summoning ring, then released his grasp. The soul swept free from his palm, but the black ash rings flickered a red darker than the torchlight, and the spirit screamed, realizing it was bound within. Distorted features, like a second set of eyes and teeth, twisted the corpse’s face, and then the body sat suddenly bolt upright, lashing out with its hands to grasp the invisible soul. The soldiers behind Guthwulf drew sharp breaths in horror as the corpse drew its meal to its mouth and began to chew on something intangible. Once the demon-possessed corpse had consumed the soul Guthwulf had offered it, it turned its lifeless eyes to him. The woman’s pale face looked almost peaceful as the demon waited, but her posture was twisted, her eyes focused into something beyond the corporeal, and she did not breathe. Guthwulf turned again to the ancient tongues as he gave his newest servant its orders. [/QUOTE]
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