Now that I look at this story, it IS character driven, but the plot is too vague. Orginally, it was going to be 1500 words, but because I was too afriad to expand upon it, I wrote it in less than 600. Needless to say, I must re-edit this story, but because of the lack of material on this site, I'll put it on here. =)
By Brandon Markham
Arash P’vonik, stopped believing in the Great One when he became Stormwizard of the ark, the Hopechaser. His dreams of having a happy life with his family drowned with the coming rain, just like the hopes and lives of countless others. The ark treaded furious waters, wave after buffeting wave threatening to rip the ark asunder.
Then their were the storms.
They roll from nowhere on the sea like hills, lightning whipping indiscriminately from their black battlements. One such storm came this night, like every night; the storm of someone rapping on the Stormwizard’s door.
“Master Stormwizard! Master! It’s huge!”
Arash rose from the bed apathetically, wondering if this night would be his last. He hoped so. Routinely, he threw on his marble colored cloak and held his storm-repel ivory staff. It wasn’t odd, the staff. It drew in electricity like a rod, and with proper form-since anyone can do it-throw a lightning bolt right back at the clouds. The people gazed at the storm battles like a mythic war.
Arash lost his family, to one such storm, and lost friends when the flood rushed over them. Why had he continued living on? What connections did he have with these people? Why not throw himself of the ship like countless others did? A tempting thought that was. Nonetheless, Arash moved forward.
The hallway before him was filled with the same lost and empty hopes that he once reserved.
“The Great One save us all.”
That last one stabbed his heart. No…he won’t save us. But he moved on, on onto the bridge where he faced the storm.
Rain pelted on his once-dry face and clothes, and drummed on the wooden planks. The storm surged forth, a whip of silver electricity lashing out Arash’s way. He countered by drawing the lightning into his upraised staff and repelling it back.
Bolt after bolt Arash repeated desperately. The past twenty years weren’t tiring as a Stormwizard, but it was still desperate. They say that in times of need, a simple prayer to the Great One answered all needs. Where was his need when Arash needed his family? Where-
A lone bolt struck out at him. He raised his staff, but the power was too much for him. The staff broke into pieces. Arash flew backwards.
That was it. With the staff broken, the Hopechaser’s chase died. Arash slowly rose up, knelt.
The storm seemed to be giving the Stormwizard one last request. He prayed for salvation and forgiveness, for aid and hope for all. For the world. His head pounded; he prayed. His heart tightened; he prayed. His body felt cold, tired, and uncaring. He prayed.
As the storm began to move again, a power filled Arash, waiting to rise up like a geyser. A bolt came.
Arash stood, understanding that the Great One had entered him. His spirit raged like the storm in front of him, such fury and might engulfed him in a silvery light. The bolt bounced of him, but something was different. He held the bolt.
With every pound, ounce, and pint of strength he could muster, he threw the bolt back. The cloud sent back more in return. The two fought but never backed away, but with one bolt to the cloud, the black thing fled.
When the people rushed out to thank Arash, and gaze on his glory, he spoke. “Glory to the Great One. He’s just on time.”