Deciding it would be opportune to gather people's opinions on a universe me and a friend are creating. Here there will be a series of short stories. Any creative input you give will be greatly appreciated on how improvements can be made before the big story, any questions you have I will gladly answer
Without further ado, let's get rolling with the first story
The Moonlight Horde
Slowly he came to, the fog from his mind was clearing sluggishly and painfully. His arms and legs felt stiff, the pull of the world made him feel as though he were hanging from them. Zurubaal tried to move his hands, only to feel something chafe deep into his unarmoured wrists. His now clear eyes caught sight of ropes, binding his hands to a beam of stained white material. He struggled to free himself, alas Zurubaal realised that not even his Dwarven strength could break him free from his bonds as the rope cut into his night-shrouded reddish skin. Immediately, blood slowly began to drip onto his face, the warm crimson droplets did not perturb him in the slightest. He looked around, his captors had made camp here. From what Zurubaal could make out woodland, bathed in the white light of three full moons. According to legend, when the three sisters , Anzizzal, Tashanu and Natsarah climb to the highest peaks of the heavens, a warrior's fortune is decided. For Zurubaal, his fortune did not look particularly good and the gods of the Endrashil'Zhár were fickle beings; the light of three moons also shone upon his captors and their camp. They held the upright stance of many peoples and reached the height of the tallest Fhéradhashi'Zhár. This was the only thing they had in common with partially civilised peoples of the Western lands; the things that surrounded him had emerald green skin that glistened in the white light of the moonlight. Their almond-shaped eyes blazed like the flames of the forge, two tusks jutted from their lower jaws and long ebony hair, adorned with ornaments of tooth and bone, reached past their fur-clad shoulders. Underneath the pelts lay surprisingly ornate and beautiful armour that appeared to barely hold back their heavily muscled physiques. Khamags
, was the word that came to mind as the emerald-skinned barbarians began to bark at each other in their harsh tongue.
A voice then called out to him, not in the ugly tongue of the Eastern barbarians, but in the smooth, deep yet sturdy tones of Endrashil'Had. One of his kin called to him. Immediately, Zurubaal began to look around. The voice called to him; it sounded from up ahead. The sons of Endrashil never quieted their voices, even if it would lead them to their deaths.
"Kinsmen...are you still breathing?"
"As if my movements were not obvious enough."
Replied Zurubaal, sarcasm etched his voice.
"Apologies brother...are we..."
This Endrashil'zhàd was definitely younger than him, for he was short of beard and no gold crested his curled tresses.
"Yes young one, the fiends have us in their clawed grasp."
The other Dwarf spoke again, the control over his voice was slowly beginning to crack and fear became apparent in his orange-laced eyes.
"Will they devour us?"
Zurubaal shook his head.
"Possibly...but if the Three Sisters smile upon us and if Ishadük wills it, they will hold us to ransom. Or..."
The Elder Endrashil'Zhár was cut off by a harsh voice. A shadow in the moonlight fell over him and he felt something pull his beard. The thing, now clearly a hand, pulled him into view of a particularly irritated Khamag.
"Içitrak! Yaruk taçul ilàmag ugluç!"
A piece of gold glinted in the moonlight. The barbarian's eyes widened; pain shot through Zurubaal's face as the Khamag ripped the cuneiform-etched beard-ring away. It gazed at the piece of gold; a single word surged through the fiend's tusked lips.
Angered at the taking of a blessed ring, the Dwarf spat at the reptilian savage. In response, the Khamag simply smashed his fist into Zurubaal's face. He spat out teeth and blood, realising that the force of the punch would have pulped his skull had he been a man, Elf or one of their mongrel descendants. Zurubaal braced for a very rough night ahead; no one would come to save him or his brothers from their barbarian captors.
Part 2 of this short story will be up soon. Do comment, for the reader's feedback is my opium!