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shroomiething · 5 years

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The Beginning of the Beginning

The sickly trail of ailing commoners stretched for acres outside the temple. With tapering marble towers and columns jutting over the edge of the sea, the castle’s walls were an inviting refuge from the fury of the hurricane.

A chilling wind bit through the crowd while curling waves smashed against the rocky beach nearby. The ocean was dark blue and frothing with foam. The storm howled closer, lashing at the sodden villagers as they shuffled in their miserable line. Sea spray doused the trail with every thunderous wave and weighed their dreary robes down; many of the ill were hunched over in exhaustion.

On the far side of the temple was a riot of thrashing bodies. Bricks shattered against the smooth stone walls, and torches blazed furiously in the icy wind. Soldiers in bright steel armor were holding the throng at bay, a wall of shields pressing back from the line of the ill. The screaming rioters hurled foul, outlandish words at the temple wall. Their eerie screeches echoed across the cliffside, a chorus begging for the destruction of what lied within.

“Ghost! Demon!” The frenzied mob roared as they struggled to reach the great oaken doors. “Kill it! Kill the devil!”

Inside the temple, the air was quiet. The echoes of the fight reverberated through the air. The line led into a wide circular chamber. Adorned with tapestries and statues, a trail of steps lead to a grand altar that gleamed with polished marble. Silver and gold etchings flashed in the firelight, faintly visible against the glossy stones.

At the crest of the steps, a young girl knelt on the cold stone floor. Her head was bowed, and her face was obscured by a mane of wild black curls. The crowded line shuffled to the edge of the steps. One by one, the villagers were touched lightly on the forehead by the girl at the altar.

“Captain!” A guard burst through the far end of the line. His ill-fitting armor rattled on his person. Jerkily, he twisted his lopsided helm back into place. Water ran from his gear in rivulets as he approached the dais, his pants echoing through the chamber. “They’ve nearly reached the doors,” He gasped to the oldest guard; a withered codger with a thick velvet cape that brushed the floor. The old man held a tattered wide-brim hat in one hand, and a drawn dagger in the other. As the younger guard spoke, the old man shifted the hat into his other fist.

“We can’t hold them away from the line much longer. They’re after her again.” The guard dropped his voice to a furious hiss as he gestured to the lone girl on the altar. A malevolent glint flashed in his eye as he beheld her; the faint twist in his mouth was akin to a bitter snarl.

Defensively, the old guard snapped, “You think I don’t know that? They’ve come for the bitch before. We can hold them off again.”

“Sir, if I may…” The young guard adjusted the slipping strap of his loose armor. Shuffling his feet in obvious reluctance, he lowered his tone to a quiet whisper. “Is she really worth the trouble? Ever since we captured her, she’s brought us nothing but miserable fights like this. Not only that, but…” He paused. “You know what they say about her.”

The old guard’s teeth flashed with his disgust. The hat in his fist rattled with a peculiar tinkling noise as he swung his fist towards the dais. Sneering, the codger growled, “That ain’t no demon or ghost. You’d have to be a moron to believe these local’s stupid legends. If she was a demon like they said, we’d already be dead, wouldn’t we? We’ve been campaigning with her for years now! And don’t forget about all the money she makes us!” He gave a furious shake of the hat, which procured a quiet chink chink. “You have some balls to come to me and spout this bullshit! After everything I’ve done for you, the life I’ve given you ungrateful brats…” Grinding his jaw, his milky blue eyes narrowed in disgust. “Stop whining and get back out to the line!”

With that, he shoved the other man’s helmet away, sending him stumbling down the steps. The man adjusted his helm once again before scurrying towards the direction of the doors.

The old guard’s shoulders dipped as the heavy door slammed shut. A hefty sigh escaped his cracked lips. He had kidnapped the girl, oh yes he had. Many moons ago it was. He could still see her mother, as fine as silky whiskey with eyes like orbs of gold. He remembered the woman’s dying breaths as he yanked her infant daughter from her arms. Those burning golden eyes, brimming with a thousand curses.

“The gods… will bring you… your fate… I promise.” The seer gasped out. Her mane of curly hair was matted in blood. The old guard sneered down, for what was this but another victory?

He couldn’t be certain of that anymore. Seventeen years later, and he lost a son by the day. The first was to scurvy, of all diseases. He hadn’t been brought overseas soon enough to be treated by his moneypot. The second died on the battlefield, right next to his old man. The third, the fourth, and the fifth, all were taken down by the most avoidable accidents that sent the old man’s head into peril at the mere memory. An infected sore from tripping on a rock. A trip over a wagon that ended in a split skull. Leaning too far over a well and slipping in… How could he have lost his eldest in that ridiculous of manners? The young guard’s words reverberated through his aged brain like the rhythm of a drum. Brings us nothing but trouble… A demon… Ghost…

A commoner climbing the stairs distracted him from his turbulent musingss. On trembling, unsteady legs, the man clambered the rest of the way on his hands and knees. The burly guards closed the line behind him by crossing their spears together.

Turning his attention to the sickly man, the old guard ordered, “Give thanks to our god, Orphgyes, with your honorful and selfless pittance.” An arrogant sneer had plastered across his leathery features as he held aloft the wide-brim hat. Inside the bowl, glittering coins lay nestled in the worn fabric like a king’s shining hoard. The sickly man’s eyes reflected the greed as he reluctantly lowered his fist into the hat. He released a cascade of small copper pennies that glinted in contrast to the blinding gold underneath.

“Dearest Orphgyes, accept my pittance,” The sickly man murmured, a slight snarl bitterly hinting in his throat.

The man knelt in front of the healer. His skin was pale and glistening with sweat. Shaking violently, he lowered himself to a step below the young girl. His lips were blue, and his heavily shadowed eyes were sunken in. The weight of the healer’s gaze seemed to bore into him; he could feel a presence bearing down on him, almost as if two hot rays were burning into his forehead. Barely daring to lift his head, the man forced himself to look into the healer’s eyes.

The girl’s irises were liquid copper, glimmering in the light as metallic tears boiled down her cheeks. Around her eyes were darkened shadows of exhaustion. She was swaying on her knees as groggily as himself; one of her hands suddenly shot to the floor to steady herself. Her other hand trembled as it stretched towards the man. Her fingertips brushed against his forehead.

Like a shock, flickering warmth shot through the man from head to toe. His sunken eyes blinked as his skin brightened. The color returned to his features. Every ache and tremor in his sickly body had vanished; he felt born aknew. With hasty cries of happiness and gratitude, he was pulled from the girl, and the next ailing commoner was thrust forward.

Dark metal casaded in rivulets down the girl’s face as she pressed her hands to the stone beneath her. The world was spinning. Vibrant, hot flashes of color burned in her vision, and her stomach churned as the effort of her healing threatened her with unconsciousness. Blinking rapidly, the girl struggled to recover before the next commoner stumbled up the steps and knelt before her.

The healer clenched her hands to her gut. A wave of nausea rolled through her body, tightening into a knot in her throat. Through agony-dimmed vision, she glimpsed two steel boots stepping in front of her.

The world exploded with a fiery sting. The girl’s head jerked to the side. Violent tearing arced through the muscles in her neck; for several heart-wrenching moments, she thought her bones had snapped. Then the pain ebbed away, replaced with a throbbing across her right temple.

The guard captain had backhanded her across the face.

The healer, swaying and dizzied from the blow, merely gritted her teeth together. This was not the worst injury he had given her; not by far. A backhand to the captured healer was like a mother’s gentle caress. She had withstood the guard’s torment for years now. A simple blow to the head was an expected norm. Focusing her energy, the healer willed the swiftly-forming bruise to fade away.

This is what was expected of her, after all; to take their beatings, and heal the marks away as if it had never happened. But it had. And the entire chamber of clients had just been witness.

The guard captain towered above, his face shiny with perspiration despite the chilly drafts. His shining steel armor had a velvet ribbon tied around the collar of his chest piece. On the velvet ribbon was pinned an elegant royal insignia that was marred with thick stains of red; a spoil of war. His round, distended belly protruded over her. He spat down at the healer, and it jostled with the movement. “Get yourself together. We have hundreds of patrons today. I won’t have you passing out on the job again; you’ve got work to do.”

His demanding words did nothing to soothe the ever-present ache of nausea in her gut. The healer stared back, willing the bile in her stomach to rise in defiance. I’d like to see that snide look on your face when I pass out again, she thought. Who’s going to make your money then?

“But sir- shouldn’t you close the line?”

A helmless guard-a girl with dark black hair- had approached the altar.

“The riot’s getting worse,” She continued. With a sidelong stare at the curly haired bundle on the floor, she added, “And I don’t think our healer can take much more, anyways. She looks ill.”

The nausea in the healer’s stomach twisted with dismay. From the way she darted her gaze between the healer and the captain, along with the fact she had no recollection of this stranger’s face, this was a new recruit. She obviously thought she was doing the healer a favor by standing up to the captain. This foolish, foolish girl! Didn’t she realize how sorely the healer would be punished for this? She wasn’t allowed sympathy.

And as expected, the other guards chuckled with humorless laughter.

“The girl’s been at this job since she was six,” A red-bearded guard scoffed. He had been part of the caravan for as long as she could remember. From the day she had met him, he had scorned, beat, and otherwise abused her with a hatred born from a religious upbringing. His yellow teeth bit the air as he gruesomely smiled. “If she couldn’t handle one long night, we would’ve sold her off years ago.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, lady,” Smirked the guard captain. His milky blue eyes traced a perverted path down the new recruit’s body.

The dark haired girl’s lip curled. “So, you mean to tell me she doesn’t look like she’ll pass out on the spot.”

All eyes turned to the healer on the altar, who wished the floor would open up and send her body to the depths of hell. She wished this recruit-whoever this troublesome, clueless girl was- would shut her mouth and let her be. If she passed out, so be it. Now that the attention had been drawn to her fatigue, she had no doubt that she would continue to serve until she really had collapsed from exhaustion.

“She’s fine,” The red bearded guard asserted.

“She has words of her own,” Retorted the recruit. Without a pause, she turned to the altar, her eyebrows raised with an atypical authority. “How are you feeling?” She demanded, storming forward until the altar girl felt the need to shrink away. “Do you need a break?”

She would’ve loved to lie, if only to prolong the secret punishment she was certain to receive later. Even now, she could see guards’ jaws clenching, see the grips on their cruel whips tightening. She opened her mouth to deliver the lie.

Only in that instant, a small voice; a familiar, meddlesome whisper, mused in her mind that if she were to play into her fatigue, some miracle may happen. This new recruit would protect her. That’s nonsense, argued the other voice of her mind. Surely the other guards would turn up in the dead of night.

Lie, said her mind.

Tell the truth! Insisted the voice.

And she opened her mouth to speak. But before she could, a devastating crash echoed through the chambers, so loud and violent that it rattled her teeth. BOOM. An icy wind whistled through the castle in it’s wake.

“What the…” murmured the guards among themselves.

The guard captain’s eyes darkened as he stated the obvious. “The riot must’ve broken through.”

She had no idea, at the time, what this would mean for her. All she knew was that the guards were in trouble. And this, inspired by the new recruit’s savage disdain, sent her heart pounding with excitement. Something big was happening. Something was changing.

“Get her out of here,” Growled the guard captain, fumbling with his sword and sheath.

The new recruit reached her first. “Get up,” she snapped, but the sharpness of her voice was overridden with worry. Feeling as light as a feather, the healer shot to her feet.

But as she did so, the world spun around her once again. Nausea swept over. The blackness in her vision was building, darkening the world around her until all she could see was the faintest glint of the fires. The blood roaring in her ears drowned out every other noise. She was slipping.

There was a thundering in her head, pounding like the beat of a drum. What was that noise? Dimly, she left the cold ground lift away from her, and she could just register hands under her shoulders and legs. Someone had picked her up.

“Take her behind those gates!” A voice, shouting with panic, was painfully loud in her ears.

The howling of the mob grew closer until it was echoing within the temple itself. The roaring throng was pouring into the chambers like a flood, bricks smashing against the stone, and the thudding of feet drawing closer and closer. The riot burst through the oaken doors into the healing chamber, and the guards yelled and rushed to the entrance, the temple deteriorating into a frantic war zone. The healing girl heard the commotion from a distance, as if she were floating in empty space, observing the scene through a cloud of shadows.

The healer blinked once, and the world vanished.

She lay nestled in the shadows of a boulder. The scent of sweet lily flowers and moss drifted in the air. Underneath, the ground was spongy and moist, and a chill had crept into her bones. The sky was a deep blue that was partially hidden by the rock jutting overhead; she could just make it out through the tree branches above. Swaths of green forest and undergrowth surrounded her. As she raised her head, the sun spilled out from behind a white cloud above. It sent dazzling rays across the stream that whispered gently several feet away.

A girl had appeared from behind the boulder as she opened her eyes.

“You’re awake!” The stranger rushed over to the healer. It took a moment to recognize her outside of the temple; she was missing the plated armor, red tunic, and black bandana that was the signature uniform of the guards. It was the new recruit. Dimly, she remembered resting in strong arms, and she guessed that it had been her. Where had she taken her? And why?

The recruit had long, straight black locks, and now wore a simple tunic of blueish-grey and black design. Her eyes were piercing blue, and she had the resemblance of a mountain dryad; that is, she looked as if she were descended from the mysterious mountain spirits that lived in distant kingdoms. She had an elegant steel longsword hanging from her belt.

The girl outstretched her hand and touched the healer on the forehead. No stranger to medical practices, she noted that she was checking for a fever. The healing girl lay quietly, studying the other girl’s face and the faint dots of freckles on her nose. Her clothing was clean and stitched with great skill. The fabric was soft and silky, a delicate garment that could not be found anywhere near the provinces where the healer lived. The recruit was from far away.

“I dragged you away from the riot,” The girl with blue eyes explained as she lifted a wooden canteen. “Don’t worry. The mercs won’t find us; it was dark when I ran into the forest with you. I’m not even sure where we are now.”

The healer sat up and took the cup from her gratefully. She sipped the water. It sang with strange earthy flavors and was cool on her tongue. Her aching skull gave her trouble to recall the temple and the guards. It seemed like a dream; there was no bell alerting her awake this morning. There was no banging on her chamber door, no calloused hands jerking her free of the blanket. Here she was, in the forest, something she hadn’t been allowed to view since she was a little girl.

She… she saved me from them.

“T-thank you.” Heart in her throat, the healer stumbled over her words. “I can’t tell you how much I owe you. I… I thought I’d never get away.” She gave a dry laugh.

The other girl tucked a long black strand of hair behind her ear. She studied the healer with her intense blue eyes; the healer shuffled her feet, aware that she was disheveled from the way her hair pressed to one side and the dirt and grime caught on her clothes. The other girl’s piercing gaze made her long for a thorough bath and clean, fitting clothing. Of course, the guards hadn’t allowed her that luxury, either.

“Yeah, well…” the recruit’s voice drooped, and she had to lean closer to hear her words. “It wasn’t entirely charity.” Her piercing blue eyes seemed shadowed despite the sunlight. As if fate, a cloud drifted over their camp.

“What do you mean?” The healer’s mind whirled.

The other girl glanced away quickly. She was passing a coin between her hands; a large, flat plate that was the size of her palm. The girl rubbed the metal thoughtfully, as if considering her words. “Have you heard of the Valitroths?”

Even in her isolated temple, the healer had heard legend of the ancient wilds far away, a land where men defended the natural kingdom on the mightiest beasts in their world. The stories said that the dragon riders, the Valitroths, slaughtered any human who dared to venture into the wilds. They were a revered legend; a myth to keep mischievous children from getting lost in the woods. The healer said, “I’ve heard stories. The Valitroths guard the forest, right? And they kill anyone they find trespassing.”

The strange girl met her gaze with her white-blue eyes that bored almost painfully into her vision. “We spent the night in the trees. No dragons came to kill us.”

The healer shifted uncomfortably. “I never said I believed any of it.” This was a lie; the healer had always believed the myths, and even now, and uncomfortable chill of foreboding had crept down her spine at the mention of the Valitroths.

The girl smirked and said, “Then you’ll never believe what I’m about to show you.” She flipped the coin towards her in an elegant arc. The healer caught the metal plate. It was thick, yet light, and tiny grooves were carved into the surface, indistinguishable in the shadows of the boulder overhead. The healer held it out above the stream. She turned the coin in the light to reveal faint mystic inscriptions etched into the metal; it glimmered under the sun.

“This is a veil coin,” The other girl told her. “It’s the currency of the sanctum. You have to pay to get in, which is why I was told to bring this for you.”

The healer stared at her, mind in a vortex of confusion. What was this girl offering her? “What are you saying? Could you be a little more clear? I don’t… I’m bad at riddles.”

“It’s no riddle,” The dark haired girl sighed with exasperation weighing in her tone. “I’m in training to be a Valiroth. I was chosen from Oros Thequoias, eight months ago. I got a veil coin just like this. The Valitroths know who you are, too. They want you in their society.”

The girl’s offer was beyond incomprehensible. Join the Valitroths? This girl was claiming to be part of the nightmare of the wilds; the very reason traveling was outlawed. She boldly admitted that she hailed from Oros Thequoias, a a mere fable as well; the land was supposedly covered in mountainous trees that stretched taller than the highest winter ice clouds. This was a lie. This was a dream. Surely.

“That’s impossible.”

The dark haired girl raised an arched eyebrow. “Your eyes fill with liquid metal and you can heal any injury with a touch. Yet you think tall trees and big lizards are impossible?”

Her jaw seemed to lock. “Well, when you put it that way…” The healer felt silly; this girl was offering her the chance of a lifetime! The Valitroths knew her. The Valitroths had been watching her. She wasn’t a fool; she knew from the moment she had first healed that she was special. Special enough, even, to be part of the most legendary society to exist.

She couldn’t pretend she hadn’t spent most of her evenings gazing out the temple windows, watching the green forest sway in the wind and debating whether she should take the plunge and vanish into the treeline forever. Even the myths of the Valitroths, gruesome tales of bloodshed and gore, hadn’t deterred her dreams of flight. In fact, she’d often imagined herself as one of them; she daydreamed about becoming stronger than her guards, more skilled, more deadly. She’d dreamed of cutting them down with effortless joy and flying away on the back of a mighty beast. The stories of the Valitroths didn’t frighten her, they only intrigued her.

The more she considered it, the more she wondered why she cared about the towns in the first place. They’d shown her nothing but cruelty. They already thought she was a demon in disguise, assuming her healing to be ‘ghost powers’ or witchcraft. They treated her like a nightmare; given the chance, any one of them wouldn’t hesitate to kill her on sight. The healer gripped the coin tighter in her hand. “I don’t know if it’s all true or not, but I want to come with you.”

The other girl jumped with sudden excitement and exclaimed, “That’s great! I wasn’t looking forward to making the trip alone,” she added with a sudden shadow across her gaze. Her eyes gleamed as she added with a grin, “I realized I don’t even know your name! Mine’s Sira. Sira Kiaenithrius.” She extended her hand.

“Kalensul.” She delicately gripped the other girl’s hand. “Just Kalensul.”

#dark #dark fantasy #dark fairytale #original story #original character #oc #mine #my story #my edit #fantasy #fairytale #knights #story #oc story #fanfic

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shroomiething · 5 years

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The town lay in a dark cluster at the edge of night. A milky band of yellow and green lined the horizon, the lasting remnants of the sunset. Muffled conversation permeated the air. Lanterns winked from existence as the villagers closed their shutters. The town grew still and quiet, and the last rays of sundown eased into a dark swath of blue. All was at peace.

Thudding footsteps echoed in the pines spanning the valley. A man was hurtling through the towering forest, scrambling through the lashing branches. He exploded through the undergrowth with reckless abandon. Panting breaths, wheezing with fatigue, tore through the messenger’s lungs as he burst through the downy ferns. Needles and twigs stabbed into his barren feet with every desperate lunge, but he dared not stop. He dared not look back. He had to reach the citadel.

The town loomed into view through the arching fronds. Barely visible in the scant light of the new moon, the sight of the buildings brought a crashing relief upon the messenger. Help was coming. All he must do was reach the bell tower.

At last, the cold stone of the bell tower slapped against his fingertips. The messenger scurried up the spiraling staircase on all fours; any pretense of dignity had vanished in his desperation to reach the top. At last, with every nerve in his body frayed, the messenger scrambled into the nest at the top of the tower.

He grasped the cold metal hammer and lifted it over his head. “Valitroth!” The messenger howled into the night, his voice echoing through the silent streets.

The word seemed to slice through the air like a flashing sword. At the sound of the single name, the single entity, a shiver passed through the buildings. Hundreds of villagers stirred as one, turning to the sound of the messenger’s desperate wail.

His hammer swung and connected with the massive bell.

CLONG.

The sharp cry reverberated through the valley. Static tension jolted through the village streets in the form of tensed muscles and fearful, clenched lungs. For the villagers now knew that the cry just seconds before was no illusion of their dreams. They knew the purpose for the deafening bangs of the bell.

“Valitroth!” The man howled once more. “A Valitroth is coming! Run! Valitroth!”

CLONG. The bell’s chime stung in his ears, so loud that the messenger felt as if his brain pulsed with lightning. His heart pounded so hard that he could feel it in his gut, slamming like a dragon’s wingbeat.

The air trembled. Despite the clear band of stars, rolling booms of thunder echoed through the village. “The Valitroth is coming!”

CLONG.

The thunderous beats he had mistaken for his heart surrounded the village, rolling through the sky like a black storm. The messenger quailed in his tower as he watched the glittering sky. The thudding in the air was like a chorus of a million drums. It grew closer and closer and closer…

“Vlaid, help me,” the man moaned, his hands clutched over his ears. “I’m too late.”

CLONG.

It appeared over the dark horizon.

A swarm of night black monsters, descending on the town like an eldritch hurricane. Thrashing, spinning, gaping jaws drooling with insatiable hunger. A disgusting horde of unholy massive crows beat their wings and howled into the night as they began their descent. Their beaks gleamed like polished obsidian. Massive feathered wings blotted the stars from existence. The enormous corvidae hunting howls drowned the clanging of the bell. Their scraping cries bit through the village like a knife through butter; the startled townsfolk clutched their hands to their heads in unison.

The frenzied horde was illuminated at the center by a faint red light. It reflected off their oily feathers, outlining their treacherous talons and beady, glinting maws. As the swarm descended lower, the red light grew brighter and brighter, until it seemed as if the very sun blazed in it’s center.

A pillar of white-hot flames erupted from the phoenix’s maw and engulfed the streets of the village. Like a blinding tornado of fire and energy, the beast’s breath devoured the wooden houses.

Smoke and ash choked the air as the villagers cried in terror; they had spotted the monstrous horde above. Clutching one other, the crowd writhed in a riot as they struggled to escape the roaring flames. Mothers cradled their infants. Men and women attempted to force the town gates open, only to find the metal latch melded shut. Children howled and dogs brayed. Within seconds, the town had deteriorated into pure chaos.

And then the horde descended.

Their orange eyes gleamed with triumph. With barking screeches, the monsters swarmed the terrified crowd in a frenzy. Their beaks ripped through flesh and sinew with ease. The screams intensified across the village at the sight of the beast’s bloodthirsty rampage.

Bodies were disassembled as easily as a scythe through wheat. The soil grew ghastly and muddy from the fountains of blood.

Through the shadowy horde soared a beast unlike any comprehension. Twice as large as any of the monstrous corvidae, the being’s feathers glowed hot and red like the bursting flames of a fireball. The shimmering coat gleamed a thousand different iridescent shades. Bellowing a colossal roar, the fiery phoenix descended towards the black buildings. And on it’s back was perched a man.

The Valitroth. The dragon rider.

The phoenix swooped over the carnage, it’s brilliant plumage illuminating the scene as it lowered itself like a gentle kitten onto the blood-soaked soil. It’s beauty was starkly contrasted against the thrashing carnage before it. Not a single drop of blood landed on it’s impeccable, silky, luscious feathers.

On the neck of the colossal phoenix, the Valitroth leaped from his saddle. His pink tunic, red in the glow of his mount’s lustrous feathers, billowed behind him as he leaped. The blood-soaked earth splashed with the impact of his landing. His fine dowries dripping with blood and grit, he raised one slender hand.

The slaughter eased.

Licking their dripping chops, the demonous corvidae swiveled towards the man. Their beady eyes gleamed with satisfaction. Mutilated strips of gore and flesh littered the clearing, the only impression left of the village crowd. They were not all dead; the Valitroth in the fine dowries had sharper ears than any ordinary human, and he could easily detect footfalls among the smoldering houses. He could hear the muffled sobs hiding among the intact homes in the east wing of the city.

The Valitroth lowered his hand. A grim smile edged across his features. Round them up.

The corvidae obeyed his unspoken command. In a flurry of jet-black wingbeats, the beasts took to the skies. The man heard distant explosions and the snapping of splintered wood; throughout the city, fresh screams and shouts of alarm echoed forth.

The corvidae returned with their jaws filled with the hems of villager’s robes. The bodies dangled from their grasps, struggling and crying. They were deposited in a loose gathering at the center of the street. The corvidae perched on the burning houses around the crowd, eyes burning hot as they watched the villagers with greedy intent.

The man turned to his vibrant steed, a curt nod jostling the flawless curls on his shoulders.

The great phoenix lowered it’s maw and released a stream of blinding orange fire upon the crowd. In an intense flash, the villagers were ignited alive. Howls and shrieks pierced the air. Bodies thrashed in the flaming pillar, crying in endless agony. The fleeing peasants were disposed by the ever-watchful demon swarm; with craws of delight, they swooped upon any who slipped free of the crowd.

A field of steaming corpses remained. Flesh sizzled on the mud-streaked soil, and bones jutted from withered carcasses.

The Valitroth strode through the field. With the tip of his sword, he prodded through the corpses as if tending to a fireplace. His search grew wearisome. The flaming buildings crumbled to soot. The only light that permeated the darkness was the hot glow of the phoenix, and the occasional glitter of a star through the smog.

At last, a mutilated body was kicked aside to reveal a bundle of sooty rags. The scorched fabric rustled without a breeze to carry it. A small pink hand emerged from the flaps of the bundle; it grasped towards the man, naive and youthful. High-pitched sobs were emerging through the muffled bundle.

The man smiled as he plucked the rags from the embers. He cradled the baby, rocking it in his arms with a rhythm. The crying ceased as he hummed a gentle lullaby.

“I knew it,” The Valitroth whispered. He stroked the infant’s cheek with a bloodied finger, his black eyes glowing with adoration. “I knew I’d find you here.”

The corpse he had knocked aside seemed to glare with empty, staring sockets. The withered bones grinned at him, one arm outstretched as if still reaching to protect it’s infant.

The man uttered a distasteful scoff. He kicked the skull from the body with a lazy thrust. At once, a chill washed into the man’s muscles; it clutched him, burned him. The trees shivered. Traitor, the wind hissed. The sensation ebbed away as he held his breath.

He released a sigh as the frigidity vanished. “You couldn’t protect her,” The man murmured to the headless corpse. “Don’t worry, Guinevere. I’ll keep her safe.”

The ring of the bell sounded across the valley.

CLONG.

#prologue #original story #original character #oc #og story #goth #gothic #fantasy #original fantasy #original art #self insert #mine #dark #dark fantasy #fairytale #dark fairytale

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