Lenmal felt sweat running down his skin, burning in the humid swamp. He and his soldiers were forced into the hell hole of Drapevine, a tiny, marshy swamplands in the north. Lenmal remembered when he had been informed of the Slaughter at Lemide when the garrison was overrun by hundreds of tribesmen, leaving the city and its protectors little more than a pile of ashes. In the summer, Lenmal remembered at night how he and his brother would try to sneak past the small garrison and guards, dashing and laughing through the night while no one watched. Together they used to run to the nearby town of Benar, where they would mess with the old farmer, stealing his horses and throwing mud or horse dung at his house, and then slipping back home to Lemide before their parents awoke.
Better times, he thought, far better than it was now anyways. He wanted to feel, but no matter what he couldn’t. He didn’t feel himself any more. What was there anymore? All he had was in Lenime, his father and mother, everyone he knew, or used to know anyways. He looked over the wooden bridge he was standing on, at the green marshy river flowing under him. He put his arms on the ropes, the bridge gently shaking as soldiers passed behind him, walking to the other side of the Marmouds, the city of two islands, as it was nicknamed, and where he was stationed to defend against any rogue tribesmen. His eyes drifted from the river to the small, stone prison which sat under the bridge, built into Esagon, the bigger island of the Marmouds. Four thick iron bars creating a window sat barely above water level, with hands and faces tightly pressed against them. The faces were hard to make out, but Lenmal could see one, distinctive face. The man's face had long black hair, with two long scars making an X across his face. In one eye he appeared blind, as it was completely blind, while the other was yellow. He had a rough, black beard which barely hung below his jaw. The man stared at the river, but quickly stared straight into Lenmal's eyes, grunting and yelling in a foreign language, echoing up to the bridge. Lenmal looked away, hastily walking in the opposite direction, towards Repela, the smaller of the Marmouds.
A large arm swung around Lenmal's neck, yanking him back towards the edge of the bridge. Lenmal gasped for air, flailing his arms around. He swung his fists behind his head, smacking into his attacker. Breathing became harder and harder. Lenmal squirmed more and more, kicking back. The arm slipped, Lenmal throwing one last fist behind him, until it was entirely off. Lenmal gasped, catching his breath, pulling himself up and steadying his grip with the ropes. He gazed over the edge. In the river below, a small cloaked man darted across the water towards Repela, a light green hood and some light armor covering his back. Lenmal ran to the low beaches of Repela, hoping to catch the man before he escaped.
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The Ghost of the North
FantasyThe Ghost of the North is a fantasy world with. rich, vast history and many different regions , people , religions , and cultures. the world is far from harmonious , but it's *relatively * peaceful, people grow richer and richer , the army is supp...