Fiction: Temple of Ruin
Sep. 16th, 2013 03:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_ivorytower posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
worldofbalanceI keep wanting to call it fan fiction, but it's not because it's original. Gaspu.
"Xiao Xiao..."
"Not now," he muttered. His dark, narrow gaze was locked on the page, even as the dim candlelight flickered, though the air was thin and dead here. His ruddy brow furrowed in concetration. The words were lengthy and complex, filled with syllabic traps.
"You really may want to--"
"Hush!" he hissed. He dared not touch the pages with his fingers. They were too fragile. He gently inserted a wafer so that he could slowly turn to the next section. Slowly, far too slowly.
The ancient tome of Narathiel the Death-Binder could not be moved. It has sat in the Temple of Ruin for one hundred years exactly, drawing Life from all around it, creating a vast, desolate waste in the already sparse Adylan Scrublands. It was rumoured to be guarded, of course, and that is why he had brought the irritating, interfering--
"Xiao Xiao! Get your head out of that damned dusty book and pay attention!"
He snarled, and turned around. "What is it, Jean?!"
Jean, the bodyguard he'd brought with him -- for the extremely affordable price of promises and guilt -- pointed towards the entrance of the Death-Binder's chamber. Past the silvered gauntlet of his hand, Xiao Xiao could see a large, steady stream of shambling figures. Humanoid in shape, they were composed of the final regrets of the dead: deeds undone, loves lost, opportunities dissolved like so much salt mixed into water. He could feel it, all of their agony.
"Looks like those rumours about there being an army of the dead here are true," Jean said, smirking at Xiao Xiao. "Just you and me, huh? Your cheapness will get us both killed."
"You could leave," Xiao Xiao pointed out, taking out a book of his own. "I can handle it."
"What? Mother would kill me," Jean pointed out to his younger brother, and settled his sword and shield in front of him. The guttering candlelight illuminated his ruddy face and identical, almond-shaped dark eyes briefly before they blew out.
"Don't say I'm not generous," Xiao Xiao replied, holding up the book. "Armies of the Death-Binder, recognize me as your new master, and you shall be spared a second death!"
The dead moaned as one and advanced.
"Fine," the necromancer said with a fierce grin. "We'll do this the hard way."
"Xiao Xiao..."
"Not now," he muttered. His dark, narrow gaze was locked on the page, even as the dim candlelight flickered, though the air was thin and dead here. His ruddy brow furrowed in concetration. The words were lengthy and complex, filled with syllabic traps.
"You really may want to--"
"Hush!" he hissed. He dared not touch the pages with his fingers. They were too fragile. He gently inserted a wafer so that he could slowly turn to the next section. Slowly, far too slowly.
The ancient tome of Narathiel the Death-Binder could not be moved. It has sat in the Temple of Ruin for one hundred years exactly, drawing Life from all around it, creating a vast, desolate waste in the already sparse Adylan Scrublands. It was rumoured to be guarded, of course, and that is why he had brought the irritating, interfering--
"Xiao Xiao! Get your head out of that damned dusty book and pay attention!"
He snarled, and turned around. "What is it, Jean?!"
Jean, the bodyguard he'd brought with him -- for the extremely affordable price of promises and guilt -- pointed towards the entrance of the Death-Binder's chamber. Past the silvered gauntlet of his hand, Xiao Xiao could see a large, steady stream of shambling figures. Humanoid in shape, they were composed of the final regrets of the dead: deeds undone, loves lost, opportunities dissolved like so much salt mixed into water. He could feel it, all of their agony.
"Looks like those rumours about there being an army of the dead here are true," Jean said, smirking at Xiao Xiao. "Just you and me, huh? Your cheapness will get us both killed."
"You could leave," Xiao Xiao pointed out, taking out a book of his own. "I can handle it."
"What? Mother would kill me," Jean pointed out to his younger brother, and settled his sword and shield in front of him. The guttering candlelight illuminated his ruddy face and identical, almond-shaped dark eyes briefly before they blew out.
"Don't say I'm not generous," Xiao Xiao replied, holding up the book. "Armies of the Death-Binder, recognize me as your new master, and you shall be spared a second death!"
The dead moaned as one and advanced.
"Fine," the necromancer said with a fierce grin. "We'll do this the hard way."
