Blestung : A Short Story Of Blebling

My hand swung to my side, feeling the sharp stone puncture layers of skin and muscle. Wailing in agony as blood spurted out of the wound, I run towards nearby shelter. The shrill screams of dying men rip through the air, accompanied by the sounds of arrows whizzing through the air and the Indians whoop when they hit a target. Dizzy from pain and hunger, I lay in a more comfortable position, just hoping to survive this wretched attack. ”Why did I ever come here?” the thought pounded through my head. “Oh yeah, I remember why. Land. Money.” That irritating know-it-all voice answered. I hear feet pounding around me and realize that the Indians have gone inside the town. One enters the door and maliciously grins when he sees me. He runs toward me and my eyes widen with shock as the spear plunges down, and becomes closer and closer….

When I almost reached the door, I felt something at my foot, a broken hourglass, that had ran out of sand. Shaking and suddenly bursting into a cold sweat, I furiously jammed the key in. It felt like an eternity, but finally I succeeded. Pushing the door open, and wiping a faceful of sweat from my face, I felt this wave of aromas crash over me. Putting the key in my pocket(FORESHADOWING) and then entering the cellar I tried to calm down. I tried to look for the cask of Amontillado that I bought several weeks ago. There were millions of wines in that cellar (HYPERBOLE). But at last I found it. It felt, lighter, and after opening it I realised that it was empty. I wasn’t enraged, just tired. I made my way to the door, suddenly feeling drowsy. Then I became a little bit nauseous and shaky. Looking into the darkness, I saw, darkness. So I picked up my dying torch and put it up and almost yelled “Who’s there?”. There was no reply but a figure seemed to appear in the darkness. It was carrying a scythe and it started towards me. I fell back, and was caught by the wall, slamming my head against it and dropping my torch. The figure whispered in the dark, “Free the fortunate one, for be warned fate will find

It was a normal day in the castle of Goranson. All the townspeople were tending to their work when an explosion made a loud sound that ran throughout the castle. Townspeople stood there shocked as the castle stood in silence. After the seconds of silence another loud explosion shook the castle followed by arrows flying throughout the castle and vikings screaming as they charge in. Everyone ran to get to safety and the vikings never followed. They only had one mission, to get the king and destroy the castle. When all the noise had stopped and all the screams were silenced the townspeople went to look outside to see that the castle was all burnt down. One farmer had said “Quick find the king”. They all rushed into various buildings only to find the king was not there.

I awoke from my nap with a jolt. There was a man stabbing his sword over and over again into my belly. What is with these people and swords? He yelled out that his name was Beowulf but all I could do was howl in pain. “Please stop!” I screamed but he didn’t stop. That made me very angry and so I pushed him off and prepared to fight. We fought for a long time before he finally defeated me and as my world slowly went black all I could hear was the tapping off claws and then my mother’s

It was dark at the castle; Not a soul was awake. As the wind blew, the castle itself was snoring. Nothing moved but a dark form on the fortress wall. It was a boy. Climbing over the wall, the prince sneaked to the open attic window. With the guards sleeping at their posts, it was child’s play. Agile as a squirrel, he darted into the attic. Inside the room, beheld the Firebird, a majestic sun-eagle of gold. Withdrawing the Firebird, the boy stared at the pure golde cage, coveting it. A name was engraved on the handle, genommen*. Though the prince was warned against stealing it, his hand inched towards the cage, then darted to grab the handle. As soon as he touched it, trumpets blared and alarms roared

He sneaks away from his parents plantation armed with a toy wooden sword ready to

At the heart of bushes, almost invisible to the eye, bloody red eyes peering in Herot waited on a moonless night.Although without really knowing why, waiting completely unnoticed by celebrating heroic fools. He watched and waited hour after hour drink after drink. Wacthing something they thought, no simple-minded creature would. He thought about what he saw before him. lying in front of him were the same murderers who not long ago were killing each other, iron in hand, fear forgotten,

Here and now is where this shall all begin! High above the rest of my domain in the relative comfort of my little abode in Castle Burgundy. For the first time in what seems like an eternity gone by I shall cast open the monolithic doors of my darkened halls to partake in the first legitimate event since that whole drinking incident a few decades, millennia, bah- I'm sure I'll remember more clearly once this business is concluded, yes! With an excitement and speed that not even the swiftest of demons could conjure I bolt from my fortress gates! Muffling the sounds my adorable furry friends as I focus on one solitary thing, hunting down every last peasant, brigand and mule who stole from me and putting them to the sword, or cross, whatever I

The yordle looked around at the empty meadow, but sensed no trace of the monster slayer she’d come to find. She had roamed the countryside, following rumors of his activities, hoping this mysterious hunter might be the fabled hero she had sought for so many years. But thus far, all she’d found were wolves and wyverns and highwaymen, most of whom she’d been forced to kill in self-defense.

Clad in metallic, reflective armor, the boy marches through the city streets that he protects every night when he goes to sleep. The world he’s dreamed up has everything he could have imagined- golden sun in the afternoon, tall trees whose leaves shake with every gentle breeze, and the dazzling beauty of the princess he has befriended. The city is ecstatic; the tall castle stands victoriously as the townspeople celebrate their triumph against the wicked witch. However, the boy’s vision changes quickly, as a menacing darkness begins to loom over the sky, and he grips his sword, ready to fight for his kingdom. It seems that he cannot react fast enough, that suddenly the darkness becomes too much for him, and the shadows crawl out from between cracks in the castle wall. Fog creeps over the cobblestoned paths, and the celebration of the joyous citizens is drowned out by a low, ghostly groan. The beautiful summer day has evaporated, the deep grey clouds are rolling through the sky, and the boy notices they’re almost shaped like hands, the same

One day, however, while walking along the seemingly familiar tangled paths on his way back to the kingdom, the Prince became lost. The patterns of dappled sunlight from the overhead canopy that he used as his map to navigate by kept changing their shapes, so as to mislead him farther into the woods. For, despite the fact that the old oak trees were the Prince’s companions, the forest itself was still an ancient, wild thing and, as with any beast, it liked to tease its prey. The Prince wandered until the sun fell into slumber and the stars from which he had gained his personage came out to dance. The copses that had once been a bright and soothing force, now held a darkness that the Prince had only ever heard of from the old oaks’ tales. Regardless of the terror that the night had struck all the way to his very core, the Prince had been taught to be brave and so, he continued to walk through the pitch until, by chance, he happened to come across a small cottage.

It was dark at the castle; Not a soul was awake. As the wind blew, the castle itself was snored. Nothing moved but a dark form on the fortress wall. It was a boy. Climbing over the wall, the prince sneaked to the open attic window. With the guards sleeping at their posts, it was child’s play. Agile as a squirrel, he darted into the attic. Inside the room beheld the Firebird, a majestic sun-eagle of gold. Withdrawing the Firebird, the boy stared at the pure golden cage, coveting it. A name was engraved on the handle, genommen*. Though the prince was warned against stealing it, his hand inched towards the cage then darted to grab the handle. As soon as he touched it, trumpets blared

“No you're not,” the mother replied. The mother then turned around trying to control her three other little beasts that the humans call kids. As she turns around, the young boy who said he wanted to swim in the moat, crawled under the long wooden guard rail, that had gone around the whole moat to keep the humans away. The boy got up from the other side of the rail, and as he got up I could see his worn out shoes slipping off the wet dewy grass. The boy slipped and started to fall off the ledge going down to the moat. I could see the terror and frightened look on the boys face. He hit the water. I could hear the boy's mother screaming,” My son! Somebody help!”

I hop into the house, just in time before huge chunks of debris start to fly. I look, and the house is a mess, tables flipped, potions spilled, bottles shattered. I dig through the rubble into my parent’s room. I open the door and as to my horror, a dark mage! The human like thing was wearing pure black clothes. His face unrecognizable. The mage pulls out a some kind of tome, he lowers the tome on the bodies of my mother and father. “HIDICON”. The mage yells. The tome starts to glow, sucking the bodies of the two helpless mages into the tome. Silence sweeps through the room. The bodies disintegrate into a fine void color powder. The dark mage looks at me with cautions eyes, and then fades away. From that day on my life has changed. I realized that the world is not rainbows and butterflies, but something much worse. As I self taught magic, I learned a figure called “Xonoth”. It said he is responsible for the chaos in the world, but I don’t believe anyone has the power to do so. But anyways, my parent’s death fueled my determination to avenge their souls and let them be free. Whatever I do now, it is, for my beloved, mother and

A man paces within the room, his black leather boots clattering against the creaking wood over and over again. He was deeply tan, his skin an olive hue, and his head was topped with a messy mop of grey hair. His face was chiseled and angular, but not untouched by the wrinkles of age. His chin had rough stubble running as a five-o 'clock shadow. Across his left eye ran an old scar, coming from the top left and ending at the start of his nose. His other eye was a deep blue, intently looking towards the worn paint on the floor boards. He was adorned in a light leather vest, metal studs patterned across it to accommodate chainmail, if the need arose for it, and to his side was a thin sword, the hilt finely crafted with a intricate, geometric design stretching across the scratched and scuffed cage. He stands tall, easily clearing six feet, his upper body broad and well kept. He stops dead as he hears the old door creak, turning his one good eye to the new visitors with a deathly glare. "Who are you?"