Anrachea – Part 1
July 14, 2017
I’m not in a good head place. My mother is dying, and has been for awhile. Recently, however, her condition has begun rapidly deteriorating. In a single month, she has lost more vitality than in the last two years.
I hardly have any time at all. I need to finish the book. As such, these posts will be slightly smaller. They will happen, and I will continue to share in my triumphs and tragedies. But bear that in mind going forward.
Anrachea – Part 1
Falling isn’t normally a big deal. Then again, falling also doesn’t usually get you stuck to the landing of Spinner’s Bridge.
The bulky squire, cloak and armor still chafingly new, fell anyway. Every aspect of his person, from his clothing to his face, stuck to the beautifully crafted and iridescent webbing tiles. He was laid out in ludicrous fashion, body squished up like an inch-worm frozen mid-inch.
The seasoned Diplo-ranger at his side instantly moved to the side of his face which could see, crouching with visible tension and fear. Her hand went to her glaychen, half sliding the wickedly sharp blade out of it’s tiny scabbard. Each section of the glaychen attached seamlessly to the end as it was withdrawn.
The squire let out a small whimper, instantly hushed by his older counterpart. The swirling, normally crimson cloak of the Highland Empire began taking on the multi-faceted hues of the surrounding tile. After a few heartbeats, the cloak was completely indistinguishable from the surrounding tiles. With her hood on and pulled low, she didn’t even register on the landscape.
A clacking creak began shuffling down the stretched hallway of tiles towards the pair, echoing off the high vaulted walls and ceiling. An enormous shadow presaged the entrance of the Anrachean warrior.
The warrior was easily three and a half meters. The bottom half was a rounded armored abdomen, four legs alternating as it advanced down the hall. The torso, fairly humanoid in appearance, was capped by wicked beetle-like horns, and the remaining four wielded the legendary sycryth. The huge hooking scythe, weighing hundreds of kilos, appeared lighter than air in the spiders enormous four-fingered gauntlets. Their scale armor reflected the light coming down from the cave ceiling, causing a dazzling interaction between floor and Anrachea.
The ranger, half drawn glaychen still hidden by her cloak, began to breath quicker, sweat beading on her brow. The squire, stuck as he was, could not see anything but into the drawn hood of his elder, finding nothing but tightly controlled fear on her visage. He didn’t whine or moan, but he had gone a ghastly pale white, and his eyes were a match to his wan pallor. His pupils were drowned in a sea of white, and his sweat was soaking into the webbing in a slowly growing halo.
The Anrachea espied the trapped prey, and let out a screeching cry of blood-lust and triumph. Even though the Spinner’s Bridge and the surrounding tiles were suspended over hundreds of feet of chasm, the whole affair didn’t shake as the Anrachea broke into a rumbling sprint, closing the gap with alarming speed. They raised the sycryth high, and the elder ranger threw back her cloak and finished withdrawing the glaychen. She let out a desperate cry, lunging forward in the hope she could use the giant arachnids momentum to spear it through both armor and chitin in one blow.
The sycryth hummed as it clove the air towards the face of the fallen squire, the hulking brute ignoring the miniature human trying to defend her fallen kin. The scythe dropped, the sword flashed, and at last the squire let loose the cry he had been so desperately holding back. For a moment, the scene held.
With a whumph like a fist hitting cloth, the weapon buried itself a good half-meter through the web-tile directly in front of the squires face. He let out a half moan, and fainted.
Analin-Drey threw back her cloak and let out a cackle of howling laughter far too enthusiastic for her position and years of service. The hulking Anrachea joined in, the dry clicking huff of its laughter mingling with Analin’s to form an echoing chorus of mirth. Analin sheathed the glaychen, pulling it back from the lunge which had missed by a full meter. It slid home, sections melting back into the interior of the scabbard until it was once more snug at her side.
Bek’keth Fifth-born was now gripping its torso, hunched over with mirth. “Analin,” it gasped between racking laughs “you are sssssso hard on your new recruitssssss, I’m amazed the Council of Warriorsssss even asssssigns you new onessss.”
Analin couldn’t keep the wicked smirk off her face, her cloak morphing back into the bright crimson of the diplomatic corps. Bek’keth Fifth-born laughed again upon catching sight of her triumphant smile. It reached to grab the sycryth and begin the task of freeing the urine-dampened recruit.
“He didn’t even realized I had tripped him.”
The laughter from both quarters echoed off the walls once more.
To be continued..
Hazefully,
Justin
