Your support makes Blue Moon possible (Patreon)
Lady Jace Beleren
Don't Feed the Pervert
- Joined
- Jul 2, 2014
- Location
- United States, East Coast
The screams of the soldiers and the sound of his own heart. Those were the two things that blocked out everything else. Incanda was a never-ending tide and he was here to stop it. Him and all the knights who rode beside him, all the soldiers in formation behind them. If they fell here, their homes would be next. They had no chance of survival. They just needed to make sure that their enemy did not, either. They needed more time.
Somewhere down the line, his captain raised his sword and cried out.
"Charge!"
---
Dimitri knew it was almost over. It felt like someone had filled his lungs with glass, acid burning every single muscle he could still feel. There was a gash somewhere in his side, right where the armor fastened. He was still luckier than most of his comrades. All of them, if his quick glances were any indication. There were only a few people on their feet, and none of them wore his colors. None had the black armor and red cloak that all of the knights of Vensel had put on this morning. No, all he could see were the three remaining enemies ahead of him, wearing Incanda's livery.
It felt like agony as he pulled his spear from the chest of the mage he had finally managed to catch off guard. It had cost him his last comrade and his horse, but the second biggest threat was dealt with. The mages were the real danger when it came to Incanda, their real strength. Their soldiers were poorly trained, guards who protected the artillery. And the two men who stood between him and the red haired woman were not what he worried about. The last mage. She needed to die before she caught her breath, before she could use more magic and rip him apart.
So, he charged. Spear tucked close to his side, Dimitri kept the tip forward, straight and unwavering despite his muscles begging him to stop. They were smart enough to stay their ground and not rush into his weapon, but not enough to expect his feint. A jab forward to make them raise their blades, then he turned his whole body, swinging wide with the blunt end of the weapon. The first soldier took it to the jaw, stumbling into his comrade. Dimitri kept the momentum of the spin and sank the point into his chest before he could recover, before he could untangle himself from his ally.
The second did not even have time to shrug off the dead weight before Dimitri swiped the spearhead sideways and opened his throat. He knew how he must look. Armor soaked in blood, metal and wood all slick with it. They had been fighting for hours and he knew he looked like some kind of demon. Good. The mage deserved to be afraid.
A hard boot to the chest toppled the two men, now leaning against one another as the last gasps of life left them. Dimitri stepped over them, nearly stumbling as he forced his exhausted body to keep moving. All he needed to do was kill one more mage. He was just so tired.
The mage stepped back as he approached, spear slowly moving up as he took his stance. She was doing something, trying to summon up the last dregs of her magic to melt him inside his armor no doubt. But, it did not matter. He was too close for anything refined. At best, they might both die. He raised his spear and sucked in a breath, prepared for the end, when the mage took a clumsy step back and stumbled.
A bright flash as the magic went out of control. Then, everything went black.
---
Dimitri Cartier had not been born into a noble house. In fact, he might have never held a sword in his life had Incanda not started to push their way across the continent. When it began, Vensel had been unconcerned. Over a thousand miles and two other kingdoms stood between the pair of them. They occasionally heard some of the propaganda, heard that magic would make their lives better, that all they needed to do was swear their loyalty. But, it was not their problem.
When Trembor fell and their ally to the west called for aid, Vensel had finally begun to wake up. That was when the army started to pick any young men they could find and began to train them. Dimitri had been picked for the infantry, had been lined up to receive his bedroll and uniform, when Sir Roderick pulled him aside and declared he would become a squire. Dimitri had not been especially strong or smart, not been very appealing for knighthood. Roderick told him later it had simply been because he was tall. He would have died that same year had he not been lucky enough to be a head taller than the other teenage boys who were carted off.
Four years ago, Vensel had sent a token force to help stop Incanda. Four years ago, they were slaughtered and the war began in earnest. Dimitri spent most of that time moving from military camp to military camp, sleeping in a warm tent and being trained in the ways of the knight. It had been almost... fun. Roderick constantly reminding him that he would be riding off to war any day now, sparring with squires and knights, and constant reports about how Incanda pushed closer to their borders with every massacre they left behind. Magic would save them all, if only they would surrender. Then, eight months ago, he had seen magic for the first time.
At first, Dimitri had thought it was a particularly bright morning. The light was shining through his tent as he woke, burning his eyes. When the screams started, he shoved his way outside just in time to see the ball of fire crash to the ground and explode with more force than anything he had felt in his life. It turned the camp to vapor and Dimitri could only watch, only be grateful he was a squire and was kept near the far edge in case of ambush. Roderick had not been so lucky. And that day, he became Sir Dimitri Cartier, his master's title passing to him in one blinding flash.
It turned out that seeing the horrors of magic firsthand had done wonders to inoculate him. First, he had hunted down the mage who ambushed their camp, though the other squires were even more brutal than he. Then, he was on the killing field within the week, running soldiers through with his spear. He still remembered the first kill, the first man he had attacked with the intent to take a life. It had been so easy, and he hated that more than anything. A monster to stop the monsters, it seemed.
Dimitri found himself shoved onto the front lines, boots deep in mage blood. They were the last line of defense while the capital pulled itself together, recruited more men. If they could stop the advance, maybe they would have a chance. They were rushing to their deaths, but maybe Vensel would survive. Somehow, knowing that the war would likely continue for months, years, after his death, Dimitri did not think it sounded so bad.
---
When he finally woke, Dimitri sucked in a sharp breath. It felt like he had never tasted fresh air before the way his body was starving for it. He was on his back, head throbbing. It took a few blinks to make the world finally come into focus. Hands scrambled against mud and stone as he propped himself up onto his hands, looking around.
There was no sign of the mage. No sign of anyone who was not dead or dying. Only the slight movement in the armor a few feet ahead caught his attention. Another survivor. Pushing onto his feet, he nearly stumbled again, his whole body feeling foreign. They needed to leave, needed to find a way back to Vensel and their commanders. It might have cost nearly every soldier and knight, but Incanda was held for now.
"Brother, can you stand? We need to..."
That was not his voice. When he raised a hand to his throat, there was no armor. Those same hands rose in front of him and he saw delicate, small fingers. When he raised them to his face, he felt a hood and mask, not the helmet he had expected. Too shocked to process the truth, he moved his hands down to touch his body, to tell himself there was no way this was real. And it was certainly not the body of a tall, male knight. All he could do was start at those small hands in mute shock. What had the mage done?
Somewhere down the line, his captain raised his sword and cried out.
"Charge!"
---
Dimitri knew it was almost over. It felt like someone had filled his lungs with glass, acid burning every single muscle he could still feel. There was a gash somewhere in his side, right where the armor fastened. He was still luckier than most of his comrades. All of them, if his quick glances were any indication. There were only a few people on their feet, and none of them wore his colors. None had the black armor and red cloak that all of the knights of Vensel had put on this morning. No, all he could see were the three remaining enemies ahead of him, wearing Incanda's livery.
It felt like agony as he pulled his spear from the chest of the mage he had finally managed to catch off guard. It had cost him his last comrade and his horse, but the second biggest threat was dealt with. The mages were the real danger when it came to Incanda, their real strength. Their soldiers were poorly trained, guards who protected the artillery. And the two men who stood between him and the red haired woman were not what he worried about. The last mage. She needed to die before she caught her breath, before she could use more magic and rip him apart.
So, he charged. Spear tucked close to his side, Dimitri kept the tip forward, straight and unwavering despite his muscles begging him to stop. They were smart enough to stay their ground and not rush into his weapon, but not enough to expect his feint. A jab forward to make them raise their blades, then he turned his whole body, swinging wide with the blunt end of the weapon. The first soldier took it to the jaw, stumbling into his comrade. Dimitri kept the momentum of the spin and sank the point into his chest before he could recover, before he could untangle himself from his ally.
The second did not even have time to shrug off the dead weight before Dimitri swiped the spearhead sideways and opened his throat. He knew how he must look. Armor soaked in blood, metal and wood all slick with it. They had been fighting for hours and he knew he looked like some kind of demon. Good. The mage deserved to be afraid.
A hard boot to the chest toppled the two men, now leaning against one another as the last gasps of life left them. Dimitri stepped over them, nearly stumbling as he forced his exhausted body to keep moving. All he needed to do was kill one more mage. He was just so tired.
The mage stepped back as he approached, spear slowly moving up as he took his stance. She was doing something, trying to summon up the last dregs of her magic to melt him inside his armor no doubt. But, it did not matter. He was too close for anything refined. At best, they might both die. He raised his spear and sucked in a breath, prepared for the end, when the mage took a clumsy step back and stumbled.
A bright flash as the magic went out of control. Then, everything went black.
---
Dimitri Cartier had not been born into a noble house. In fact, he might have never held a sword in his life had Incanda not started to push their way across the continent. When it began, Vensel had been unconcerned. Over a thousand miles and two other kingdoms stood between the pair of them. They occasionally heard some of the propaganda, heard that magic would make their lives better, that all they needed to do was swear their loyalty. But, it was not their problem.
When Trembor fell and their ally to the west called for aid, Vensel had finally begun to wake up. That was when the army started to pick any young men they could find and began to train them. Dimitri had been picked for the infantry, had been lined up to receive his bedroll and uniform, when Sir Roderick pulled him aside and declared he would become a squire. Dimitri had not been especially strong or smart, not been very appealing for knighthood. Roderick told him later it had simply been because he was tall. He would have died that same year had he not been lucky enough to be a head taller than the other teenage boys who were carted off.
Four years ago, Vensel had sent a token force to help stop Incanda. Four years ago, they were slaughtered and the war began in earnest. Dimitri spent most of that time moving from military camp to military camp, sleeping in a warm tent and being trained in the ways of the knight. It had been almost... fun. Roderick constantly reminding him that he would be riding off to war any day now, sparring with squires and knights, and constant reports about how Incanda pushed closer to their borders with every massacre they left behind. Magic would save them all, if only they would surrender. Then, eight months ago, he had seen magic for the first time.
At first, Dimitri had thought it was a particularly bright morning. The light was shining through his tent as he woke, burning his eyes. When the screams started, he shoved his way outside just in time to see the ball of fire crash to the ground and explode with more force than anything he had felt in his life. It turned the camp to vapor and Dimitri could only watch, only be grateful he was a squire and was kept near the far edge in case of ambush. Roderick had not been so lucky. And that day, he became Sir Dimitri Cartier, his master's title passing to him in one blinding flash.
It turned out that seeing the horrors of magic firsthand had done wonders to inoculate him. First, he had hunted down the mage who ambushed their camp, though the other squires were even more brutal than he. Then, he was on the killing field within the week, running soldiers through with his spear. He still remembered the first kill, the first man he had attacked with the intent to take a life. It had been so easy, and he hated that more than anything. A monster to stop the monsters, it seemed.
Dimitri found himself shoved onto the front lines, boots deep in mage blood. They were the last line of defense while the capital pulled itself together, recruited more men. If they could stop the advance, maybe they would have a chance. They were rushing to their deaths, but maybe Vensel would survive. Somehow, knowing that the war would likely continue for months, years, after his death, Dimitri did not think it sounded so bad.
---
When he finally woke, Dimitri sucked in a sharp breath. It felt like he had never tasted fresh air before the way his body was starving for it. He was on his back, head throbbing. It took a few blinks to make the world finally come into focus. Hands scrambled against mud and stone as he propped himself up onto his hands, looking around.
There was no sign of the mage. No sign of anyone who was not dead or dying. Only the slight movement in the armor a few feet ahead caught his attention. Another survivor. Pushing onto his feet, he nearly stumbled again, his whole body feeling foreign. They needed to leave, needed to find a way back to Vensel and their commanders. It might have cost nearly every soldier and knight, but Incanda was held for now.
"Brother, can you stand? We need to..."
That was not his voice. When he raised a hand to his throat, there was no armor. Those same hands rose in front of him and he saw delicate, small fingers. When he raised them to his face, he felt a hood and mask, not the helmet he had expected. Too shocked to process the truth, he moved his hands down to touch his body, to tell himself there was no way this was real. And it was certainly not the body of a tall, male knight. All he could do was start at those small hands in mute shock. What had the mage done?
