If you were with me for Writing Prompt Wednesday the first time, you might remember that I said I was a “pantster”. What in the world does that mean? It means that when I write, I often don’t have a plan. The characters tend to do whatever they want, often going off script and running around causing chaos.
Long writing prompts make the story all the more interesting. The characters and the author go week by week with no idea what is going on. I’ll admit that this week is the case! Nonetheless, the story must go on, and so here we are.
Rohan is with King Akar’s army, which has stopped just outside a small village. The army is ready to ransack the homes and destroy the people at the behest of an evil king. However, one lone figure stands between the army and the poverty-stricken homes before them: a woman.
To catch up on last week’s Writing Prompt Wednesday, check it out here: https://www.bluedandelionpress.com/writingpromptwednesdayherewegoagain/
I can tell you, though, that the short story now has a name! Without further ado:
Rohan of the Ruin
Writing Prompt Wednesday – Part II
The below is copyright to ThisBookBeauty 2025 and shall not be recreated
General Maw wanted to send in the cavalry. To his estimation, there was no reason to speak with the girl standing before her shanty town and defy the might of the King’s army. Rohan disagreed, and a silent staring contest commenced. The unit leaders around them shuffled nervously from foot to foot, waiting to see which one would cave first. What they didn’t know, was Rohan had infinite time to waste and nothing to lose in this battle. He could out-wait General Maw and every other mortal within the camp if he needed to.
Several long minutes passed before General Maw growled and conceded, “One hour.”
Rohan didn’t thank him, nor did he smile or attempt to save face. He simply turned on his heel and returned to his tent to pack his saddlebags. Then he set about finding his mount and rode across the plain to meet the girl. His horse was a giant brute the others refused to go near. The bay of his coat shone with the care Rohan bestowed on the animal. He tossed his head with vanity when others looked upon him with awe.
“Come Galahan,” Rohan said, tapping his heels against the horse’s sides and maneuvering the reins, guiding his horse through the camp, a large white flag grasped in one hand.
They galloped across the arid plain, leaving the vast army behind them as the female form grew larger, the distance falling away under Galahan’s sure hooves. Rohan wasn’t sure what his plan was, except to get this woman and her people as far away from the shanty town as possible before the army fell upon it. The men were brutal, swift, and deadly in their precision to eliminate the king’s enemies, but his power was worse, making them wish for death or deal it out upon themselves.
The number of innocents who had melted into puddles of tears and self-loathing before him was higher than he wished to remember, and the number of those who simply ended their existence rose every time the king sent him to a new village.
Galahan skidded to a stop before the woman, and Rohan took a moment to study her before leaping to the ground. She had sandy brown hair, worn long and woven into thick and intricate braids. Her skin was tanned from the desert sun, and her eyes stood out startlingly, a swirling mixture of blues and greens, like she held the very Earth in her irises. Her stance remained defiant as he came to stand before her. A long wooden post with barbed spikes jutting out from every angle, clutched tightly in her hands, kept her steady. The fiercely protective look on her face had Rohan tilting his head in interest.
Rohan clutched the white flag in his gloved fist and held it out to her without a word, waiting to see what she would do. The girl glared at him and spat at his feet viciously.
Disgust rose in his throat, and he wiped his boot on the sand to rid the spittle from it, “That wasn’t very nice.”
Her eyes widened, “He speaks.”
Rohan rolled his eyes, “Of course he speaks! The wench just spat on his new boots. He is angry!”
Uncertainty fluttered behind her eyes and she took a step backward, her makeshift weapon drooping a bit.
“Why are you here, Rohan of the Ruin?” she asked tentatively. She desperately wanted to drop her guard, but Rohan guessed experience had taught her otherwise.
“You’ve managed to tick off the King of Agradell. I’m supposed to destroy your town,” he held up his palms, “—wait, I didn’t say I was going to. But for now, it would be safer if everyone who isn’t guilty of anything found somewhere else to be.”
“Why would you help us?” she wrinkled her nose and Rohan found it distracting.
“What is your name?”
“Faelynn,” she responded, a faint blush staining her cheeks.
“Faelynn, I can work with that. We need to speak because that army,” Rohan pointed behind him, “is coming to this village first thing tomorrow.”
The pure number of words he’d spoken in the last several minutes was more than enough for months, maybe years. He wanted to get this conversation over with.
Faelynn was reluctant at first, not wanting to evacuate individuals from their homes based on a word from one of the king’s lackeys. Rohan couldn’t really blame her but he did his best to impress on her the importance that no one be left in the village when the army came through in the morning.
Faelynn led the townsfolk through the village. The young and old, sick and strong, huddled near a cave entrance that led into a vast and seemingly endless cavern. Rohan hoped there was an exit somewhere, for their sake.
“There’s a portal,” Faelynn explained to one of the older women, quietly, turning her back to Rohan and imparting instructions on reaching the portal that would carry them to safety.
Rohan wished she’d hurry up and get on with it. General Maw had only given him an hour after all and he needed to be headed back toward the army before any more time passed.
At last, the remainder of the villagers passed through the cave entrance and Faelynn turned back to Rohan, only to find him less than a step behind her, a length of rope clutched in his hands. He spun her around and grasped her wrists in his large hands, tying the rope tightly around them as she growled and hissed at him.
He cleared his throat, the words he’d spoken scraped against his nerves, “Woman listen, there are things at work.”
Faelynn glared at him and he did his best to ignore her. Unceremoniously, Rohan threw her onto Gahalan’s back and began the trek back toward the army. Now, he needed to keep her away from General Maw and figure out how he was going to stomach speaking more than five words every week.
Rohan’s dialogue is definitely going to need to increase, despite his desire to speak in ‘grunt’. I’m looking forward to his thoughts in the coming weeks.
Let me know what you thought in the comments and as always,
Happy Reading!
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