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This was an assignment for my creative writing class. What do you think of it? I tried to make it so that it could be canon. Dalinar’s boots clinked against the cobbled stone floor of the recently captured keep. He drew in a deep breath from his nose, exalting in the metallic odor of spilled blood. They had put up a good fight, but they could not stand against him. No one could stand against him. A small, wiry man in white clothes scurried up to him. “My lord, do you require assistance?” he asked, fidgeting his hands. He looked at the gash on Dalinar’s muscular bicep. Dalinar shoved his way past the surgeon and exited the large doorway out of the keep. He looked down on all the corpses laid down at the feet of the drawbridge. Dalinar snorted with contempt, kicking them out of his way and into the dirty moat water. Off to the side he could see the surgeon returning to the medical tents, where wounded soldiers cried out in pain. He tore a strip of fabric from his shirt and tied it roughly around the bleeding wound. He made his way through the former battlefield to the command tent. The massive blue tent fell silent as a powerful figure filled the opening. A stately man with a crown stood up. “Ah, Dalinar, we were just discussing your recent success! Well done!” Gavilar praised. Dalinar grunted and sat down next to the various diplomats and tacticians, several of whom visibly recoiled. He grabbed a cup of wine and looked at it in distaste. Yellow. Not nearly strong enough. The wooden chair creaked under him, and the tent filled with the stench of his wounded arm, but Gavilar, however, was unfazed. “What with our success,” with this he motioned to Dalinar, who was taking a long drink, “I am feeling somewhat bold. I believe that the next target that we need to go to is in fact Dumadari.” Dalinar’s drink spewed out of his mouth in utter shock. He laughed. “That’s more than somewhat bold!” he boomed. “Does that mean that you do not recommend that course of action?” Gavilar questioned. “Ha! Foolhardy? Yes. But,” he lammed a dagger into the table to punctuate his words,” it sounds fun enough.” Gavilar simply smiled. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dalinar grinned like a madman, swinging his sword in broad, sweeping strokes. He was so consumed in it all that he barely noticed the various cuts and bruises that he had accrued throughout the fight. He was enraptured in this feeling, this euphoria, this… thrill. The thrill of battle, the thing that drove him on. His eyes darted wildly, and his clenched teeth held back peals of vicious laughter. Red mist clouded the edges of his vision as he cut down ranks of foot soldiers. They were lesser beings than him, everyone was. Out here, on the battlefield, he was like a god. Every crunch, every satisfying swing, all of it. He was unstoppable. He spotted a man riding a gleaming white horse in Shardplate. Dalinar grinned. He had found his target. He started swinging his way towards the man, called Narat. Narat was the leader of the resistance here. If he could kill him, then the army would be like an axehound without a head. The ranks of soldiers surrounding the man were no problem. Dalinar cut through the ranks of basic soldiers until he reached Narat’s honor guard. Their gold and white uniforms made them stand out in the battlefield His glory was put to an end when his sword deflected off something. He growled and looked into the eyes of the man who had resisted him. Brown eyes, in a uniform of white and gold. He was a peasant, not even worthy to shine Dalinar’s gore encrusted shoes. Dalinar laughed at how desperate Narat was that he would let darkeyes serve in his honor guard. Dalinar’s laughing was stopped when the man’s thin blade stabbed into his elbow through a chink in his armor. He roared and swung his sword towards the peasant who had dared to stop him, to resist him, to end his rush of power. He was even more surprised when his sword failed to cut the man down. The peasant had dodged. Dalinar looked at the man and saw that he was smiling. Dalinar grinned back. Finally, a challenge. Dalinar surged forward with a mighty roar, bringing his sword in a brutal cut towards his opponent. The man ducked and jumped back with an eerie grace about him. He jumped back towards Dalinar and brought his thin blade into an overhead swing. Dalinar deflected it off his own weapon and kicked at the man. The darkeyes dropped his weapon and caught Dalinar’s leg in both hands. He twisted it and let go, making Dalinar fall to the ground. The peasant retrieved his sword and stabbed down at the prone Dalinar. Dalinar grabbed the sword that he had dropped when he fell and deflected the strangely thin sword away. He jumped to his feet and brought his sword up. The guard was more skilled than he had originally thought. No matter. He stepped forward and brought his massive sword down upon the darkeyes’ head with all the strength he could muster while red clouded the edges of his vision. He found it stopped against the edge of the thin blade of the man. With a mighty heave, the darkeyes shoved back against Dalinar, knocking him back. The man was strong. The peasant lunged forward, his sword driving towards Dalinar’s heart. Dalinar shifted his right foot backwards and twisted out of the way. How is he so strong? The rapier screeched off his armor. Dalinar brought his broadsword before him and stabbed back, but the man darted out of the way. The darkeyes swung his weapon towards Dalinar’s neck, where there was some exposed skin. Dalinar jumped backwards as the Thrill pumped through his veins. He roared and barreled into the man who deftly darted aside. The man delivered a kick into Dalinar’s side, causing him to stumble. Dalinar just barely brought his sword up to deflect the sword heading for his heart. He jumped back to gather his thoughts. The Thrill no longer sustained him. He was beginning to feel the pain of his wounds. He needed to end this now. Dalinar launched into an attack. He stepped forward and drove a swing of his massive sword into the peasant’s side. The man simultaneously stabbed forwards. The man grunted as his armor caved in under the strike, and Dalinar grunted as the sword slipped in between his lower left ribs. Dalinar, glimpsing victory through the pain, drove another strike into the man’s side. The darkeyes collapsed to the ground. Dalinar stood over him, holding his side. He walked away holding his side, motioning for his soldiers to finish the man off. He had not made 5 steps before he felt a piercing pain in his back. Turning around, he saw the man looking at him before standing up. Dalinar ripped the knife out of the back of his armor, but his vision was already clouding. He looked back at the grinning man. Dalinar fell to the ground unconscious, but not before he noticed that the man’s eyes were bright red. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dalinar blearily blinked awake. Fuzzy shapes were standing over him. His side burned where he had received the sword wound, but what hurt most was his back where the knife was. He heard the figures talking about something, although he could only hear some of what they were saying through his agony. “. . . the knife . . . poison . . . yes. . . deadly . . . surgery . . . I know” Suddenly his pain spiked. He bellowed and fell back into the comforting dark of nothingness. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dalinar fell, fell, deeper into the nothing. He heard voices shouting, but they were muffled and quiet. He just wanted to fall asleep. It was so comforting. He turned away from the voices. Dalinar turned back and realized what was happening. He grunted and tried to wake himself up, but to no avail. It was hopeless. He should just return, go back. He closed his eyes again. Yes, you made the right choice. Come to me. I will take everything. You will never have to feel again. The voice echoed in his mind. Dalinar turned to the voice in the ever-growing darkness of his mind. He could clearly see a kindly old man holding out his arms, dressed in a golden robe. He uncertainly walked towards the old man. With each step he took the darkness grew more complete, more final. That was when he heard a voice that he knew extremely well. “Fight, brother.” Dalinar looked back to the kindly old man. The man’s eyes flashed red, and in that single flash he saw everything. He saw men fighting and screaming on the battlefield. He saw people weeping over the dead body of a mother. He saw himself, Dalinar, unfeeling and uncaring. He saw portions of the future- a green dragon, a man with blue eyes and white hair, and a pattern that seemed to be endlessly curling into itself, its lines beautiful. He stumbled back. “Who are you?” The man did not answer. He scowled, his eyes turning blood red. Dalinar reached for his sword and found that he had none. He backed off. That was when he felt the red creeping in on his vision. He grinned. He charged the man. His fingers closed around a red sword of mist, and he chopped at the old man. The man disappeared. Dalinar looked around and found himself surrounded by inky black creatures. He snorted. This was everything? Dalinar chopped and weaved for what seemed like eternity. His accumulated cuts were nothing as he was being fueled by the Thrill. He took down monster after monster after monster. They didn’t bleed, but instead deflated as something fled out of their body. Finally, he brought down the last one. He looked around to see if there were any more. There wasn’t. He strode to the edge of the darkness and drove his misty sword through. Bright light poured through the rend and he was blinded. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- He woke to the sound of cheering. His memories of what had happened were already slipping away. Dalinar looked around to see soldiers surrounding him. There was Gavilar, his brother. They clasped hands. Dalinar winced at the pain in his side. “Welcome back, brother. Welcome back.”