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May. 12th, 2009 11:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
megaptera posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
fiction_drabblesTitle: Misinterpretation
Challenge/Prompt: symbol
Original Fiction or Fanfiction: Diablo II: Lord of Destruction
Characters: Necromancer, Amazon, desert mercenary guy
Rating: 13+ for a dead guy and black magic.
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: Setting and 'verse belong to Blizzard, and I am an old-school sadfan.
Summary: People always assume the worst when you mess around with corpses.
Author's Notes: Yet another attempt to get my omg!epic fanfic going by snapping at random drabble challenges as they flutter past.
* * * * *
The necromancer froze, the blade at his throat flashing a distorted reflection.
“What's it do?” rasped a weary voice, close behind his ear.
The glyph scratched into the cracked flesh of the dead man's hand was powerless, unfinished. “It'll protect him -- ”
“So you can use him later?”
Yesterday, that question had sent him into a rage; now, he felt only bitter resignation. “I wouldn't...”
“He wouldn't.” The creak of a bowstring echoed off the cliffs. “Stand down.”
The blade withdrew, and made a dull sound as it was dropped to the sand behind him.
Challenge/Prompt: symbol
Characters: Necromancer, Amazon, desert mercenary guy
Rating: 13+ for a dead guy and black magic.
Warnings: none.
Disclaimer: Setting and 'verse belong to Blizzard, and I am an old-school sadfan.
Summary: People always assume the worst when you mess around with corpses.
Author's Notes: Yet another attempt to get my omg!epic fanfic going by snapping at random drabble challenges as they flutter past.
* * * * *
The necromancer froze, the blade at his throat flashing a distorted reflection.
“What's it do?” rasped a weary voice, close behind his ear.
The glyph scratched into the cracked flesh of the dead man's hand was powerless, unfinished. “It'll protect him -- ”
“So you can use him later?”
Yesterday, that question had sent him into a rage; now, he felt only bitter resignation. “I wouldn't...”
“He wouldn't.” The creak of a bowstring echoed off the cliffs. “Stand down.”
The blade withdrew, and made a dull sound as it was dropped to the sand behind him.