Post by Lisa on Feb 5, 2010 20:26:08 GMT 10
Title: The Finality of Failure
Rating: PG
Length: 460 words
Competitor: Wyldon
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: The rescue mission doesn’t go as Kel planned, and Wyldon has to face the consequences
They had waited at the riverside for five days after Hollyrose and the refugees returned. It had been for naught – not one cursed person crossed again. After a day and a half of pacing, Wyldon was relieved to have the Wildmage show up, offering to fly over the Scanran border to investigate.
He didn’t want a third mistake credited to his tenure as the district commander. Through numb lips he asked if she could gather the information without crossing the border, and watched as she seemed to fall into a trance. She’d said her mind was inhabiting a golden eagle who had an eyrie nearby, and that he would fly over in her stead, following the path the young knights had described.
He waited, fists clenched, and stared at the younger woman. He wanted some sign of relief to cross her face, but she remained still. It reminded him of that cursed polite expression that Mindelan wore when she had every reason to kick and scream.
When Daine finally came back to awareness in her own body, her eyes were troubled. “It was a slaughter,” she whispered. “No one survived.”
He listened to the details, asking her to map out the path they had traversed, and left the tent he’d been staying in for the last three days. Outside the sky was bright, stinging his eyes. Jesslaw. Queenscove.
Mindelan. His own mistakes had led to the nation’s loss of the most promising knight – the most promising person – he’d ever had the opportunity to train.
Duke Baird and Raoul of Goldenlake stood by a fire, talking in low voices. He did not meet the duke’s eyes – he did not want to answer the question that would surface within them. “I have to write letters,” he announced to no one in particular. “Jesslaw, Mindelan – their families have to be informed.”
Goldenlake looked at him fiercely, rage in his hard eyes. “I’ll be tendering my resignation,” Wyldon told him. His second in three years’ time. “I’ll stay on until a replacement is assigned.” He recalled the larger man’s cold words: If she dies, Mithros forgive you. I never will. Wyldon did not want the god’s forgiveness. Nor Raoul’s. He could hardly ask for something he was not willing to offer himself.
As he walked back toward his tent, determined to ignore the duke’s grief – he’d lost yet another son, and the one he’d been the closest to – he thought about Mindelan and what she’d done for the nation. She’d taken her assignment more seriously than anyone could’ve imagined. But he should’ve imagined it.
“Let’s pack up,” he said to one of the soldiers. “We know where Blayce the Gallan is.” For what it was worth, she’d given them that, with her final sacrifice.
Rating: PG
Length: 460 words
Competitor: Wyldon
Round/Fight: 1/A
Summary: The rescue mission doesn’t go as Kel planned, and Wyldon has to face the consequences
They had waited at the riverside for five days after Hollyrose and the refugees returned. It had been for naught – not one cursed person crossed again. After a day and a half of pacing, Wyldon was relieved to have the Wildmage show up, offering to fly over the Scanran border to investigate.
He didn’t want a third mistake credited to his tenure as the district commander. Through numb lips he asked if she could gather the information without crossing the border, and watched as she seemed to fall into a trance. She’d said her mind was inhabiting a golden eagle who had an eyrie nearby, and that he would fly over in her stead, following the path the young knights had described.
He waited, fists clenched, and stared at the younger woman. He wanted some sign of relief to cross her face, but she remained still. It reminded him of that cursed polite expression that Mindelan wore when she had every reason to kick and scream.
When Daine finally came back to awareness in her own body, her eyes were troubled. “It was a slaughter,” she whispered. “No one survived.”
He listened to the details, asking her to map out the path they had traversed, and left the tent he’d been staying in for the last three days. Outside the sky was bright, stinging his eyes. Jesslaw. Queenscove.
Mindelan. His own mistakes had led to the nation’s loss of the most promising knight – the most promising person – he’d ever had the opportunity to train.
Duke Baird and Raoul of Goldenlake stood by a fire, talking in low voices. He did not meet the duke’s eyes – he did not want to answer the question that would surface within them. “I have to write letters,” he announced to no one in particular. “Jesslaw, Mindelan – their families have to be informed.”
Goldenlake looked at him fiercely, rage in his hard eyes. “I’ll be tendering my resignation,” Wyldon told him. His second in three years’ time. “I’ll stay on until a replacement is assigned.” He recalled the larger man’s cold words: If she dies, Mithros forgive you. I never will. Wyldon did not want the god’s forgiveness. Nor Raoul’s. He could hardly ask for something he was not willing to offer himself.
As he walked back toward his tent, determined to ignore the duke’s grief – he’d lost yet another son, and the one he’d been the closest to – he thought about Mindelan and what she’d done for the nation. She’d taken her assignment more seriously than anyone could’ve imagined. But he should’ve imagined it.
“Let’s pack up,” he said to one of the soldiers. “We know where Blayce the Gallan is.” For what it was worth, she’d given them that, with her final sacrifice.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!