The Dragon Knights: Potential Scenes
Nov 22, 2011 23:13:08 GMT -5
Post by Gorim on Nov 22, 2011 23:13:08 GMT -5
So the general idea for the story is this:
The people are going up against the royal family. A mighty rebel force is coming together, led by brave nobles and backed by the elves themselves. The royal army has begun to attack any village suspected of assisting the rebels, and they show no mercy towards women and children. They have begun to draft at the age of fifteen, taking children from their families. Even some of the dragonriders, the most noble and deadly of the royal forces, have joined the rebel cause, unable to stand by and allow their king to slaughter innocents.
At least... That's what everyone's saying.
But is it true?
Those that remain loyal to the king say it isn't, and as far as his niece is concerned, that's good enough for her. She knows her uncle far better than any country bumpkin after all. And when circumstances begin to align in her favor, she joins the renowned dragonriders in an effort to prove her uncle's innocence. But really. What can a young girl do against an ever-growing force? Only time will tell.
(A rough summary, but you get the gist. Here's a few of the scenes I was thinking of. Thoughts and opinions are encouraged; flames will only strengthen the dragons, and they're not as pleasant as I am)
--
People ran from one building to the next as the church bells rang. Off in the distance, Eliert thought he could hear werewolf howls, even over the bells. He ran a little faster towards the armory.
"Milady, if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times," his father was saying tiredly. "No."
"Oh, come on!" Astrid protested. "It doesn't have to be an axe! Some arrows, that's all! You know I could help!" She was standing on the other side of the window, her hands flat on the counter. Eliert had to admit to himself as he put on his apron. For a young woman barely over five feet tall, she was holding her ground pretty well against a man three times her weight and almost two feet taller than her. Most (including him) would have just fled a long time ago.
Despite the stubbornness, his father continued to shake his head.
"If your father knew you weren't in the church with the other women, he'd-"
"He'd turn the place inside out and frontside backwards, because his rules are the rules," Astrid said readily, if with a bit of a monotone. Eliert snickered.
"Stop that," his father snapped. "And get to the church, now." He turned his back to her and started speaking with a rather frantic baker about the state of his sword, but Astrid didn't leave. She stood by the counter, staring at the wood, frowning slightly. Eliert got the impression that she was thinking very quickly.
Eliert watched, too enamored to feel silly. He half-heartedly rationalized that, as a seventeen year old, it was only to be expected that he would notice a pretty girl. Even if that girl was astronomically out of his league, and the daughter of the local jarl, and the niece of the king himself.
That didn't stop her from being one of the prettiest girls in the whole fort: blonde, like her mother, with a heart shaped face, a button nose, thin lips, and bright, almond shaped blue eyes. She looked every bit a high lady, except for the fact that right then she was wearing what was probably her brother's clothing. Most would have looked on that with disapproval but Eliert thought it was quite nice. If he was better read, he might have made a poem about her...
"Are you okay?" He started and, realizing with a rather sinking feeling that he'd been staring, blushed. Astrid peered at him, her hands still curled on the counter.
"Y-yeah," he stammered with predictable eloquence. "I'm fine. Are you fine, because I'm fine." She raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with his speech, and he turned away, praying to the gods for some interruption. A sword that needed sharpened or a broken arrow or a werewolf busting through the defenses and ripping him to shreds.
Anything really.
"So..." He turned in time to see Astrid slide around the counter and stroll into the shop, a smile on her lips. The change gave Eliert a bad feeling, and he watched her warily as she approached, her hands behind her back. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could get some arrows, would you?"
Eliert laughed uncomfortably and glanced over at his father, who, thankfully, was still caught in a conversation with the baker, and now the cobbler, both of whom were entirely convinced that their swords could be sharper.
"I would," he said carefully, turning to idly sift through tools. "But if I gave them to you, our fathers would probably band together to rip my limbs from their sockets, sooo...." She laughed. His stomach fluttered.
"Well, you don't necessarily have to give them to me, you know," she whispered. She was very, very close. "You just have to... point me in the right direction."
"Specifics will not help me if I'm caught, my lady," Eliert said rather stiffly, trying to focus on anything but the distance between his arm and her arm. Astrid laughed again.
"I'll cover for you," she insisted. "Please? For me?" His already weak resistance crumbled like the sham it was.
"I'm not giving them to you," he muttered just loud enough for her to hear. "But if I was, I would go over to the trunk by the sword rack, where the silvered ones are." He felt something very soft press against his cheek for a second.
"Thank you!"
Before the fact that he'd just gotten kissed on the cheek by the girl of his dreams could really sink in, a very large, very sharp blade fell into Eliert's arms.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't see that," his father growled. "And, for your sake, I'm going to pretend I can't think of any reason why a girl like that would kiss a boy like you. Sword. Sharpen. Now."
Blushing from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair, Eliert got to work.
--
"Your man-thing is your man-thing," the elder said. "Your man-thing is not your mother."
I disagree. Mother is the first person you see when you get out. So my man-thing is my mother.
The elders may disagree with my reasoning but all of the other rookery-mates agree. We all agree. The man-things are our mothers.
I think my mother is prettier than the other mothers. Sometimes the man-elders wear sparkling things around their necks, and one of them wears this big blue rock with shiny yellow earth-bone. My mother has fur the same color as that earth-bone, and eyes like the rock.
Aya's mother has hair like bloody dirt and eyes like moss. I don't think he's as pretty as my mother, but Aya thinks he is. I think she's stupid.
Everyone else's mothers have hair like dirt too, except for the two that look the same. They have hair like blood, which is nice, I suppose. But only mine has that earth-bone shade. And only mine has eyes like that rock. Everyone else's man-things have eyes like dirt or moss.
But even though my mother is prettier, all the man-things are freaks. And I mean all of them; even the elder man-things. For one thing, they have lots of skin layers. My mother, for example, wears green and brown skin a lot, and you can see her legs when she wears those. But sometimes she wears skin that makes her legs disappear. She never looks happy when she wears those. I wouldn't either, if I had no legs.
But when she wears the skin that has no legs, the skin is always bright and shiny. And the others wear their prettiest skins too when she does. The first time they wore their pretty skins, big man-thing elders in pretty skins came too. My mother didn't look very happy then, and later she was angry and sad at the same time. I blame the elder that came over and talked to her. I think he was mean to her.
He probably was.
Next time, if he comes over to my mother, I'll bite him.
But underneath the outer skins, their inner skin is always the same weird, pale pink. Sometimes you can see the inner skin when they're relaxed and inside where it's warm. Otherwise, they wear their furry skins on their paws and hind feet. But when their inside, you can see just how useless their inner skin is.
Their claws are pretty useless too. Mine are better. Theirs are blunt and rather stubby. But they have their uses, I suppose. I've never seen a dragon paw to the things a man-thing paw does.
Still.... man-things are the most disturbing botch of nature I've ever seen.
Everyone agrees, even the elders.
"Don't mention it though," the lady-elder says seriously. "You never know. They're around us so much; one day, they might learn how to speak."
--
If the second one doesn't make much sense, I'm sorry. I was just trying to get a general feel of how dragons think.
Humans are weird, aren't we?
The people are going up against the royal family. A mighty rebel force is coming together, led by brave nobles and backed by the elves themselves. The royal army has begun to attack any village suspected of assisting the rebels, and they show no mercy towards women and children. They have begun to draft at the age of fifteen, taking children from their families. Even some of the dragonriders, the most noble and deadly of the royal forces, have joined the rebel cause, unable to stand by and allow their king to slaughter innocents.
At least... That's what everyone's saying.
But is it true?
Those that remain loyal to the king say it isn't, and as far as his niece is concerned, that's good enough for her. She knows her uncle far better than any country bumpkin after all. And when circumstances begin to align in her favor, she joins the renowned dragonriders in an effort to prove her uncle's innocence. But really. What can a young girl do against an ever-growing force? Only time will tell.
(A rough summary, but you get the gist. Here's a few of the scenes I was thinking of. Thoughts and opinions are encouraged; flames will only strengthen the dragons, and they're not as pleasant as I am)
--
People ran from one building to the next as the church bells rang. Off in the distance, Eliert thought he could hear werewolf howls, even over the bells. He ran a little faster towards the armory.
"Milady, if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times," his father was saying tiredly. "No."
"Oh, come on!" Astrid protested. "It doesn't have to be an axe! Some arrows, that's all! You know I could help!" She was standing on the other side of the window, her hands flat on the counter. Eliert had to admit to himself as he put on his apron. For a young woman barely over five feet tall, she was holding her ground pretty well against a man three times her weight and almost two feet taller than her. Most (including him) would have just fled a long time ago.
Despite the stubbornness, his father continued to shake his head.
"If your father knew you weren't in the church with the other women, he'd-"
"He'd turn the place inside out and frontside backwards, because his rules are the rules," Astrid said readily, if with a bit of a monotone. Eliert snickered.
"Stop that," his father snapped. "And get to the church, now." He turned his back to her and started speaking with a rather frantic baker about the state of his sword, but Astrid didn't leave. She stood by the counter, staring at the wood, frowning slightly. Eliert got the impression that she was thinking very quickly.
Eliert watched, too enamored to feel silly. He half-heartedly rationalized that, as a seventeen year old, it was only to be expected that he would notice a pretty girl. Even if that girl was astronomically out of his league, and the daughter of the local jarl, and the niece of the king himself.
That didn't stop her from being one of the prettiest girls in the whole fort: blonde, like her mother, with a heart shaped face, a button nose, thin lips, and bright, almond shaped blue eyes. She looked every bit a high lady, except for the fact that right then she was wearing what was probably her brother's clothing. Most would have looked on that with disapproval but Eliert thought it was quite nice. If he was better read, he might have made a poem about her...
"Are you okay?" He started and, realizing with a rather sinking feeling that he'd been staring, blushed. Astrid peered at him, her hands still curled on the counter.
"Y-yeah," he stammered with predictable eloquence. "I'm fine. Are you fine, because I'm fine." She raised an eyebrow, clearly not impressed with his speech, and he turned away, praying to the gods for some interruption. A sword that needed sharpened or a broken arrow or a werewolf busting through the defenses and ripping him to shreds.
Anything really.
"So..." He turned in time to see Astrid slide around the counter and stroll into the shop, a smile on her lips. The change gave Eliert a bad feeling, and he watched her warily as she approached, her hands behind her back. "You wouldn't happen to know where I could get some arrows, would you?"
Eliert laughed uncomfortably and glanced over at his father, who, thankfully, was still caught in a conversation with the baker, and now the cobbler, both of whom were entirely convinced that their swords could be sharper.
"I would," he said carefully, turning to idly sift through tools. "But if I gave them to you, our fathers would probably band together to rip my limbs from their sockets, sooo...." She laughed. His stomach fluttered.
"Well, you don't necessarily have to give them to me, you know," she whispered. She was very, very close. "You just have to... point me in the right direction."
"Specifics will not help me if I'm caught, my lady," Eliert said rather stiffly, trying to focus on anything but the distance between his arm and her arm. Astrid laughed again.
"I'll cover for you," she insisted. "Please? For me?" His already weak resistance crumbled like the sham it was.
"I'm not giving them to you," he muttered just loud enough for her to hear. "But if I was, I would go over to the trunk by the sword rack, where the silvered ones are." He felt something very soft press against his cheek for a second.
"Thank you!"
Before the fact that he'd just gotten kissed on the cheek by the girl of his dreams could really sink in, a very large, very sharp blade fell into Eliert's arms.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't see that," his father growled. "And, for your sake, I'm going to pretend I can't think of any reason why a girl like that would kiss a boy like you. Sword. Sharpen. Now."
Blushing from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair, Eliert got to work.
--
"Your man-thing is your man-thing," the elder said. "Your man-thing is not your mother."
I disagree. Mother is the first person you see when you get out. So my man-thing is my mother.
The elders may disagree with my reasoning but all of the other rookery-mates agree. We all agree. The man-things are our mothers.
I think my mother is prettier than the other mothers. Sometimes the man-elders wear sparkling things around their necks, and one of them wears this big blue rock with shiny yellow earth-bone. My mother has fur the same color as that earth-bone, and eyes like the rock.
Aya's mother has hair like bloody dirt and eyes like moss. I don't think he's as pretty as my mother, but Aya thinks he is. I think she's stupid.
Everyone else's mothers have hair like dirt too, except for the two that look the same. They have hair like blood, which is nice, I suppose. But only mine has that earth-bone shade. And only mine has eyes like that rock. Everyone else's man-things have eyes like dirt or moss.
But even though my mother is prettier, all the man-things are freaks. And I mean all of them; even the elder man-things. For one thing, they have lots of skin layers. My mother, for example, wears green and brown skin a lot, and you can see her legs when she wears those. But sometimes she wears skin that makes her legs disappear. She never looks happy when she wears those. I wouldn't either, if I had no legs.
But when she wears the skin that has no legs, the skin is always bright and shiny. And the others wear their prettiest skins too when she does. The first time they wore their pretty skins, big man-thing elders in pretty skins came too. My mother didn't look very happy then, and later she was angry and sad at the same time. I blame the elder that came over and talked to her. I think he was mean to her.
He probably was.
Next time, if he comes over to my mother, I'll bite him.
But underneath the outer skins, their inner skin is always the same weird, pale pink. Sometimes you can see the inner skin when they're relaxed and inside where it's warm. Otherwise, they wear their furry skins on their paws and hind feet. But when their inside, you can see just how useless their inner skin is.
Their claws are pretty useless too. Mine are better. Theirs are blunt and rather stubby. But they have their uses, I suppose. I've never seen a dragon paw to the things a man-thing paw does.
Still.... man-things are the most disturbing botch of nature I've ever seen.
Everyone agrees, even the elders.
"Don't mention it though," the lady-elder says seriously. "You never know. They're around us so much; one day, they might learn how to speak."
--
If the second one doesn't make much sense, I'm sorry. I was just trying to get a general feel of how dragons think.
Humans are weird, aren't we?
