Here’s a short story I wrote in 2002. I remember it having something to do with a left of the center star, and bards who could leave important memories for other bards in order to pass vital information if they died or couldn’t get back.
All in all, this tidbit is a bit repetitive and over-descriptiony, but I could do something with the setting for sure. Not bad for something I wrote in high school.
TALES FROM THE SOURCE WAR: General Hattan, Gibbs; Fourth Source.
“General! Sir, the enemy is reforming and turning for another attack!” a young private informed the general, his eyes wide and face pale. Gibbs nodded curtly, making a show of being calm.
“Very good sir, on your way,” the general replied and turned his steps toward the command tent where orders were sent out to all the troupes. Gibbs agonized over the orders, but he couldn’t hesitate, that would cause distress in the ranks and might even cause them to loose this battle. Another loss in a tide of losses, it wasn’t good.
“Sir!” said the young man in the command tent as he stood and saluted.
Gibbs nodded to the young man, returning the salute. “Send out orders to all commanders. ‘If losses are high, meet with other troupes and continue the flight’ over.” It hurt, but it had to be done. If that insane mage J’akle succeeded in winning this point there was no stopping him. He’d have another of the major sources of magic. Already he had three out of the five Sources. Already he was almost too powerful to beat. His armies were strong hybrids of man and beast that were mindless, they did what they were told. They were ruthless too; they would march over the bodies of their fallen comrades.
That was what made them all the more dangerous. They didn’t care. They had nothing to loose. Their armies didn’t carry Healers or herb witches; instead, they just left their wounded to die where they fell or continue on if they could.
Gibbs’ stomach felt tied in knots. He knew there was no way to win, yet he had to continue to order the troupes to fight, no matter how much it hurt him to see young men like that private and the man in the command tent die. But it was death with honor. They would die defending people from the ruthless monstrosity that J’akle was.
Suddenly, there was an explosion and something burst into flames. The general ran from the command tent to see what it was.
“Gods, mercy.” They were using dragons to drop tar-boulders then set flame to them as they went down. Gods- may these poor boys die quick and painlessly rather then in the clutches of J’akle. Death was better then getting turned into a mindless beast, killing because you had no mind to think otherwise.
Around him, the camp began to go up in flames as more explosions of tar-boulders sounded off, splattering tar everywhere. “General!” a cry and Gibbs turned just in time to see one of those horrible hybrids swung a massive battle-ax down onto his head. Death came quick and mercifully to the General, who was only thirty-two with two young daughters and a wife, all three loved by the former general. His hand clutched at a locket just as death settled on him.