The Sword of Glass, Chapter 1 Part 2
Everything had happened in an instant. Ferathavel, with a single, powerful flap of his wings, launched himself and rode the air current generated by the dragon's intake of breath, and grabbed Ellithiel, trying to get as close to the dragon as he can. At the same time, the dragon brought its head forward, unleashing its freezing breath on an entire half of the large cavern. Never in his fifty years of life had Ferathavel ever seen such a display of power. He hovered in midair just under the dragon's neck, out of range of the devastating cone of freezing energy, and yet he could still feel the bite of the cold as he watched an entire half of the cavern, including the area where he and Ellithiel were standing only seconds before, become glazed over with a thick layer of ice. He watched, and didn't believe for a second that they could have possibly survived such an attack. He looked down to the form he held in his arms, that of the unconscious Ellithiel. She had fainted, but she seemed alright. He knew that he had no choice but to escape.
He got ready for a shallow dive, a desperate maneuver that would hopefully bring him and Ellithiel out of the entrance to the cave before the dragon could use its breath weapon again. He looked to the exit, the only hope for them to survive the encounter, took a deep breath, and dove, folding his wings to allow the fastest speed towards the exit, which now only seemed a light in the distance.
He did not notice that he could no longer hear the howl of the wind. He did not notice that the light streaming through the entrance of the cavern was not distorted only because of the sting in his eyes from the dragon's breath, but because of a wall of ice that had formed, blocking most of the cave entrance and leaving only a small opening, too small for either of them to fit through.
He did not notice, of course, until he was barely fifteen feet from the wall of ice, too late to stop his desperate dive.
His mind raced, and purely on reflex, he let go of one of the hands that held Ellithiel and drew his sword, putting it in between him and the wall of ice preventing his escape.
The sword was an elven moonblade, called so because of the moonstone fastened into the base of it's perfectly crafted mithral hilt. Its blade was about the same length as a common longsword, though it was less than half its width, and was made out of a mithral-adamantine alloy, a perfect combination of the lightest and strongest metals in all the Realms. But, what was truly special about this sword was not its name or its make, but its origins and powers. Elven moonblades are family heirlooms that can only be wielded by elves with the same blood as the blades original wielder, and have incredible power, depending on the wielder--but only once the moonblade has awakened to the elf who wishes to wield it, and that has not yet happened for Ferathavel's. Not until now.
All he could think of was her. He wanted more than anything at that moment to save her, to bring her away from that place and that monster, to bring her back home. He hated himself at that moment for allowing such a thing to happen, for allowing her to be put in such danger. His intentions were pure, and the moonblade heard the call of his soul.
The moonstone exploded in a pure white light, bathing everything in its glow. The blade followed soon after, exploding with light a fraction of a second later, with the same intensity as the previous blast and Ferathavel had to close his eyes to protect his eyes. Behind him, he heard the dragon roar in pain, and he felt something give way in front of him, he heard a sound from the area in front of his hand, not the sound of a sword snapping in two, but the sound similar to that of shattering glass, only much louder, like an incredibly large sheet of glass that was dropped from the top of the highest temple tower in Aerie.
He flew out of the new exit, only to be greeted by a powerful gust of wind, knocking him and Ellithiel powerfully to the side. He found himself rolling in the snow, and Ellithiel far to his side. With a great effort, he got up to his feet and plowed through the ankle-deep snow, picked Ellithiel's prone form up once more, then he found shelter from the wind behind a rock outcropping. He tried to look around for the peak that Aerie was, but the clouds had obscured his vision, and to make matters worse, he heard a familiar sound from inside the cave-- a roar so powerful that it was not scattered by the wind.
It was not a roar of pain, but one of rage. The roar was soon followed by another, he felt the ground shake when the dragon began to move towards the cave entrance. A moment of tension passed, when the only sound that Ferathavel could hear was the soft whisper of the wind, which had died down slightly, then, what remained of the wall of ice that sealed the entrance was destroyed, shattered completely by the weight and strength of the dragon that crashed through it. Another roar escaped from its mouth, just as powerful as the previous one, but Ferathavel held his ground, knowing that the power of his ancestors was with him, thinking that he had the chance he needed to defeat the monster.
The dragon raised its head, taking an incredibly deep breath, charging up its signature power. Ferathavel raised his sword in front of him, putting its pommel, with its glowing moonstone, in front of his face, and it began to shine again. This time, it had a different kind of glow, one that radiated a feeling of security instead of the ferocity and power it radiated before. Ferathavel secured his feet to the ground and braced himself.
The dragon brought its head forward, unleashing its devastating breath once more.
Ferathavel expected the impact to knock him from his feet, but what he saw instead amazed him even more than the spectacle of the dragon's might. The blast of freezing cold flew straight towards him, but instead of hitting him, it went around him and over him, temporarily obscuring his vision of everything around him, as if a veil of white was suddenly draped around his eyes. He expected to freeze from the cold, but what he felt was the exact opposite. He felt warmth emanating from the sword's hilt, enveloping him in a feeling of comfort, and sealing him in a shell of protection. It would be hard, but he could win this battle.
* * End of Part 2 * *
I only got my internet back just now, and I'm too sleepy to do anything else... Again, please comment.
4 comments:
Awesome XD
Your writing style is really good, and the story is getting quite interesting. I can't wait to see what happens. XD :D Please update soon!
Hope you can write more. Yeah it's hard to think names but it is worth the effort
I like the action. You're able to describe movement without being repetitive or boring. Try to avoid going into an aside to explain what an object is, though. Let the narration do that.
Keep in mind that dragons are smarter than most humans, and judging from the size of this one, it's at least a Great Wyrm. That means he should be casting spells too. They'd be utterly doomed against one, too. D: A Great Wyrm White can cast Control Weather.
Better than part 1. Pacing and wordiness still need a lot of work, but it flows better than the first part. Don't beat your audience over the head with stuff, like describing the ice falling. Give them credit enough that you can hint things without making them so clear a three-year-old would get it. Go back to clarify later if you have to.
Don't stop action to explain what happens, as another poster said. Instead, let things happen, then explain them afterward in narration, or have the character think back to something. You can also cover a lot of metaphorical ground by not making things clear as they happen and dealing with the reveal later, when it fits better.
Keep going, and you may well hit your stride.
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