The chill soaked up through his knees as he stumbled once more. The snow crunching under his hands as he rested where he fell on all fours, thick breath blowing from his split, cracked lips. How many days had he been travelling now? Certainly more than a score, maybe a month even. The bandit attack had maimed his horse. They had paid for that with their lives, but that was no consolation now. Now he was two nights without sleep and approaching a third. A moment of doubt swooped across his psyche... Why had he betrayed his family? Why plot against his own men? What future power could be worth this exile? The questions drained away through his arms and legs into the frozen tundra beneath him. Drained away taking the last of his strength it, the sword on his back weighing heavy, as did his guilt. Night approached in a blink as his eyes closed and his body collapsed completely.
The sharp sting of ice on his cheek. The chill stabbing at his body.
His mind drifted.
The cold blast of a northerly wind on his features, driving through his clothes.
He dreamt.
The cool breeze of autumn on his face. The fresh light of the sun in the sky.
He was back where it had started, the morning after that strange dream. The beautiful face in the dream had wanted him to lead, had wanted him to control the armies of the South against the barbarian warlords of the East. He knew it could never be so. He was the second son and as such would always serve his elder sibling. It was the life he knew, the life he was prepared for, but not the life he wanted. He sat on his horse overlooking the vast armies at his father's disposal. The seed of a plan was forming.
Suddenly he was two days later, overlooking the left flank of the army with his brother “How could the barbarians have known the northern thrust was a decoy attack?” His brother had asked. Of course he had sent the message himself, but the time wasn't right to answer his brother truthfully. The plot and the dreams had become one, driven by that beautiful face.
Then he was on his knees, his face stinging, blood dripping from his lip. His legs weak with shock. His brother stood over him, tears falling from his face as evidence of the death of a father and the betrayal by his brother. Those wounds cutting deeper than any sword ever would. The word rang in the air “EXILE” but he barely heard it, such was the longing for the face from his dreams. The plan had failed but still she called to him.
“EXILE” the word barely a whisper.
“EXILE” freedom to follow Her.
Then he was back in his body. How long he had been there he did not know, but he no longer felt the cold of the ice that still lay underneath him. He knew his final moments were coming. The Exile Prince would die alone and cold. He could see death approaching, the figure in black robes swaying seductively as it approached. Surely this was Death come for him, betrayer, deceiver. The dark figure leaned over him, the pale hands pulling the hood back slowly. It was the face from the dream.
“Finally you have come.” The voice warmed him as it enveloped his frozen body “Come with me, we have much work to do my exile prince”
Consciousness evaded him once more. His soul was lost.
[This is my first attempt at RP so please forgive my clumsy attempts. I have no idea where this is going but I'd quite like to take it somewhere!
I see it starting as a dark tale of subtle manipulation from both sides using the talents that each character possesses as they plan the downfall of the male lead's brother and their lust for power. In my mind the woman is a witch of sorts, but this is not a high magical fantasy, but rather one where manipulation and misdirection is possible through mystical means but only with considerable skill.
Please PM me before replying so we can briefly discuss thoughts and direction. I hope I'm up high standards that is so often here on Lit!]
The sharp sting of ice on his cheek. The chill stabbing at his body.
His mind drifted.
The cold blast of a northerly wind on his features, driving through his clothes.
He dreamt.
The cool breeze of autumn on his face. The fresh light of the sun in the sky.
He was back where it had started, the morning after that strange dream. The beautiful face in the dream had wanted him to lead, had wanted him to control the armies of the South against the barbarian warlords of the East. He knew it could never be so. He was the second son and as such would always serve his elder sibling. It was the life he knew, the life he was prepared for, but not the life he wanted. He sat on his horse overlooking the vast armies at his father's disposal. The seed of a plan was forming.
Suddenly he was two days later, overlooking the left flank of the army with his brother “How could the barbarians have known the northern thrust was a decoy attack?” His brother had asked. Of course he had sent the message himself, but the time wasn't right to answer his brother truthfully. The plot and the dreams had become one, driven by that beautiful face.
Then he was on his knees, his face stinging, blood dripping from his lip. His legs weak with shock. His brother stood over him, tears falling from his face as evidence of the death of a father and the betrayal by his brother. Those wounds cutting deeper than any sword ever would. The word rang in the air “EXILE” but he barely heard it, such was the longing for the face from his dreams. The plan had failed but still she called to him.
“EXILE” the word barely a whisper.
“EXILE” freedom to follow Her.
Then he was back in his body. How long he had been there he did not know, but he no longer felt the cold of the ice that still lay underneath him. He knew his final moments were coming. The Exile Prince would die alone and cold. He could see death approaching, the figure in black robes swaying seductively as it approached. Surely this was Death come for him, betrayer, deceiver. The dark figure leaned over him, the pale hands pulling the hood back slowly. It was the face from the dream.
“Finally you have come.” The voice warmed him as it enveloped his frozen body “Come with me, we have much work to do my exile prince”
Consciousness evaded him once more. His soul was lost.
[This is my first attempt at RP so please forgive my clumsy attempts. I have no idea where this is going but I'd quite like to take it somewhere!
I see it starting as a dark tale of subtle manipulation from both sides using the talents that each character possesses as they plan the downfall of the male lead's brother and their lust for power. In my mind the woman is a witch of sorts, but this is not a high magical fantasy, but rather one where manipulation and misdirection is possible through mystical means but only with considerable skill.
Please PM me before replying so we can briefly discuss thoughts and direction. I hope I'm up high standards that is so often here on Lit!]
