I wrote this, and was hoping to use it as a scene in the later parts of my story 'Dark Star'. Now though, after thinking about the plot a bit more (
http://www.writingforums.com/showthread.php?t=52023), i don't think I will do it...
But here it is for your reading pleasure, if you think maybe I could use it, please reply and let me know. In case you get confused, the character Te'rel is a Neplem (explained in the link), and appeared in a short story I wrote and posted here called To Live on In Legend.
And yes, I may have gotten the inspiration for the last line from a certain Robert Jordan.
He felt as if he should not be in this city. It was marvellous, with white marble buildings and towers. The streets were clean, and filled with well dressed people, in garments of colourful silk. All of whom glanced at Aran and Bron, sniffing as they walked past, or holding their noses up as they went on their ways. Even the merchants at the various market stalls stopped advertising their wares for a brief second as the two walked on by.
Aran’s woollen shirt was ripped and covered in mud, and his cowl was damp and smelt of it. He hadn’t shaved in a week and his facial hair was starting to grow wild and unsightly. Bron hobbled along, in much the same attire as Aran, only slightly less dirty. He didn’t have to worry about his facial hair. His long white hair dangled down his ancient, crooked back. Aran was amazed that this old man could keep up with him, let alone race from those soldiers who had assailed them for seemingly no reason several days ago.
“Where are we going, Bron?”
The stooped, old man looked up at him, his sad eyes gazing at Aran’s face.
“Trust me boy, I know what I’m doing.”
Arten-Sa was one of the oldest, and one of the grandest cities in the world, standing on an island half a mile out to sea, with a vast metal bridge linking it to the mainland, and marble walls of immense size surrounding it. In the centre lay the Palace of the Moon, a huge building, comparable in size to a small mountain, it was twice as tall as any of the other towers that littered the skyline of the city. In the distant past it was a great stronghold for the rulers of a country that no longer existed and left behind no clues of their heritage but for the great bridge and walls.
The pair kept walking towards the centre of the city, Bron wanted to go and see the Palace of the Moon.
Why does the old fool want to go here, of all places. We’ll probably be arrested!
Aran suddenly felt weak, and his vision began to darken. He could feel his strength leaving his body and he fell on his hands and knees. As he looked up towards Bron, he saw a manic smile on the old mans face, before he slipped into darkness.
What the bloody hell? Where am I? Thought Aran as he awoke on the tiled floor, of a vast empty chamber, containing numerous pillars. That damn old man!
His vision was blurry at first, but after a minute or so he could see perfectly, but his head was throbbing in pain.. The room was enormous, and the walls were marble, he must be in the Palace of the Moon. He stood up, and began to walk on shaky legs, towards the carpet that ran down the middle of the chamber.
A figure caught his eyes, and he realised Bron was there in the room with him.
“What have you done, you old bastard? Why are we here?”
Aran lunged at the old man, but he was stopped in mid air. Frozen, unable to move…his feet weren’t touching the ground.
His face was drained of colour as the old man stared at him, with an expressionless face. Yet his eyes, which had appeared to always be filled with sorrow seemed to have a renewed spark to them.
Slowly Bron’s stooped back became straighter, and he stood up tall and proud. The age drained from him, and gradually he appeared younger and younger until he looked like a handsome man in his middle years. His hair was still long and white, yet his twisted, crooked teeth now were straight and shone like pearls. He grew taller, until he was by far bigger than even what Aran considered to be a tall man. Light seemed to radiate from him.
Aran felt his body quake, his beat wildly, and his stomach felt queasy.
Impossible, he thought.
The figure who had once been, a small, crooked old man opened his mouth and spoke.
“Welcome to my home boy. My name is Te’rel.”
He thought that he had been scared when the transformation of Bron began, but on hearing that name, he thought he was going to weep.
