10.31.2011

Art: 042/100 Themes - Standing Still

"Stera stil." Standing Still. - 42/100 Themes.

This is a prose-style re-write of something I did for screenwriting class. Andell is Willowren's doting older brother. He has a sunny disposition, but always is more ready with a joke than a plan. He had just finished medical school before being sent to be a war general. Of course, Sorian interprets Andell's preference for politics instead of battle as simple laziness, so he kills him - hoping to put that throne in his own, more capable, hands. However, his death actually puts Willowren next in line for the throne, and inspires her to seriously take on the healing arts.


 

From his vantage point on the butte, Sorian gazed across the ice-covered fields, subconsciously smiling as the two nations' armies clashed. He stroked the white mane of the horse he rode and patted the down cloak of his military uniform. His armor was made of gray steel edged with white fur, much like his soldiers' below, but embroidered with golden, religious symbols that spoke to his royal status. "For Heilmdor" was engraved on its breastplate, over his heart. He laughed, and fog poured from the mouth grate of his horned helmet, emerging through its sculpted, carnivorous grin like a demon's smoking breath.

He blinked, searching for the opposition's green and gold flag. For all their finesse in swordsmanship, the Tyrisi were felled by such simple opponents as slippery rocks jutting out from the snow. Sorian's men hacked through their opponents with wide, gleeful swings. The ice was their home.

Eager to rejoin the fray, he tightened his grip on his horse's reins. The animal, also covered in matching, patterned armor, shuffled its thick, furry legs in response. It tossed its head, indicating it had no intention of descending the frozen slope. Sorian disciplined it with a sharp tug and nudged it forward with his golden spurs. The beast hung its head and walked, guided by Sorian's ankles pricking its sides.

He scanned the ground ahead with professional ease, looking for spots the steed might have trouble with. As they trekked, he noticed a trail of abnormally bright, red blood. He turned the horse to follow it. The droplets grew larger and brighter each step.

Sorian dismounted to follow it, still maintaining his slow, deliberate pace. The sound of battle faded away. He found himself in a secluded patch of forest. The pine tree tops formed a circle overhead, revealing a patch of gray sky. Two crows sat above, circling and watching with their beady, black eyes.

A young man with chestnut hair crouched amidst his cast-off armor and weaponry. He wore a green tunic and a gold circlet around his head. Sorian recognized him immediately. This was Andell, the crown prince or Tyris and his sworn enemy.

He clutched his right arm. Bright red blood pumped out of an exposed artery. He pressed snow into the wound, trying to get it to stem the flow. He ran his fingers over the gash, summoning his healing magic to suture it. The skin moved at his command, but he was too tired to fully close the seal. His cheeks were pale and grey from the cold.

Andell laughed nervously, "You must Sorian. War-Prince of the Icy North."

Sorian nodded. More warm breath escaped from his mask. It condensed on the iron surface making it seem as if the gnarled, fake face were sweating.

"I was never into that war thing," Andell continued, using his legs to push himself backward. "Always preferred politics to beatings, myself. It's what you get when you come from a family of doctors. Royal doctors, especially."

Sorian unsheathed his sword and motioned for Andell to rise. The other prince merely squinted in confusion and shook his head. Sorian gestured again, letting a growl out through the mask. It echoed through the metal teeth. Andell leaned back against a tree and used it to lever himself upwards. He pointed to the badge Sorian wore at his belt, a gold disc embossed with a roaring lion's head, "I hear they call you the 'lion.' Must be nice to have a good, unique title like that. I have to settle for just 'prince'."

Unamused, Sorian stepped forward. Andell backed away instinctively, moving to the side of the tree. Sorian picked up Andell's sword. The handle was wrapped in green and had an intricately carved stag in its pommel. He snorted. This blade was more for decoration than for practical use. Nevertheless, he held it, hilt out to Andell.

Andell took the sword in his good left hand and stepped back, assuming a shaky, high guard. Sorian rushed forward. Too weak to block the move, Andell stepped to the side, parrying at the last second. However, the speed required for the move had left him too exposed to recover quickly. Sorian spun on his heel and lunged forward again. This time, he swung up from the ground.

The already wounded prince could not move in time, and the blow cleanly severed his leg. He fell to his side with a brutal thud, dropping his sword. He rolled onto his back only to find Sorian standing over him. He panted, "They also say you take no mercy. Not even towards healers. And especially not towards royalty."

"In certain cases, perhaps, but I see no reason to pity those who cannot prove they are worthy of their assets. If you cannot perform the simple task of deflecting an infantry arrow to hold your father's land, it might as well belong to a better candidate."

He dropped his sword down onto the shoulder joint of Andell's bleeding arm. It took three clean hacks to sever the limb. The prince screamed, but Sorian did not react. He took the dismembered arm and laid it off to the side. Bright blood spurted into the snow, darkening as it touched the ground.

He began to methodically remove Andell's other limbs with the same medical precision. As each appendage came off, Andell's voice grew quieter shrinking from a howl to a whimper. As he sawed through the hip joint of Andell's last leg, all Sorian could hear was ragged breathing.

Andell lay immobile. Only his chest moved, heaving up and down. His eyes rolled back into his head, and his mouth gaped open. Sorian knelt and tore at his victim's clothing. He unearthed Andell's royal signet ring, inlaid with emeralds and gingerly held by a chain around the fallen man's neck. He took it in his palm and yanked on it with enough force to snap the gilded line. He kissed the stag carved into its face. Finally, he took off his glove and slipped it on his own finger.

With one last, disdainful look, he turned around and swiftly lopped off Andell's head. He stood and held it under his foot as the crows circled above him, enjoying the stillness of the icy air.

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