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excuses. Well?
“I lived enough,” the priestess climbed at the wrong time, as always when the Fox was almost scared, “my bones are pulled into the ground.” Go in peace, the fog will hide you - this is her grandson.
Ingvar drew his sword, really intending to slaughter it. Their magic tricks stood across his throat, brought him here and forced him to lead people, and now he will hide the fog! He will not hide any magic.
- I'll bring her! - shouted Fox, and Ingvar barely managed to stop the sword. He turned in disbelief.
- when?
- Soon.
- Is she somewhere nearby?
- Close, - Fox went to the bench near the wall and sat down, as if his strength had left. He avoided the look of the grandmother, who looked so sympathetically that Ingvar himself got it.
- Well, lead.
- Promise not to treat her badly ...
- I'll decide.
Fox closed his eyes. The air around him moved slightly, imperceptibly to the eye. Neither facial features, nor height, nor clothes have changed. Rather, the perception has changed.
“Priestesses have no children.” In the Temple never take the boys.
Ingvar felt like a complete idiot. In a baggy, men's dress in front of him sat a young girl who tightly closed her eyes in anticipation of a flash of rage.
And the flash was not slow to follow.
- You! - Ingvar grabbed her chin, face up, - fooling me all this time! Dragged into these damned fogs!
He still remembered how easy it was to squeeze that thin neck to crunch. We had to give it to Sharh and his friends!
- I tried to dissuade!
- Come on silent, witch!
"Kill him - you will never embrace your princess," said the grandmother. Well, yes, he would have embraced the corpse ... And how she grinned when she was threatened! I knew exactly what would not kill!
- You promised! - finally in the green sea eyes was fear.
- Well, all out! - Ingvar snapped, and the guards flew out into the street, grabbing a priestess. Ingvar pulled Kassil to his feet.
“I could promise, come to me yourself,” he roared in his voice, “and the vanquished are treated quite differently.”
He abruptly pulled the hunting jacket, and, tearing off her shirt and shirt, found that the girl’s thin waist was wrapped in towels, and her chest was bandaged tightly so as not to stick out. Pulling it all off was a matter of seconds.
Cassil tried to pull back, covering her chest with her hands. Ingvar had enough of a tender, flat, unburned belly, so that desire would strike his head. He tipped the girl over with his stomach on the table, pulling his pants off her narrow hips. She squirmed, trying to escape, asked to stop, but Ingvar almost did not perceive.
- Not here, in the fog can not be - she almost cried.
“I believed you enough,” he pressed her against the tabletop, not letting it move, pressed the member to the hot bosom for a second, and entered. Cassil was petrified in his hands, clenching her fists. He did not feel sorry for her, revenge for putting a fool in front of everyone, for laughing herself, for almost believing and almost ready to make friends with the little fox. Moved strongly and sharply, seeing blood on her thighs.
And the sweeter he was, the more the sounds around him were smeared, until there was a feeling that there were corks in the ears. There was already nothing to be seen from the windows, and smeared spots were growing in the corners.
At the time of the final enjoyment, he saw the protection of Cassil, torn to shreds, holding back the fog around them.
In the end, he let the girl go and put his hands on the table to catch his breath. Before his eyes still stood shadows of the world, which he had never seen before. The fog was not fog, he smelled pain and blood, and pulled tentacles towards them.
Cassil with a moan crawled to the floor, breathing heavily and sobbing. I looked around, stood up with difficulty, pulling on my pants and tightening the remnants of a shirt on my chest.
“Your people are probably already dead,” she said dully, wiping away tears and heading for the door. Ingvar fastened his pants, pulled out his sword and left first, pushing it aside.
The cats hissed on them, their eyes glittering. Ingvar stepped off the porch, plunged into the fog, as he dived into the water. Through the haze, he could see how his people were writhing and screaming, with bulging eyes and wide mouths, but he heard no sound. He is generally deaf. I tried to run and help, but could not get through the gray dregs in the air.Turned around - Cassil almost hid in her, standing on the porch. In the big green eyes, resentment and sadness, on the arm that pulled off his shirt, a bruise in the shape of his fingers.
Ingvar rushed back, stumbled out of the blue, and fell to his knees. Mist climbed into his mouth, nose, eyes and ears, the warrior was washing it, but he saw everything worse.
Cassil turned her gaze somewhere behind him, and horror appeared on her face. He turned with difficulty, squinting.
People were walking through the fog. Women in blue clothes of priestesses, peasants. One young woman carried a baby in her arms. With empty, white faces, and black, without pupils, eyes.
- Run! - Ingvar tried to shout, raising his sword, but made no sound. The blade of the sword is covered with shreds of mist, dull, faded, rust appeared on the steel.
Women stood over his people lying on the ground, and they rose, with faces as terrible in their emptiness. Ingvar was always stronger than any of them, but now they are twisting him. The sword caused them no more harm than a rotten stick. Ropes dug into his hands, putting them behind his back. He was dragged forward.
Ingvar still managed to notice how the peasants followed Cassil, she jumped over the railing, but did not have time to escape.
When a white hand reached her, a huge light gray wolf was weaving out of the fog. He knocked one of the peasants to the ground, ripped his throat out - he didn't splash blood - grabbed the other by the side. People waved away with indifferent faces without feeling pain. The wolf opened the road, and ran forward, turning around once. Cassil rushed after him, and they disappeared into the fog.
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Interesting idea.
Thank.
I will wait.
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I do not agree. I read disgusting paranoid delusions, woven from a combination of ridiculous names and crazy actions. Fog, yes, but fog in the head of the author.
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Tastes differ. I liked it, and I will wait for the development of the plot.
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I know only one Kassil, and even Lev, but Abramovich. Even Gorchev wrote:
"... to them came the widow of a poet, almost negligee, with a bare neck and in such terrible horn-rimmed glasses, which only Dead Lev Kassil could wear, and screamed at the Bandits for frightening the nightingales, about which husband wrote a poem in his posthumous collection of essays. "
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Miraculously, Pushkin had Tatiana, and Ostrovsky Katerina, if you follow your logic, you cannot use the rest of these names.
Next, the story is fantastic. I liked him, you didn’t. You spoke, I - too. I propose to be adults and disperse on this note.
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So for what comments exist to keep quiet! I did not know, bye-bye.
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I just do not see the point in this dialogue.
if you so want to discuss this work with me, then write in a personal.
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Not.
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Come on)
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Fine! :)
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Next to the studio :)
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Proceedings!
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Excellent))) Looking forward to continue!
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oooooo reds in the city
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If the violin asks to sing, why hold it back? Or were you afraid of the rebuke of those who came to drool and masturbate? So they do not read this: they will look at the category and the first phrases, and they will go further ... Your style appeals to me, the beginning was exciting. There, and the people are unanimous, for. So, with the continuation do not pull!
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Beautiful, waiting for the continuation
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Usually, I do not really like fantasy and this story was not going to read until the author. As always talented. Everything you write is fascinating and easy to read, avidly, I would say. Carry on of course, be sure to continue. Thanks for the story.
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I demand to continue !!!
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I want to draw the author’s attention to one thing:
“Sit down lower, you will be more stable. The edge is directed into the stomach of the enemy. More than half of the weight on the front foot, but not all ... You must move along without slipping your feet off the ground. ”- you don’t know yourself how to do this, don’t write better.
1. The height of the rack does not affect the stability - only on mobility, and then depending on what kind of weapon in question.
2. The edge of the sword can be sent anywhere, depending on the style of fencing.
3. The weight in the rack should be exactly between the legs, regardless of style.
4. Move slipping ... hrenaks foot on the stone. This is not a fencing room with an ideal floor.
In general, you are right, this story is not the place. In the first five paragraphs, a quote came to mind: “Of course, dull strength and a sharp sword are good, but magic is what rules the world!” It was said by the magician in one book after he simply heated the knight's armor.
Personal thought: Mages without imagination are depressing.
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Quite sensible analysis of the story in terms of fiction and magic, but a completely unjustified conclusion. I think the opposite: the story here is the PLACE to be, although the fighters should be fighting, and the magicians really magical. From this story will immediately benefit.
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1. Insert two sticks into the ground, on one tie a stone - the center of gravity - on the ground, on the second from above. Which will be more sustainable?
2. I described the one I know more about. Grab hands - from the same place.
3. The distribution of weight - the same as taught.
4. According to your logic, if you walk, lifting your legs, it will be almost impossible to stumble. Practice says otherwise. Although it is more convenient to slide on the floor in the hall, of course.
And yes, it really seems to me that real magic is stronger than a sword, which in fact is a sharp piece of metal on the handle. The only thing that can level them is the spirit of those who use them.
About the fact that there is no place ... yes, it is possible. It does not turn around with a description of the world, side characters (if they do not sleep with each other every five minutes), with a school of magic, the world of fog. But, most likely, as I find time to write a sequel, it will almost certainly appear here.
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Please tell me which school of fencing they taught you, because I went through everything I could and did not find the right one.
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just to be
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I really liked this story and in general all your stories, on this site they definitely became favorite)) Thank you very much)
I have a question, do you have stories besides these? On any topic, not necessarily erotic) And are they laid out somewhere? I would really like to read))
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Great story hooked. Much better than plotless fuck. Perhaps the theme of the story does not quite fit the theme of the site, but elements of eroticism are still present. I beg you, go ahead.
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it seems to me that on this resource they are still waiting for other stories, it is high time to introduce the category “literature” for such epic stories.
but the sequel would read, and then the fog is all fog
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looking forward to the next part
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your stories really catch on! And they are a bit different from the format of such sites. Tell me, do you have your own website and is there a continuation of this story?
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