Robotic Dracon
02-07-2014, 07:12 PM
Well, here's a story I wrote a while back. Didn't get any attention when I first released it, and I kind of lost interest in continuing it. *Shrugs* Oh well, hope you guys can enjoy this at least a little bit.
Tales
The moon had set high within the sky that night, its army of stars surrounding its luminescent glow, the light pouring down into the forest, seen no less by the smoke rising into the sky. The air was still, the scent of cooking meat contained within the walls of forestation, the camp grounds hidden from site. An owl hooted within the tangle of trees and brambles, vines draping the twisted, hollow branches.
Scraping together, it almost sounded as if the forest was trying to rip itself apart. Thankfully no wind blew, for the screeching and moaning that came from the dried out trunks would've driven them insane. Though, it's not like they carried much of their sanity anymore.
Four silhouettes sat in a half circle around the fire, staring down at their fifth member, the firelight glistening off the rust-free parts of his armor that still remained. Every little movement made a horrible flaking noise as pieces of rust fell off. The gruff figure continued turning the spit, not wanting to overcook or under-cook the first piece of decent meat they had caught in weeks. Every other animal they had caught had either been dehydrated and disgusting or had been filled with the infection.
They knew it was almost time. They would devour the boar, leaving nothing but bones; and then they would do the only thing that let them keep in touch with their past lives. They would talk. They would recall their adventures and other such stories that they had heard along the way. They never spoke of how it all came to this; for if they did, they would lose all hope of ever returning to the old days.
"It's done." The oldest of them stated, his hand stilling, his firm grip loosening and departing from the wooden handle. He set to the task of removing the cooked boar from the spit, placing it down on a wooden board they had cut from an old tree several days ago. He turned to one of his companions, "Knife." He stated in a brusque manner.
She was the second youngest of their group, in her early twenties from the look of it; he never asked for ages. She had long brown hair that was strained into a tail, hanging to the middle of her back, her bangs framing her round face. Her lips were thin and the bottom one was cracked. Her eyes were a light hazel, skin deathly pale. She wore a leather tunic and thickly sown pants. Her boots were wool and a leather brace covered her left arm from wrist to elbow. A quiver with no more than three arrows, usually slung on her back was sitting on the ground, as was her long bow. But the dagger that she carried within her boot still remained
She drew it from within her woolen boots and handed it over to the much older man. The knife was well made; it was the only thing they had that he could honestly say that about. It was made of fine, tempered steel, not a speck of rust on it. She took good care of it, he saw. Its blade was around eight inches long, and was slightly curved for it to be drawn more easily. The balance was perfect and could be used as a throwing knife if an emergency called for it.
The dagger bit easily into the boar, slicing through the tender material like it was butter; which, for the life of him, couldn't remember what it tasted like. After cutting it into fifths - the best he could, anyway - and distributing the meat to the rest of the group, they dug in. Their teeth sank into the meat with the goal of filling their stomach. Only he, the oldest of them, who had learned to appreciate what little the world gave you, took his time.
After he had finished, the others having waited, the young woman taking her knife back and cleaning it while she did so, they all relaxed themselves onto the logs they used as benches, letting a silence settle over their small camp.
This was the part they all looked forward to. When they were able to get a glimpse into the others' pasts or to fill their heads with more stories to tell to their next set of companions; because in this world, you never stay with the same group of people for too long, for the infection always wipes them out, forcing you to constantly alter your state of mind on who are and aren't your friends.
Taking in a deep breath of air, the oldest of the five sighed, looking up at the half circle that currently sat in front of him. "Lets begin," The moon's light seemed to disappear, a black cloud having flown overhead, bringing an ocean of shadows down upon them.
Tales
The moon had set high within the sky that night, its army of stars surrounding its luminescent glow, the light pouring down into the forest, seen no less by the smoke rising into the sky. The air was still, the scent of cooking meat contained within the walls of forestation, the camp grounds hidden from site. An owl hooted within the tangle of trees and brambles, vines draping the twisted, hollow branches.
Scraping together, it almost sounded as if the forest was trying to rip itself apart. Thankfully no wind blew, for the screeching and moaning that came from the dried out trunks would've driven them insane. Though, it's not like they carried much of their sanity anymore.
Four silhouettes sat in a half circle around the fire, staring down at their fifth member, the firelight glistening off the rust-free parts of his armor that still remained. Every little movement made a horrible flaking noise as pieces of rust fell off. The gruff figure continued turning the spit, not wanting to overcook or under-cook the first piece of decent meat they had caught in weeks. Every other animal they had caught had either been dehydrated and disgusting or had been filled with the infection.
They knew it was almost time. They would devour the boar, leaving nothing but bones; and then they would do the only thing that let them keep in touch with their past lives. They would talk. They would recall their adventures and other such stories that they had heard along the way. They never spoke of how it all came to this; for if they did, they would lose all hope of ever returning to the old days.
"It's done." The oldest of them stated, his hand stilling, his firm grip loosening and departing from the wooden handle. He set to the task of removing the cooked boar from the spit, placing it down on a wooden board they had cut from an old tree several days ago. He turned to one of his companions, "Knife." He stated in a brusque manner.
She was the second youngest of their group, in her early twenties from the look of it; he never asked for ages. She had long brown hair that was strained into a tail, hanging to the middle of her back, her bangs framing her round face. Her lips were thin and the bottom one was cracked. Her eyes were a light hazel, skin deathly pale. She wore a leather tunic and thickly sown pants. Her boots were wool and a leather brace covered her left arm from wrist to elbow. A quiver with no more than three arrows, usually slung on her back was sitting on the ground, as was her long bow. But the dagger that she carried within her boot still remained
She drew it from within her woolen boots and handed it over to the much older man. The knife was well made; it was the only thing they had that he could honestly say that about. It was made of fine, tempered steel, not a speck of rust on it. She took good care of it, he saw. Its blade was around eight inches long, and was slightly curved for it to be drawn more easily. The balance was perfect and could be used as a throwing knife if an emergency called for it.
The dagger bit easily into the boar, slicing through the tender material like it was butter; which, for the life of him, couldn't remember what it tasted like. After cutting it into fifths - the best he could, anyway - and distributing the meat to the rest of the group, they dug in. Their teeth sank into the meat with the goal of filling their stomach. Only he, the oldest of them, who had learned to appreciate what little the world gave you, took his time.
After he had finished, the others having waited, the young woman taking her knife back and cleaning it while she did so, they all relaxed themselves onto the logs they used as benches, letting a silence settle over their small camp.
This was the part they all looked forward to. When they were able to get a glimpse into the others' pasts or to fill their heads with more stories to tell to their next set of companions; because in this world, you never stay with the same group of people for too long, for the infection always wipes them out, forcing you to constantly alter your state of mind on who are and aren't your friends.
Taking in a deep breath of air, the oldest of the five sighed, looking up at the half circle that currently sat in front of him. "Lets begin," The moon's light seemed to disappear, a black cloud having flown overhead, bringing an ocean of shadows down upon them.