The Horde of the North

“My eyes almost didn’t believe; my paws almost couldn’t feel, but there beyond the Thundering Mountains lay stone pyramids crafted from the earth by the paws of the Horde.” - Lobo Ridgestone, the Rang

Dear River,

 

                There is a deep heat here in the city, and I’m not sure I’m ready for it, brother. The heat has gotten to me once again putting me in a daze of sickness. I fear it is some kind of summer cold or flu, but it hasn’t stopped me too much from getting my work done. I sleep in late in the morning until the heat gets too much and I must get out of bed.

                Although, if I must tell you the truth, the sickness is making it hard to write and work. I think one of my teeth has been rotten and soon, I’ll have to get it removed which will put me in bed for a few days. Maybe, being in bed for a while sounds great now that I think about it. I could use the rest, but at alas, I am no near my bed. I’m at the moment locked away in the library, reading, writing, reading, writing, and so on …

                But the other day close to the dinner time, I was in my reading chair in the library when an old half-blind squirrel placed a wine cup down in from me. He was smiling from ear to ear and told me his friend had said many great things about me. His friend, unknown to me at the time but I soon found out was the Emperor, explained to him about what I was working on. “A great history book about the Realm.”

                He sat down across from me with his cane resting on my books and said,” Well, do I have a story for you.”

                I quickly found out the elder squirrel sitting with me was the Ranger Lobo Ridgestone himself. I believed him to be dead like most squirrels in the Realm, but to my amazement, he was not. He simply lives out in the woods alone in a small treehouse and only comes south once every few years to see the Emperor. Lobo was close friends with the Royal Ranger Ivan Thornthunder the White Ghost and helped trained the Emperor when he was a boy in the skill of hunting. During this time, they became close to one another, and when the Arcane Ants attacked the Realm, Lobo was in the city.

                While the plan during the war was to send a few war parties south to find the Queen of the Arcane Ants, Lobo took a party north to see if they could find any allies beyond the Thundering Mountains.

                “Let me tell you,” Lobo said, downing his cup of red wine and taking mine,” there was nothing but darkness beyond those mountains.”

                He spoke to me about a city of black stone he found beyond the mountains with massive pyramids at the center of the city. There was a wall around the city to keep it safe, but at first, deep in the snows, there seems to be no sign of life within it.

                So, Lobo and his party went to see what they could find in the city. They walked the streets, which had snow pushed out of the way, almost seeming like someone was waiting for them. The way the massive city was laid out led all streets to the pyramids which hung over the city like a dark Owl.

                The party entered a few of the house of the black building to find the inside of the homes were covered in bright colors. Some of the colors were the greatest Lobo had ever seen and even as he was telling me this story his eyes started to water from the thought of the colors in those buildings alone.

                But when they stepped out of the building, they were surrounded by the warrior rats of the city. The rat’s beard with swords in the shape of a half-circle and a few of them sat on the roofs with bows draw at them. One of the rats stepped forward with bright color face paint on him snarling at them.

                Lobo dropped his head, looking down into the empty cup. “We need more wine,” he said, and we went off to get it.

                After he had another two cups, he told about how the rats killed his party and he was sure he was going to be cut down, but the leader of the group stopped his warriors from killing him. The rat, and I’m not sure I believe this, then again, I’m not sure there are rats or a city in the north, told Lobo to come south and tell the Realm about what he saw. They give him a pack of food and send him off into the snows. When he glanced back, or so this drunken old Ranger said, he saw a black Owl sitting atop of the pyramid with burning red eyes.

                “They still haunt my dreams,” Lobo said, rubbing his blinding eyes, “those hellish red eyes. I know they are the eyes of death.”

                A drank a few more cups with the Ranger and then help him back to his room to sleep off the drunkenness. When I rose the next day to find out, Lobo had left the Estate in the morning. He left his book for me to read what happens in those mountains, but I haven’t read it yet. I’m not sure I can believe there are armies of rats in the north hidden in the snows. I know we have found rat bones before in the snows, but the mountains cannot support a civilian there.

                I shall let you know what I found out from reading this drunk’s book. At least, I’m sure the pages will give me a good laugh.                 

 

Your brother,

Brain Redtales

(1425)

Author's Note

If you had made it this far, then I appreciate it, and before you start to tear my work apart (which doesn’t bother me too much), let me explain something. The most common critique I see is about my spelling and grammar. It is an understandable critique, and I do not blame you for pointing it out. After all, spelling and grammar are the tools in which we use to craft our work, like a paintbrush or a chisel. The artist must know how to use these tools well, but like an artist who has a tremble in their hand's somethings will never be perfect.
My tremble in my hand is caused by my dyslexia. It is something, no matter how much I learn, study, or work on, it will never go away. It is the reason you will find a good bit of spelling and grammar mistakes in my work. I ask you to keep this fact in my when you are about to write your critique.
Also, I feel the need to point this out, this website is like a journal for me. A messy journal I used to work out problems in my stories or to simply warm up before digging into my novels. I do not hire an editor for the work here. I do not spend hours and days pouring over these stories to make them perfect, that energy is saved for the project I plan on taking to market. Everything on this website is my world-building exercises or sketches for other projects.
I do hope you enjoy my work, but this website is not a publishing house for me, and it shouldn’t be for you either. Something to keep in mind as you write your critique.