Realm of Holocene, a Game of Thrones-esque world with fewer politics and more creatures. Mystical and Believable.
Aden El-Rahm, a young sellsword with a -cool, calm, and confident- demeanor who holds a debauchery secret, finds himself facing a fate...
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Aden scanned the battlefield, looking for an opening amidst the chaos. His gaze settled on the eastern side, where skirmishes seemed fewer and farther between. Without a moment's hesitation, Aden broke into a sprint, his booted feet pounding the blood-soaked earth, hoping to find a path to safety.
His powerful strides ate up the ground, carrying him ever closer to that elusive path of escape. Aden's eyes strained against the roiling smoke, searching for any sign of an ambush or barrier.
However, his advance was abruptly halted by three enemy soldiers blocking his way. Undeterred, Aden charged forward, gripping his sword with renewed determination.
As he closed the distance, Aden feinted to the left, attempting to catch one of the soldiers off guard with a swift strike. But to his surprise, the enemy soldier deflected his blade with ease, parrying the attack as if anticipating his every move.
Shit, what the...? Did he deflect my strike?
The tactic that had served him well against common enemy soldiers seemed ineffective against these adversaries. Aden realized quickly that these were no ordinary foes.
Abandoning his sword momentarily, Aden snatched up a spear lying beside the charred remains of a fallen cavalryman and an orc. The acrid stench of burnt flesh assailed his nostrils, serving as a grim reminder of the consequences of failure – a fate he had no intention of sharing.
As he gripped the spear, Aden felt a pang of conviction, recalling Ruhim's teachings about the importance of honoring the dead through proper burial rites. But such thoughts were quickly pushed aside as the three soldiers advanced, their eyes studying the way Aden held his new weapon, his thumbs pointed towards the spear's deadly tip.
"Ah, look what we've got here," one of the soldiers remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "A fellow Jinn."
In an instant, Aden understood. Their ability to deflect his strikes and read his movements – these were no ordinary soldiers. They were Jinns, like himself, trained in the same ancient ways of combat and bound by the same codes of honor.
A wry smile tugged at the corner of Aden's lips as he realized the challenge that lay before him. Facing opponents who shared his skill and knowledge would require more than mere trickery. This would be a true test of his abilities, a clash of blades and wits that could only be settled through pure mastery of the Jinn arts.
"Great," Aden scoffed.
What are the odds? to run into fellow Jinns in enemy rank, three of them, in the middle of escape, with wyverns chasing his back—out of the frying pan into the fire.
With a deep breath, Aden shifted his stance, centering himself as he prepared to engage his fellow Jinns in battle. This was no longer a skirmish against faceless foes; it was a duel of honor, a dance of steel and steel that would determine the fate of those who walked the path of the warrior.
