Entropy and Chaos - Story Excerpt

Hey everyone! It’s been a while since I wrote or posted anything because of a mix of class, work, social life, and (for a few weeks earlier in the month) Skyrim, but I figured I would show you the beginning to a story I am working on for my creative writing class right now. It is in the same vein as the stories involving Marius or Bullokk, Remulus, and Giancarlo (high fantasy adventure), so I hope you all enjoy! I have about 6 pages written so far, but I thought that would be a lot to post at once, so I have put up the first 1.5 pages or so. Hope it’s a good enough taste to whet some people’s appetites.

ENTROPY AND CHAOS

            The aged chapel pews lay, battered into splinters; blood soaked into every inch and trailed to the main doors. Most of the tall, stain-glass windows that depicted the Great Illuminator and his Celestial children watching over the world were reduced to rainbow-colored shards and strewn across the floor. The windowsills were all covered in mud and blood, and there were deep cuts in the woodwork. The stone statue of the Great Illuminator that stood behind the main alter was missing large chunks; one leg and one arm had been thrown aside, his sword had been shattered into pieces, and his head was missing. Ascendant-Knight Sanatio’s armor clinked evenly with each step as he walked down the central aisle with no signs of sympathy as the other soldiers in his company spread out, surveying damage and searching for survivors. The visor of his helmet was raised as he surveyed the damage, his middle length, black hair dancing across his brow. His icy, blue eyes barely blinked as he took in the carnage, his mind playing back images of the massacre he failed to stop. The scene screamed his failure in bloodcurdling cries.

            Sanatio had been haunted by gory night-terrors, and in his most recent one, he had seen the name of this town, Oakstrand, on a beaten sign, swinging on its last hinge. As a soldier in the Sunsworn Order, Sanatio had pledged his life to protecting the people from otherworldly evils, so he was quick to alert the Clergy of the town’s possible assault. The Clergy refused to heed the warning of Sanatio’s visions, but before the sun had set, an envoy from Oakstrand had made it to the front gates, screaming about demons overrunning his home. The Clergy was forced to react, and Sanatio’s company was sent to investigate.

            But Oakstrand was lost.

            The town barely stood; all the wooden homes had been torn to pieces, leaving only the stone structures like the town hall and chapel. The few houses they had searched were empty and, by and large, had no bloodstains or corpses, so the company had followed the signs of struggle to the chapel.

            Sanatio swore as he reached the trap doors to the safe room; the altars that hid them had been thrown aside and the doors forcibly torn open. He peered into the safe room; his torch revealed a crimson with the silver of the Great Illuminator’s statue in its center; the magnificent wreath of flames that wrapped around the sides and over the top of the helmet no longer looked proud as it laid, desecrated, in a pool of blood. Unphased by the image, Sanatio squatted down and lowered himself into the safe room, his sabatons meeting the stone floor with a splashing clank as he landed in the puddle. He scanned the room, the remains of the crates that had held stocks of dried food in case of a long hold were scattered over the blood-covered floor. Sanatio coughed as the stench of blood, death, and food bits flooded into his lungs. He took time to carefully sift through the mess, praying the Great Illuminator had shown some mercy for someone, at least a child.

            Sanatio emerged from the safe room a few minutes later, empty-handed.

… To be continued (?)

Write something about how it feels to relax.

Jerry sits down at his computer desk with a teacup filled to the brim with milk balanced delicately on a saucer that carries two soft biscotti cookies. Moving his keyboard to make space, he places the saucer down and wonders if he should clear the mess that crowds his working space. He sifts through some loose papers as he dips his first cookie in the milk, haphazardly spilling milk over the edges. Receipts (which he thinks he won’t need), bills (which he’s pretty sure he’s paid), envelopes (whose contents have already been thrown away), and few greeting cards (Christmas, by the looks of it) lay spread out before him. Tossing them away (remembering to check the Christmas cards for forgotten checks), he takes a bite of his soggy cookie, savoring the sweet, almond taste.

His pathetic attempt at cleaning up (which looks more like occupying his idle hand as he enjoys his favorite snack) would seem even more laughable if he took the time to look at what was left of the floor of his room. What isn’t covered in his still-yet-to-be-unpacked bags from college, his dirty laundry, his clean laundry, and his actual furniture (including a lounge chair he uses as a closet and a table stacked high with books) functions as a narrow walkway (if you can even call it that). But that mess would all have to wait a few months when he was inspired to do some “spring cleaning,” assuming he could be moved to care.

Dipping his second cookie into his milk, he turned on the television (that stood on his dresser surrounded by cologne, deodorant, folders of important class papers, a math textbook he couldn’t sell back, and his xbox) and leaned back in his seat to enjoy his cup of milk.

[Prompt submitted by Leatherkitty]