Post by tzara on Jan 21, 2010 21:04:45 GMT -5
Inspired by the film 'Labyrinth'. Essentially based on or in it, or not. Depending on how this goes.
Brief explanation? Mirasmia Tovarich is the first, last, and only Faerie general of the great Goblin civilization of the Labyrinth. Her hatred for her uncle, the king of the Labyrinth, is unsurmounted; the story starts during a war with demons from the south. Mirasmia, once a Fae like her uncle (her only relative who raised her and her brother after her mother and father perished) has changed herself, through hate and willpower, into something of a goddess of war, and has singlehandedly fought the war up to this point.
Purple smoke rose from spots in the unruly gathering of a hundred purple tents that dominated the gentle roll of the barren knoll in the middle of a desert-like wasteland; the never-setting sun was close to the southern horizon, and it peeked over the edge of a lonely yellow mountain as if observing the military camp.
Within the camp, the soldiers of the army were sitting around the spitting fires. Even at a faraway glance one would be able to tell that these...things were nowhere near human. They were all different sizes, and their armor was knobbly, ramshackle, misshapen. There were grey ones, brown ones, slinky ones, hairy ones. They were all exclaiming their impending victory in a rowdy drinking song that they crowed in a strange language.
This was the mere 'prelude' to the mass forces of the Labyrinthian Goblin Army.
Off to one side, in the shadows of her great officer's tent, the flag over which flapped proudly in the breeze that whisked overhead, loomed the leader of this little army. She towered over the tallest goblin; nearing six and a half feet in height, all long legs and arms, a narrow midriff and a broad bust, black leather and grey wool, this was the leader of these soldiers.
Mirasmia Tovarich.
Her eyes, inhumanly detached and cold with whites that were black, irises that were yellow, and pupils that were splinter-narrow slits. The scowl on her bony, stone-smooth, sickly pale face could burn a hole in the armor of a goblin soldier were it but a shade more intense. The blonde hair that stuck up unnaturally at the top at all angles in a pouf and fell in rivulets down her back was dusted with soot from burning villages, but she didn't care. She was preoccupied with watching her soldiers apathetically and polishing the wicked silver blade of the sword nearly as tall as she, her beloved Sabia.
"General!" squawked a little goblin with a helmet too big for his own head, "Won't you join us, sir-er-ma'am?"
In a voice more frozen than the metal of her ice-cold blade, she spoke, her tone clipped and curt.
"I," she muttered in a low growl, "Have no time for such frivolities. Nor should you. I wish for this dilapidated gathering of scrap metal and fabric to be a proper military camp in the hour that I am gone on reconnaissance. If not, I hope you are accustomed to being impaled upon a sword."
With a flap of her cloak, the General turned and stalked in great strides from the soldiers gawping at her.
Brief explanation? Mirasmia Tovarich is the first, last, and only Faerie general of the great Goblin civilization of the Labyrinth. Her hatred for her uncle, the king of the Labyrinth, is unsurmounted; the story starts during a war with demons from the south. Mirasmia, once a Fae like her uncle (her only relative who raised her and her brother after her mother and father perished) has changed herself, through hate and willpower, into something of a goddess of war, and has singlehandedly fought the war up to this point.
Purple smoke rose from spots in the unruly gathering of a hundred purple tents that dominated the gentle roll of the barren knoll in the middle of a desert-like wasteland; the never-setting sun was close to the southern horizon, and it peeked over the edge of a lonely yellow mountain as if observing the military camp.
Within the camp, the soldiers of the army were sitting around the spitting fires. Even at a faraway glance one would be able to tell that these...things were nowhere near human. They were all different sizes, and their armor was knobbly, ramshackle, misshapen. There were grey ones, brown ones, slinky ones, hairy ones. They were all exclaiming their impending victory in a rowdy drinking song that they crowed in a strange language.
This was the mere 'prelude' to the mass forces of the Labyrinthian Goblin Army.
Off to one side, in the shadows of her great officer's tent, the flag over which flapped proudly in the breeze that whisked overhead, loomed the leader of this little army. She towered over the tallest goblin; nearing six and a half feet in height, all long legs and arms, a narrow midriff and a broad bust, black leather and grey wool, this was the leader of these soldiers.
Mirasmia Tovarich.
Her eyes, inhumanly detached and cold with whites that were black, irises that were yellow, and pupils that were splinter-narrow slits. The scowl on her bony, stone-smooth, sickly pale face could burn a hole in the armor of a goblin soldier were it but a shade more intense. The blonde hair that stuck up unnaturally at the top at all angles in a pouf and fell in rivulets down her back was dusted with soot from burning villages, but she didn't care. She was preoccupied with watching her soldiers apathetically and polishing the wicked silver blade of the sword nearly as tall as she, her beloved Sabia.
"General!" squawked a little goblin with a helmet too big for his own head, "Won't you join us, sir-er-ma'am?"
In a voice more frozen than the metal of her ice-cold blade, she spoke, her tone clipped and curt.
"I," she muttered in a low growl, "Have no time for such frivolities. Nor should you. I wish for this dilapidated gathering of scrap metal and fabric to be a proper military camp in the hour that I am gone on reconnaissance. If not, I hope you are accustomed to being impaled upon a sword."
With a flap of her cloak, the General turned and stalked in great strides from the soldiers gawping at her.