Julie (mymonkeysocks) wrote in writing_dare,

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Untitled challange

Well, have at it. Roughly twenty minutes, after subtracting a few minor inturruptions =)

It might not make much sense..but I guess that's what I get for starting in the middle of a story.

“Someone go get General Hellstrom! And I don’t mean when you feel like it…NOW!”
The crowd he had to fight through to make it from the tent slowed the messenger boy, who was tripping over his feet in his haste to do what was bidden. The space was full of bustling people, the nervous tension hanging thick in the air. Warm blankets were piled all about, stacks of paper heaped in the corner of the tent. As roomy as it was, the tent just didn’t have the capacity for all it contained at that moment.
Rising from where he had been stooped over a bed, the healer held up a finger, calling for silence. Everything stopped abruptly, attentions focused upon the elderly man. Rubbing at his temples in simple frustration, the man wiped at the wispy white hairs that stuck to his forehead before wind milling his arms about, shooing everyone from the tent.
“Please… I can’t even hear myself think.”
“But Amar, Sir, you need-”
“I need my space, that’s what I need.” Looking from the over eager attendant, the kindly old man turned his attention to the rest of the assembly, stern authority lacing his whispered words “Everyone, please. Leave.”
As one, the dozen people inside quietly filed out the tent flap, eyes cast downward in slight dejection. With a sigh of relief Amar turned back to his work, blowing more strands of hair from his eyes as he faced the problem at hand.
Upon the bed before him lay a small honey haired woman, eyes closed and a contented smile upon her lips. She seemed to be in a peaceful sleep. Leaning down, Amar extended bony fingers, grasping the woman’s arm, pinching a section of skin hard between his nails. His tired gray eyes flickered to her face, grunting in disappointment. There had been no reaction. Fingering the bridge of his nose, Amar plopped down onto a stool, closing his eyes against the headache he felt coming on.
“It’s Liselle, isn’t it? You there! What’s wrong with her? Where is she? Why didn’t you call me here sooner..!” In a whirl of barely controlled rage, a powerfully built man donned in leather armor burst into the tent, blue hues like shards of ice as his gaze stripped the room. Striding towards Amar with fists clenched, he issued a growl, his deep voice as cold now as his eyes. “You tell me now or…”
Amar turned around, a brow raised in controlled ire. “Ivan. Will you calm down? And don’t talk to me like that.” Lips pursed, the older man beckoned Ivan forward, to the foot of the bed. “It’s just happened now, I called you as soon as possible, my boy.” Amar used his melodious voice and kind words in attempt to soften the blow.
“I’m afraid the strain is too much on her. She fainted, and just now fell into a coma. I’m sorry, but there is nothing I can do to help her out of it now.” A withered hand found its way to Ivan’s shoulder, squeezing gently in consolation.
“No…” He breathed, falling to his knees beside Liselle’s head, a callused hand running lightly over those shining locks, his thumb lovingly rubbing away a smudge on her cheek. “Amar..no…Not Liselle. Not now…!” A small wail of grief and Ivan fell back against the bed, his head in his hands. “She’s all I have…I never should have let her. This war doesn’t include her…Dear Spirits, no…”
“It’s not your fault, Ivan. She would have done it anyways. Always eager to help, she is. And her gift- it was the perfect solution. Theoretically, it was a flawless plan.” The old man waved a hand to encompass the bed and the surrounding tent. “No one expected this. Who would have thought the task would be so strenuous? Though I have the gift, it’s for healing- not war. I’m sorry Ivan…I didn’t know..” The bony hand shook as it patted the mans shoulder again. It was unnerving for Amar, seeing this strong, emotionally controlled, proud man fall apart at his feet.
“Why….why is she like this..? Struggling to control himself, Ivan could but whisper, watery blue eyes glued to Liselles blanketed form, watching as she breathed, as if afraid it might suddenly stop.
“Putting that much of ones self into such a project is draining. That girl can take anything and turn it into something else- transfiguration. But this situation called upon her gift differently. Instead, she took a little of her own life spark, and projected it into a being in which she created. She twisted her Astral Projection and transfiguration ability to suit her needs.” Amar paused, turning to gaze upon Liselle as he continued, “You said you needed more men, that we were outnumbered 10 to 1. Liselle tried to help you. She made you soldiers. Men, created from a grain of sand, for all I know. I don’t know how she thought she could make enough- She can’t make thousands of men! But she tried. By putting a little of herself into each one, they are not just…creations. They are their own person. Ivan, they will survive as long as she does- though every time one dies…well, a part of her dies with them. The strain of maintaining all this…” A shake of his head and Amar stood and walked to the opposite side of the tent, not trusting himself to speak further.
Ivan took up the old mans place on the stool, a hand reaching out to touch the woman’s cheek.
The tent flap was pulled open, a messenger boy rushing, his hands on his thighs as he bent, greedily gulping for air. “General…We’re being attacked.” Fear shone bright in the boy’s eyes as he looked at his commander for guidance.
All personal pain and any sign of emotion immediately fell away from Ivans face as he stood, a commanding General once more as he barked orders. “Gather the troops. Tell Lieutenant Lemair to organize the defense, and to keep everyone calm. The last thing we need now is confusion. Get, now.”
As the boy scurried out, Amar turned with a sorrowful look at the man, a gentle hand ushering him out. “They need you…I won’t let anything happen to her.”
Pausing just to tuck the blanket in around Liselle’s still shoulder, Ivan gave the Healer a grateful pat on his shoulder before striding out into the approaching night, letting the tent flap fall closed behind him.
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