Barbarians dont cry part two
Title: barbarian's don't cry part 2
Author: onthethruway
Genre: fantasy
Length: chapter 2 of ?
characters: fictional female fantasy character and someone familiar?
rating: pg?
A/N: can you guess who is the barbarian? LOL. This is the continuation of my D & D character's back story with a little K Drama thrown in for good measure
The stench of burning silk and flesh filled her nostrils. She shivered as if it were cold; but it was fear that made her tremble; for she was surrounded by death. All that remained of the caravan was scattered debris; broken wagons and shredded tents smouldered all around her, the charred remains of her family and friends lay where they fell; the pain and agony of their death throes etched upon her fragile mind.
She had hid in the wagon as her mother told her; her small satchel of personal things strung over her back. The screams of her loved ones drew her out of her sanctuary; but there was no real hiding place from the barbarians of the steppes. Stunned by what she saw she stood as if in a trance, as the raiders pillaged, raped and burned. None remained, save her.
Why was she spared? Perhaps an even more horrible fate awaited her. The spell was broken and she moved like the undead; shambling slow and unsteady on her feet. She dropped to the ground before a woman’s body;it was her mother; now buried beneath ash and rubble. Tears streamed down cheeks dappled with soot; no sound escaped her lips; her voice had been ripped from her throat along with her soul. As she pulled the jade ring from her dead mother’s hand she realized she was not alone.
A pony stomped and whinnied as it’s master dismounted; his lamellar armor stained with gore and blood. She met his gaze; eyes dark and piercing like the arrows used to strike down her loved ones. Swallowing hard she tried not to show her fear; her anger was evident instead; her gaze just as hard and intimidating as the monster before her.
He was young; the bloom of youth still upon him; his long, raven hair cascading past broad shoulders. Tall and slender; to her he seemed too fragile to be a fighter; robes of embroidered silk suited him better than armor. He swallowed hard; her eyes fixated on his Adam’s Apple as it bobbed up and down.
“I will slit your pretty throat,” she said to herself; words now lost to her; speech robbed by grief and shock.
The warrior moved toward her, bloody sword in hand. She bit her lip and prayed for death.
“Make it quick, you filthy bastard,” her silent voice spat at her enemy.
But death did not come.
The sword was sheathed; arms stretched out instead; words slow and deliberate flowed from the young steppe rider’s lips like warm honey poured from a jar.
His deep voice made her shiver.
“Come girl,” he entreated in a voice so intoxicating it caught her off guard.
“I won’t hurt you. There’s been enough killing.”
The girl shook her head in defiance.
“Liar,” she wanted to scream; but no sound escaped her trembling lips.
He came closer; the girl looking for anything around her that she could use as a weapon.
“When the others come, I will tell them you are mine. You will be my prize;my spoil of war. It’s an ancient custom. They’ll do you no harm, I promise. If I leave you here now, terrible and unspeakable things will befall you.”
He outstretched his arm once again; she stared at his hand; long slender fingers curling before her; motioning to get up and meet her destiny.
With great reluctance she took his hand; his grip surprisingly gentle.
“That’s a good girl,” he reassured her as if she were a puppy; his voice almost condescending. She looked back at her mother and sniffled.
“Say goodbye, now,” he told her; her eyes narrowed at him and he returned her stare.
The warrior whistled, and the pony trotted towards them; it stomped nervously in the girls’ presence. He patted the animals neck to calm it down.
He mounted the pony with ease and motioned the girl to take his arm. He pulled her up and maneuvered her so that they were both as comfortable as possible.
“Don’t fall off now; we’ve got a long ride ahead of us.”
He kicked his heels into the pony’s side and it took off; the girl instinctively wrapping her arms around the warrior’s waist; the warmth of his body surprisingly soothing.
As they galloped across the steppes, she watched the caravan fade away; the trail of smoke spiraling to the heavens.
“Goodbye, momma; goodbye.”