[CW/Feedback] Drake Country

[Felicity]

So this was written in a couple of hours and I don't know where I wanted to go with it. I suppose practice my third person narration and exposition skills. Feedback would be appreciated.

“Now you listen ‘ere boy, this here’s drake country and ain’t nobody, I tell you no-body, gonna be able to save you if you wake one o’ the bastards up with that there staff o’ yours. You touch that trigil without my express gods damned permission I’ll kick yer ass up ‘tween your ears. We clear?”

Gregor Burlhunt, the biggest, hairiest asshole in the village, glared at his newest charge; Malik Shrinton, the smallest and kindest boy in the village as they began their march through the forests of Duke Farling. They were a pair of perfect contrasts. Where Gregor was tall and built like a brick shithouse, Malik was small and scrawny like the sticks only barely considered passable as firewood. Gregors beady black eyes were perpetually squinting through the black hair that covered his face, as though suspicious of everything he saw. Maliks bright blue were wide and curious and sparkling like all boys eyes when taken somewhere new, somewhere exciting, with hair so bright red, you could pick it out from fifty paces away, like the fire he shared the colour with. The disparity ended with their clothing as they both wore homespun tunics and trousers. They also both had a long oak rod slung over their shoulders, 4 foot tall and thick enough that you could barely slip your thumb and forefinger around it. Worn symbols and sigils covered the wood. Most prominent symbol was the large crescent trigil, about a third of the way along the shaft, that would fire a shot of the attuned energy from the tip. These were old staves, used for many years by the villagers. Today was Maliks day to use them..

“Y-Yes sir” Malik blurted out. The idea of meeting a drake was as exciting as it was terrifying to him. He didn’t quite realise it wouldn’t be a meeting so much as breakfast for the drake.

Drakes were cousins to the dragons that governed the whole of Marcardia but no more intelligent than the wild boar or mountain lion. They had no capability for magic nor the ability to sense it. Their presence however deterred other creatures that could sense and use magic. Therefore it was during the day when the drakes were asleep that it became relatively safe to see how well a teenager could use a staff. A sufficiently powerful staff shot could make enough noise to wake up any local lizards but that just about never happened.

However, Gregor had not been Huntmaster of the Duke Farlings household for a decade and a half without being competent. The two unlikely companions had been heading to a small grove filled with plants that deterred Drakes. A sanctuary for smaller wildlife where Gregor had set up targets for Malik.

When they arrived, Malik’s eyes roved around wildly, trying to take it all in as fast as possible. The verdant green grove was like the fae forest from the tales his mother had told him from birth. Grand trees lined the clearing they were inside and myriads of flowers with a vast array of ensnaring colours covered most of the floor. At the edges of clearing small mushrooms growing in the shade of the fatherly trees could be seen as well as the faint, fleeting glance of a small, furry and adorable animal. In the very centre of the clearing was a crude straw dummy propped up by a long stick of unmarked wood. It marred the sight of the grove like a pus-filled pimple on smooth skin.

“A’right boy, take the staff out.” Gregor grumbled. He took hold of his own and brought it over his shoulder to be held in both hands. Malik copied the example. Evidently Gregor had no complaints about how he was holding the staff.

“OK then. First thing ya gotta know is ya only gotta know three things. Don’ go pissin’ about with any sigil other than the trigil. Tha’s how fools get blown inta the ground.” Gregor paused, waiting for Malik to timidly bob his head in understanding and mutter an acknowledgement. “Second, you hold the bloody thing with both hands. firmly. Try slingin’ shots around with one hand like some fancy fuck and you’ll lose holda the staff and probably cost someone a few fingers.“ Pause. Nod. “Last, when you’ve taken damn good aim at whatever ya want to hit, you trace the trigil from top to bottom with yer finger.” Pause. Nod. “Think you can try it?” Pause. Maliks eyes gleamed this time. Gregor pointed towards the dummy and Malik turned to face it.

Malik took the staff and settled it awkwardly against his shoulder as he had been told to do by his friends. It felt too big for him, like it was meant for someone with longer arms than him. It probably was. Still he could aim reasonably well and was able to reach the trigil. Good enough.

Leaning his cheek on the side of the staff to look down it’s length, he took aim. Gregor grumbled a warning. “Don’t want to rest your cheek on that boy, it’ll heat up dead quick.” Malik took note of the warning and took his cheek away. He’d have to aim as best he could without.

With the staff aimed, Malik icked his lips nervously just once, paused a single heartbeat and then forced himself to trace the crescent shape of the trigil in one short. smooth motion.

The shot was quick, there was a flash of light and heat and a short sharp crack as a small bolt of white electricity zipped across the clearing to sear the dummy's shoulder.

“This is a lightning staff sir?” Malik asked after a breath's worth of surprise. Lightning staves were said to be quite rare on account of their extraordinary power.With them, any man could call down the fury of the skies at a whim. Either the sky was not very furious today or Malik was mistaken. That and even the Duke would be hard pressed to obtain such an item.

“Naw, get yer head out of yer arse boy. That was just a result of the staff bein’ wonky.”

“Wonky?”

Gregor nodded, scowling at the offending implement. “It’s meant to channel force, as in the force behind a punch. Basically shootin’ an invisible fist. Far as we can tell it ain’t movin’ the magic properly and the light and heat end up bein’ shot out too. ‘Course the Duke ain’t feeling like replacing it when it still does it’s job. I’m convinced it’ll blow me and some poor little bastard up one day but who am I to complain? Huntmaster and stil can’t get what I want” For the first time Gregor gave Malika smile, small and wry and barely visible behind the man's vast beard.

The large, burly man cleared his throat, about to change the subject. “Anyway, now we get onto the next part o’ why we’re here. We’re gonna see if you can shoot without the trigil.” Gregor’s words made Maliks heart skip a beat and hop another. It was common knowledge that only those gifted with authority over the mystical energies known as magic could do such a thing. They had many names, good and bad, but everyone from noble to peasant knew that with magic came greatness. Of course the world has a far greater range of people than that but Malik’s excited mind didn't know that.

“I ain’t done it myself” started Gregor with a bitter tone. “But by everyone who has, it’s a case of instinct. Ya focus on the staff and what you wannit to do then you will it to happen. So, take aim and see if you can do it without the trigil.”

Malik nervously gulped. It would have been comically similar to a character from a bard's story if Malik wasn’t deeply contemplating the entirety of his own future within 70 or so milliseconds. It didn’t take him much time then to turn and take aim once more.

He started with a shaky breath. Then another, longer and deeper. His chest rose and fell in what became a steady rhythm as he tried to calm himself down. His heartbeat slowed, matching the pace of his breathing more than the frantic steps of a fleeing squirrel. He focused on the dummy. Which part? He would try for the face. If the staff was meant to shoot and invisible punch then that was the best place, right? He hadn't been in many fights though….Steady breathing pushed these thoughts from his mind slowly. He replaced these thoughts by slowly constructing an image of what would happen. He would focus and then release himself from that state of mind. In that moment moment the staff would shoot, sending one invisible knuckled fist towards the straw face.

He was surprised beyond belief when the top of the dummy's head flopped back, as though something had skimmed the top. He had barely registered the crack of the staff. He hadn’t noticed much. Gregor had been watching the boy in a trance, gently moving his lips in a silent murmur, talking to himself and saying what he would do. Nothing that he had done had been registered as a conscious action.

Gregor scowled at the boy who began hollering and whooping in ecstatic joy. “Shut yer trap dammit, else yer gonna wake-”

A distant, titanic grumble reached the grove from an indeterminable distance away. Drakes had damn good hearing but Gregor hadn’t thought they’d be able to hear.

Gregor loosed a river of curses from his tongue before beckoning Malik. He pointed at the trail they had come from. Malik’s eyes were not alight with joy but instead bright with simple fear.

Drake country was a dangerous place.