The Broken Realm

Prologue

A roar broke through the night, shattering the silence like broken glass. Sixteen feet tall, its skin a mottled greyish brown, the beast resembled a miniature hill. Its muscled arms and legs were short compared to its body, but thick as ale barrels.

Why did it have to be an ogre, thought the man as he drew his sword. Its blade glimmered in the moonlight with wicked purpose. He dashed forward, like an arrow unleashed, slashing with preciseness at the ogre's leg. Or rather, the leg tendon that controlled its movement. A thin cut emerged on its leather-like skin, the slightest tint of red seeping out.

Too shallow, he mused. Again. He sprinted forward, his form minuscule against the giant before him. He heard, rather than saw it coming – a deep growl and the whistle of something large rushing towards him. Instinctively, he slid under the hammer-like fist and lashed out once more at the open wound. This time, the steel dug deep. An enraged howl rang out as the ogre twisted to catch the gnat that tormented it so. Unfortunately, its injured leg was uncooperative and it fell onto one knee.

The man stepped back to his horse and withdrew his bow. It was crafted from flexible, slender catoblepas horn and basilisk sinew. Pulling back an arrow, he fired with practised ease. With the beast incapacitated, the arrow flew straight and true, burying itself shaft deep into its eye. This time, there was no roar, only a loud thump as the ogre collapsed. With his bow in hand, the man strode towards his fallen foe in satisfaction.

A sudden movement startled him as a large hand swiped at him. The brute had been playing dead! The man shielded himself with the bow. The impact knocked him back, stumbling as he tried to catch his balance. The ogre raised its head, pouncing towards the man on one good leg, arms outstretched. He dropped his bow and rolled to the side, drawing his longsword once more. With a great running leap, he landed on its knee, using it as a stepping stone to push himself on the back of its neck. Inhumanly fast, his blade stabbed into the remaining eye of the ogre like a needle through linen. Withdrawing his sword, the man launched himself off the ogre, spinning gracefully as he landed.

The beast swayed and fell, shaking the ground with its weight. The man swung blood and other fluids from his sword before sheathing it. He picked up his abandoned bow and groaned. A large crack ran down the upper limb of his bow. Ruined, he thought in dismay. Tossing it aside, he returned to his steed, a magnificent black destrier.

"There's a good girl," he murmured, stroking the horse gently. "Let's be off then, Nightmare!" The path ahead twisted and bent like a yellow ribbon of dust through tree and rock, into the horizon. The man mounted Nightmare in a single bound and spurred her forward. And so it begins more once.