Evening folks, I haven’t written any fiction for a while. This is just a scene that formed in my head but didn’t have a longer story attached to it.
She floundered in the steaming mud, her steel breastplate and pauldrons threatening to drag her down and drown her in the mire. Elena looked around, a furious confusion etched on her scorched, feminine features. She spat up her own blood.
Her amour creaked as it cooled, steam pouring off her striken frame and all around her was the stench of boiling death.
To her left lay Anzogh, his green flesh paled by the boiling torrent that had consumed him. To her right Scarlett was crawling haphazardly towards one of her scimitars, desperately stretching for the hilt. The steaming fog engulfed her and Elena heard a sickening meat-cleaver squelch as a heavy, unseen blade hacked through Scarlett’s flimsy leather armour.
Elena struggled to channel her mana, the potent energy that unusually surged through her felt somehow compressed and choked, like a rose throttled by all-encompassing weeds.
Heavy, unfamiliar footsteps approached and Elena’s fury began to pass into panic as she slipped again and fell into the mud. She dug her once-proud blades into the earth, desperate to find some kind of solid point.
The fog began to drift away and three shapes loomed towards her, their uncanny silhouettes stirring dread in her breast.
She goggled at the trio as they emerged - on the left, a musketeer with a rakish hat and flamboyant feather, on the right a girl wearing the garb of an ocean nomad and with hair that flowed like surf on the shores of Windermer and in the middle…
The forest goddess looked down at her from her powerful, uneven frame - all her mass and power concentrated in her upper body. Her alien eyes locked gaze with Elena and despite the quiet, confident smile on her lips her eyes showed no pity.
“I will fight you!” Shouted Elena, her voice cracking, betraying the terror welling up from within.
“Many have tried” purred the Goddess, golden eyes never leaving Elena’s tortured face.
“You are too slow” stated the girl with a trilling voice.
“Au revoir” said the musketeer.
Elena didn’t see the flash of his rapier, but grabbed her throat with her mud-encrusted fingers even as the blood began to coarse down her elegant neck.
The three allies spoke amongst themselves, oblivious as the Captain of the Royal Guard gurgled at their feet as she bled out.
“Just one left, ‘Richard’ they call him”
“Some of the people say he is a giant”
“Do not fear, friends, when we ruin him, they will see that he is a very small giant…”
Lots of other other stories are in The Library