Great British Create Off

Is this the life we deserve?

"Easy Rolska." The fire-mare snorted and pulled at the bit in impatience. "You know that old trout hates being rushed." Rider and steed stood waiting at the door to a large manor house, too large in Brysk's opinion, no one person should have all that without being completely and utterly mad or depressed. Or arrogant. They had been waiting for the release form for about thirty minutes now, and Brysk's mare was not one for standing and waiting. 

Seven years in the academy had been enough to send any of the trainees batty, Brysk included. Now, with a fire-mare and the highest-ranking awards in decades under her belt, the young mercenary was ready to set off and explore the world, and all she had to wait for was the pompous old major who was in charge of their sector to sign her off as qualified for paid work. Rolska, her beloved mare, had found her one day whilst on a training exercise, one that lasted five months, and for some reason had grown so attached to the halfling that Brysk had had to bring her back to the fort, much to the officers' annoyance. 

Finally, a round head poked itself out of the doorway and Brysk practically threw herself off Rolska to grab the letter, sealed with red wax she noticed smugly. She was free. "I will not have my name tarnished by your reckless misgivings-"

But Brysk was already away, ignoring the man as a last act of defiance, and Rolska powering beneath her, legs churning up the ground and leaving smoke in her trail. 

****

Life as a mercenary, Brysk discovered quickly, wasn't all that it seemed. Sure she was familiar with the world around her, and by hell was she good at surviving sticky situations, but when it came to actually talking to others and holding herself in a professional manner, by all the Seven Gods, she sucked. Her most recent effort in a town, rather oddly named Asstern, was a memory Brysk would rather happily wipe from her memory. It of course had nothing to do with the burning vendor stall or the lifetime ban from the solitary inn the town possessed, nothing at all. All she needed was one job, then she could start earning her name, proving herself. Yes, what a plan. Her self bolstering was short-lived as the image of flames spreading throughout the market square swam to the front of her head. How was she supposed to know that Rolska snorted flames when she got something up her nose? 

The mare in question tugged gently at the reins, and the leather slipped through Brysk's loose fingers. "I don't know what I'm doing anymore Rol. I'm just a bit lost." It was supposed to be as simple as get a job, complete the job, get paid. Evidently not. 

Rolska started to snort, breathing in the air in a panicking manner, and Brysk snapped to attention, tearing her eyes across the woodland around her. Her heart faltered as she recognised the trees around her. Faskian Forest. It was unmissable, a beautiful landscape covered in moss and growth, filled with shrooms and magic was heavy in the air - the taste on her tongue was more metallic than many of the places she'd visited. Every kind of animal imaginable lived here, and unfortunately, that included all the beasts no one wanted to hear about, never mind see, as confirmed by the breathing Brysk could hear right behind her. 

Hiding was out of the question, anything could feel Rolska's heat miles off, and running wouldn't be a smart idea with all the fallen logs and rocks hidden underfoot. Fighting it was then. Just as Brysk was about to pull her bow, a gift from her combat trainer, from her back, a bright light filled the air and that breathing disappeared along with the beast itself. Brysk flung an arm over her eyes to shield herself from the light, but it did very little. 

"Hoy stranger!" The mercenary looked up from behind her forearm and baulked at the sight before her. 

It was the oddest gathering of creatures she had ever seen. She had seen some of the different races that populated their continent of Mahl'orth, dwarves selling ores and gems in the city marketplace who had been shuffling around as though anxious to be in such an open space, gnomes and goblins arguing over a pouch of gold coins outside a hut in the middle of the woods, and even the flitting of wood elves as they practically flew through the trees, bows in hand. In fact, Brysk had even once seen a dragon, scales shimmering in the moonlight, as it flew overhead. That was close enough in her opinion, Brysk hearing enough horror stories about dragons to know to stay away. 

That didn't seem to work here though, because perched behind the odd gaggle of souls was a jewel-encrusted face of a reptilian species she had wished she'd never have to face. It's colour was unclear in the shadows of the forest but in all honesty, Brysk didn't care. Rolska sensed her worry and stamped her foot, eager to be away, but before they could run from the group, the metallic taste became even heavier. Shit! That was a spell! In the seconds she realised what was happening both Brysk and fire-mare were stuck, unable to move, unable to talk. 

"You have nothing to worry about, we just wanted to talk." Just talk my ass, if that's the case why did you spell me?

"We needed to make sure you wouldn't bolt." Now that Brysk actually took in the speaker, she paled. He was an elf. He gave her a knowing smile, his white hair tied back in braids swaying as he tilted his head forwards. "We have something we need you for. You are a mercenary correct?"

How did they- 

"We saw ye' fire calami'y ye' dimwi'!" 

The elf scowled and turned to face the dwarf who'd spoken up. He was covered in heavy armour and bore a large axe, certainly an intimidating personality, even if his stature wasn't so. 

"Hold your tongue Orik." As the dwarf opened his mouth to continue arguing, another figure stepped forwards, leaving the group behind to pull apart the elf and dwarf. 

"I'm sorry about those, two. The animosity between dwarf and elf never really settled." The woman cast a withering look towards the two. She was tall and lean, almost elf-like, but it was the roundness of her ears that gave her away as human, and pureblooded, unlike Brysk. The woman gave a sympathetic gaze. "I'm Lucia, the glue of the group if I'm being perfectly honest. We have been looking for you for a while." She must have seen the confusion in Brysk's eyes because she chuckled. "No, not specifically you, more like someone to fit the description we needed." A shadow covered her gaze and rocks started to shake at her feet. "We need you to fight."

****

Fights are messy and dirty, each person trying to gain the upper hand in any way to win. Brysk was used to them. She wasn't used to the pure carnage that was a war. Things had happened so quickly - she had been swallowed by the group and introduced to each and every one of them. Every person was different and wonderful in their own right, and now they were dying. Blood filled the air in a mist, mud had engrained itself into one of her eyes hours ago and she hadn't had the chance to wipe it away. Rolska had been a powerhouse beneath her, and Brysk was never more glad to have the mare by her side. They stormed through the enemy, ploughing them down like corn to a scythe, creatures both human and magical alike falling to either arrow, blade or flame. 

At some point, Brysk had gotten past the utterly gutwrenching sickness that had consumed her at the first fell of her sword and now she felt numb to it. Maybe that was even worse. As she plunged her sword into another body, the deafening rush of dragon fire rained down hundreds of metres from where she was battling, the swirl of fire lifting with the pounding of wings soaring into the sky. Lucia had no mercy, she was ruthless, and riding that dragon, there was nothing stopping her from utter destruction. Aldon, the elf she had taken a wonderful kinship to when regaling about her heritage of elven blood, had fallen to an orcs mace. Brysk had cried out in agony, pain slicing into her like a hot knife for her lost friend, and had hauled Rolska around to tear the creature apart. The fire-mare had burnt it to a crisp. 

She had lost sight of the others near the beginning of the battle, all hell breaking loose after the quiet anticipation of the enemy upon that hill. The only sound back then was the nervous pawing of horses hooves, now it was a loud ringing swimming like her head was underwater. 

This was what her life would be, fighting for her life and stealing others, and suddenly the image of a young elven halfling bouncing in excitement at the thought of a life of gallant tales and heroic stories seemed foolish. All that was left was the screaming of horses as they fell, yells of men, elf, dwarf and orc alike, and the burning smell of flesh as it filled the air. She wouldn't wake from this nightmare, she wouldn't leave this battlefield now. How would she face herself after this massacre?