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snackara · 7 months ago

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The Last Rider

Before

Everyone in Newbury was dead, and it was one man’s fault. At first, he didn’t even register it. All he could feel was a deep rage, an anger so intense it made his blood boil and fill his ears with roaring noise. All he could see was red. But finally, his mind started to clear and he began to see the carnage around him.

The first thing he recognized was the fire. It crackled and flared towards the night sky, as though trying to escape. It made the buildings surrounding the man slowly cave into themselves and charred them to their wooden framework. The heat made his eyes water, or perhaps it was the smoke that wafted above. He felt it burning his lungs and coughed.

The man looked around and saw the corpses littered at his feet. A chill went down his spine. He knew these people. Not personally, but they were recognizable enough to him. Neighbors, acquaintances, men, women. Everyone. Their faces were slack and frozen in expressions of horror, blood caking their clothes. The cobblestone streets below them were stained red.

He felt sick to his stomach. Despite his mind screaming at him not to, he looked down at himself. His hands and clothes were splattered with crimson, as well as the knife he was gripping tightly. He dropped it, hands trembling. His breath came is short, ragged gasps. His knees felt like they were about to buckle. There was a ringing in his ears, and his mind could only repeat one thing:

Monster.

The man was a monster. He had just slaughtered an entire town. Butchered everyone like they were mere cattle.

Monster.

He had lost his temper, and now look at what happened.

Monster.

His heart pounded in his chest, growing faster and faster as panic flooded his entire body.

Monster.

Without so much as a second thought, the man turned around ran. He bolted out of town, weaving through the destroyed buildings and the haze that hung in the air. He couldn’t tell if it was the smoke or the wind that was causing the tears in his eyes.

He burst out of town, the cold air and darkness of the night giving his body a shock. A hill stood nearby, with a lone tree towering over it. He ran towards it, not looking back for a moment. The long grass brushed past his legs, already wet with dew.

The man slowed as he finally reached the top of the hill, panting. He stumbled and leaned against the tree as he caught his breath.

The tree was a great oak, older then the town itself, at least the locals claimed so. It’s gnarled roots dug deep into the earth, and the moonlight highlighted the rough bark and the dancing leaves.

The man had come here often. Sometimes he would come alone when he just needed some quiet and time to think. Other times he would come with a friend. They would sit among the tree branches to watch the sunset, or lay in the cool grass to stare at the stars. A few times they had fallen asleep in each others arms, leaning against the trunk of the great oak. They would talk about anything, more often then not about their plans for the future, their hopes and dreams about where they might go and what they might do someday. It was a place where they could simply be.

All of that was gone now, and it was his fault. Everything he cared about was burned away by this point. His whole life, gone in an instant.

The man broke. He fell to his knees and clutched his shirt that clung to his now rapidly rising and falling chest. The world spun. His vision blurred. His throat closed up. A wave of nausea washed over him. His whole body trembled, and beads of sweat dripped from his forehead. He needed to scream. To shout. To cry. But when he opened his mouth no sound came out. All he could do was lean against the tree and tremble with panic.

Get up, something in his mind said.

The man’s jaw clenched.

Get up, you miserable wrench.

He slowly stood up, taking several deep breaths.

You don’t get to lay down and suffer like a pathetic dog. Not after what you’ve done, you monster.

The man wasn’t sure where to go, but anywhere was better then here. He wiped the sweat from his face, smearing blood on his forehead. He slowly walked down the hill. Away from Newbury and the carnage left in his wake.

#the marcach chronicles #original writing #writer #writing #writeblr #writing community #fantasy #fantasy series #faolan

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snackara · 7 months ago

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Recovered Letter

James,

I’m very pleased with your help in our project. Montgomery’s insight into wildborns combined with your studies of the Tide and magic have greatly aided my work. I have no doubt that we’ll be able to harness magic of our own soon.

I’m terrified it’s all for nothing. And yet I’m worried. Not about you, I believe your heart is wholly in this project. It’s Montgomery who I fear. On several occasions I’ve questioned her motives on helping us. She’s a military general, and up until recently I figured she was fully indoctrinated into the empire’s suppression of magic. I still wonder if she’s just a spy planning to take us down. There are rumors about her, and especially that boy who ran away from her. Most records of the boy have been wiped clean and no one who met him wants to speak about him. The ones who do though say he was a wildborn, and that she was using his abilities to become a super-soldier of sorts. A fascinating experiment, I must admit. And one that makes me believe she is genuinely interested in our cause. It’s all just hearsay though, so who really knows what she believes.

Sometimes I think that, but other times I believe she is too invested in the project. She does not seem to understand the delicate balance of magic the same way you or I do. I worry what will happen when she finally gets a taste of it. Will it drive her mad? Corrupt her? Hurt her? There’s a lot we still don’t know about it, and we have already seen what it can do to a person who has never been exposed to magic.

I also fear sometimes what she will do with it. Whether she will try to overthrow us or use it against Cinnatala. I pray she’ll use it properly, but you know how these military officers can be.

As much as I hate to admit it, we still need her to aid the project. As I said before, she’s given us the most insight on wildborns, and has given us a steady supply of subjects. We can’t afford to make her angry now, not when we’re so close to getting it right. The last thing we need is the government sticking their noses into this. So I pray, and perhaps you should to.

Edmund Pryor, M.D., FSMA

#the marcach chronicles #wildborns #writer #writing #writeblr #fantasy series #fantasy #worldbuilding #original writing

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snackara · 7 months ago

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The Tide: A Brief Summary

By Marcellus E. Davenport, professor of Magic & Magic History at the Laureldale Institute of Science

In it’s simplest possible definition, the Tide is a cosmic force that binds all living thing a on Gondwana— and perhaps even the universe at large —together. It is the basis of which life comes from, and resides in all life forms in the form of magic, even in the most subtle ways. However some beings can express more magic than others, since the Tide is stronger in them. For instance, a dragon can express its magic much stronger than a cow.

The Tide existed strongest in humans, who could use the magic in their blood to manipulate and control the world around them. However, in the modern era, the majority of humans are unable to use magic the way they once did. There are many theories as to why this happened that range from natural selection to more religious interpretations.

The only people left in the world who use magic are Wildborns, who reside on Cinnatala and have a deep connection to nature and the Tide. Their legends say that the other countries turned away from the Tide in favor of false idols, and as retribution the Tide took away their powers and reduced their magic to only a fraction of what it once was.

There was also much debate on whether or not the Tide is “sentient”. wildborn shamans, people who are much more sensitive to the Tide and the spirits of their ancestors, speak about how the Tide “whispers” and “talks” to them. But they are vague about what exactly this means, and are very secretive about their knowledge of the Tide. For the most part it seems the Tide does not have a mind of its own, and is instead a greater cosmic force similar to gravity.

One way or another, the Tide has become a distant memory in most countries. Particularly in the Soliterra Empire, where the Tide and magic in general is associated with sin and the evil. This belief has led to the empire seeking to tap down on all magic, and fear anything that is not considered normal or appropriate in society. The most notable event is their invasion of Cinnatala between 207-213 3E, in which the wildborn population was killed off or forced into slavery. The dragon population was also hunted to extinction, and many other magical species became endangered. It is an unfortunate fate to be certain, and one can only hope future generations can strive to do better.

[THIS ARTICLE HAS BEEN BANNED BY THE PEACEKEEPERS OF SOLITERRA. ANY DISTRIBUTION OF THIS MATERIAL WILL RESULT IN A FINE AND IMPRISONMENT]

#wildborns #the marcach chronicles #worldbuilding #fantasy #fantasy series #original writing #writer #writing community #writeblr

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snackara · 8 months ago

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The juxtaposition between the “tragic backstories” of the protagonists of my current wips is fascinating.

Because on one of end you have Asha. She had a relatively normal life until she was 14, with a loving father and community. And yes, she did have to step up and basically support the entire Hamlet after her father disappeared and developed an eldest sister mentality of sorts, she was still supported by her community and had Sabino to look after her.

And right after Sabino dies and she feels like she’s lost the last close relationship she had, Earendel comes to her, and is nothing but kind to her. And later she gains a partner in Flazino. She goes through rough things all throughout Upon A Star, but overall she turns out okay and most importantly feels positive about who she is as a person.

Wren never got any of that.

He was whisked away from his homeland before he could even remember it, and constantly had to deal with people looking down on wildborns. He was raised by a military officer, Clara Montgomery, to become a weapon. He was basically a crude experiment to try and show the government wildborns could be used beyond slavery, as a force to wield against foreign nations. He was trained like a dog would be for the fighting ring. Constantly told to release the monster inside him, viewed as a weapon first, and a person second.

But Wren wanted to prove them wrong, he really did. He wanted to be better, especially when he became a teenager. That’s why he took another wildborn he had fallen in love with and fled to a small village. And Wren thought he was freed. He thought he had proved, even indirectly, that he wasn’t the monster everyone wanted him to be. That he had won. Life was tough, yes, but he was happy. Though deep down, there was still a lot of resentment and hatred towards Clara and how she had raised him.

Then the other villagers found out about his lover and killed him. Wren didn’t know how they found out. But regardless he blames himself, even years later. Maybe if he had just been there with him. if maybe he had taken that shortcut home, he could have saved him. But he didn’t.

Wren snapped.

And all of that rage, all that resentment, all that hate came pouring out.

He slaughtered the whole village. Not just the men who had killed his lover, but everyone. Men, women, neighbors, acquaintances. No one was safe from him. He burned the whole place to the ground. It’s possible they could have overpowered him, if circumstances were different. But he had been trained for this. Forged in blood and flames to become a killing machine.

And when all was said and done, when Wren finally saw the carnage he had brought, he knew Clara was right. That deep down, he really was a monster, just as everyone had said. What kind of man does what he had? And from that day on, Wren promised to never grow close to anyone again, to protect them from being hurt by him, by the things he’s done. And every time he’s met with kindness or compassion, he feels nothing but guilt and shame. In his mind, he’s best left alone.

But like his original namesake, he’s a pack animal. And eventually, something’s gotta give.

#THIS POST WAS NOT MEANT TO BE THIS LONG #I AM SO SORRY KDHDKRUDBEDEJDGEN #anyways hope you enjoyed another episode of “rue overanalyzes her own bullshit”#in short #when developing asha I looked at the original character and tried to make my interpretation unique while trying to stay true to og asha #when developing Faolán i looked at wolverine and said: i can make him worse. and gayer.#wish rewrite #upon a star #asha #wish asha #the marcach chronicles #fantasy series #fantasy #*cranks up “nobondy’s soldier” by hozier*#wren

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snackara · 1 month ago

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The Last Rider

Chapter Four: Calm

They rode until the next morning, finally settling in the middle of a field. Dog was a little hesitant to stop, but he figured it would be best to get their bearings before going any further. So they had huddled by a tree, tying the horses to the lower branches. Dog was hopeful they were far enough from the road no one would spot them.

He watched the dragonet lap from a pool when the slave he had rescued, Oisín, approached him. “What do you want?” Dog asked.

“I was just going to thank you. You know, for saving me from a lifetime of servitude and possible execution,” Oisín replied. “I can’t believe I’ll get to tell my kids the Dragonheart saved me, whatever that means.” He had been informed on the entire situation, and had been rather accepting of it. Not even a hint of surprise seeing the dragonet, only commenting on how small she was.

“Consider it repayment for helping us escape.” Dog watched the dragonet sniff around. “I suppose you’ll be heading off on your own now?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re going to Erbia now that you’re free. That was your plan, wasn’t it?”

“Well it’s not like I could settle down in Muscott and find a wealthy girl to marry. I had just assumed since you had rescued me, I would travel with you.”

“No.” Dog stood, picking the dragonet up. He turned and walked back towards the girls, who were a short distance away.

“Wait, why not?” Oisín followed him. “You don’t expect me to travel all alone, do you?”

Dog stopped and turned around. “If you stay here you’ll just be another mouth to feed and slow us down.”

“I’ve gone stretches of time without food before, you won’t need to worry about that. Besides, you think I’m going to travel alone when I could have the protection of the Dragonheart himself?”

“I am not the damn Dragonheart!” Dog snapped. That got Saoirse and Laila’s attention, and made the dragonet squirm in his arms.

Oisín only came closer, staring intently. “Oh, then what are you, some glorified animal handler? You bonded to a dragon, which hasn’t happened in,” he glanced at Saoirse. “what, a century?”

“At least,” Saoirse said.

“Right. So yes, you are the Dragonheart. That or we’ve witnessed the biggest coincidence in the history of the world. Either way I am coming with you four, and that is final,” Oisín crossed his arms for emphasis, face mere inches from Dog’s

Dog masked how taken aback he was, and tilted his head slightly. “What can you offer us?”

“What?”

“Saoirse can lead us back to Erbia, Laila knows how to treat wounds or illnesses. What can you contribute that any other slave wouldn’t?”

Oisín was silent for a few moments, though his eyes stayed locked on him. He shrugged. “Entertainment?”

Dog sighed. “Leave us alone.”

“What are you going to do if I don’t? Toss me into the river, strap me onto a tree and leave me for dead?”

“Of course not.”

“Them what’s stopping me from following you?”

Dog opened his mouth, but nothing came out. From nearby Saoirse snickered.

Oisin smiled, patting him on the shoulder as he walked past. “Good talk handsome. Break out the rations, would you? I didn’t get a chance to pack.” Dog inhaled and looked at the dragonet, who tilted her head. This was going to be a long journey indeed.

A stream gently babbled at Dog’s feet. He crouched down on the bank and dipped his waterskin in, refilling it.

So far the four of them had managed to stay undercover after their escape. The forest had thinned out to moorland sooner then he had expected, which had made him nervous about being seen. Especially since he had no idea how fast the information of their getaway had travelled. Yet no one had come after them. Still, he had insisted on walking through the night and sleeping through the day, as well as sticking to less-used routes.

As for the newcomer Oisín, Dog had hoped he would regain his senses and leave, never to be seen again.

He had not. In fact, he now seemed determined to stick with the group no matter what.

Dog at first regretted his decision to save the other wildborn. But when he thought about the alternative, he begrudgingly knew this was the best outcome. Besides, Oisín wasn’t all bad. He was rather talkative, cocky, and gruff, but…well there had to be something.

A splash from nearby made Dog jump. He looked over just in time to see his bondmate running through the stream. She stumbled and fell into the water. The little dragonet hopped back up and shook herself, sending droplets everywhere.

“What are you doing?” Dog asked.

She snorted and ignored him, peering at the water. A small fish swam by which she dove after, but missed. She continued her attempts in vain, making any fish scatter in fright.

Dog shook his head and set aside his waterskin, patting the ground beside him. “Come here.”

The dragonet perked up and trotted over to him, tilting her head. He positioned her beside him, facing the water. She flopped into a sitting position, looking at him expectantly.

“I’ll show you how it’s done,” Dog looked back at the stream and waited, keeping as still as possible. As a trout swam past, he grabbed it and tore it out of the water. The dragonet jumped, watching as he held it in front of her. “Like that.” He lowered the writhing fish back into the water, letting it dart away.

Dog nodded to his bondmate, who just stared back at him. He gestured to the stream, and she looked at it blankly. Dog sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know why I expected you to understand me, you can’t—“

She snapped her head into the water, pulling it back up to reveal a trout clamped between her teeth. She held it high, biting harder until it stopped squirming.

Dog blinked, then scoffed. “Beginners luck.” The dragonet tilted her head at him. He reached out and scratched her head, making her rumble. “Nice work.”

He stood up and stretched, grabbing his waterskin before walking back towards camp. The dragonet followed at his side, holding her catch high with pride.

They had set up in abandoned barn, which offered fairly good shelter from the wind that began blowing. As Dog walked across the fields of heather and bracken, he could see Saoirse and Laila huddling by a small fire. The horses were further inside, each in their own stall.

“Well look who caught herself breakfast,” Saoirse said, looking up. She had been weary of him since the night they escaped, barely speaking to him and throwing him off-put glances. Laila had been better, but she still acted distant towards him. Aside from the dragonet, Oisín had unfortunately been the most amiable to Dog.

The dragonet let out another purr, her pace quickening.

“Look at that,” Oisín said with a smile. “Three days old and already hunting for herself.”

Dog sat down by the fire, while the dragonet took the trout a short distance away and began to tear into it.

“She’s already growing too,” Saoirse said.

Wren studied her and realized Saoirse was right. It was subtle, but he could tell the dragonet was a little bigger then she had been a few days ago. “How big will she get once she’s fully grown?”

Saoirse pursed her lips in thought. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen a full-grown dragon before. They are supposed to get pretty large though.”

“And you’re sure she cannot bond to anyone else?” he asked.

“I’ve told you before, that’s not how bonding works. It would take a miracle of the Tide for an animal to bond to someone else while they’re own bondmate is still alive.”

“I wouldn’t mind testing that assumption,” Oisín said. Saoirse elbowed him in the ribs. Dog took comfort in knowing at least she shared his dislike of the other wildborn. He nodded silently.

The weight of the situation hadn’t really set in until after while after they escaped the village. Now it was all Dog could think about. He couldn’t be the center of a prophecy, he wasn’t the world-saving type. Certainly he wasn’t meant to be a leader. He wanted no part in politics, plain and simple. A soft sigh escaped him. He wanted so badly to find a way out of this. But the dragonet needed him.

“I still think you have the wrong person,” he said.

Saoirse shrugged. “I’m not sure what to tell you. The prophecy said the one to save us would bond to a dragon, and you bonded to her.”

“You didn’t mean for it to be me,” Dog said.

“Well—”

“How did you know who to look for anyways?”

“Actually, I’d like to know as well. You never told us,” Laila said.

“I’ll admit, my orders were vague,” Saoirse said. “Darragh gave me the egg and told me to go as far into Perin as possible. He said when the time came, I would find who I was looking for. Apparently the ‘wolf among sheep’ part meant the Dragonheart would be a slave.”

“Right, because making the Dragonheart a slave with no fighting experience, who has probably never even been outside Perin, makes perfect sense,” Oisín said. “Whoever made the prophecy must have quite the sense of humor.”

Dog ignored him. “That still doesn’t answer my question. How did you know who to look for? And who’s Darragh?”

“Darragh’s the priest that originally foretold the prophecy. He’s a little odd, but well-respected. As for knowing who to look for, I didn’t.” Saoirse sighed. “Like I said, I didn’t have much to go off of. I was sent here out of the blue, and despite my hesitation Darragh insisted on it. Nevertheless, you’re here now, and you bonded with the dragonet. If the Tide willed you to take that role, then I will not question it.”

Dog scoffed. “This all sounds like nonsense to me.”

Saoirse clenched her jaw, and despite her attempts to remain civil showed irritation. Dog savored it.

“Well I suppose that’s a matter of opinion,” Saoirse said levelly.

Dog hummed in reply. He got up, walking over to his pack. “Get some sleep. We’ll leave a little earlier tomorrow.” He grabbed a blanket he had stuffed away and his cloak before climbing up to the loft.

The dragonet squawked and managed to scrabble after him, leaving behind a pile of fish bones.

“Oh come now, we were just starting to have fun,” Oisín called after him.

Dog leaned against one of the wooden beams, tossing the blanket over himself and using his coat as a pillow. The dragonet flopped down across his legs, rendering them immobile. He grabbed almost instinctively at his ring again, clutching it firmly. It was oddly comforting, as though Finn was right there with him. He could hear Saoirse and Laila talking below, straining to listen.

“Can I ask you something?” Laila asked.

“Go ahead,” Saoirse said.

“What’s the Tide? You’ve mentioned it a few times, but I don’t know what it means. Is it a god, like the Father and Mother are in Bharrine?”

“God—? No, of course not. It’s not like a god at all,” Saoirse sounded offended. “It is the force that binds all life in the world. It is in all of us, and gives us magic. It’s what allows wildborns to have such deep connections with nature and bond with animals or control plants. Even the gods themselves are beneath it.”

“Really? That’s incredible. I don’t know how I haven’t heard of this before.”

“Well, wildborns are some of the last people to even believe in the Tide. Our legends say that all people once believed in it and had magic of their own, until they turned to false prophets on earth and rejected it. So then their powers were stripped away. That’s probably only a myth though. Nobody really knows what happened.”

“And wildborns were the only ones to keep their belief?” Oisín asked.

“Apart from a few other nations I believe, yes.”

“But they still believe in gods?”

“Our gods come directly from the Tide. The ones people have turned to are nothing more than false idols and prophets.”

“That still makes no sense to me, but alright.”

Silence fell over the barn for a minute until Saoirse broke it. “Okay, now I have a question of my own,” her voice lowered. “What is with Dog? Why is he…why does he act the way he does?”

“I’m curious too,” Oisín said. “I mean honestly, what kind of name is that?”

“He’s always sort of been that way, and I don’t exactly know why,” Laila said. “There were a lot of rumors going around about him, you know. For a while people said he murdered a man in cold blood. My mother once heard he was caught with a nobleman’s wife and may have a son.”

“Oh, so he’s always been an ass, and might be a murderer and adulterer on top of that. How charming. You know the Tide really know how to pick its heroes.”

Dog rolled his eyes.

“That’s besides the point. What do you think about him, Laila?” Saoirse asked.

“I don’t know. I’d like to think he’s just a normal person. He can be prickly, I know that. We all have our faults. Except that night, after I saw what he did to that guard, and the look in his eyes…” she trailed off.

Saoirse whispered something that Dog couldn’t hear.

“What? No, of course not. I’ve known him for a while now, and he’s been nice to me. As nice as he can be, anyways. I don’t think he would ever intentionally hurt me.”

“I still don’t trust him, but I’ll take your word,” Saoirse said.

“You’re the one who said he had to leave in the first place,” Oisín said.

“That was only for the sake of the prophecy, not because I wanted to go with him. Besides, we don’t have to stick around with him once we reach Erbia. I’d like to get back to my family and forget about him as soon as possible. What about you? What are you going to do when we get there?”

Dog didn’t listen to whatever was said next. It was clear that he had heard enough. If that was how they felt about him, then so be it. He would be glad to get rid of the three of them the first chance he got. He rolled over as best he could with the dragonet on his legs. Still gripping the ring tight, he closed his eyes and slept. At least, he tried to.

#dog #laila #saoirse #oisín #the marcach chronicles #original writing #original series #original character #writing community #writer #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #fantasy series #fantasy

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snackara · 1 month ago

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The Last Rider

Chapter Three: Escape

Dog and Laila followed the cobblestone path into the village and found a crowd was already gathering at the center. Dog pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. Laila nudged him and nodded towards an alley where they would be able to get a better view. Dog followed her, trying to shrink into the shadows.

Three horses stood at attention in front of the fountain at the center of the square, facing the crowd. On the right sat a lady, and in the middle and left two man. Behind them were a several guards, poised at attention. Lastly a man with cropped brown hair, a thin frame, and far less formal clothes stood just to the side. The only noteworthy thing of his appearance was the constellation of freckles across the bridge of his nose. A slave, no doubt about it. He held some parchment, standing at attention.

Wren knew who two of the people were. On the left was the Duke of Wilbourne, a younger fellow with short blond hair and an air of arrogance to his posture. He had only recently come into power after his father had died, from what Dog had heard, and the locals thoughts of him were less than glowing.

He had only met the man once a few years before, and had seemed like a decent man. A little uptight, but cordial.

The woman on the right was his wife, at least Dog assumed so. She sat elegantly on her horse, light brown hair tied back and wearing riding clothes that oddly suited her.

The man in the middle was a complete stranger to him. He sported a blue uniform with golden shoulders and a collar that reached his chin. On his breast was a badge that Dog couldn’t make out due to the distance. A captain of the guards, he realized.

While the slave blended in well, the others looked rather out of place in Linshire. Their fine clothes and elegantly groomed horses sharply contrasted the simple houses and the dull appearances of the peasants.

The crowd grew hushed as the Duke stepped forward on his horse. “Good afternoon, everyone. We have come as quickly as we could to address a situation that took place three days ago. A wildborn was spotted by a few men, and when they attempted to approach her she seriously injured two before fleeing. Last they saw it was near here, before they lost track of it.”

Several gasps and a wave of murmurs swept the crowd.

“They didn’t mention the dragon, that’s good,” Laila whispered. “Do you think they know about it?”

“They have too,” Dog replied.

“Will we be safe? It could come here and kill one of us,” a man from the crowd said.

“I understand your concerns. That is why we have brought several of my own guards to not only investigate the matter, but also protect you from danger. Captain Lucius Clarke is here to take charge,” The Duke said. The man beside him nodded.

“Where did the wildborn come from? Is it an escaped slave?” a woman asked.

“We do not know for certain, but most likely,” Clarke said. “If you see it, do not approach and immediately report it to a guard. It is highly dangerous and possibly armed.”

“What if it’s planning something against us?” another woman asked, holding her child close to her.

“I highly doubt that. Although we don’t know where it is or who it might be with, it’s unlikely a lone wildborn—” Clarke was cut off by yells of outrage.

“How can you know if we’re safe then? It might kill us! It will be the Newbury Massacre all over again!”

Dog felt his heart beat a little faster.

“Now now,” Clarke said. “We never confirmed that was caused by a wildborn, it could have easily been brigands—“

“Oh come on, everyone knows it was some mad wildborn!” a man near the back shouted. More people began to shout over each other.

“If they don’t slaughter us like they did in Newbury, they’ll turn our children against us!”

“We need to do something immediately. We should interrogate anyone who might hide runaways.”

“I say we hunt it down! Gather a party and put an end to it ourselves!”

Dog clenched his jaw as more people cried out suggestions and insults. Clarke tried to regain control, but his voice was lost in the crowd. The slave to the side remained emotionless, but glanced away.

The Duchess shook her head with annoyance. “Quiet, all of you!” she shouted. The noise immediately stopped, and everyone looked at her. The air fell still.

She sighed. “I understand you are afraid. But we cannot let that fear turn into violence. We must keep our heads on our shoulders. The guards, my husband, and myself will find this rogue wildborn, but to do so we need time. Until we sort it out I promise you will be safe. The men you see behind us are some of the best our province has to offer, and if the time comes, they will protect you with their lives,” she gestured behind her to the guards that stood at attention. “Have faith in us. We swear that in due time, all will be well.”

The peasants exchanged murmurs of agreement, and the Duchess smiled warmly, relieved. “I’ll let our esteemed captain take it from here.” She stepped back in line with the others, and nodded to Clarke.

“Thank you, Helena. I think that is something we all needed to hear,” the Duke said.

Clarke waved to the slave, who scurried over and handed him the parchment before backing off. Clarke cleared his throat. “Now, where were we?” He continued on with a description what Saoirse looked like. Wren didn’t quite hear what he said after that, instead watching the Duke scan over the crowd. He hadn’t changed much since Dog had last seen him, which was surprising. Dog’s eyes eventually broke away from him and glanced at the slave, who was staring right back at him.

Dog flinched in surprise. The slave narrowed his eyes on him momentarily, and he looked away.

Laila shook his shoulder, making him jump. He turned to her. “We should go. I think we’ve heard all that we need to,” she whispered.

He nodded and turned around, pulling his hood tighter over his head. As they snuck away from the square he glanced back one more time. The slave did not return his gaze.

The dragonet greedily slurped up stew from a bowl. Dog watched her with amusement. He had only realized once he and Laila had come back that the dragonet must have been starving, and grabbed something for her to eat. He had been quite a surprised at how voraciously the little dragonet ate her fill.

She looked up at him after the last of it was gone, licking her chops.

“I think that’s enough for now,” he muttered as he picked it up.

Saoirse and Laila were by the cot. Saoirse was sitting on one end, with a new set of loose-fitting clothes Wren had offered her earlier. The bandages on her arm were gone, and her chin was propped in her hands.

Laila sat on the other side of the cot, staring down at a map of Perin that laid between the two.

“We should stick to some of the backroads,” Saoirse said. “This route in particular looks promising. Then we can cross the river and be safe in Erbia. There’s a little village near the border we can go to.”

“As long as we keep low we should make it there in one piece,” Laila said. “Maybe we could find some horses to get their faster.”

Dog scoffed “Why don’t we grab a carriage while we’re at it?”

“It was just a suggestion. But now that you mention it, the Duke and the Captain brought three horses into town with them…”

“You’re not seriously suggesting we steal their horses, are you?” Saoirse asked.

“Sorry, it was just a thought,” Laila muttered, glancing down.

“We should pack up and get out of here. Tonight, preferably,” Dog said.

“I suppose that works. We can travel along the roads as far as we can,” Saoirse said.

“No, no, stick to the woods,” Dog said. “Travel at night, sleep during the day.”

Saoirse raised a brow. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

Dog shrugged and took a swig of whiskey. He watched his bondmate sniff at his feet before she leapt and curled up on his lap. She fidgeted until she was comfortable, the tip of her tail resting over her nose. He hesitated before reaching down, stroking along her back.

Despite the initial connection he had felt when the dragonet and him had first made eye contact, he hadn’t felt a strong bond the way he thought he would. There was no instant deep love for the creature, no powerful connection between the two, nothing like that.

If anything, he felt terrified and doubtful. What if he wasn’t the right person for her? What if she truly was meant for someone else and he messed it up? He didn’t know anything about wildborn magic or how it worked, didn’t understand the bonds that formed between human and animal as a result. Aside from the magic in his blood, he was barely a wildborn himself. So why would a dragon bond to him, of all people?

“I should go home,” Laila said, getting up from the bed and heading towards the door. “My family will start to worry if I stay too long, and I need to get some healing supplies anyways. Just in case. I’ll meet you two in the town square tonight.”

“Don’t you think there will be guards patrolling the area?” Saoirse asked.

“Laila shook her head. “Captain Clarke said they’ll patrol the perimeter of town, so we should be fine. Now rest up while you still can. I have a feeling we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Dog and Saoirse mostly kept to themselves after Laila left. Dog quietly packed rations, extra clothing, his hunting knife, and whatever else he could think of into an old leather rucksack. He made sure to spare some space for the dragonet.

One thing in particular had caught his eye, and he knew he had to bring it. It was a small wooden ring slipped over a woven braid of horsehair. An old gift said to bring him good luck and fortune. Dog could hardly believe he had forgotten it, but now he was determined to keep it with him.

Saoirse had been carrying light while traveling, but she at least had a few items stored in the pack that had carried the egg. Dog had shared some of his rations for her to store away, as well as his bedroll.

Dog sat back on his bed and took a long sip of whiskey, savoring what would probably be his last drink for a while. He held the ring in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the polished wood.

On the floor the dragonet was playing with a piece of old, frayed rope he had found. She would pounce on it and drag it around, shaking it viciously, a puff of smoke coming from her nostrils. She had been very impatient to finally leave the small cabin, wandering around and trying to explore every possible nook. Wren couldn’t blame her. She had been cooped up for a while and would need some fresh air soon. She was already trying to leap off the bed and take flight, failing each time.

“Are you any good with it?” Saoirse asked.

Dog looked up.

“The bow,” she nodded to where it sat at the edge of the bed, as well as his quiver.

He nodded.

“Who taught you?”

“A friend.”

“Oh? Who were they?”

Dog didn’t respond, instead taking another swig.

Saoirse nodded, tapping her foot on the ground. “You happy to go back to Erbia?”

“I suppose so. I don’t remember anything about it. I don’t know if if I was even born there.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything. I think you’ll love it. It’s gorgeous in the spring and summer.” Saoirse looked out the window. It was well into the evening, and the sun cast a low, orange glow over the horizon. “We should get going soon.”

Dog mumbled an agreement and grabbed his things. He coaxed the dragonet over and gently placed her in the backpack. “Stay in there, don’t make a sound.”

She nestled in the pack, tilting her head.

“I don’t know if you can understand me, but just keep quiet.”

She finally lowered her head and Dog closed the rucksack, lifting it onto his shoulders. It was fairly heavy, especially with the dragonet in it, but he could manage. He slung his bow and quiver over his shoulder, then blew out the candle on the table and put out the fireplace. He stood at the doorway, looking around the small shack one last time before walking out. This time for good. He reached for the ring around his neck and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“At least I’ll have you with me,” he murmured.

Wren and Saoirse made their way down the cobblestone path. Nobody would be out at this time of night aside from the guards, so Wren wasn’t worried about being spotted.

Laila was waiting for the two of them, standing next to one of the stalls. She wasn’t wearing her usual dress, instead wearing a blouse and trousers, as well as boots that came up to her shins. She looked up warily as they approached, adjusting her satchel. “Any trouble getting here?” she asked quietly.

“So far so good,” Saoirse murmured. “We got lucky and didn’t see any guards. How about you?”

“I didn’t see any either. But we should still be careful.”

Laila led them towards the village entrance, scanning the area as they walked. They stopped just behind a house by the entrance, glancing around. There were no guards they could see. The three silently slipped into the street.

“Aye, what are you doing?”

They stopped dead in their tracks. Dog turned and saw a guard approaching. In one hand he held a lantern up, casting an eerie glow over his face.

“We’re just leaving,” Laila said calmly.

“At this hour?” the guard asked.

“We need to leave as soon as we can with the wildborn threat. It’s not safe here.”

The guard narrowed his eyes in suspicion, clearly not believing Laila. “Well madam, I can assure you it will be perfectly safe. And I’m afraid I can’t let you leave. The village is under lockdown until further notice. Nobody can enter or exit.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Saoirse said. Laila and Dog gave her sharp warning glances.

“I’m sorry madam, Captain Clarke’s orders, not mine,” the guard held up the lantern to their faces. “Not that you’d really need to be going anywhere. So why don’t you tell me what you’re actually doing out this late?”

Wren stiffened as he felt the dragonet shift slightly in his pack. He reached up and tried to covertly adjust it, willing her to not give herself away.

“What have you got in there, son?” The guard asked, swinging the lantern towards Wren.

“Nothing,” Dog replied. “Only rations and traveling gear.”

“You’re not trying to smuggle anything in that, are you? No illegal substances or stolen items?”

“No sir.”

“Well then, I suppose you wouldn’t mind me having a little look, now would you?” The guard reached for Dog’s bag. Instinctively he smacked the guard’s hand away and glared at him. He stepped back, keeping his gaze even.

“We’ll be leaving now,” Dog said coldly.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” the guard lowered his hand towards his belt. “Now, come along quietly, so we don’t have to make this difficult.” Dog saw the guard was reaching for a broadsword.

Dog’s heart was pounding now. There was a roaring in his ears. Memories flashed through his mind of fire, blood, and carnage.

One moment he was standing stalk-still. The next he was slamming the guard into the ground and punching him in the face repeatedly. The guard let out a cry of pain, trying to block the blows with his arms. The lantern he had been holding clattered to the ground and extinguished. He continued beating the guard as his heart pounded, even when his knuckles began to ache. Someone pulled him up.

“Stop! You’re going to kill him!” Laila shouted. She gripped his shoulders tightly. Saoirse stood behind her, covering her mouth with her hand. He looked down at the guard and saw him sputtering weakly, spitting up blood. The man’s face was battered and bloody, but he was still alive. Barely.

“We need to go. We need to leave now,” Saoirse said. Dog saw a few lights in the nearest houses appear, and heard faint commotion. He could already see two other lanterns in the distance slowly coming closer.

They turned around and ran out the village entrance, across the bridge that separated it from the rest of the world.

They passed a farmhouse and a small stable. Dog stopped. He saw the three horses the Duke, Helena, and Clarke had rode standing in a corral that connected to the stable. Their saddles and reigns hung from one side of the fence. He had an idea. It was perhaps not his best idea, but he had no time to dwell on that.

“Dog, what in the seven hells are you doing?” Laila whisper-shouted as he dropped his backpack and climbed over the fence. Dog ignored her. He grabbed a saddle and reigns and started to saddle up a horse.

“Great Tide, get back here, we don’t have time for this!” Saoirse snapped. Wren ignored her as well, and after a minute or so of rushing managed to get one of the horses saddled. Fortunately it was quite gentle and patient. Movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked up and froze.

The slave from before stood by the fence, staring back at Dog. The door to the farmhouse was wide open. He must have been staying there with his owners.

The two stared at each other, and neither one moved. The slave looked towards Saoirse and Laila, brow furrowing. Dog’s gaze darted around, trying to think of a quick escape.

The slave climbed over the fence, grabbing a saddle and reigns. He strode over to another horse. Dog couldn’t help but stare in shock as he began to saddle it up.

He looked pointedly at him and raised his brows. “We’re not getting any younger.”

Dog realized his mouth was agape and quickly closed it. He grabbed the last saddle and reigns and saddled the third horse.

The slave opened the gate to the corral and ushered Saoirse and Laila in. “Hurry, you don’t have much time.”

They looked as shocked as Dog was, but obeyed and each mounted a horse. Laila handed Dog his pack, which he slung over his shoulders before mounting the same horse the Duke had rode.

He looked at the slave, who nodded and gave him a small smile. His heart flipped. If anyone found out the slave had helped them escape, he would be punished severely. He might even be killed.

Dog wasn’t sure why, but before he knew it he held out his hand to the other man. “Come on.”

The slave’s brows went up again. “What?”

“Did I stutter?”

“Let’s go already!” Saoirse said.

The slave glanced back at the farmhouse before taking Dog’s hand and mounting behind him. “I’m Oisín, by the way.”

“Dog.” He snapped the reigns of his horse and bolted to the road. Saoirse and Laila followed him, the hooves of their horses creating a rhythmic beat on the stones.

Dog looked back and saw the guards finally arriving, while the Duke and Helena came out of the farmhouse. A guard knelt beside the one he had beaten. A few ran past them, trying to pursue the criminals. They seemed to realized running after horses on foot was no use. Dog heard a gunshot crack through the air and ducked. The others did the same. Laila cried out in surprise while Oisín pressed his face into his shoulder.

As soon as they had passed the last pasture, Dog diverted his horse into the woods. “This way,” he shouted to the others. They followed, and the three of them rode off into the night.

#dog #laila #saoirse #oisín #réalta #the marcach chronicles #original writing #original series #original character #writing community #writer #writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #fantasy series #fantasy

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snackara · 1 month ago

Text

The Last Rider

Chapter Two: Wildborn

Laila stood over the wildborn, gently wrapping her wound in gauze. The other woman watched, glancing between Laila and her handiwork. Laila had tried to ask the woman a few questions, but she remained silent during the whole procedure.

Dog observed the wildborn woman carefully. She had taken off her raggedy coat, exposing her toned arms. The knapsack she had been carrying lay protectively at her feet.

“All done,” Laila said, stepping back. She began to put her supplies back into a small bag, similar to the ones Dog had seen regular doctors carry.

The woman stared back at Laila, who cleared her throat awkwardly.

“You can lay down and get some rest now,” Laila said.

The wildborn blinked.

“I know you can understand me. You can rest, neither of us will try to hurt you.”

The wildborn said nothing, still tense and uneasy.

“Right,” Laila turned to Dog. “Can we step outside and talk for a minute?”

Dog nodded and led her to the porch, closing the door behind them.

“She’ll be fine,” Laila said, wiping her hands on her apron. “The wound wasn’t as bad as I thought it was, so it should heal in a few days.”

Dog nodded. “Good.”

Laila instantly crossed her arms. “I’ve done my part. Now it’s your turn to talk.” She had demanded an explanation from him the entire trip to her house and back to his shack, but he had insisted he would only answer after the wildborn’s injuries were treated.

“Alright, alright,” Dog leaned against the wall, folding his arms. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Why? Dog, what have you gotten yourself into?”

“Just promise.”

“…I promise.”

Wren took a deep breath. “I found her in the woods. She was being chased by a couple men, and they mentioned some sort of ‘treasure’ she had.”

“So she’s a thief?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Dog shook his head. “But she hasn’t let me even touch that bag.”

“Maybe it’s drugs. You know, a deal gone bad. I hear that happens a lot between slaves in larger cities.” Laila said.

“No, I don’t think it’s that,” Wren pondered what would be so valuable. He contemplated trying to look, but the way she had been so protective of it made him think twice.

“How do you think she escaped?”

“I don’t think she’s a slave. I didn’t see a brand on her.”

“So does that mean she’s from Erbia?”

Dog shrugged.

“What are we going to do with her?”

“We?”

“Yes, we. I’m a part of this now, aren’t I?”

Dog glanced away and scratched his chin.

“We should report her.”

Dog immediately stiffened. “No.”

“Why?” Laila asked. “It’ll be easy. We just hand her over to authorities and let them deal with it.”

“I won’t. We don’t need the anyone else finding out.”

“They’re going to find out eventually. A wildborn getting chased and suddenly disappearing will get reported. Whatever she’s smuggling definitely will,” Laila said. “People will get curious and come looking. And if they’re stupid or scared enough, they’ll call for guards to do something. So then they'll be sent to investigate. And when they come they’re going to find you with a wildborn and maybe drugs in your house, and arrest you.”

Dog knew she had a point. A wildborn disappearing into thin air wouldn’t go unnoticed, especially if she wasn’t a slave. It was only a matter of time before someone came poking around. Which was the last thing he needed. If they decided to search his home, he and the wildborn were as good as dead. He wrung his hands together nervously.

“She’ll be gone by then,” he said.

“You’ll force her to leave?”

Dog snorted. “Of course.”

“And what about her bag?” Laila asked.

“What about it?”

“It might have something important inside. She could be holding onto something valuable.”

“Well then by all means, take a look,” Wren gestured to the door.

Laila opened and closed her mouth, looking away. “What do you want me to do? I’ve never dealt with something like this before.”

Dog pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. “What have I gotten myself into, kid?”

“I don’t know,” Laila’s voice had grown quiet. “I just hope that you haven’t gotten mixed up in something bad.”

Dog looked up and let his head bump into the wall.

Laila made her way down the steps. “I’ll come back if anything happens. For now act like nothing is wrong and just…don’t do anything foolish.”

Dog nodded and watched her leave before heading back into the house. The wildborn snapped her eyes up as he entered, closing the flap to the knapsack. She and Dog regarded each other, saying nothing. For the first time, he really observed her. She was skinny but well-muscled, with a round face and a hawk-like nose. She had cleaned most of the dirt off, but some was still smudged on her face. Wren noticed small nicks and scars on her fingers and knuckles as well.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the last time someone stayed in his home. Five years? Ten? It was hard to say.

He gave her a dismissive wave and walked towards a cabinet along the wall, just above the stove. He rooted through it, grabbing a bottle of whiskey. Then flopped back down in his chair and took a long swig. He relaxed as the liquid ran down his throat and eased his mind. “I guess we’re stuck with each other for a couple days.”

The woman made no reply.

Dog tried to keep himself as busy as he could. Mostly by hunting and fishing in a different part of the woods, then selling what he could at the market. The wildborn still didn’t talk to him much, only saying thank you when he offered her food, or yes and no to simple questions. He didn’t ask any questions about who she was or what she had been doing in the forest that day, but she had told him her name. Saoirse.

Laila meanwhile constantly pressed the woman whenever she checked her wound. Saoirse never responded. Dog sometimes wondered if she was just stubborn or couldn’t understand them.

Three days passed without much incident. Laila was in his home again, and he offered her a meal after she was done checking on Saoirse.

“You really didn’t have to, I’m sure my mother has something cooking at home,” Laila said as Dog set a bowl of venison stew in front of her.

“Its the least I could do,” Dog muttered. He dipped some of the stew that hung from a pot into a bowl of his own, and sat down. Saoirse sat in his cot width her share, eying it curiously.

Laila stabbed a chunk of meat with her skewer and ate it. Her eyes widened and she leaned back. “This is good. I didn’t think you could cook so well.”

“It’s nothing special,” Sog said with a shrug. He glanced towards Saoirse, who ate slowly. She looked at him and nodded in approval. Despite her cold demeanor when they had first met, she had warmed up to him a little.

They ate in silence. Laila looked around the shack. “I can’t believe you actually live here. This place always gave me a weird feeling.”

Dog hummed in response through a mouthful of meat.

“Doesn’t it ever bother you? Being out here all alone?”

He paused for a moment, staring down at the stew. He promptly resumed and stabbed a chunk of potato. “No.”

About halfway through their meal, they heard a faint cracking noise. Everyone stopped and looked around, confused.

Dog heard another crack and looked towards the knapsack. He hadn’t dared to touch it, figuring the contents would be of no use to him. Saoirse meanwhile watched it like a hawk, glaring at Dog every time he came a little too close to it. She was stiff now, staring at it as well.

Dog slowly stood and started to walk over to the bag. Saoirse leaped out of his cot and stood in front of it, blocking him.

“No! Don’t touch it!” she snapped.

“I’m just going to take a look.”

Saoirse spat back some profanity even Dog found colorful.

“It’s all right,” he said with annoyance.

“No, you don’t understand,” Saoirse said. Dog could see the panic in her eyes as her voice sped up. “I can’t let you near it. I can’t let it come to harm, Tide, I should have ran while I had the chance!”

“Calm down, what are you talking about?” Laila asked.

Saoirse turned her gaze to the other woman and walked over to her. “You wouldn’t understand, neither of you would. There are forces far beyond your comprehension at play here, and a lot of things at stake if it gets hurt.”

Saoirse continued to rant as Dog walked over to the knapsack. He opened it and stared inside, genuine shock sweeping him.

Inside was a large egg, light blue with darker flecks like a robin’s. It was nestled amongst straw and wool to keep it cushioned. Cracks criss-crossed the shell like rivers. Dog slowly took it out and set it gently on the floor.

“Hey, what are you doing? Don’t touch it!” Saoirse snapped.

More cracks appeared. A clawed wing tip poked out, while talons scrabbled out of a different crack. The end came abruptly. The shell was broken in half, and the lower part was kicked away by a pair of back talons. The top part still covered the creature’s head and neck. Bits and pieces surrounded it. It tried to shake off the slime that covered it, letting out a soft squawk. It stumbled to its feet and looked around, trying to get its bearings despite the shell that blocked it’s view. Saoirse and Laila went silent.

Dog gently reached out and pulled the shell off the creature’s head. It squawked, facing away from him, then turned around to meet his gaze. Dog could barely breathe. A dragonet stared back at him.

It was glossy from the slime that it was trying to shake off, shining in the firelight. It was about as big as a house cat, if not slightly larger. Its body was all black, with tinges of blue and white. It unfurled its wings like a fan, the membrane dotted with white specks. Mixed with the blue and white, it made them look like the night sky. Spikes ran down its neck, connected by a similar membrane as its wings. More spanned across either side of the end of its tail, giving it a fan-like appearance.

“By the Father…” Laila breathed. “That’s the most gorgeous creature I’ve ever seen.”

Dog was unable to tear his gaze away from the dragonet’s. It stared at him with beady blue eyes, blinking a few times. The magic in his blood that he hadn’t felt in years surged within him, drumming like a second heartbeat. It felt like a lone wisp writing in the darkness, alone, yet so overwhelmed. Almost instinctively, he reached his hand out towards the dragonet.

It took a tentative step forward, then another, then pressed its head against his palm. It let out what Dog could only describe as a low purr. Another wisp of magic reached out from the darkness, intertwining with his own and quelling it. He felt a surge of energy rush over him. It wasn’t painful, but made him jump nevertheless.

“I guess it likes you,” Laila said with a giggle.

Dog nodded, curling his fingers and gently scratching the dragonet behind its horns. Emotions bloomed in his mind that weren’t his own. A sense of intrigue and contentment that strangely calmed him. He focused on them, slowly realizing they were the dragonet’s. “Holy shit.”

“Dog?”

“I think me and it— no, me and her connected.” He hand no idea how he knew the dragonet was female, he simply understood it.

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. I can sense her emotions, at least I think that’s what it is.”

Saoirse was still silent, shaking her head. “No. No, that can’t be right.” She stared at Dog. “You’re a wildborn.”

Saoirse and Dog stared at each other, while Laila looked between them in confusion.

“That’s why you helped me, wasn’t it? You’re one too.” Saoirse asked.

Dog slowly nodded.

Saoirse studied him, confusion and doubt flickering in her gaze. He couldn’t really blame her. He didn’t look like most wildborns. Saoirse had fair skin and freckles, as well as a lankier build with longer arms and legs. Meanwhile Dog’s skin was brown, and he was stockier built. Not exactly the prime example of a wildborn.

Saoirse turned to Laila. “Did you know?”

“I had no idea,” she replied, throwing her hands up.

Saoirse shook her head. “And now he’s bonded to it.”

“She,” Dog corrected. “What do you mean she ‘bonded’ to me?”

“You don’t know a lot about Erbian magic, do you?” Saoirse asked.

Dog shook his head.

“Well, every Erbian’s magic gives them a deep connection to nature, which is what allows us to control plants and animals. Everyone has a bondmate, an animal they have a deep bond with and can sense the emotions of,” Saoirse explained. “It’s different than just controlling an animal. There’s a mutual understanding between bondmates. They help strengthen our magic, from what I understand.”

Laila nodded. “So Dog and the dragon are bonded now?”

“Yes. But I didn’t think she would. I expected her to bond with—“ she stopped herself before sighing and sitting down across from Laila. “We’ve gotten this far, I might as well explain myself.”

Dog and Laila leaned forward to listen. Even the little dragon toddled forward, licking the slime off of herself.

“There are a few groups left in Erbia. They’re mostly nomads and smaller towns, so attempts to rebuild have been slow so far, even after decades. Then the prophecy came, just a few months ago. ‘Twenty years after the blood and tears, a wolf among sheep shall come to reunite the broken. Able to wield the power of fire, seeking retribution for those in chains. The Dragonheart.’ was the only hope we had, someone who could come and finally help us.

“I was sent to find them and bring them back with the dragonet, who they would bond with,” she glanced down at the dragonet, who had slinked into Dog’s lap. “And I suppose I found him.”

Dog reached down and gently stroked the dragonet. “Is there still time to bond her to someone else?”

Saoirse shook her head and sighed. “No, that’s not how bonding works. Once a person and animal are bonded, they are connected until one of them dies. If she bonded to you, then it was meant to be.”

Dog frowned at the little dragonet. He didn’t want that. He was the last person who should be bonded to any animal, let alone one as powerful as a dragon. Surely there had been some sort of mistake.

“I thought dragons were extinct,” Laila said.

“Only the bonded ones. The wild ones are rather elusive, despite their size. I don’t know all the details, but some scouts managed to find a den with a few eggs inside. Including hers.”

They all stared down at the dragonet in silence, watching her flank slowly rise and fall. “Perhaps he really is this Dragonheart,” Laila suggested after a minute of silence.

Saoirse studied Dog for a moment. “I wouldn’t think so but…well, here we are.”

Dog shook his head. “No, you’ve got the wrong man. I’m not a dragon rider. I’m not even a full wildborn. I am not the Dragonheart.”

Saoirse shrugged. “Well, the prophecy says—”

“Prophecy be damned,” Dog snapped. “You have the wrong man. I’m not someone special, and I am definitely not the kind of person they write prophecies about.”

Saoirse and Laila flinched back at his tone.

“That’s not for you to decide, I’m afraid,” Saoirse said.

“Then whose decision is it?”

“I don’t know. The gods? The Tide itself?”

Dog rubbed his forehead and looked down at the dragonet, trying to process all the information. The dragonet stared at him with wide eyes. She reached up and licked his face with a forked tongue, as though sensing his distress and trying to comfort him. A warmth spread throughout his chest, and he scratched just behind her jaw. He scanned her body, staring at her wings in particular.

“What’s her name?”

Dog blinked and looked up at Saoirse. “Hm?”

“She’ll need a name, won’t she?”

“I don’t want to get too attached.”

Saoirse’s brows furrowed. “She will need a name eventually, but I suppose that’s up to you.”

Laila rolled her eyes. “Back to the point, I think you’ve found your person.”

“But why would the prophecy choose him and not someone…more wildborn?”

“I don’t know,” Laila said. “But he bonded to the dragonet, didn’t he?”

Saoirse shrugged, looking more resigned now.

“Besides, I can see Dog taking up the role. He’s strong, and a great hunter.”

“I never agreed to this,” he said.

“Well, what else are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I am not about to throw my life away for the sake of some foolish prophecy.”

“You may not have a choice.” Saoirse said.

“How come?” he asked, turning sharply to Saoirse.

She flinched back again. “You’re bonded to a dragon, and you could be very helpful to us. The Marcachs, the order of dragon riders that is, are gone. But you could bring them back. If you come with me, you could take charge and help protect us.”

“You’ve got the wrong man,” Dog muttered. “I’m not the kind of person you want protecting people.”

“You could be. There may not be any Marcach’s left, but there are people who could still teach you. Besides, you can’t keep her hidden forever. She’s going to get very big one day, and people are going to hunt her down and kill her. But she’ll be safe in Erbia.”

Every pert of Dog told him he shouldn’t do it. Yet the thought of the dragonet getting hurt or even killed made his heart jolt. He couldn’t imagine any harm coming to her simply because she existed, and he knew he couldn’t let that happen. Even if that meant going all the way to Erbia.

“Fine.” he slowly nodded. “Fine, I’ll go. Only for her sake.”

“Im coming too,” Laila said.

Dog looked at her sharply. “Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“It’s too dangerous. You’re young, you don’t need to go and ruin your life.”

“I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s sure to be a lot better then what I have right now.”

“What about your mother? What will she think when you disappear?”

Laila glanced away, hesitating. “She’ll be fine without me.”

Wren pinched the bridge of his nose. “You can’t go, kid. You have a decent life here.”

“He has a point,” Saoirse said. “Even managing to stay off the main roads, we’ll be taking a lot of risks taking a journey like this. Erbia is a long ways away.”

“I don’t care,” Laila straightened. “I’m going with you, and that’s final.”

Dog clenched his jaw. “Fine. Come along and get yourself killed.”

Fine,” Laila replied, crossing her arms and looking away.

The three of them sat in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes, letting the conversation sink in. Out of nowhere, a distant trumpet sounded that made all of them start.

“What was that?” Saoirse asked.

“It sounds like the trumpets for the Duke,” Laila said. “That can’t be right though, there’s no way they would have called upon him just to find you.”

“I don’t think it’s me their after.” Saoirse glanced down at the dragon brows furrowed.

Dog felt his heart miss a beat and stood up. He grabbed a cloak from its rack and quickly pulled it on. “I’m going to see what he has to say.”

Laila stood. “I’ll come with you. Better to have an extra set of ears.”

Dog didn’t retort. He grabbed his bondmate and set her in Saoirse’s lap. “Stay here.”

She obediently sat down, tilting her head.

“Watch her,” Dog told Saoirse as he walked out the door.

“Yes, your highness.”

#dog #laila #saoirse #the marcach chronicles #original writing #original series #original character #writing community #writer #writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #fantasy #fantasy series

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snackara · 1 month ago

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The Last Rider

Chapter One: Stranger

Dog was drunk. It had taken a while for the feeling to settle in, much to his annoyance. These days he had developed a strong tolerance to his drinks, which meant it took longer for the fuzzy feeling to take hold. But mercifully his mind now settled into a low hum, the patrons around him not as loud.

The tavern was a little more full than usual, mostly occupied with coal miners celebrating the end of another workweek before the inevitable trudge back underground. Dog wouldn’t be joining them, thankfully. He made most of his living hunting and fishing in the forests, secluded from most of the townsfolk.

Someone approached him from behind. He didn’t bother turning around to see who it was. “You owe me some money,” the man behind him growled. Dog made no response.

“Come on James, it’s not a—“ another voice was cut off by the first.

“No, he owes me.” James snapped. Some patrons glanced towards them, but most paid no attention. “Damn Koshain owes me for last night.”

“If I remember correctly, you paid me,” Dog said. He finally turned, looking James up and down. “Besides, it’s already gone.” he lifted his mug.

“We had a deal.”

“Yes. You pay me for decent sex, and we pretend nothing happened afterwards.” That got them some odd looks, and James’s face went the same shade of red as his hair. His companion stared with wide eyes. From behind the counter, the burly barkeep snorted while he polished glasses.

“So,” Dog continued. “You can run back to your wife, tell her you spent the money drinking, which isn’t entirely wrong, and we can put this behind us,” he set his mug down and walked towards the door, rubbing his eyes.

“Stupid whore!” Dog turned around just in time for James to punch him in the jaw, making his stumble back. Other patrons stood to watch, shouting in encouragement. Dog rubbed his jaw, stubble scratching against his palm.

Before James could throw another punch, Dog slammed his fist into his throat. James sputtered and clutched his neck as Dog grabbed him by the shirt. He slammed the other man into the bar, bashing his head against the countertop. Dog raised his fist and punched James over and over again, even as the shouts went from encouragement to fright. Blood trickled out of fresh wounds. His knuckles began to throb.

Dog struggled as the barkeep grabbed him and drug him towards the door, but it wasn’t much use. He was tossed out the tavern door, landing face-first in a puddle. Slowly he sat up, wiping the water away from his face. His jaw already felt sore. No doubt it would bruise. The crickets paused their song at the commotion.

Dog glowered at the barkeep, who stood in the doorway. “He had it coming, he called me a whore!”

“I don’t care who said what, you beat him bloody,” the barkeep said. “You better stay out unless you want me to take you to the prison in Hartford myself.”

“You know you keep saying that, but you never do anything.”

“This time I mean it. You’re starting to upset people with your damn temper. I can’t be losing paying customers because of you.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll just go somewhere else,” Dog staggered up to his feet and began to walk away.

“You ought to leave town. You’re not welcome here anymore,” the other man called after him.

Dog scoffed and continued walking, towards the very edge of the village. He stepped into the very last shack, leaning against the door as he got his bearings. A table in one corner with a couple chairs, a furnace with its pipe snaking through the wall, and a bed with a pair of boots at the end. Once the bleariness subsided a little more, he flopped onto his bed, not bothering to even shut the door.

The next morning he woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. Yet another nightmare, though not as bad as usual His head throbbed as he sat up and looked around, reminding himself that he was safe. He took a deep breath, leaning back. A breeze made his skin prickle and he realized the door was still open. Rubbing his eyes, he staggered to his feet to close it.

Despite the dull ache in his head, Dog decided he was sober enough for a morning hunt. He dressed in a clean tunic and pants, pulling on his worn boots. Finally he grabbed his bow and quivered of arrows. He slung them over his shoulder and stepped outside, taking in the spring air. The skies were overcast while the surrounding forest was veiled in fog. Not the best weather for hunting, but he could make do.

He trudged down the steps of the wooden porch and stopped as he heard a voice call to him.

“Hey Dog.” He turned and saw a younger woman with brown skin similar to his walk towards him. Her black ponytail bobbed with each step, as did the basket she was carrying.

“Morning Laila,” he mumbled.

“Do you mind if I walk with you again? I’m heading out to collect herbs for my mother. The snowberries should be perfect to pick this time of year.” Laila asked.

Dog shrugged and walked into the forest. Laila followed at his side. She was the closest thing he had to a friend in the village. Occasionally she would walk with him when he hunted or fished while she foraged.

Dog always thought it was odd, how she gravitated to him. No one else did, and they were complete opposites as far as he was concerned.

He was a tall, powerful man with a hardened face and a feral glint in his eye that made most people uncomfortable. He was built like a soldier, with toned muscles and a tendency to stand a little too straight. His movements were calculated and well-balanced, like that of a predator stalking its prey.

Laila, on the other hand, was a lithe and pretty young woman. Most traits of girlhood were gone, but her features of womanhood hadn’t quite settled in either, leaving her with an awkward middle ground. Her eyes were always bright and inquisitive in a way that reminded Dog of a doe. Her smile could easily light up a room, and overall just being around her was comforting.

The two barely spoke to one another. Their silence was filled in with birds chirping overhead, and the wind whistled through the branches. Dog observed the forest around him, looking for any signs of nearby animals. Trees stripped of their bark by deer, a broken twig on the ground, tracks in the mud.

“The weather’s nice today,” Laila said.

Dog nodded.

The turned to him. “I’ve been curious. Have you traveled around a lot?”

Dog grunted in response. He had been through a lot of their country, Perin. In fact, he had only been in this particular village for a couple years. Linshire was the last place he wanted to live, but it had been what he could afford. The town was small and impoverished, only supported by the coal mine nearby. The miners would be going down about this hour for their shift. Men and women with tired eyes, hunched backs, lines exaggerated on their faces by the coal dust. Wren traded with some of them at the market, giving them pelts and meat in exchange for bread or cloth.

“You know it’s not much of a conversation when only one of us talks, right?” Laila asked.

“I don’t have much to say,” Dog replied.

“Well, you could at least say something.”

Eventually they reached the river and parted ways. Laila walked along the river while Wren crossed over a log.

“Hey, if you see any snowberries out there let me know,” Laila called.

Dog nodded and continued through the forest, grabbing his bow in anticipation. He carefully treaded over well-worn paths carved by deer. They were the best guide the forest had to offer, and he followed them often. His boots softly squelched in the mud or rustled the fresh grass. He listened carefully to the forest around him. Some birds tittered in the distance, though there was mostly silence.

There was a flicker of movement ahead, making Dog stopped dead in his tracks. Through the branches and fog he saw a doe’s head pop up, chewing on grass. It was small, but it would do. As its head went back down, he crept closer. He walked as silently could through the underbrush and mud before ducking low. He held his breath for a few moments, waiting until the doe was looking away again to nock an arrow

Dog took a deep breath and pulled the string back, aiming towards the doe. It’s head was still down, nibbling on some unseen grass. He pointed the tip right at the heart. He closed one eye, trying to steady his own pounding pulse.

A crackle of gunfire made Dog and the deer jump. The air went still again, then another crack and the sound of hounds barking ripped through the air.

The doe sprang away, bounding into the thicker trees. Dog tried to follow it with his arrow, but it was too quick and disappeared.

He grumbled under his breath and relieved the tension on the bowstring, scanning the area. That was when he saw it.

A dark silhouette bolting through the trees, occasionally glancing back. As it grew closer, it began to take the shape of a young woman. A long brown braid flew behind her, and she carried a large knapsack on her back. Her face and clothes were covered with dirt and grime. She clutched an old brown coat close to her body, and her eyes darted around like a caged animal. She dove into some undergrowth, trying to make herself as small as possible.

Something pulled Dog towards the woman. He knew she might be bad news. She was probably a bandit or a thief that had just gotten caught and was now about to pay the price. Yet some part of Wren told him she needed his help.

He slowly stood and walked towards her. She spotted him from the corner of her eye and swung towards him, rustling the bushes. She fumbled with her belt before drawing out a dagger, pointing it towards him.

“Back.”

Wren stopped as he actually took a moment to look the woman over, and realization hit him. Dark hair, dark eyes, pale skin, unlike the light-haired, light-eyes Perinians. She was a wildborn.

Wildborns were a people he knew all too well, who hailed from the northern lands of Erbia. They had a deep connection to nature and magic, able to command animals and manipulate plants. Decades before, the empire had invaded Erbia but didn’t stay for long, believing the land to be cursed because of the magic. Wildborns had been hunted down and killed off or captured. Those that lived had been sent into slavery.

More barking snapped Dog out of his thoughts, as well as the sound of distant footsteps. He looked around. His immediate instinct was to get the woman out of danger. Back to his cabin, perhaps. He didn’t like the idea though, and wasn’t sure if the woman would even want to go. Regardless, she needed help.

“Come with me,” Dog slung his bow over his shoulder. The woman blinked. The barking grew closer. “I can help you. But you have to trust me.”

He took a few steps closer. The woman sat frozen, staring up at him. He offered his hand, and slowly, the woman took it. Dog pulled her up and ducked behind a bush with the woman, and who yelped in surprise. She opened her mouth to protest further, but closed it when she saw Dog put his finger to his lips.

He peered through the leaves and saw a couple hounds leap through the fog, their noses low to the ground. A couple men followed them, holding muskets.

“I’ll kill her. I’ll kill that filthy wildborn when we find her, mark my words,” one man said, panting.

“We’ll get her. Ed’s never failed me, he’ll track her down,” the other man said. “Then we can take that little treasure for ourselves.”

Dog gave the woman a glance. She tensed, and her hand went to the knapsack she was carrying. The hounds began barking again and ran off in a different direction. The men followed, mushing them onward.

Dog sat as still as he could for a few minutes, trying to calm the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Eventually he stood up. “They’re gone. I can take you somewhere safe.”

The woman stood up, wincing. He hand went to her arm, and Dog saw blood.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath as he saw the patch of red. He didn’t have any supplies for it on hand or back at his cabin.

He knew someone who did though.

Dog tore off a piece of his shirt and wrapped it around the injury, pressing the woman’s other hand on it. “Keep pressure on it,” he instructed.

He glanced at the knapsack and reached towards it.

The woman immediately smacked his hand away, glaring at him. “No.”

Dog paused before setting his hand on the woman's shoulder instead. “All right.” He guided her away to his shack.

By the time he made it to his house, the blood had seeped through the thin fabric. Dog led the woman over to his cot and sat her down. “I’ll be right back, I just need to get someone.”

The woman shuffled back and shook her head.

“She’s a healer. She won’t hurt you, I swear.”

“Fine,” the woman said after a few moments of silence.

Dog put his bow and quiver down by the front door and rushed out. He ran back towards the forest as fast as he could. He had no idea if Laila was still out there or if she had already headed home. He got his answer as he saw her walking in his direction. She stopped as he ran up to her, brows furrowing with worry.

“Dog? What’s wrong?”

“I need your help,” he replied, breathless

“What do you need, are you hurt?” Laila asked, already assessing him.

“No, not me.”

“Someone else then? What’s going on?”

“Laila, just…” he sighed. “Trust me.

#dog #laila #saoirse #the marcach chronicles #the last rider #original writing #original series #original character #writing community #writer #writing #fantasy series #fantasy #writeblr #writers on tumblr

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snackara · 2 months ago

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Dog’s (Updated) Lore

Strap in, because I’ve got a lot of info dumping to do.

Dog doesn’t remember much about his birth parents. He was taken in as a baby by General Edmund Pryor, who trained him to become a weapon. And he was brutal. Rigorous drills, public verbal abuse, and beating Dog (at the time named Theodore) in front of soldiers. It grew especially bad when the boy began to show interest in less “masculine” things such as the fine arts.

He didn’t have many friends during his childhood, but he did make one ally. Clara Montgomery, the Captain of the Peacekeepers and a friend of Pryor’s. She recognized his clear talents and would sneak him books on the subjects that interested him, and taught him to use a bow. This would prove very useful to him later in life and become his signature weapon, despite Pryor thinking it was too wildborn. Clara tried to protect Dog however she could, but it didn’t last.

Once he turned 13, the boy was sold off to a friend of Pryor’s. From there his life became a blur, being passed from one owner to the next and doing whatever was told. More often than not, he was a bodyguard, a mercenary, and even an assassin. If someone needed to be hurt, he was there to do the job. His first owner joked that the boy was his attack dog, and from then on “Dog” was what people called him. His was dehumanized beyond belief, giving up hope and resigning to his fate as an animalistic weapon.

Until he met Finn. Finn was different from a lot of people who Dog encountered. Most of them, even other slaves, shied away from him and viewed him as more of an animal than a human. But Finn didn’t. He treated Dog like a person, and even sought him out. So, after eleven years of coldness, Dog allowed his walls to cave and fell in love, even if he didn’t realize it. They decided to run away together, and surprisingly succeeded. They settled down in the small town of Newbury, and their troubles seemed far behind them.

But I think you know better. I think you know that’s not how the story goes.

One night Dog had left for the tavern, against his better judgement. He needed to drink the guilt and the memories away again. His trips had been dwindling since Finn had shown disapproval, but he hadn’t been entirely weaned off the bottle yet. A group of men came to his home, and killed Finn. They had somehow figured out he was a wildborn slave and were livid.

And when Dog came back…

Well, none of them stood a chance.

He slaughtered the men easily, but that wasn’t the end. He kept killing, and couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. Everyone that stood in his path was butchered. It didn’t matter who. At some point the buildings were set aflame. And when all was said and done, Dog finally came to his senses and was horrified with what he had done.

He fled into one of the nearby cities, Sutton. After a few days of grieving, he finally got himself together and decided to start over. An inn owner took pity on this shell of a man and gave him a room to stay in as long as he needed to. Dog grew close to her, sharing some of his secrets with her and considering the closest thing he ever had to a mother. He continued his mercenary work, despite his clear distaste of it.

After four years, he finally saved up enough money to move to the small, impoverished town of Linshire. It was a far cry from the lavish homes he had known before, but with his bow he could make do. Over the coming months he formed a strange acquaintance with a girl named Laila. Dog would never admit it, but he always enjoyed having her around.

Dog shut himself off from everyone completely. He believed if he cared for anyone in any way, he would only end up failing them, or they would leave him. His drinking also grew worse as he tried to fight back the guilt and hate that had built up over the years. He resigned to a quiet, lonely life in the woods, with all of his hope gone.

Until he makes a discovery and a choice that will not only change his life, but the fate of Empire of Perin and Kingdom of Erbia themselves.

And that is where our story begins.

#the marcach chronicles #original writing #original series #original character #fantasy #fantasy series #writeblr #oc lore #lore dump #fun fact he’s based on the worst wolverine #I felt like his character and backstory could have been fleshed out more #and decided to use wren as a sort of character study #but he’s really come into his own #also I just love the living weapon trope #dog

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