Short Stories By Vorondir

[Vorondir]

I sometimes write things but then I lose focus and throw the whole thing away. I am starting this thread so that I can commit to finishing my little stories, bit by bit, hopefully with a bit of an audience with me along for the ride, who might also help keep me accountable. Most of the stories are gonna be glimpses of fantasy worlds, sometimes connected, most times not. I'm gonna tackle them one at a time, chipping away, post by post, until the short story is complete.

Thanks for reading.

List of Stories so far:
Grasping for Straws

[Vorondir]

Grasping for Straws
a short story by Vorondir
Part 1

The night itself was a sea of noise. Nyala closed her eyes shut, pushing out the tears, and she could hear crickets, rustling leaves, and the low rumble of waves crashing in the distance.''Soon, all the madness, it will be over,' said Hafdan. 'You will be joining the company of the Great Rider in the sky."
The camp was a hollow of deathly silence. Hafdan stroked the hair of Skardi who was lying in a sheepskin stretcher; not unconscious, but already drifting from the realm of Berrech--his eyes misty and fixed on the sights withheld from all that are living. Nyala sat bow-legged on the ground next to a pit of embers as she tried to clear her head. She could not keep the visions of blood away. Some of it was fresh, yes, and pretty much a recollection of what happened in the town hall of Duna, yesterday night. But others--the ones that hurt her and bit into her mind sending her thoughts into a frenzy--were of things that happened long, long ago. She was taught to sit until her mind was still, not to act until she was free from all distraction. Instead, she got up with fists clenched and a heart of steel.
'Get up, Hafdan."
The giant looked at her with the eyes of a wounded animal. 'I want to see him off, Nyala. And then I want to drink,' he sobbed, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
'You already drank the fill of a hundred men when we got here, oh Great Hafdan. It will give you no pleasure if you drown yourself in wine now, nor any further relief. You first need to sober up and to feel the pain once more before you resort to this medicine again.'
'The pain, fair Nyala, will kill me,' he mewled.
'I need you to feel the pain, Hafdan,' said Nyala and clasped his giant paw softly between her two hands. 'I need you to kill again.'

*** Two Days Ago ***

Skardi walked through the ruined burroughs of Echol Duna, the old center of the city that now housed the poor and the destitute. It was full of people with nowhere to go and people with nothing to go somewhere with. Most of them didn't think about it and they led quiet lives that from the outside at least seemed happy. A cattle driver that seemed happy enough to smoke leaning against a fence and watching the great milky sky stained with pale streaks of Megin stretching across the horizon. Only a few and far between, struck hard by the backhand of destiny, seemed to wallow in deep and silent misery, haunting the cheap watering holes, the back alleyways, the ditches... It was easy to go mad with grief when one of the few things that keep you alive or give you meaning get taken away. And the poor had much fewer ways to deal with it than the rich. The rich mostly drove themselves half-mad trying to find excuses not to do anything about it. And that's what Echol Duna looked like. Like a place meticulously unattended, as if the Gods put it there for you to purposefully overlook.
Skardi walked up to the old inn door and knocked on the door soft and nervously, like a bird. SIlence answered. The inn was barred and locked so early in the morning and the drunkards from last night littered the muddy streets beside its back door. 'Yoggath?' Skardi called. 'It's me, dear. It's me, my lovely. Open up. Let your Skardi in."
Yoggath opened the door. A striking woman with long black braids trimmed with silver hair, she bore a few telltale lines around her beautiful brown eyes; the only thing betraying she was in the winter of her forties. She looked tall, powerful, and alarmed. 'What do you want? Why are you here?'
'I am tired and I want to sleep. I am hungry and I want to eat. I am thirst and I wish to drink; mead, if you have it, or, otherwise, wine,' recited Skardi in a sonorous baritone.
'No. Go away,' said Yoggath and put her weight against the door. Skardi stopped it with his palm flat on its center. 'A weaver rides with my crew. It's a girl from the heartlands. She's fourteen, Yoggath, and she's hurting real bad. I don't know where else to take her,' he stopped for a second to make sure that her eyes softened up exactly as he thought they would. 'I'm telling you, she's the nicest kid..." Skardi smiled. 'Okay,' Yoggath said. 'Wipe that self-assured smirk off of your face and take me to her...'

[Zôrzimril]

Ooo I have so many questions lingering after reading this! Nice job hooking me in. I'm especially curious about the relationship between Yoggath and Skardi. I hope you post more soon!