text: Hello guys, been writing a ton of fantasy recently here's a snippet from a short piece. I've got more on this one, so let me know if you want any more. All feedback is welcome, I'm really just writing for the hell of it, so any insights are valued! Cheers, Lordchimp The cart jolted as they ran over another divot in the dirt road. Birmillius sighed to himself as he steered the horses as best he could, but there were more potholes than actual road on the rough path through the woods. They had been travelling for near enough a week now and it was beginning to drain on him, sapping his energy and motivation to carry on. He was used to the lavish comforts of his manor, with servants and maids attending to every beck and call. He would want for nothing. He was always warm, always dry, always fed and always comfortable. He was not any of those things now. When his assistants had organised his business venture to Port Havendish, he had been overjoyed at the chance of discovering new things, exploring the road, experiencing the life of an honest traveller. After just a day, he had realised that he didn’t want any of those. He wanted to be back in his manor. The thing that really twisted his guts inside him was the fact that they were going to have to do the same damn journey again on the way back. “You alright there boss? You’re looking a little pale?” Marks asked, only a passing sliver of care in his tone. It was if it was a professional courtesy rather than a genuine question, the kind of question that is a polite beginning of a polite conversation between two perfectly reasonable people. Marks was a complete polar opposite of Birmillius, a working man, through and through. He’d spent his whole life working as a guard in the town of Bismark, but since his retirement a few years ago, he occasionally took protection jobs to keep himself busy. “I’m fine.” Birmillus snapped. “Just can’t wait to be off this god forsaken road.” Marks let out a soft friendly chuckle and clapped Birmillus on the shoulder. “You’ll be alright lad, just keep on moving forward, that’s what I say!” Birmillus gave him an icy stare with an equally icy frown. “I’m sorry Marks, did I just hear you call me lad?” He shook his arm off him viciously and suddenly, surprising even Marks with his harshness. “I’m sorry me lord, it won’t happen again.” He looked around, weary from yet another failed effort to get to know the lothesome nobleman. “I’ll just nip in the back and check on the boys.” With that, he climbed up over into the back of the cart and began talking amongst a few of the other men. Birmillius shook his head and focused on the lumpy road. He had hired Marks and a few of his ex-guardsmen along with one or two sell swords from the local tavern. There was one other... A horse rode up next to him suddenly, seemingly from nowhere, making him flinch slightly in his seat. The rider was dressed in all black worn leathers, his long coat flapping dramatically behind him as he approached. He had long, greasy hair which nearly came down to his jaw and a rough patchwork beard that had fastened itself to his chin. A shortbow was strung over his back and a set of long daggers were just visible strapped to his front as the wind took his coat. “I’ve seen tracks ahead Lord, I’d recommend stopping and setting up camp.” Without even waiting for a response, the man ushered his horse to the back of the small convoy with a “Yah”. Birmillius shook his head and scoffed to himself. *Revan. That was the last man he’d hired. He’d heard he was a great scout in the military and that he’d served with the Broken Nine’s when they took the throat. But he had one distinct ability that had marked him out from the rest. He was supposably a Siphon.* Birmillius scoffed again. *A siphon. Foolish storybook tales.* The rest of the convoy had stayed well away from him, keeping their business firmly apart from his. He gave a scouting report, they put extra patrols on. He warned that the ground was rough ahead, they detoured around. The convoy had developed a strange working relationship with him, but as far as Birmillius was concerned, as long as they got there in one piece, he couldn’t care less. The sky interrupted his thoughts rudely with a thunderous roar, water began to slowly start spitting down from the treetops. Birmillius could have curled up and started sobbing, but he was just too tired. *Maybe setting up camp isn’t such a bad idea.