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taylorsmiththeauthor · 5 years

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An Empath, A Psychic, & A Human; first chapter

I’ve decided to take some advice from the tumblr writing community and build my empire, so to speak. So here is my first post about writing, despite the fact that I’ve been on this website for over a year lol. Feel free to check out my wattpad, @Real_Taylor_Smith. I’ve also just put up instagram where I’ll be posting news, extra content, and excerpts as well as here! It’s @real.tay.smith and soon I’ll have a website up. A little heads up, this story has a fair amount of foul language, so be warned. Until then, happy reading!

HUMAN

The air in the truck was tense.

No one had really been sure of what we were supposed to fight. The best that had been offered to us were a few blurry pictures of a massive scaly beast with wings, and audio of a terrible scream that seemed to come from the beast. The world quickly claimed that a dragon had somehow come to be – and we were supposed to fight it.

I glanced around me at the faces. They were all of my friends who had signed up to be in reserves, which was part-time military. We all had our reasons; money, benefits, looking good on applications, or whatever. We wanted to serve from the comfort of our homeland, not fight dragons in downtown Toronto, the biggest city in Canada and seventh most populated in the continent.

I took out a picture I always kept in my pocket near my heart; a photo of my girlfriend. It was one of my favourite photos of her, because it captured her almost completely. She was standing on top of a crazy old Mayan ruin, overlooking an ancient plaza, the jungle, and a large river. She grinned at the camera, hands on her hips, smile lines crinkled around her blue eyes, blonde hair escaping from her bun pinned back with a hairpin made by locals. She looked incredibly happy and in awe of the place she was standing on. That had been taken about two years ago on her last March break trip of high school when she went to Belize with the school. I liked to carry the photo in my uniform, remember that she was waiting for me back home.

“Alright pansies, listen up!”

The sharp command from our sergeant had me scrambling to put the photo away as he stood up and handed out new pictures.

“Now I can’t say that I’ve ever fought dragons before, nor have I been taught the protocol, so I don’t really know what to do. But that’s fine because there is one thing I do know – it is our duty to keep this place safe. Toronto has yet to be fully evacuated and the beast is not contained. We still have no idea where the hell it came from or what the hell it is, but we gotta stop it.”

A photo came around to me and I looked at it, my heart plunging into my feet. The thing gripped the top of the CN Tower, green leathery wings spread wide, head open in a snarl, mouth full of jagged teeth. The thing looked huge, at least the size of a T-Rex. I passed the picture.

“Because we have no idea where this fucker is going to go, we’ve set up a perimeter along the Harbour Front, Bloor St, Bathurst, and Don Valley. We’ve got about fifty platoons stationed around to stop wherever this thing decides to go. We’ll be down on King, by the Princess of Wales Theatre. We’ll be there soon so start your praying, because we’ve got a one in fifty chance of being stuck with this beast.”

I looked over to my left and met eyes with one of my oldest friends, Donovan. He, another friend of ours, and myself all joined together. The other friend, Kaiah, was exceedingly lucky as her family had all gone to another city for a funeral. So, Donovan and I were about to face a dragon.

“What’re the odds it has a video-game weak spot?” Donovan asked quietly, “Like, a soft spot on its belly?”

I shrugged, “With your luck, no.”

“Don’t speak of my bad luck, because then we will have to face the damn thing.”

“Knock on wood I guess.”

“Everything near is us metal, so we’re all fucked then.”

We laughed quietly, the impending doom still very much a real threat. We talked for a little bit but soon fell silent and felt the seconds tick past. Far too soon, the sergeant stood up.

“File out in formation!”

We followed, hopping out of the truck and getting into two straight lines, facing east where the monster would be. To my left was the theatre, and I vaguely remembered going to see a play with Hazel. The Curious Incident of the Dog in The Nighttime, I think. Now, all the signs read Hamilton, which I knew Hazel had been dying to see. She said I would like it, but she felt bad because she had already promised Mackenzie she would take her because she was already a huge fan. I smiled, grateful for the memory.

However, I was violently ripped back to reality when I heard a screech. The videos didn’t capture it. Nothing could.

It was as if a T-Rex and a lion roared while someone scraped their nails against a chalkboard and it shook us to our core. I didn’t pray nor did I believe in a god, but I found myself asking that it wouldn’t be us, please let it not be us.

“And just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

My back straightened automatically and I opened my mouth to make an explanation, but it wasn’t me the sergeant was talking to – two weird civilians had wandered into the area.

One of them was Hazel.

She wore a long white dress with bronze breastplates, shoulder pads, arm guards, and gladiator boots. Her dress was styled like an Ancient Greek chiton, and the blonde hair piled up on her head sported a style from the same period. From her back sprouted a massive pair of dove wings, the feathers an opal-esque shade, shining dozens of colours, the edges of the wings covered in bronze. At her hip was a woven belt on which hung several drawstring pouches and a dagger.

The person beside her was dressed just as weirdly, but very differently. Their entire outfit was made of brown leather and bronze plates, and it kind of looked like a rogue from D&D. Like, 90% of the pants were extremely tall leather boots with straps and holsters for knives and other things. The top was a green tunic that went just above their elbows and brushed the top of the boots, under which seemed to be brown hide. They had a brown cloak on top with a hood, a green cloth pulled up over their nose, the same pine green as their eyes. They had a mask on their face seemed to be made of moss, covering the area around their eyes. Little flowers sprouted from it as well as small branches with blossoms out the top, making it look like they had antlers. From what little I could see of them, I could tell they had dark brown skin and a very thick afro. I had no clue whether it was a guy or a girl.

“We’re ordering you to evacuate the area,” Hazel said calmly, arms crossed and hip out to the side. That meant she didn’t want any fooling around.

“Except for you, there aren’t any civilians downtown.”

“As far as we’re concerned, you are civilians.”

“Hey, Crybaby, aren’t they militia?” The other asked.

Hazel looked at them and then at the platoon before turning back to her partner, “No, this is the reserve force, it’s part-time military. Civilians, technically.”

“Oh shit, right. Is that thing you were worried about…?”

“Yes.” Hazel spoke curtly and it seemed like she glanced at me, but it was so fast I couldn’t tell.

“We are official military,” the sergeant said angrily, “and you’re civilians! You need to leave immediately, or I will remove you by force, which I do not wish to do.”

“Just try it,” the partner scoffed, but Hazel shot them a look and they rolled their eyes, maintaining quiet.

“I apologize, but you are unfit to deal with this problem,” Hazel said cooly, “We are, however, very well-versed in dealing with wyverns.”

“And just what the fuck is a wyvern?” The sergeant spat.

“What you’re planning to fight,” the partner said, “and my pal here knows that it’s going to be coming this way, so you better get a fucking move on.”

“How in the hell do you know this?” The sergeant asked, seeming to be unsure.

“Classified.” They spoke in unison.

“So please just leave it to us and get your soldiers out of here,” Hazel said, seeming to be losing her patience.

“I can’t do that!” The sergeant was losing his too, “You’re just a couple of wackos who’ll get yourselves killed and land me in a world of trouble.”

“Quite the opposite, I assure you.” Hazel glared at the sergeant and her partner narrowed their eyes, which made him apprehensive.

“Who the fuck are these people?” Donovan asked beside me.

“You serious?” I said, turning to him, “That’s Hazel, I can’t tell who the other is though because of the mask.”

“What?” Donovan asked, looking at them, “How do you know it’s Hazel? She’s wearing a mask too. And what’s with the wings?”

I opened my mouth when another screech ripped through the air.

“You have three minutes before the wyvern gets here,” Hazel warned, danger in her tone, “So either you let us do our jobs or you die and make it a lot harder for us. But one thing is for sure, we will do what we need to do to take this thing down.”

The sergeant shifted, “Well just because you wear weird clothes and know what this is doesn’t mean that you can defeat it.”

“Look, man,” the partner spoke, “we can’t do anymore than is allowed for the situation so how about this – let me fight your best fighter. Whomever wins can kill the beast, old honour style.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the sergeant scoffed.

“Well, your attitude calls for it.”

“Appy,” Hazel warned, “be careful.”

“But you’ll ref, right?” The partner asked, “Fae rules and all?”

Hazel sighed, “Yes, I’ll ref.”

“Great. So good sir, get your best fighter.”

The sergeant scowled but turned to us, “Jackson! Front and centre!”

We all watched as Tyler Jackson, a big muscular prick of a guy, stepped forward with a grin. He was proud and self-centred, and by far the best fighter we had. He had yet to be beaten in hand-to-hand, even from the sergeant. The small person didn’t stand a chance.

“What’re the rules?” Tyler asked, “And do I get a prize?”

“If you lose, you live. If you win, you die with honour. Pick a blade.” The small person didn’t seem to give a shit that Tyler was twice their size.

Tyler grinned and pulled a knife from his pocket. He was deadly with it, and everyone had at least one scar from it.

“Let no blood be spilled,” Hazel said as she and the sergeant stepped back to give the pair space, “Appy, I’m serious.”

“You’re no fun,” the partner complained.

“Where’s your blade?” Tyler teased.

The partner, evidently called Appy for some reason, reached for a bronze armband on their upper arm and pulled it off, glowing as it extended into a massive broadsword. Appy grinned like a maniac and Tyler looked scared shitless.

“Appy,” Hazel warned.

Appy sighed and the sword shrank down to a dagger, “Just wanted to scare the guy,” they complained.

“Make it quick, let no blood be spilled, and may the winner have the honour of defeating the Wyvern. It hath been spoken, thus let it be.” Hazel raised her arms as she spoke, saying it like a chant. A heavy weight settled in, as if the words themselves really carried a spell.

As soon as Hazel finished speaking, Appy lunged for Tyler, but he saw it and dodged. Yet Appy was too fast. They caught him by the middle and flipped him over, causing the blade to fly from his hand. He made an oof as he hit the ground, the wind knocked from him. Appy sat on his chest and pinned his arms with one hand, the other holding a knife to his throat.

“One...two...three. And that’s match. We shall fight the wyvern,” Hazel announced, glancing at the street beyond them, “and just in time. You need to take your soldiers and leave, get as far away from here as possible. But if you see the wyvern, freeze – they like a moving target.”

“What the hell is that?” The sergeant barked, “There had to be some trick!”

“No, trick, I assure you,” Appy said as they got off of Tyler, turning their back to him, “I just guess that military training doesn’t match up to a Knight’s.”

Tyler was enraged, and it was obvious. He had never lost a fight, especially not to someone so weird and small. He snatched his blade from the ground and thrust up on his knees, aiming for Appy’s side.

Appy sidestepped easily and sliced their blade across Tyler’s arm, causing him to cry out in pain and drop his blade.

“That’s one angry dude,” Appy said as they slid their dagger, now an armband, back into place.

“I said no bloodshed,” Hazel huffed as she knelt down next to Tyler and pulled out a roll of gauze.

“The fight was over!” Appy argued, “Besides, he was wanting to give me a scar, everyone in this damn platoon has one from him. Thought I would return the favour.”

“God, you’re like a dumbass Batman villain,” Hazel complained to Tyler as she bandaged his wound, “With less honour than the Joker, you piece of shit.”

“How did you know I was thinking that?” Tyler asked, scared, “You psychic?”

“Term is telepathic,” Hazel said matter-of-factly, “I’m psychic, Appy’s an empath. Now that that’s cleared up, leave.”

The sergeant bristled at the last word as he had watched everything unfold.

“Just because you won one fight-”

“I’m sorry,” Appy snarled, suddenly rounding on the sergeant, pulling their blade out and holding it dangerously close to his face, “Do you not understand basic combat rules, let alone fae? I won, so you leave. You can’t break a deal, or the fae will fuck you up, if I don’t get to you first. Feel fear.”

At this, the sergeant scrambled back, visibly shaken and sweating.

“Appy!” Hazel scolded harshly, “Fear won’t help this, only make him worse. Besides, it’s too late now.”

“Too late?” Someone asked.

“Yeah,” Appy said coolly, “blame these two assholes.” Their head jutted towards the sergeant and Tyler, “If they had only let us do their jobs then y’all’ight’ve lived.”

“No one is going to die,” Hazel assured, taking the sergeant by the arm and picking Tyler up, leading them to where the rest of us were standing. She pushed Tyler off on someone and sharply told the sergeant; “Stay behind this line.” Then she produced a piece of blue chalk from her belt and drew a curved line in front of all of us, chanting quitely all the time. Once she finished, she bent down and kissed it, making the line glow a faint blue. A shimmering wall formed in front of us, Hazel standing on the other side. Then she turned to us, “Don’t move, don’t make a noise, only breathe if you need to. Disobeying any of these will get you and everyone else killed.”

“Crybaby, E.T.A.?” Appy called, a longsword suddenly in their hand as a shriek cut through the air.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

As soon as Hazel finished saying ‘one’, she pulled something from her pocket, watched by the wyvern as it rounded the corner.

“Oh, we are so fucked.”

#original works #EP&H #my writing #original writing

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sylveonne · 6 years

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Happy DWC Friday! How about this prompt? "Flashes of lighting across an angry sky"

thank you, darling!!!

1521 words

for @dadrunkwriting!

The night she arrived was perfectly dramatic. Despite everything else refusing to fit in this bizarre, alternate universe, the way the lightning flashed across an angry sky was poetic; it lent her drenched, hooded figure an air of confused desperation when she arrived in the center of Haven. Adhlea let her Fade Cloak dissipate as another bolt lit the distant skies. The few people still outside flinched at her sudden appearance out of thin air. She paused for a few beats, allowed the thunder to roll ominously, and finally spoke, “Where is the Inquisitor?” loudly enough to startle the guards into action. They were still so very green in these early days. A random Dalish elf materializing in the center of a stronghold should’ve prompted a far swifter response. She forced a breath. They would get there. Cullen and Leliana would get them there. She forced an exhale. This world wouldn’t shatter.

The scuffle culminated in the huge chantry doors swinging open. First strode out the unmistakable Knight-Commander, followed by the always-charming ambassador, and then out stepped a stranger who wore her face. Almost, at least.

Her blonde hair was pulled high, braided in a few places and culminating into a ponytail that fell past her shoulders. Tan skin, lanky build, a vibrant emerald vallaslin for Dirthamen stretching its wings across her cheekbones, and clothes that didn’t quite fit. She held herself remarkably well for someone who had been thrust into a wholly unfamiliar environment and position. Adhlea had known what she was walking into-- it was hard not to, hearing the name pronounced strangely on shemlen tongues, the whispers of mage and elf and Herald and Dalish-- but even so...she paused, her cloak clenched in her hands. Leliana had stepped out from behind the Herald, eyes narrowed and head cocked ever so slightly to the side. Her spies had seen her during her time in Redcliffe, of course. She knew the uniforms, she knew the way that they stooped to search for something amidst the grass and dirt, she knew the vaguely identifying marks so that they wouldn’t accidentally kill a comrade. But she had remained

Taking in one last breath, she flipped her hood back and revealed her own face. The recognition was instantaneous; whatever mask the Herald wore was wiped away by shock. Adhlea smiled faintly. “Shenuvun,” she acknowledged, voice clear.

“Adhlea?” The question hung there, quavering, just as the clouds seemed to shift. A drizzle began to flow downwards and people began to scatter.

Faint laughter left her. “It seems the rain caught up with me. Shall we?” She inclined her head towards the chantry. Shenuvun seemed to recover from her brief paralysis and nodded quickly. The advisors glanced at each other in mild confusion, but they acquiesced without any complaints. Adhlea bounced up the familiar steps with a strange sense of nostalgia. The rain was beginning to fall colder and harder and would soon become sleet. Her lungs burned a little with the chill, a refreshing feeling, and then she was enfolded into the heat of the chantry’s halls. She spotted Vivienne among the pillars, a flash of Varric’s ponytail as he vanished into a room, and the rhythmic clink of Cassandra’s breastplate prefaced her appearance in the doorway of the war room. Her eyes narrowed at Adhlea’s approach, but Shenuvun was already waving a settling hand in her direction. The scene made her heart clench in the most bittersweet way.

The Herald and her advisors (plus Cassandra and Adhlea) all filed into the room at the far end of the chantry. Once they were all situated around the table, an awkward silence fell as Adhlea and Shenuvun stared at each other across the table. The chill of her sopping clothes was beginning to get to her, so Adhlea sighed and got the ball rolling by brushing a glowing palm over each side of her body, first the left, and then the right. Cullen had gone a bit more rigid, but before he could begin to sputter anything she had definitely heard before in her own time, a delicate hand touched his arm. He stilled, then Shenuvun retracted her hand. Her eyes, somehow even greener than her vallaslin (which was already as vibrant as a fresh, summer leaf after a summer storm), bore into Adhlea at her flagrant display of her abilities. Adhlea just gave a lopsided smile.

“Tell me, Adhlea: just how did you arrive in the Frostbacks when, last I heard, you and yours had been sighted on the coast just south of Markham?” Shenuvun finally asked.

Adhlea considered closing her eyes, but she doubted that would provide any sort of efficient coverage for the eyeroll that was fighting for existence against her manners. Her manners lost, as they usually did. She noticed the tilted head of Josephine and the smooth, mask-like expression Leliana wore. They were curious now, not just about her sudden appearance in the courtyard, but by the familiarity that was immediately shown despite it being obvious from their other interactions that they hadn’t seen each other in an unfathomably long time. She allowed one hip to rest against the war table. “Of course you would ask something as inane as that when we haven’t seen each other in over twenty years,” she teased, her tone gentle beneath the layer of playfulness. “Ma suledin.”

Shenuvun’s lips twitched up, clearly against her will, at the fond epithet. “Ma suledin,” she echoed, soft and reverent. Then she was circling around the table, leaving bemused comrades in her wake, and they were in each other’s arms. The fit was foreign and took a few movements for them to close around the other properly, and then Adhlea’s eyes began to well up as she felt the heat of Shenuvun’s own tears on her shoulder. “Ar lath ma,” she whispered, her blonde hair tickling Adhlea’s ear. A soft hum slipped from Adhlea, and she closed her eyes against the onslaught of emotion as she rubbed the other’s back.

It was Josephine who finally interrupted the moment. “Ah...Lady Lavellan?” When both heads perked and turned to the ambassador, Leliana’s expression brightened.

“Ah-hah, I was right,” she said, a quick smile briefly pausing around her lips as she asked, “You two are sisters, no? I was wondering why there was a Dalish elf staying at Redcliffe.”

“You were staying at Redcliffe?” Shenuvun asked, pulling back as her brows drew together. “Why didn’t you come here sooner?”

Having anticipated this, Adhlea’s brow raised challengingly as she pointed in the vague direction of the nearby mountaintop. “There’s kind of a hole in the sky, as I’m sure you’re aware. It also took a few days for news to spread to us of who the Herald of Andraste actually was.” She gave her sister’s shoulders a squeeze while Shenuvun looked abashed, then separated them to give her a good lookover. She was toned, especially in the arms, and Adhlea could detect a faint amount of...ice magic? Yes, that would explain why her aura had an almost crystallized quality to it. Unlike herself, Shenuvun didn’t bother with any makeup or paint. Her lips were naturally rosy like her own and didn’t actually need a stain of any kind (not that that ever stopped Adhlea). Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary aside from the ill-fitting clothes she had noticed outside. Her own had probably become unforgivably tarnished after the events at the Conclave though, so they would do for now. Satisfied, Adhlea released her and turned towards the others gathered. “In answer to your question, Lady Nightingale, yes: we are sisters. Twins, actually.” She grinned and tugged Shenuvun’s face over to press cheek-to-cheek.

Josephine nodded as she took in the similarities. Cassandra’s expression became less suspicious, Cullen looked vaguely ill at the prospect of another Lavellan roaming about, and Leliana appeared somewhat smug. Shenuvun, face hot, removed herself from the awkward comparison pose. “We were separated when we were young,” she began to explain. “Clan Lavellan was blessed with an excess of mages, so...we shared.”

Adhlea slid smoothly into the explanation. “It’s not actually as bad as it sounds! It just means that if one clan doesn’t have any new mages born but has a child around the same age in the clan, you just trade.” She shared a glance with Shenuvun, both knowing it unwise to reveal much more about the magical situations among the Dalish, and finished with, “Too many little mage children with only one fully-trained mage adult around? Not an ideal situation.” Cullen looked a little pale. She took pity on him and moved the conversation along. “I was the one who got traded, so we’d write letters back and forth once we were older and more curious about our origins, but we haven’t really met up since we were…” She paused and looked to Shenuvun again. “What, five? Six?”

Shenuvun nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I think so. Thereabouts,” she confirmed. “That aside, this is Adhlea, my twin sister. I trust her. She won’t bring any harm to us.”

Adhlea’s heart panged, and she truly hoped she wouldn’t.

#adhlea lavellan #shen lavellan #dwc #tpofa #the power of fervor alone #i'm high i'm sorry i have no idea if this is any good LMFAO #write? right #ocean-in-my-rebel-soul

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