Here is an ongoing story I have been writing for the last month or so. Currently, we're on the sixth chapter.
It started before November but since I enjoyed the potential story, and characters I decided to try and complete it as part of NaNoWriMo. Although, here we are in December and I'm still working on it.
Currently, I have a feeling the Eighth chapter will be the final one, however, it could go on a bit longer than that depending on how things unfold.
Everything was dark. Still. Silent. Peaceful. An eruption of gunfire and screaming broke that silence. Unable to move, M'Trada just listened to it all. It spun around his mind and resonated through his body. Where he was, he couldn't say. Nothing felt right and every fibre of his being was wrapped in fear.
An explosion had occurred. Dust was kicked into a storm that made it hard to see. From his position on the ground, he looked up at colourful streaks of light, flying in all directions. Those lights were accompanied by the sounds of shooting. Mini explosions of noise made it hard to focus on the chaotic frenzy of shouting.
The room lit up once more with fire. Then an explosion shook the ground beneath him.
Through the pain he was feeling, M'Trada forced himself to his feet. I'll die if I stay down. He thought, which helped him struggle through the pain.
His jacket was made of leather, and he could feel it pull against his back. Hand on the ground, he used his elbow to pull against it. The jacket felt like it shrank. With some more pulling he strained tirelessly, and felt a few of his scales come loose. He never screamed, never shouted. Always managed to maintain his composure. But, the pain being inflicted on him was too much to bear, and he was left reeling from it while shouting unknown words into the heated battle around him. There was no sense to anything he said. It didn't mean anything. It was just mindless noise that seemed to take his mind off his fused scales.
"You there! You're the Trisken that came down with us, aren't you? Crovin's person." A voice shouted through the fog of dust. "Where's the woman?" He continued, but M'Trada couldn't find the words.
A pair of hands gently lifted him to his feet, and took the weight off the floor as he was standing.
"You're okay," the person kept repeating. As if words alone were enough to heal him.
The shuffling wasn't too painful, especially with the helping hand. Now though, he was forced to be careful with his movements, to ensure that he wouldn't tease the place where fashion and flesh became one.
"Your excellency, here is the Trisken." The voice eventually uttered.
"I'll ensure you have the first choice of whatever woman I have at my disposal." The Mulu said in a relieved tone. "You're a good boy. Only the cleanest whores for you."
M'Trada couldn't be sure. But, he thought he heard the man slurp as Meeha finished speaking.
"Are you hurt badly?" The Mulu asked. "Let me see you." He said as he walked around and felt over M'Trada's body. The silence meant it was bad. The wincing sounds and breaths of air helped to prove that.
The Mulu ran off for a moment, as he mumbled something. After a bit of rustling, and movement in the corner he skipped back.
"Here, this will help ease the pain." He finally said. M'Trada could feel a pinch, as he was injected with something. "I should have told you, that you might feel a bit of a prick." He started to chuckle. "But, let me assure you, you're actually a decent fellow."
Some of the others in the immediate area started to laugh, followed by M'Trada, but a shooting sensation up his back and side put an end to that.
"The sedatives will kick in soon." The Mulu patted him lightly. "You'll be greatly rewarded for helping me."
M'Trada figured that Arien had the right idea by leaving. Were riches worth being maimed over?
