Despite getting off to a slow start this month while preparing a new kind of content, I knew I still needed to spin a tale for my patrons. Thankfully, I was able to leverage one of my short draw videos to inspire a full fantasy story. While the details of that pull will be revealed in its corresponding short, patrons are getting the very first glimpse into what the video will truly highlight.
What happens when the sacred and the desperate collide? This story drops us into the aftermath of a brutal skirmish, where a commander and the battered remnants of his company stand entrenched at the edge of a forest they once swore never to defile. Above them, dragons circle, while the bodies of their fallen lie behind them.
Find a seat and settle in as we explore the mindset of this ravaged collection of soldiers, poised between two unbearable choices.
It’s a tale of broken vows, impossible decisions, and the thin, bloody line between devotion and duty. Below is the opening excerpt. If it stirs something in you, consider becoming a patron to read the full story. Otherwise, enjoy this teaser, and the glimpse what’s to come.
The sun hovered over the jagged peaks of the canopy. Fading sunlight bounced off the hides of the circling creatures, high above the treetops. Smoke from the forest’s edge barely deterred the airborne monsters. Captain Rhys Allond covered his nose, blocking the stench of blood hanging in the air.
He leaned against his spear as he shook his head. He straightened his back, his pitted weapon groaning under his weight. Another dragon broke through the canopy as its roar echoed off the trees. The latest addition brought the number of flying beasts to five. Each beast bore a different hue, their scales reflecting the dying light, yet the faint shimmer of pale gold on one of them filled Rhys and his soldiers with terror.
His breath rattled inside his chest as he turned back toward the remnants of the Fourth Company. Only a dozen men stood nearby, shoulders slumped beneath the weight of their scorched mail. Aside from them, another handful kneeled in the mud nursing the fallen, whispering prayers for comrades who’d never rise. Most of their shields were strewn about the area, shattered or splintered. The surviving banner was an unrecognizable patch of charred cloth. Their healers were busy tending to those near death, and their faith was tested by the initial battle.
“They’re circling,” he said, half to himself. Yet he turned to see a thin-faced child clutching a trumpet at his side. Rhys swallowed hard, the taste of soot filling his throat. “They know we’re alive.”
“That means they’ll be returning…” the boy said, his voice coming close to breaking, “to finish off the survivors.”
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