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The Quest, Chapter 1 - Taking the Ridge

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Buckeyebull64's picture
May 8, 2015 at 1:03pm
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So, two things happened for me around the time of the Michigan state game this year, with regards to the Buckeyes. 

1.  I was introduced to 11W

2.  A type of fantasy movie started playing in my head. And after we actually won it all (Go Bucks!), I decided to write it all down (since I'm not really any kind of animator, but I'm ok with with a pen).  The first part of that story is below. I was wondering what you all thought. If it's something you guys enjoy, I can put the rest of it up, chapter by chapter as I get them finished. 

Thank you, Kaity, for editing!

The short man who stood before him took a step back, breathing hard. The short man's coat, once a proud and vibrant green, was dusty, rumpled, and torn.  The short man himself was not in any better shape, bruised and bloodied as he was, though it was obvious that he was not weak, despite his wounds and size.  Short, yes, but solid and athletic, though the face seemed slightly too pretty, the stomach slightly too large, to make a truly intimidating figure.  He had called himself a leprechaun.  He had called himself an Irishman. He had said he was a fighter. The fighting Irishman had said a great many things about himself, actually, but nothing he said had helped him much against the brute that he now stared at with desperate green eyes. 

Brute.  He'd been called that before, so much so that he had made it his name. Brutus. The name fit: tall, hairless, brown skinned, and muscular, he wore a striped shirt of rough cloth, sometimes gray and sometimes a bright scarlet, though both colors carried a good portion of brown dust that had been kicked up during the fighting.  Dusty, durable slacks topped scuffed black boots,and hands gloved in black were raised to protect an oddly pale face that lacked ears.  He was indeed the very image of a brute.

The fight he'd had with the leprechaun had been interesting, but it was becoming obvious to both Brutus and his opponent who had the upper hand.  The Irishman backed slowly along the ridge they shared, panic in his features.  Brutus waited. 

Without warning, the Irishman plunged his hand into his jacket, grasping at some object beneath the fabric.  Brutus never saw what the short man meant to throw, for as soon as he saw the movement, he moved as well, and closed the distance between the two within the beat of a heart.  The leprechaun tried to pull back, but the brute wrapped his arms around the smaller man and drove him to the ground forcefully, as one would force a large animal into a sack.  Sensing the opportunity to end the tussle,  Brutus rolled once toward the drop-off to his right and released the green clad man above the cliff.  

For an instant, their eyes met, and Brutus saw the Irishman's look of confusion at being released flow instantly into despair as the smaller man realized what was coming next. And then he was gone and only an echoed scream remained, cut off abruptly by the crunch of breaking stone.

For a moment, Brutus stared at the roiling dark gray sky above him.  A small smile of satisfaction crossed his lips and remained as he got to his feet.

With a deep breath, Brutus surveyed the scene around him.  He stood beneath a troubled sky, on a rocky ridge, above a canyonous, jagged landscape.  Far to the west he could make out another ridge, similar to one he had just claimed.  Far to east lay another, and Brutus knew there was another one beyond that. Sounds of fighting echoed throughout the landscape as beasts and men dominated one another. All manner of things fought in this place, and to capture    one of the four ridges, as Brutus had done, was considered a prize.  On the ridge to the east, Brutus could see a man dressed in fur grappling with a large bulldog; beyond that, a lion's roar drowned out a high pitched war cry.  Other creatures roamed the valleys and outcroppings below, some struggling mightily with one another while others licked their wounds or searched for new ways to reach their goal.

Their goal, and the reason for all this chaos, sat just to the north of the ridges, beyond the canyons and valleys.  A massive fortress of gray stone dominated the skyline and loomed over the fighting below.  And there, atop it's tallest tower, Brutus could see a shimmer of light.  Brutus knew what that was.  He'd seen it before, held it and called it his own.  A crystal orb, large enough to hold in both hands.  A prize that called to all the men and beasts throughout the land below it.  It called to Brutus as well.

Brutus tore his eyes away from the massive tower to survey the ridge around him. There was a reason these four specific ridges were so coveted; each featured a small jagged path that twisted and turned to connect to the fortress across the way.  There were other ways into the fortress from down in the valley, and the pathways were far from a sure thing, but they offered the most direct route available, and so were fiercely sought after.  As such, some lesser beings considered taking a ridge as worthy of a prize as the crystal orb.  Brutus knew the difference.

Looking toward the  westernmost ridge, Brutus could see that the combatants who had been there, a warrior in gold and a massive longhorn steer, had vanished.  Earlier, Brutus had hoped to claim that ridge, but the steer had kept him from it.  

A giant shimmer of light drew his eyes back to fortress and the tower.  Brutus knew that shimmer.  Whoever had won the western ridge must have made it into the fortress and claimed the prize he so desired.  Unfazed, Brutus began down the path before him, absently thumbing the ring on his right glove.
       

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