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"Sparrowcrest Tales."

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Sparrowcrest Tales:





Amyriel’s leather boots crunched through the soft snow, poofing fresh powder across the ground as she made her way up the beach towards Sparrowcrest. With silver-grey eyes, she glanced over her shoulder to appreciate the winter sunset: a burning orb hovering over glistening waters, soon to douse itself in the ocean. She delighted with a smile as snowflakes kissed her cheeks.


This was her home now: Sparrowcrest. A place in which she and her new family had toiled in the ground and built from practically nothing. A home in the north, her home, her little slice of haven. And yet? There was always work to be done, something to finish or fix, or tend to. There was food to preserve, animals to feed, horses to brush. The inn required planning and organization. Lokir had also asked her to sand and polish the swords and armor before he returned.


But tonight, while the men were out trading and hunting overnight? Sparrowcrest was all hers, and Amy very much enjoyed her solitude. With a bottle of home-brewed cider in hand, and a wooden pipe stuffed with herbal smoke, she had no choice but to take advantage of her time alone.


And that only meant one thing: she would get drunk and build a snowman!


And so? Wrapped in thick wolf fur, padded gloves and carrying a shovel, Amyriel tromped through the snow drifts towards the road, halting at the entrance of Sparrowcrest. Here, she chose a flat spot for her sentry to stand guard over their homestead. She began shoveling snow into a pile. On her hands and knees, she rolled the frozen powder into spheres, each smaller than the last, and stacked them together. A half an hour later, with the body complete, she dug into her leather pack for lumps of charcoal and animal bones---the eyes and mouth and nose. A bucket served as a helmet. She carefully poised bone arms before placing a shovel carefully in its grip.


Soon, the snowman became a full fledged shovel knight.



“I shall dub thee.... Earl,” she proclaimed and saluted the newborn snow soldier. She smiled at her handy work, admiring it from a small distance before getting to work on the next soldier in her snowman army.




Amyriel froze, not unlike the winter wonderland around her. Ears strained, she focused on the sound.


“It's rude not to announce yourself,” she scolded the growing shadows of dusk. “And even more rude to ignore me! Come out, then.”


There was no reply except for the wind gusting tiny flurries of snow at her feet. The night was quickly approaching, casting Sparrowcrest in darkness. Amy had forgotten to light the floor lamps around the property. She swore to herself harshly.


She stood and began to walk towards the house, which was only a couple dozen paces away. But before she could take two steps, the sound of crunching snow and the bittersweet howl of a pack of wolves echoed through the night, sending a cold spike of fear lancing through her chest that felt more chilling than the weather. If she ran, they'd instantly give chase. She wondered if she could make it to the door in time to shelter. She couldn't stay put or they'd converge on her anyway. Her thoughts locked up and she froze in both body and mind. If she didn't push the fear down, she might as well already admit death!






A glimmer of memory came to her: a visual image of Lokir sitting on the steps of the front door, his biceps bulging with muscle as he loaded a crossbow, smiling at her in that soft manner that belied the warrior within. She remembered how he stood, leaving the crossbow beside the doorframe, and coming over to take her hand, giving her that look that she tried her hardest to resist every day---but why?


Why was she keeping a distance between herself and a man who seemed to truly, genuinely care for her? If she just let her walls down, just briefly…


The crossbow!


She scrambled away from her thoughts and to the door, trying not to think of the fangs and teeth snapping at her heels, hot breath on the back of her neck, any second now, ready to rip her flesh into ribbons of red.


Her fingers reached out and made contact with wood, her free hand moving so slow to catch up; it felt like an iron shackle weighing her wrist down. She brought the crossbow up, the bolt pointed sharp ahead, ready to pierce.


Glittering yellow eyes were upon her, and she reacted through pure instinct, raising the crossbow, squeezing the firing mechanism, feeling the twang as the bolt was projected forward with blinding speed. It was a true shot, perhaps more luck than skill, and the bolt impaled into the black wolf, directly beneath its throat and into its chest. It yelped, tumbled and collapsed in mid-stride, dying instantly at her feet.







The others shied away, but she knew they'd come again after they reassessed, and in full force. Part of her hoped she had killed the alpha, but luck has always been greedy about giving favors.


Eyes scanning the night for glittering orbs, Amy reached up to blindly grasp for the doorknob. Her numb fingers found what they were looking for and twisted. The door opened and she fell backwards, scrambling away just as a dark, furred shape lunged at her. She kicked the door closed as the wolf slammed into the wood, jarring her leg painfully. It's growls and gnashing teeth snuffled at the door, claws scraping scores through the oak barrier.


“Bad dog!” Amyriel shouted. “Go hunt a high king or something, you damn cur!”


It grew quiet, the wolf relenting and huffing off. An eerie silence filled the house and Amy used the moment to dart up and lock the door. A bit of surprise came over her, as though the canine had truly listened to her demand.


“Wouldn't that be something…” she muttered to herself, which she soon discovered was a mistake when the canines resumed their assault.


The pack of wolves barraged the door violently. Barks and howls filled the air with a dire promise. The song of the hunt overtook Sparrowcrest, bathing it in a melody of predatory orchestration. Their determination renewed, the large beasts hammered their bodies against the door, and a crack in the frame began to appear.



Image result for running wolves GIF



Frantic, Amy began pulling and pushing the scant furniture around their little domicile. She shoved one of the beds against the door, followed by a large chest of armor that squeaked loudly on the wooden floor. She budged chairs against chairs, and even used the steel brazier to brace the backboard of Voedric’s bed. Her barricade was meager, but there was nothing left to stack. The only other thing in the room was a small bird cage hanging from the ceiling in the corner.


She went to it swiftly and took a small scrap of paper, quickly jotting down a simple message before rolling it up into a tiny scroll, secured with twine. She reached into the cage and plucked out a small white sparrow, carefully attaching the message to its little leg.


“Go,” she whispered to it. “Find him.” The bird fluttered out of the window hastily.


She swiveled to face the door, and drew her sword, flexing her grip on the leather. She would never survive against a whole pack, but she wouldn't be eaten while cowering from a bunch of fucking dogs. She'd have to hold out and hope her sparrow made it in time.


Amyriel Traven braced herself against the barricade, adding her frail weight to its defense, and hoped against time.





She awoke to the sound of horses and shouts, men's voices echoing over Sparrowcrest.




“Lokir? About damned time!”


“Amy, are you okay? Are you hurt?” Voedric’s voice was at the door, his hand jiggling the knob. “Gods, these claw marks are enormous…”


Amy began moving things away from the door. “Did you get them?”


Lokir replied, “They were not here when we arrived, Amyriel.”


“Should be the dead one out there.”


A moment of quiet. “I don't see it anywhere,” Voedric replied.


“Well, follow the blood trail and find it,” Amy retorted with mild irritation.


“Are you sure you got one? There is no blood trail,” Lokir informed her.


“Nonsense, you oaf. I hit it dead center with the crossbow.” Amy finally cleared the door and opened it up to a bright, sunny day. She looked around, and saw that they were right: there was no sign of blood or a kill. Amy was perplexed.


“But…” she stammered, confused, as she went to the crossbow. There was no bolt loaded. She walked around the yard, crossbow in hand, searching for any clue that she had feathered the beast, but there was none.


“Well, I'll be damned,” she murmured, shaking her head.


So much for a night of solitude.



Edited by SatansNightOut

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Damn this had me hooked from the beginning till the very end. You ended just at the right time to leave us with many questions about what really happened 

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One of the best ones I have read so far!


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Thats a wicked a read, great detail in your work. '

I loved the use of the colors for different perspectives and the images.

You should defiantly do more in the future! 

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Just to say it here, damn good writing as always Crim.

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7 minutes ago, Jm Von Cat said:

Just to say it here, damn good writing as always Crim.

What she said ^

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this is really good:D keep it ut

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Man keep it up, really enjoy reading it!

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