Prompt: You grew up in the countryside, never knowing much about cities and society outside your rolling hills. New reaches you one day that your country is going to war and you've been conscripted.
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The sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows across the field when Merryl returned from the woods. Her basket overflowed with herbs, flowers, and a few root vegetables she’d foraged. A quick supper and she would get back to work on her loom. Winter was fast approaching, and her clothes were in a sad state. Her little stone cottage was dark when she arrived. As she circled around, she felt an odd prickling at the nape of her neck. Someone had been here. That much was obvious when she reached her front door. An arrow protruded from the oak door, a sealed letter pinned between them. A gold wax seal. The Order had contacted her. At the base of the mountains two days north sat the kingdom of Sehtt, home of the Order of Orellia. Merryl had only heard tales of the white marble city with its towering spires and burbling fountains. A place where people lived closely and depended on one another for survival. And where magic thrived. Indeed, the college there was something of a pipe dream of hers. She had longed since childhood, hearing tales from her father by the fireside, to study and become a mage proper. But she had neither the funds, nor the talent for such a life. The farm was where she was born, and where she would die peacefully in her bed, as did her parents, and their parents before them. The seal popped open. She ran the thick, expensive parchment through her fingers as she unfolded it. The handwriting was small and ornate, and the message short: Merryl Sheepwick, You are hereby summoned by the Order of Orellia to the capital to serve your country. Report to the Mage’s College no later than four days from now; bring your wand. Merryl blushed and felt for her pocket. The wand was there, safe and sound. How in the world could they have known she possessed it? She hadn’t told a soul of its creation. Did this mean they thought she had potential? Was she being recruited? “’To serve your country,’” she whispered as she opened her door. “What does that mean?”
When dawn broke, Merryl was already dressed and tying her cloak shut. She had no horse on which to ride. Her well worn leather boots would get a beating. The trek was long, but the path was cleared. If she stuck to it, she would be there in around two days. The weather remained mild as she travelled. When darkness fell she would set up camp just off the trail and set out before dawn. It wasn’t pleasant, sleeping on the hard forest floor, but she reminded herself it was only for a couple of nights. The first spires of the palace came into view just after lunch of the second day. The main thoroughfare winding through the forest became crowded. She fell in line with a procession headed into the city. She chatted with folks around her to pass time, and discovered quickly most were there for the same reason she was. They had all been summoned. Not all were destined for the college. She met more people for the Fighter’s Guild than her own college, and for some reason, the thought made her nervous. She wondered again and again just how the capital knew of her musings? She had only ever practiced magic at the edge of the stream a few times. And most of her attempts had been unsuccessful. She certainly thought she had no talent for it.
But Merryl was wrong. As they arrived in the glistening capital, the groups went their separate ways at an ornate statue of Gilbert the Great. The city was bustling with activity. Shops peddled wares everywhere she turned, and soldiers patrolled at even intervals. Many were rushing around with carts or armfulls of supplies. It seemed they weren’t the only ones being called to action. The college sat in the heart of the city. A simple stone building with two towers, its heavy oak doors were wide. The group filed in. It was here that her training really began. She had no time to be amazed at the advancements of the city. She was thrown at once into study and training. The kingdom was going to war. On the other side of the mountain was a vast lake that divided their kingdom from the next, she learned. Akvaard sprawled across the opposite bank, rich in fertile soils and fishing locales. Apparently there had been bad blood between the two for decades. The final straw was the assassination of Ambassador Wolfhaard while visiting the Capital. Despite being committed by a third party, the King would not hear of it. It was an act of war. And so war they would have. Scouts had seen ships readying to advance, armed to the teeth. Merryl was given a crash course in magic. Her name had been on a list long before she was born. The Order Mages kept track of all magical bloodlines. Merryl’s was overdue for a candidate. Her wand was replaced with a simple wooden staff, the end carved into a delicate spiral. She was dressed in heavily spelled robes, and sworn into the rank of Battlemage. She was given the subtitle of Healer, the only one of the group summoned. Indeed, her skills lay in mending and conjuring. She had the basics mastered in a matter of days, and seemed to have a natural insight into wounds. On the third of autumn, Akvaardian warships appeared on the horizon. By noon, the first swords clashed. Familiar faces under Order armour ran into battle, slicing down wave after wave of invaders. But they were not without loss. The healer’s tents filled quickly. Merryl had her work cut out for her. She tied a band around her brow to keep the sweat out of her eyes as she worked. Her staff glowed constantly, and a steady stream of amber light fed from it to the nearby patients. Blood flow slowed, bruises dulled, and some comfort was brought to the wounded. The battle clashed for hours. The queen herself had descended from her palace in full battle regalia. Her platinum armour glittered in the orange sunset. “General, report!” The queen rested a palm on her sword as she waited. “Moderate losses, my queen. More ships on the horizon, with hundreds more soldiers.” The man sported a mighty gash over his eye. “You there, Healer.” The queen beckoned directly to Merryl, who sucked in a breath. “Tend to him.” “Yes, my queen.” Merryl rushed over and carefully mended the wound as another stepped in to fill her spot. “I want you to build a team, only the best, to circle the lake and take out the b*****d king.” At once, the general’s good eye shifted to Merryl. She knew at once where she was destined.
At nightfall, Merryl found herself on horseback, joined by General Banks, an assassin called only Stitch, and another Battlemage, who introduced herself as Primrose. They rode hard, resting only briefly for the sake of their mounts. Orellia herself must have been watching over them, for they made it to the enemy kingdom in record time. The assassin made quick work of the sentries in the tower. She tossed a dagger that sliced through the rope holding the door, and it fell to bridge the river. Soldiers were scarce. Even the village folk were few. Most stayed huddled in their homes, but nothing could keep the drunks out of the pubs. The crew kept to the shadows, their horses abandoned, and made it to the base of the castle grounds without so much as a hiccup. Here, there were soldiers. Patrolling the grounds, guarding doors. “What do you think, can we take them all?” asked Primrose. Stitch shrugged. “It’s that or head back home, which I don’t want to do.” General Banks surveyed the grounds once more. “We fight. Or we die trying.” Merryl swallowed, clutching her staff close. She longed to be home weaving, or perhaps cooking. Anything but diving headlong into battle. The crew travelled as stealthily as possible, and when that failed, they struck with precision. The soldiers were felled in a matter of moments. The last licks of flame from Primrose’s staff dissipated as General Banks adjusted his shield. The palace was nearly empty of soldiers. Servants scattered, screaming, whimpering, cowering, but none were harmed. Only those who stood in their way met the edge of Banks’ sword. Up twenty flights of stairs, and through thirty young soldiers, they reached the king’s chambers. Banks approached the door, but as soon as his gauntlet skimmed the knob he was blown back. His armour clattered as he fell in a heap and had to be helped up. “Locked,” Merryl whispered, more to herself than anyone else. “Can you open it?” Primrose shook her head. “I’m better at destructive magic than utility.” Merryl pinched her brows in concentration, trusting a feeling in her gut, letting the magic guide her as she was taught. A thin silver stream connected her to the lock. Deep purple fissures opened along the lock, the knob, the door. At once, it shattered. Merryl gasped, panted, her mana drained. “Here,” Primrose urged, offering a tiny vial of blue liquid. Merryl swirled it, and it lit up before her eyes, shimmering softly as it settled. She popped the cork and swallowed it in one gulp. A fresh wave washed over her, and she felt invigorated at once. Stitch prodded the door open with her foot and ducked away, letting the others go first. She kept to the edges as they eased in, expecting an instant attack. “I should have known.” Those were the only words King Renaud spoke. They dove into battle, swords clashing, spells flying. Merryl let instinct take over. Spells erupted from her staff, from her being, one after another. Her allies fairly glowed with restorative magic. Wounds sealed as they occurred, blood spurted and then stopped, burns bloomed and faded. Nothing could stick to them. Her magic swelled, protecting her unlikely family. Indeed, the war had given her purpose, meaning. The hills could never have taught her the true honour of fighting alongside the very best. She could never have reached this level of magical skill. The final blow came from Stitch. As the king swung his greatsword down on Banks’ shield, she flitted up to his rear and stuck him between the ribs. The ending was very simple, very uneventful in comparison to the blazing battle that had just occurred. The man seemed to deflate in on himself as blood poured from his back. His voice would not work. His eyes bulged, and never again closed.
It was a long ride back to the capital, but it was a merry one at that. There was still fighting to be done upon return—the enemy troops had no way of knowing their kingdom was kingless—but they were buoyant. News spread quickly, and most of the enemy troops surrendered. The queen offered mercy. Then began the great cleanup and restoration. She and her crew were each awarded the Emerald Order, the highest honour in the kingdom. Plans were being made for her, paths opening up and branching off one after another. But she declined. Merryl had learned much from her drafting. She wouldn’t change it for anything. But she missed her cabin, and her loom, and the simplicity of foraging and farming to survive. Merryl rode home on a pristine white horse as the first snowfall of the season began, eager to crawl into her bed. Perhaps her cat was still around.
Posted: Sat Sep 14, 2019 7:35 pm
Not sure if you were wanting feedback or anything >>;;;
But I liked this! crying Honestly, it'd make a cool novel if you fleshed it out!
I liked your imagery in lines like: Merryl had only heard tales of the white marble city with its towering spires and burbling fountains.
Not sure if you were wanting feedback or anything &&;;;
But I liked this! crying Honestly, it'd make a cool novel if you fleshed it out!
I liked your imagery in lines like: Merryl had only heard tales of the white marble city with its towering spires and burbling fountains.
biggrin Well written! Thank you for sharing!
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Thank you, so much! I'm always open to feedback. This story was fun to write, as I had just spent the morning playing ESO and my mind was swirling with ideas when I found this prompt.
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