Sunday, May 27, 2018
Friday, May 25, 2018
The Neverending Knight
The moon rose above a cold, snowcapped mountain that resembled a rusted dragon's fang, at its base, the glittering flames of a township being burned down sparkled between the grasping talon-tipped boughs of a spiderweb of tree branches, generously suffocating the light of that tragedy and turning it into an illusion of beauty.
as the sunlight cried out against the ominous lavender blanket of the night pressing against its final struggling throes, as the two north stars that marked lorian's night skies shined in full brilliance over the moon like a pair of domineering serpent's eyes, he came.
Shadows gathered and he stepped forth from them, brought to the world of the living once more by the presence of the night, if one ceased to exist with the coming of the dawn only to reappear with the night's rebirth, it was this strange, hooded fellow.
A reflexive twitch of his right hand summoned forth a large blade of gemsteel, its pommel decorated with the menacing head of the white dragon of the north, a symbol of a long dead nation that none remembered and none gave much thought to.
appearing, almost as if from a wall of smoke, surely this figure was an elemental of darkness, for surely he existed in night the same way shining a candle over a hidden criminal would reveal them in that same gloom. and just as darkness revealed him, so too did light conceal him, concealing his existence, forcing him into a deathlike slumber.
the figure shuffled toward the burning township, giving no thought to his actions, his hair spilling forth from the hood was a faint silver, or perhaps a deathly gray, and as he passed through the wicked forest that had so cruelly swallowed the truth of the image far ahead, the trees seemed to step aside for the guest.
he marched, relentlessly but so slowly, his body obeying him only out of necessity.
finally he found himself before the gates of the village, a wooden frog's head had been carved into the top of the flaming gate, and the googly eyes seemed to contrast the scene beyond with a degree of brevity that almost betrayed the horror beyond.
the figure didn't smile, didn't speak, he simply pressed onward, giving the oddity of the townships queer design no more thought than a wolf gave a four leafed clover more than passing disinterest.
bandits had come, their bodies corrupted by a terrible blight known as daemonshade, a horrific illness that robbed them of their sanity and reason.
this illness was responsible for much of the maladies that wracked the world, and thus had been called "evil mist" for its nature was surely wicked, and it always came in the form of a deathly fog of blackest coloration.
that fog clung to their blackened forms, even as one of them lifted a screaming woman in his arms and hugged her, squeezing her until her bones cracked and her screams became gurgling protests, and finally her eyes bulged and she went limp.
unsatisfied, he squeezed all the harder, until her body was pinched cleanly in half, he then proceeded to fly into a rage and struck her broken corpse, beating it into the ember-studded ground.
the figure watched with a hint of amusement at the display, not at her demise, but at the seeming humorous scale of cruelty the human exhibited.
the other bandits quickly caught on to the specter's presence, and drew their weapons.
one came at him, screaming in some unknown tongue, and the figure caught the weapon between his fingertips, flashing the man a glance that spoke volumes of his boredom.
a backhand sent the fool spinning away into a nearby building, where he caught on fire and proceeded to struggle and scream while his fellows rushed to help him.
the gemsteel sword suddenly moved to block the way, and the figure stepped in, picking it up as it floated there and with the ease of swinging a feather, he swept the weapon across with such force that the air blasted a cloud of dust that veiled him from their sight.
from there a new massacre unfolded, one man managed to parry an attack only to be sent flying by the might of the sword's stroke, his arm was numb and when he looked up, the sword was already entering his brain.
another raced up behind him, only to be forced to bring his sword up to block, a quick horizontal swing threw the weapon out wide, and it took him a moment to register that the opponent's strength was on par with a chimera's.
too late, for he reversed his momentum with an ease and grace that defied reason, following up the strike with a decapitating backhand stroke.
the third was not so foolish as to let the warrior get in close, and he swung his weapon about, repeatedly forcing space between him and his opponent.
until the figure vanished into a cloud of fog.
looking around, terror painting his heart as he began screaming, thinking the cries would be sufficient to hold his enemy at bay, a pair of frigid hands clamped over his head, pulling it back while a pair of fangs entered his neck, and the chill of this man's bite, his tongue lapping away at the hot blood within, was by far more sinister than the dull sensation of white hot agony spreading throughout his neck.
his body soon went cold, and the figure pulled away, tearing his head off in one deft motion, his mouth now stained with blood that clung to his lower lips like a syrup.
taking a napkin from his cloak, he wiped the blood away, turning to see if there were more bandits.
when none were forthcoming, he then labored to find victims, haunting the streets and sniffing as he glanced all around.
there were a few hiding in the cellars, and he coaxed them out before the buildings could collapse on them.
gathering them in the streets he addressed them all.
"This land is cursed, you should all consider fleeing immediately, for the fog haunts this region and may one day claim you as well. do not let yourselves become monsters." and with that, he left, some tried thanking him, others asked for his name, but he was far from sight even as their queries were completed.
he continued his hunt, and that very same evening found the lair of the bandits.
the five he'd encountered were stragglers, but these were the bulk of the group, twenty of them, sleeping like babes in their poorly constructed cots in a deep cavern.
running low on time, he set about with his cruel work, biting the necks of each bandit as he slept and drinking their blood shortly before tearing their heads off.
by the time it was done, the bodies turned to dust as the fog rejected their deceased forms, and now he had a cavern with which to rest within.
he moved out of the cave and found a hill overlooking the village, and there he stood, waiting for the sun to rise.
a girl managed to find him, and she approached the figure, a basket of goods in her arm.
"I thought i told you and yours to begone from this realm." he said coldly.
"I...we wished to thank you before leaving." she explained.
she set the basket down, and despite himself, he managed a smile.
"I am glad you are safe, but begone...soon. you've not the luxury of a single night...the fog will want a replacement...and your people will do quite nicely....I suggest you flee before it comes for you."
"who are you?" she dared ask and he shrugged.
"I am." was all he would offer.
the sun began to rise, and as it did, he suddenly collapsed into smoke.
she gasped as it happened, and fled, terrified.
When next the night came, he reappeared there, as though he'd never left.
striding down into the cave, he inspected the weapons within and found a few with promise.
he spent the better part of the next evening scouring the caverns for ore, and once he found it, he used his magical prowess to fashion a forge flame spell, and from there he spent the next night melting down their weapons and reforging them into something he could use.
from throwing stars to knives, daggers, and even crosses, he let not an ounce of metal go to waste, and once he was done, he had a vast number of implements for throwing and tools to use on his journey.
the dawn came while he was working, and yet again he collapsed into smoke.
night returned and he reappeared as though he'd never left, and once more work continued.
by the fourth night he had refashioned the cavern into a living quarters from which he could freely roam and hunt down anything infected by the fog, and kill it.
he returned to the village, and to his delight found that it had indeed been abandoned as he'd demanded.
without hesitation he set about looking for supplies for his journey, he found a dead horse.
sighing, he cast a spell of necromancy, its body decomposed until the skeleton alone was left, and from it sprouted lavender fires that seemed to cover its form entirely.
fashioning a saddle for the beast, he took it for a ride but soon realized that it wouldn't serve as an adequate form of transportation the moment daemonblighted hounds began attacking it.
and so he released the spell, thinking it far better that the creature remain dead.
he envied the beast.
with his preparations completed, he would then set about hunting down the fog, or trying.
for that was always the way of it....the fog would appear, he would hound it, and it would then flee and settle in another region. he felt like the wind chasing a cloud, for surely that was what their relationship had been this past two thousand years.
yet he persisted, the fog had to be destroyed.
the dawn came, and he watched the sun rise once more, just before he turned into smoke, banished from creation by the light of day.
for him, the night was eternal, and daybreak was little more than a rumor hinted at by the fading sun. He'd never experienced daytime, not once in all his life, and he doubted he would begin experiencing it any time soon.
he was a figure that haunted the night like a ghastly specter, an immortal vampire who made it his purpose in life to hunt the cruel fog that fed on the innocent.
it was all he had left now.
as the sunlight cried out against the ominous lavender blanket of the night pressing against its final struggling throes, as the two north stars that marked lorian's night skies shined in full brilliance over the moon like a pair of domineering serpent's eyes, he came.
Shadows gathered and he stepped forth from them, brought to the world of the living once more by the presence of the night, if one ceased to exist with the coming of the dawn only to reappear with the night's rebirth, it was this strange, hooded fellow.
A reflexive twitch of his right hand summoned forth a large blade of gemsteel, its pommel decorated with the menacing head of the white dragon of the north, a symbol of a long dead nation that none remembered and none gave much thought to.
appearing, almost as if from a wall of smoke, surely this figure was an elemental of darkness, for surely he existed in night the same way shining a candle over a hidden criminal would reveal them in that same gloom. and just as darkness revealed him, so too did light conceal him, concealing his existence, forcing him into a deathlike slumber.
the figure shuffled toward the burning township, giving no thought to his actions, his hair spilling forth from the hood was a faint silver, or perhaps a deathly gray, and as he passed through the wicked forest that had so cruelly swallowed the truth of the image far ahead, the trees seemed to step aside for the guest.
he marched, relentlessly but so slowly, his body obeying him only out of necessity.
finally he found himself before the gates of the village, a wooden frog's head had been carved into the top of the flaming gate, and the googly eyes seemed to contrast the scene beyond with a degree of brevity that almost betrayed the horror beyond.
the figure didn't smile, didn't speak, he simply pressed onward, giving the oddity of the townships queer design no more thought than a wolf gave a four leafed clover more than passing disinterest.
bandits had come, their bodies corrupted by a terrible blight known as daemonshade, a horrific illness that robbed them of their sanity and reason.
this illness was responsible for much of the maladies that wracked the world, and thus had been called "evil mist" for its nature was surely wicked, and it always came in the form of a deathly fog of blackest coloration.
that fog clung to their blackened forms, even as one of them lifted a screaming woman in his arms and hugged her, squeezing her until her bones cracked and her screams became gurgling protests, and finally her eyes bulged and she went limp.
unsatisfied, he squeezed all the harder, until her body was pinched cleanly in half, he then proceeded to fly into a rage and struck her broken corpse, beating it into the ember-studded ground.
the figure watched with a hint of amusement at the display, not at her demise, but at the seeming humorous scale of cruelty the human exhibited.
the other bandits quickly caught on to the specter's presence, and drew their weapons.
one came at him, screaming in some unknown tongue, and the figure caught the weapon between his fingertips, flashing the man a glance that spoke volumes of his boredom.
a backhand sent the fool spinning away into a nearby building, where he caught on fire and proceeded to struggle and scream while his fellows rushed to help him.
the gemsteel sword suddenly moved to block the way, and the figure stepped in, picking it up as it floated there and with the ease of swinging a feather, he swept the weapon across with such force that the air blasted a cloud of dust that veiled him from their sight.
from there a new massacre unfolded, one man managed to parry an attack only to be sent flying by the might of the sword's stroke, his arm was numb and when he looked up, the sword was already entering his brain.
another raced up behind him, only to be forced to bring his sword up to block, a quick horizontal swing threw the weapon out wide, and it took him a moment to register that the opponent's strength was on par with a chimera's.
too late, for he reversed his momentum with an ease and grace that defied reason, following up the strike with a decapitating backhand stroke.
the third was not so foolish as to let the warrior get in close, and he swung his weapon about, repeatedly forcing space between him and his opponent.
until the figure vanished into a cloud of fog.
looking around, terror painting his heart as he began screaming, thinking the cries would be sufficient to hold his enemy at bay, a pair of frigid hands clamped over his head, pulling it back while a pair of fangs entered his neck, and the chill of this man's bite, his tongue lapping away at the hot blood within, was by far more sinister than the dull sensation of white hot agony spreading throughout his neck.
his body soon went cold, and the figure pulled away, tearing his head off in one deft motion, his mouth now stained with blood that clung to his lower lips like a syrup.
taking a napkin from his cloak, he wiped the blood away, turning to see if there were more bandits.
when none were forthcoming, he then labored to find victims, haunting the streets and sniffing as he glanced all around.
there were a few hiding in the cellars, and he coaxed them out before the buildings could collapse on them.
gathering them in the streets he addressed them all.
"This land is cursed, you should all consider fleeing immediately, for the fog haunts this region and may one day claim you as well. do not let yourselves become monsters." and with that, he left, some tried thanking him, others asked for his name, but he was far from sight even as their queries were completed.
he continued his hunt, and that very same evening found the lair of the bandits.
the five he'd encountered were stragglers, but these were the bulk of the group, twenty of them, sleeping like babes in their poorly constructed cots in a deep cavern.
running low on time, he set about with his cruel work, biting the necks of each bandit as he slept and drinking their blood shortly before tearing their heads off.
by the time it was done, the bodies turned to dust as the fog rejected their deceased forms, and now he had a cavern with which to rest within.
he moved out of the cave and found a hill overlooking the village, and there he stood, waiting for the sun to rise.
a girl managed to find him, and she approached the figure, a basket of goods in her arm.
"I thought i told you and yours to begone from this realm." he said coldly.
"I...we wished to thank you before leaving." she explained.
she set the basket down, and despite himself, he managed a smile.
"I am glad you are safe, but begone...soon. you've not the luxury of a single night...the fog will want a replacement...and your people will do quite nicely....I suggest you flee before it comes for you."
"who are you?" she dared ask and he shrugged.
"I am." was all he would offer.
the sun began to rise, and as it did, he suddenly collapsed into smoke.
she gasped as it happened, and fled, terrified.
When next the night came, he reappeared there, as though he'd never left.
striding down into the cave, he inspected the weapons within and found a few with promise.
he spent the better part of the next evening scouring the caverns for ore, and once he found it, he used his magical prowess to fashion a forge flame spell, and from there he spent the next night melting down their weapons and reforging them into something he could use.
from throwing stars to knives, daggers, and even crosses, he let not an ounce of metal go to waste, and once he was done, he had a vast number of implements for throwing and tools to use on his journey.
the dawn came while he was working, and yet again he collapsed into smoke.
night returned and he reappeared as though he'd never left, and once more work continued.
by the fourth night he had refashioned the cavern into a living quarters from which he could freely roam and hunt down anything infected by the fog, and kill it.
he returned to the village, and to his delight found that it had indeed been abandoned as he'd demanded.
without hesitation he set about looking for supplies for his journey, he found a dead horse.
sighing, he cast a spell of necromancy, its body decomposed until the skeleton alone was left, and from it sprouted lavender fires that seemed to cover its form entirely.
fashioning a saddle for the beast, he took it for a ride but soon realized that it wouldn't serve as an adequate form of transportation the moment daemonblighted hounds began attacking it.
and so he released the spell, thinking it far better that the creature remain dead.
he envied the beast.
with his preparations completed, he would then set about hunting down the fog, or trying.
for that was always the way of it....the fog would appear, he would hound it, and it would then flee and settle in another region. he felt like the wind chasing a cloud, for surely that was what their relationship had been this past two thousand years.
yet he persisted, the fog had to be destroyed.
the dawn came, and he watched the sun rise once more, just before he turned into smoke, banished from creation by the light of day.
for him, the night was eternal, and daybreak was little more than a rumor hinted at by the fading sun. He'd never experienced daytime, not once in all his life, and he doubted he would begin experiencing it any time soon.
he was a figure that haunted the night like a ghastly specter, an immortal vampire who made it his purpose in life to hunt the cruel fog that fed on the innocent.
it was all he had left now.
Thursday, May 17, 2018
Sunday, May 13, 2018
Saturday, May 12, 2018
Friday, May 11, 2018
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