Chatterbox: Inkwell

So-oo, I have a New Story™. Again. I'm not actually sure what it's going to be about except that it will heavily involve playing around with the standard Pantheon of Gods fantasy stereotype and involve a lot of backstabbing, both figurative and literal. It's in present tense, for no particular reason other than that it was fun when I did it a while ago with the Jack Frost story thing.

This is what I have thus far. I wants teh critiques. >.>

*

It rains.

This is not, strictly speaking, the truth. Yes, there are thick storm clouds overhead, and water is indeed falling from the sky. There, however, the similarities between rain and this storm end.

This is not rain. This is nature’s direct assault on the tiny stretch of farmland wedged between mountains and forest. Bluish lightning flutters across the clouds, now streaking down to set fire to a barn, now causing a small panic when it strikes just a little too close to home. Thunder shudders and rumbles constantly along behind its quicker, more visible companion, like an vicious dog confronting a horde of vicious rats. Crops are flattened by the wind. When the water hits the ground, it leaves punctures two inches deep.

Inside their homes, the people cower, powerless against an army such as this.

All but one.

He is not a tall man, though his presence has a certain weight to it which more than compensates for his height. His black hair is quite long and tied back. At the moment it flaps wildly against his chin, beaten by the wind. His only other submission to the ferocity of the storm is to curl his shoulders up a little and keep his back to the wind.

Presently he becomes aware of the faint thud, thud of horse hooves, unnaturally loud even against the cacophony of thunder and rain against collapsed wheat. The corners of his lips rise very slightly.

“Good evening… Tyrone.”

“Jonul. I might have known you’d be here.”

The man called Jonul turns, still smiling slightly. Before him stands an enormous bay horse in the full trappings of war, and comfortably in its saddle is a broad-shouldered man in shiny mail. Jonul tilts briefly forward from the waist in a mock bow.

“Would I be anywhere else at such a time?”

“It is hardly your area.”

“No.” Jonul shrugs. “But it is… interesting. And, in time, everything falls into my… area, as you put it.”

Tyrone raises an eyebrow and leans forward in his saddle. “Not for quite some while, in this case. Unless you have something planned?”

“Of course not.” His smile widens slightly, and he spreads his arms wide. “Why should I? I am nothing if not… patient.”

The other man’s thick eyebrows draw together. “You only use that tone when you’re up to something.”

“Nonsense.”

“Mot would tell me.”

“Mot isn’t here. And it is really no concern of yours.”

“Quite the contrary.” Tyrone bares his teeth, a faint snarl rising in the back of his throat.

Jonul raises his hands, palms outward. “Peace, Tyrone. I have no intention of interfering with your little… experiment. I am merely… intrigued. I don’t suppose you could tell me why?” he adds hopefully.

“No.”

“I thought not.” Jonul sighs. “Regrettable indeed.”

“Hm.” Tyrone frowns at the pale man. “Incidentally, do you know the reasoning behind this storm?” He gestures around at the devastation and the greenish thunderclouds overhead.

“Haven’t the slightest,” Jonul replies calmly. “You should ask Haguk; if it isn’t his doing, he would know who is behind it at least.” He crosses his arms tight over his chest and lets out his breath in a short burst of air. “But don’t change the subject. You have everyone in quite the little... uproar. Even my… charges have noticed, and you know what they are like. Surely I’ve as much right as anyone to be… curious?”

“Hm.” Tyrone’s gaze flicks up towards the horizon momentarily, and then back to Jonul. “You know the rumors.”

“Of course.”

“Then you know enough.”

Jonul leans back, half-closing his eyes and staring at Tyrone’s scarred face. “For now. I assume you will refuse to give me a ride?”

Tyrone merely snorts and nudges his horse’s flanks. The big bay tosses its head and plods away. Jonul watches them go, his lips pressed tight together. After a moment he reaches a decision and sets off after the horse. 

*

So Yeah.

What do y'all think?