Feather’s Stories: Of Gods And War

Hello Everyone!

So from now on, I’ve finally decided to type up the snippets I’d been working on for the past year. You’ll know whether they’re snippets or script pieces whenever you see “Feather’s Story” in the title. If you’d like to read some interesting pieces of literature that could potentially help you to write, please feel free to read and give your feedback. Otherwise, use them as writing prompts, they could be prologues to your own literary masterpiece or just something to inspire you. Oh, and don’t forget to credit me. I’m counting on you guys!

Ok, without further ado, here’s…

Of Gods and War


The mountain breeze roared in the ears of the two brave souls, who stood atop the peak, watching the skies. One was a young man, his black, tangled mane of hair was barely held back by a leather tie. His eyes that usually twinkled with youth and eagerness, squinted with impatience, against the small flakes of snow as they came tumbling from the sky. They were focused on the mountain range around them, scouring the ridges and valleys for any sign of their foe. The other man was as ancient as the rocks he sat on. His hair and beard was as white as the snow around him. In fact, it was difficult to distinguish which was snow and which was his hair. His old wizened face, unlike his companion’s, remained fixed to the distant horizon in front of him, never straying, never drifting. The slits of his eyes were hidden behind bushy, silver eyebrows and seemed as if they were shut, but the young man beside him knew better.

Minutes ticked by like years and the young man found it increasingly difficult to stand still. Suddenly, a sharp wind blew through the pair, and the younger man grunted with the effort it took not to shiver. He shrugged his wolf-skin cloak higher, hoping the fur layer would ward off the freezing weather. It didn’t. Sighing at the futility of his actions, he returned his gaze to the distant horizon. Through smoky breath, the young man finally spoke, his voice barely above a gravelly whisper, “How much longer?”

The old man chuckled, shaking his head and letting the snow that had gathered atop his head fall to his shoulders, “Patience my young friend.” His voice was very much like his wrinkled face. It was tired. Of course, he would be. He had been sitting cross-legged for hours now, on nothing but a flat cushion on an uneven boulder, but he had to weather it, for it sat next to a very old gong that was under his responsibility.

The young man rolled his eyes, grunting once more, this time with annoyance, “This is a pointless waste of time, if you ask me,” he murmured. His companion chuckled again, almost as if he agreed with him. It was true. The guards in the villages below could see just as well as they could even if the mountains blocked nearly half the view. Burying his face even deeper into his cloak, the young man huffed in irritation, as he sniffed away the icicles that had begun to form around his nose, “They’re taking their bloody time!” he groused.

“My friend you and your people have spent too much time in that city of yours, life is much more complicated than that,” the old man coughed. His younger companion glanced at him with a raised brow and suspected the old man was laughing at him, “They know what they are doing.”

Returning their attention back to the horizon, they fell into silence. Once more, minutes ticked by ever so slowly, not even a single birdsong echoed in the valley. It was as if they knew something was going to happen. Then, it happened. The older man gasped, his back straightening as he spotted a fleeting speck of movement beyond the mountains. Seeing the old man perk up, the younger shifted closer, hoping to see what he saw. He turned his head sharply across the mountain, like a bird of prey seeking out its next victim, “What? What is it? What did you see?”

The old man didn’t reply immediately. In fact, he didn’t reply at all. His concentration was purely on the horizon. There, between two towering mountains came and went a small speck of darkness, like a peeking animal from behind a burrow. It was clear that the dark speck was moving towards them, as it grew larger across the mountain range. Soon the blackness encompassed the mountains, like roiling wave. It was fast, almost too fast for the young man to even comprehend.

“Is that even an army?” he breathed, incredulous. His mouth gaped wide open, as he watched the black army rush towards the small villages beneath them. The sound of thousands of voices, roaring with bloodlust echoed around the mountain and he shivered with dread.

As he gazed with dreaded awe, the old man spared no time. He unravelled his long, bony legs from his cushion, and made his way over to the large gong beside him. Despite looking frail, he was surprisingly strong, as he easily grasped the heavy, wooden log that hung by thick, rough rope hanging from a metal beam above. He swung it back only to thrust it towards the gong letting it hit with an ominous ring. The metal sang like a calm, soothing wave, almost drowning out the angry roar that had filled the mountains. Its sombre tones echoed into the skies above them, and the ringing died, a chorus of other, smaller gongs echoed its call, all across the valley. They were feeble compared to the contraption on the mountain, but there was a purpose to this gong, the others didn’t have. It didn’t call out to the humans below, it wasn’t meant to. Its main purpose was to call someone else.

As the old man continued to swing the long, he kept his eyes on the approaching storm, despite the fact that his companion never took his eyes off it. Moments went by, until they heard the tell-tale sound of a trumpet, encompassing all the other noises. More trumpets joined the lead and the rushing of large wings followed behind. Distracted by the sound, the younger man tried to find the source of the sounds, and looked up as a large shadow covered the valley. Just as the black wave covered the mountain, a cloud of golden soldiers covered the skies. Gleaming swords as bright as the sun were raised with determination as their wings took them to the earth below. Shining gold shields glinted against the snow and almost blinded him.

So awed, was the young man, he failed to notice as a fly landed at the corner of his wide open mouth. He watched as the white golden army descended from the heavens and cover the villages below, blocking them from view, like a shield against the black wave. Through it all the old man kept ringing the bell, as if his body were in a permanent state of motion, his eyes glued to the sight below, as both waves finally crashed against each other. The war between the heavens had finally begun.


I hope you guys garnered some inspiration to write! Well, see you next time, I know I’ll be posting more of these soon, so keep an eye out if you’re good at literature, and please, let me know what you think! I’d love to have some feedback.

This is Feather, signing out!

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