Short Stories

A Sketch of Azar Mage (Vignette)(The Dream Stance)

All was still in the land of Drearth, but it was far from peaceful. There Azar stood, amongst the malodor of the deceased that rose throughout the field. Murky crimson stained the once viridian grasslands, including her own spilt blood that soiled her mucky and tattered clothing. Her chest heaved from the loss of breath as she gazed over the scene with her tawny, somber eyes. Her left hand clung tightly to her weapon of choice, the spilt blood glistening as it dripped off the sharpened edge. She tossed her head up towards the heavens, her olive skin now bright within the light of divinity. Her hair, ragged and dark like a blade of ebony, fell behind her, grazing her shoulder blades, whist her shredded bangs hid the cut that tricked down her temple. She drove her weapon into the soil, her knees faltering seconds later, and held on tightly to the hilt of it as her legs met the cool dirt and grass. Her rosehip lips quivered as her eyes mourned silently. At the sound of a soldier calling her name, her stature changed, now demanding respect and displayed loyalty. Her muscles wailed with the adrenaline missing, but she hung her head upright. For no one must know she was honestly, a human girl.