A little story bit I cooked up
Ok, I know I just said I was going to start from the beginning, but I've been itching to write this little story. So here goes. The setting is about 100 years after the Sulvindross Holy War. The Moldurm are a large race of mountain dwellers, living at ease with the earth.
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Alphonse struggled against the wind to keep his eyes open. The wind atop the mountains had always been brutal, but today it seemed the Goddesses wanted him to suffer.
It was bad enough that he drew the short lot for this trade mission, but the usual path had been snowed over, and Alphonse knew that trying to push the horses over the mounds of fresh snow would have been a death sentence, if not entirely futile in the first place. It was days like this that Alphonse quietly wished that the Moldurm weren't so genial and had just stuck to their caves after the War, instead of trying to be friends with every race.
With a shake of the head, Alphonse cleared that thought fast. If he was going to converse with the Moldurm, he might as well not fill his head with fantasies about not being there in the first place. Watching the path was more important, lest the horses walk themselves off a cliffside and take him and the goods with them. Judging from the lack of looming cliffs on every side, Alphonse gauged that the Moldum capital could not have been too far off. He couldn't wait to know again what it felt like to not be continuously assaulted by the elements.
The nervous whinnies of the horses snapped Alphonse's attention back to the task at hand. The caravan wasn't moving. His gaze followed slowly upwards. There, a distance away, was someone sitting in the snow. The figure was far too large to be Euman; the average Moldurm often stood at a full height of 10ft. The sight filled his heart with joy. He quickly hopped off the cart and cleared his throat.
"Greetings Earth-brother. My heart sings at our meeting. I am Alphonse, son of Gerhardt, Master of Trades of the Empire of Sulvindross. My deepest gratitude to the fortunes of our meeting." Alphonse quoted the speech, practiced from memory, trying hard to sound sincere. The Moldurm were every bit as concerned with decorum and manners as they were with the quality of their stonework. A wrong word could be construed as an insult. The Moldurm were not an angry people, but it wasn't uncommon for a loose-lipped Euman to be given a collective cold-shoulder by the entire community. The last thing Alphonse wanted was to have to make the walk of shame back to Sulvindross with a full cart of supplies.
There were a few seconds of silence. Something wasn't right. Alphonse cleared his throat, took a few steps forward and repeated the speech once more.
The figure snapped to attention suddenly, rising to its feet. Alphonse's gaze widened. This Moldurm was enormous, even by their standards. It turned around, bringing its face in to full view. Glistening, silver eyes with slit pupils. Razor-edged teeth framing a wide maw.
And horns.
This wasn't a Moldurm. It was a Primol, the bastard offspring of a Primeval and Moldurm. Alphonse quietly begged the Goddesses for a miracle. The Primol let loose a terrible roar...
And then charged.
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Sorry it's not very good. My writing isn't what it used to be, and trying to balance detail without winded exposition is not my strongest suit. Anyway, my next update will definitely be timeline related.