Sunday December 2nd, 2018

The exercise:

Write about: the siege.

2 comments:

Greg said...


Does today's prompt reflect your view of winter? With the heat and the fires in summer, and feeling besieged by the snow and cold of winter, it seems like you'd be happiest living somewhere where there's perpetual spring :)

The siege
The soldiers's first stop in Narol was a tobacconist. The shop was small and the walls were lined with glass cabinets from floor to ceiling, housing cigars. Some were displayed on elegant wooden racks, and others were kept carefully sealed in plastic-wrapped cardboard boxes presented in muted shades: burgundy, olive green and gunmetal blue. The lower cases housed humidors, cigar-cutters, and long plain cartons of cigarettes. At the far end a young man looked odd out-of-place as the store-owner, and he watched the newcomers with a suspicious mind. Behind him, racked again from floor to ceiling, were individual packets of cigarettes.
Jakov inhaled deeply. "I could spend the rest of my life in here," he said.
"Bad luck," said one of the others, and all three spat on the floor.
"Hej! Spit outside!" the owner, or perhaps it was the owner's son, glowered at them but stayed behind his counter.
"We want cigarettes," said Jakov, walking to the counter. The rich smells of dried tobacco swirled around him bringing a smile to his face. This was so much better than blood, mud and magic. "A packet each will do for now."
The owner's hand reached for a steel grey packet and Jakov reached out to touch his other hand and stop him.
"We have money," he said, fishing in his pocket for a large collection of coins. They spilled across the counter, clattering and twinkling. "We will take... Szczesliwy Pies."
The owner counted the money, twice, before he gave the soldiers their cigarettes.

The mages who had given their lives to perform the Perfect Day spell were now all stood around the standing circle of stones. They hadn't been dead long enough for much rot to occur, so apart from a general pallor of skin and lack of breathing, there was little to indicate that they weren't alive. They had been standing, waiting, for four hours and showed no signs of impatience or boredom.
The stones seemed to bend slightly towards one another, and then each stone was illuminated from below, and perhaps within, by a soft yellow light. For over an hour nothing else changed, and then, gradually, little white clouds appeared in the beautiful blue sky and the yellow light of the stones intensified, until they appeared to be spotlit. Then they really did change, and anyone who had been to Carcosa and walked the Witnesses would have recognised they shapes they took.
"A siege is beginning," whispered a breathy voice that might have come from one, or all, of the Witnesses. "Ready the siegebreaker."
The light dimmed and a wind sprang up, blowing the white clouds away and returning the bright summer's day to the land. The Witnesses stayed silent, for how can words disturb the equanimity of the dead?

Marc said...

Greg - perpetual autumn would also work... :)

Prompt actually inspired by listening to a lot of The Seige on YouTube. I Am Defiant in particular.

The siegebreaker, huh? That... doesn't sound good.

Also: loved the scene in the smoke shop.