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Description
He peers down from his secluded nest, down into the den of his foe. There sits an empty throne, but soon, very soon the king must come to ascend it. He watches, oh so closely. He can hear talking going down below him, but inaudible to his well trained ears. He waits. Sweat beads up an splashes on the rocks below him. The ruined fortress was so full of the hiding spots, a sniper could easily infiltrate, and kill whoever they need to in here. His mission was reconnaissance though, and he was lightly armed.

He heard metal clank on metal, at last, the General had returned! He heard it coming from the overhang below him, and waited just a moment more to focus his eyes on the feared man.

He walked, his black plate mail was lustrous and bold. It had and enormous paldron on the left side almost to make up for his lack of a shield. He carried a flamberge at his side, its sickening form unsheathed in the northern manner. From his perch, not so high above the ground, he could see blood stains all over this man’s armor and sword, and was in fact dried on as a sick memento, or as though he no longer cared enough to wipe it off after each battle. But the man he was told to expect was nothing like the man he saw. He had light blond feathery hair that waved in the wind at his shoulder, almost white in the light filtering from above. His steps were graceful and calculated, and his balanced shifted seamlessly. His cloak flowed out behind him like a small bit of ocean that he could take with him where ever he went. He had a kind face, belied with anger, hatred and loss, and his blue eyes shone in the light. His regal appearance filled the cynical spy with a feeling of awe, and it amazed the agent how he was affected by it.

He kneeled down to the throne, and seemed to pray, or address some unseen king. He saw the man rise, and the words, ‘Loki, you are to lead the armies in three months,’ rang throughout the halls and crevasses, echoing and loosening dust. It was demonic, no doubt about it, the hollow tone, and the smell of sulfur filled the rooms the second the voice rang out. ‘Tell your brother he needs to fulfill his duties, and send his agents into the city three weeks from today, and tell him not to fail his task this time…’ the smell faded and the voice subsided, the man rising, and shaking his head in disbelief.

He let out a sharp whistle and three men came in, one in a robe that ran to his ankles, made of canvas. He also had a hood over his head and ropes wrapped around him. The second man was tall and lithe, he wore grey, loose clothing that only fit tight across his chest and waist. At his back was a di-katana, which looked shorter on him than on a normal man, despite it being six feet long. He also had two shorter ones at his sides, and various pockets to hide all his devious devices. He too wore a hood. The final man was a southerner. He wore the traditional head garb and clothing of the desert dwellers and had a scimitar at his side.

He saw them discussing something together, but couldn’t hear as well, so he inched forward. He slipped up however and sent debris falling to the ground, he didn’t give it a chance to hit and began running out. He followed his tunnel as fast as he could, but he heard a loud war cry ring out through the halls. He pulled out a small note one places on a carrier hawk, and scribbled on it as he ran. He knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this one. He finally got out of the fortress, and whistled to his hawk. It flew in from the nearby trees, and perched on his shoulder while he scribbled more onto the note. He began to tie it to the foot of the swift bird, and sent the bird off, but even as he did, he felt strong hands grab him by the shoulder and the hip. The fingers dug in under his flesh, and he let out a scream as the bird flew off.

He freed himself from the man’s grasp, and ran off to the side a few feet, stumbling for a moment, but then returning to his controlled stance. He unsheathed his falchion and looked at the man. The man laughed and walked away. The agent, lowered his sword in disbelief, but nonetheless went about his way. Then he remembered to check his wounds, he felt a little blood, though, not near enough for the wounds he had received, so he looked down at his side. He saw blood stained sand falling from it, he tried brushing it away, but more came out. He brushed more frantically, more and more frantically, but more sand came out! The sand was no longer bloodstained though, just golden sand, flowing like blood. He felt his legs get heavy, and he felt weakened. He heard laughing from the distance, but as he tried to scream his voice was dry and hoarse. He felt his legs like pure lead, and he fell to his knees. He looked down and saw his legs were stone, and the line that separated stone from flesh was rising. It moved up, and once it hit his lungs he felt all the air ripped from his lungs, and threw his head back in pain, where it was petrified. He then blew in the wind and became a small pile of sand, and nothing more.

The child chased the moth out into the street. The moth floated upon the small breeze like a small grey cloud, and the little girl in her short dress chased after her fleeting cloud before it disappeared into the night air. She jumped and stumbled, laughing and growling in joy and frustration towards her little friend. Her short brown hair flew around her, refracting the moonlight, making it appear golden blond at one moment, and as black as the night air around her at others. Her bare feet made small clapping sounds with each step or jump, and her flailing arms whisked through the air, making small cutting sounds.

Finally she caught the moth, and began to giggle and pull it towards her eyes, to see her small prize. A moment of true innocence… brought to an abrupt end by a man walking towards her. He was dressed in the southern fashion, head wrap, layered clothes, and curled shoes for easier traction in the desert sands. At his side was an empty sheath, and in his right hand was a scimitar. He walked up right in front of the girl, looking down on her, as she obliviously stared at her new pet.

‘Little girl… innocence flowing in her veins…’ he reached down, stroking a lock of her hair that fell in front of her face. She looked up at the man standing before her, and like most children trusted him completely, not suspicious of any wicked intentions. She stared deep into his eyes, confused by his odd dress. She tilted her head sideways, but then her moth flew from her hands and behind her, so she instinctively turned to grab it again. ‘Ha-ha, don’t run little moth!’

As her moth escaped the man raised his sword, her head turned… his sword ready to strike like a wolf, thirsting for the blood of an easy kill. Her shoulders turned, slowly at first then more quickly, unaware of the beast behind, its sword bearing down on her. The sword swung in one fluidic motion, aimed to crash on her neck’s soft skin.

“NO!’ Cried out a young man’s voice, throwing the girls off balance, causing her to slip and fall. The man choked up on his sword a mere second, then finished out the swing, cutting the girl’s shoulder, but not deep. The girl roared the fiercest roar a seven year old girl could roar, and tears started streaming down her face.

The southerner turned to see who had ruined his kill. As his face turned, it met the butt of someone’s imperial long rifle, cracking his jaw, and throwing him to the ground. He hit the ground, with all the sky and buildings spinning and little lights flashing on and off. He could barely hear a thing… A dulled child’s cry… ‘So quiet…’ he thought. He heard ringing, and muffled footsteps. Small squeals from around him, blurs that were people running to and fro from the chaos in the streets,’ They have come…’ he whimpered, slightly smiling to himself. He heard an echoing boom, and felt something crash into his chest, shattering bones, ripping flesh, feeling every inch as the bullet tore him apart, all the more so as his other senses were nearly null thanks to the crack against his head. He coughed blood, but it merely splattered on the inside of his head wrap, causing him to cough up even more when it hit the inside of his throat again. He reached back, a futile attempt to find his sword, perhaps kill the one who shot him, but, as he did, the gun barrel crashed into his hand, breaking many bones. He would have recalled it to his chest, but the blood loss was making him dazed. He saw a young man over him, sword in his left hand, rifle in his right. The man lowered his sword to his throat. He closed his eyes in anticipation, and felt the firm slash. It severed his veins, and causing him to lose almost all consciousness instantly. He let out his final breath, and all life faded from his limp body.

William raised his sword, wiped it off quickly and motioned to a young woman to rush in and grab the little girl. The woman did as he asked, and rushed the girl off to the other side of town. Will reloaded his rifle rather quickly and rushed into the fray of soldiers by the gate.

The Royal Guard, headed by Jason, and the Guild, headed by Gabriel both held off wave after wave of the invaders pouring through the gate. Despite being outnumbered, these men were some of the greatest warriors the country had ever known. Like a typhoon the defenders rushed the enemy, the guard holding them off, while the guild tried to flank them, successfully. William ran in as the remainder of his musket squad rushed in. ‘Formation! Flank them from the right!’

His men immediately followed his orders, like a smooth running machine, and flanked them in a matter of seconds. Their sighs trained on the one who they picked as their prey. With hunter’s instinct they picked their foe, aimed carefully, and sent him crashing to the ground.

Jason was cutting a swathe of destruction through their ranks, swirling like a typhoon of steel, wave after wave of the enemy met wave after wave of his wide ranging swipes. His blade flowed like the gentlest stream with the force of a bolt of lightning. He pulled his sword in and out in order to cut a mortal wound, but pulled back to insure no momentum would be lost by the strike, allowing it to continue to the next foe. His claymore was glowing blue in the moonlight, giving it an ethereal appearance as he cut through them. He was also wearing a nightgown and a sleeping cap. It was thoroughly soaked in blood, and caused him to look as intimidating as a teddy bear… covered in blood. However, any and all stupidity was washed away by his skill in battle, causing him to still be feared and looked upon in awe by his ‘fearless’ enemies.

Gabriel’s men had struck from behind his foes, catching them by surprise, and trapping them in the gate house. It was like being trapped between a bear and a lion, and having both bearing down on you at once. Upon the realization of the guild’s forces behind them, the leader cried out in fear for his men’s lives… and most importantly his own. As he cried a sword crashed into his shoulder, and cutting down into his ribs. He threw his head back, and began to roar, but never completed the cry. Another sword cut open his throat, and a chain pulled him beneath the feet of the ruthless assassins. Each soldier was ripped apart in such a fashion, and the guild members were ruthless in their advance. The guild members were like one mind using many bodies to do its bidding. Each strike was followed by the second, and they were tossed aside before they knew what happened.

With a group of stalwart soldiers to their front, riflemen to their side, and a group of assassins reminiscent of a meat grinder to their rear, they did not survive long enough to kill a single man. When the chaos settled, and the defenders left from the gate, to the town square, they checked their numbers to asses any losses. To their relief, there were none. ‘HA! We bested the sand dogs! Give us more you bastards! HAHA!’ Shouted Jason, who now looked like a fool wearing a blood soaked night gown.

‘Yes, why do we not rush out to the sands and meet them head on?’ replied Gabriel snidely.

‘A grand idea!’ laughed the captain, who was likely intoxicated judging from his speech.

Gabriel growled at him, ‘Yes, a grand idea! Except for one thing you buffoon! We are his majesty’s finest! And all our combined forces amount to a mere three hundred! Fantastic! We will kill the whole lot of them! And why don’t we all dress our selves like jackasses and wear a night gown! That should scare the hell out of them! And then we will slaughter the millions of them waiting on our doorstep! My God you are pathetic you drunken bastard…’ Gabriel sheathed his sword and wrapped his chain. He cupped his forehead in his hand, and walked away slowly, obviously worried for his land’s safety.

William began giving out order to clean up the mess, then ran off down the street to check on the little girl and the woman. He ran to their sides and embraced them both. Jason looked confused at the sight, thinking of William as his best friend, and yet, the way he saw him, he thought perhaps it was his family. And William never said anything to him about a family, so he felt slightly hurt. As he stared in the direction, he heard rattling. A very unsettling rattling, like chains… chains falling all about a person. He looked to his side and saw a man in a long, worn grey robe.

The robe was torn, and hooded. Beneath the hood was a scarred face. The eyes were covered beneath a grey blindfold, and all around it were burn marks, as though they were burned out. At the side of his cheek there were long scarred over slits from lips to his jaw bone. They had since been healed… but they seemed self inflicted. From the bottom of his baggy sleeves fell a curve of chain. It has serrated blades upon one of the links, and a few more serrated blades were just out of his sight. He saw a few more chains falling from the bottom of his robe, and the serrations were present there as well. He looked back up to the man’s neck, and around it was a chocker, a spiked one. The spikes were facing inside, piercing his neck at various spots.

Jason looked, awestruck, at the man standing before him. The man seemed to be acutely aware of everyone around him, judging what everyone was doing, watching them without eyes. The man’s glance, so to speak, fell upon Jason, and he shivered despite himself. The man demanded to Jason in a vicious hissing sound, “Take me to your lord.”

The wind ruffled its short hair as it ate a small dandelion. It closed its, eyes enjoying the scent all around it. It sat in a small patch of grass nibbling grass and dandelions. It had a patch all to itself, and was rather plump for a rabbit. Its white tail wiggling in joy for its little life. But then it heard encroaching doom. Footsteps to the east. It smelled something… it was musky… The sound was getting nearer… closing in. Then, it stopped. The rabbit could see the creature, a large grey wolf. Were it in a clan it would be the patriarch. Then something sprinted from behind, grabbing the rabbit before it had time to react. The jaws clamped down, crushing its spine, and killing it painlessly.

A black wolf had taken the rabbit from the rear by surprise. It tossed it in the air and caught it to get a better grip on it, and shared the bounty with her mate, the grey wolf. A large grey bear came by and began to eat the various fruits and berries upon the ground. Alexander came by, and marveled at the beauty of his companions. The black wolf, who he had named Shadow, was so sleek… its fur was so shiny, and silky soft. Its mate’s fur was dull grey… but the black streaks… like lightning streaking down its side, a marvel to look upon. He named the wolf Storm because of its pattern. The bear was so large, it was more like a boulder than a bear. But its kind, loving eyes. They looked upon the world around it, and loved everything it saw, wishing to keep it safe and protected. He named her Mother… for it was how he imagined his mother would be… protective and loving.

It was seven years since he set out on his quest, and he stayed on the outside of the swamps and mires, in favor of a large and open meadow, and a dense, and mysterious forest. They kept him busy tending the trees and plants while he waited for the men who were to come, asking for the staff of life.

He pulled the crystal close once more… he saw her face, smiling down on him, and saw her lips speak the words, ‘I love you,’ and smiled in his mind. Every thought dwelled upon her, he couldn’t help it anymore. He would have forgotten his quest were it not that she was the reward.

His clothes were shabby, but fitting. We wore large fur spaulders, made from a large grizzly’s hide. From the bottom of it flowed a half cape of leaves, which covered his back, down to his waist. He wore nothing to cover his chest but for the strap his satchel was attached to. His legs were covered in deerskin woolies, and his feet were in soft moccasins. His staff was tall, and gnarled at the top, and only he could see the spirit of nature resting there. Though it did little for him, it still provided conversation when he wished it, and offered interesting solutions to problems facing the land.

He saw in the nearby forests a spirit of nature, one with corporeal from. He began to walk over to it while his companions played in the meadow some more. He neared the spirit and saw its beauty was incomparable, inhuman. It walked towards him, hair flowing down to her ankles, though, it was more like an ivy than hair. Her skin was brown, and earth brown, but soft, and attractive despite itself. Her hair flowed in front of her as well, granting her some decency, but she likely cared not about walking in such a state. After all, she was a spirit of nature, and should be one with it, forfeiting clothes. He still felt uncomfortable around her, however.

She approached and spoke in an unearthly tone, ‘Welcome, friend of nature. How can a sister of the forest help you?’ Her voice was sweet, and stuck all the most perfect tones. Her eyes, though inhumanly purple, were soft, and entrancing. He looked upon the creature, and found it hard to look away.

‘I am in need of little, sister. Unless you can answer me one question.’

‘What would this question be, brother?’ Her voice was sweet and childish, making him feel more comfortable around her.

‘I am wondering why me… Why was I chosen for this task… why is she my reward… why?’ He asked her in despair of himself. He had been so confused before, but willing to believe anything in the hopes of earning her back.

‘Oh, my brother, I thought you had known. Your wife was an angel of mercy. She helped various creatures along the way, she planted fruits and trees. She performed as much as she could for us, and the great father wanted to thank her for all her help once she had fallen. I mean, she really earned his favor my friend, every day, while you worked, she would go into the woods, exploring, and playing in my father’s realm. He grew to enjoy her company, and all the aid she lent.

‘Then… she died. He was nowhere near pleased at having her join him so soon. And then he found out who had killed her, and was enraged. The Dark King has been poisoning this forest,’ she motioned toward the swamp. ‘And killing any creature within his small kingdom. The balance there had been disrupted, and then he killed his friend. Oh that was a sad day for us all… She meant a lot to us all, even though she helped such a small area, it is rare to find a mortal who cares about nature of their own will, and is also willing to lend it aid. We all miss her…’ He could swear he saw a tear form on the nymph’s eye, but she wiped it away, and continued, ‘He still wished to repay her, and she said she wished for you.

Getting a mortal into our realm is not easy, and we must deem it worth our trouble, so he thought that should you destroy his enemies, then you would be worthy. Then his foe is defeated, she gets her wish, you get you revenge, and your love, so it seemed as though everyone would win.’

He stared at her in contempt, ‘and why could you not tell me, or for that fact, why didn’t any of your friends?’

She snorted at him, disappointed at his lack of gratitude, ‘Stupid human, I would have told you, but you are reclusive even for a brother of nature. It is one thing to remain aloof from humans and their…’ her body shook and shivered at the mention of this word, ‘Industry… But it is quite another to remain aloof from your own brothers and sisters. So you should consider talking to us more often. Maybe you won’t live in the dark for seven years, you holier-than-though HUMAN,’ she emphasized the human, almost as if it was an insult as far as she was concerned. She then stormed off, obviously angered by his remarks.

He rolled his eyes at her, and walked back off to his companions. They met him on the road, and began following him once more. ‘Come now friends… I have put this off for long enough… We need to enter this noxious mire, and find where his fortress is, learn the layout of the land, then await for the travelers to come…’ Storm bowed his head in sadness, while shadow jumped up in excitement, at the thought of adventure. Mother held its head low, then started to walk beside him.

‘Goodbye forests and meadows… I will miss your breezes, your wafting scents, and joy…’ He wasn’t planning on returning…

Description
He peers down from his secluded nest, down into the den of his foe. There sits an empty throne, but soon, very soon the king must come to ascend it. He watches, oh so closely. He can hear talking going down below him, but inaudible to his well trained ears. He waits. Sweat beads up an splashes on the rocks below him. The ruined fortress was so full of the hiding spots, a sniper could easily infiltrate, and kill whoever they need to in here. His mission was reconnaissance though, and he was lightly armed.

He heard metal clank on metal, at last, the General had returned! He heard it coming from the overhang below him, and waited just a moment more to focus his eyes on the feared man.

He walked, his black plate mail was lustrous and bold. It had and enormous paldron on the left side almost to make up for his lack of a shield. He carried a flamberge at his side, its sickening form unsheathed in the northern manner. From his perch, not so high above the ground, he could see blood stains all over this man’s armor and sword, and was in fact dried on as a sick memento, or as though he no longer cared enough to wipe it off after each battle. But the man he was told to expect was nothing like the man he saw. He had light blond feathery hair that waved in the wind at his shoulder, almost white in the light filtering from above. His steps were graceful and calculated, and his balanced shifted seamlessly. His cloak flowed out behind him like a small bit of ocean that he could take with him where ever he went. He had a kind face, belied with anger, hatred and loss, and his blue eyes shone in the light. His regal appearance filled the cynical spy with a feeling of awe, and it amazed the agent how he was affected by it.

He kneeled down to the throne, and seemed to pray, or address some unseen king. He saw the man rise, and the words, ‘Loki, you are to lead the armies in three months,’ rang throughout the halls and crevasses, echoing and loosening dust. It was demonic, no doubt about it, the hollow tone, and the smell of sulfur filled the rooms the second the voice rang out. ‘Tell your brother he needs to fulfill his duties, and send his agents into the city three weeks from today, and tell him not to fail his task this time…’ the smell faded and the voice subsided, the man rising, and shaking his head in disbelief.

He let out a sharp whistle and three men came in, one in a robe that ran to his ankles, made of canvas. He also had a hood over his head and ropes wrapped around him. The second man was tall and lithe, he wore grey, loose clothing that only fit tight across his chest and waist. At his back was a di-katana, which looked shorter on him than on a normal man, despite it being six feet long. He also had two shorter ones at his sides, and various pockets to hide all his devious devices. He too wore a hood. The final man was a southerner. He wore the traditional head garb and clothing of the desert dwellers and had a scimitar at his side.

He saw them discussing something together, but couldn’t hear as well, so he inched forward. He slipped up however and sent debris falling to the ground, he didn’t give it a chance to hit and began running out. He followed his tunnel as fast as he could, but he heard a loud war cry ring out through the halls. He pulled out a small note one places on a carrier hawk, and scribbled on it as he ran. He knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this one. He finally got out of the fortress, and whistled to his hawk. It flew in from the nearby trees, and perched on his shoulder while he scribbled more onto the note. He began to tie it to the foot of the swift bird, and sent the bird off, but even as he did, he felt strong hands grab him by the shoulder and the hip. The fingers dug in under his flesh, and he let out a scream as the bird flew off.

He freed himself from the man’s grasp, and ran off to the side a few feet, stumbling for a moment, but then returning to his controlled stance. He unsheathed his falchion and looked at the man. The man laughed and walked away. The agent, lowered his sword in disbelief, but nonetheless went about his way. Then he remembered to check his wounds, he felt a little blood, though, not near enough for the wounds he had received, so he looked down at his side. He saw blood stained sand falling from it, he tried brushing it away, but more came out. He brushed more frantically, more and more frantically, but more sand came out! The sand was no longer bloodstained though, just golden sand, flowing like blood. He felt his legs get heavy, and he felt weakened. He heard laughing from the distance, but as he tried to scream his voice was dry and hoarse. He felt his legs like pure lead, and he fell to his knees. He looked down and saw his legs were stone, and the line that separated stone from flesh was rising. It moved up, and once it hit his lungs he felt all the air ripped from his lungs, and threw his head back in pain, where it was petrified. He then blew in the wind and became a small pile of sand, and nothing more.

The child chased the moth out into the street. The moth floated upon the small breeze like a small grey cloud, and the little girl in her short dress chased after her fleeting cloud before it disappeared into the night air. She jumped and stumbled, laughing and growling in joy and frustration towards her little friend. Her short brown hair flew around her, refracting the moonlight, making it appear golden blond at one moment, and as black as the night air around her at others. Her bare feet made small clapping sounds with each step or jump, and her flailing arms whisked through the air, making small cutting sounds.

Finally she caught the moth, and began to giggle and pull it towards her eyes, to see her small prize. A moment of true innocence… brought to an abrupt end by a man walking towards her. He was dressed in the southern fashion, head wrap, layered clothes, and curled shoes for easier traction in the desert sands. At his side was an empty sheath, and in his right hand was a scimitar. He walked up right in front of the girl, looking down on her, as she obliviously stared at her new pet.

‘Little girl… innocence flowing in her veins…’ he reached down, stroking a lock of her hair that fell in front of her face. She looked up at the man standing before her, and like most children trusted him completely, not suspicious of any wicked intentions. She stared deep into his eyes, confused by his odd dress. She tilted her head sideways, but then her moth flew from her hands and behind her, so she instinctively turned to grab it again. ‘Ha-ha, don’t run little moth!’

As her moth escaped the man raised his sword, her head turned… his sword ready to strike like a wolf, thirsting for the blood of an easy kill. Her shoulders turned, slowly at first then more quickly, unaware of the beast behind, its sword bearing down on her. The sword swung in one fluidic motion, aimed to crash on her neck’s soft skin.

“NO!’ Cried out a young man’s voice, throwing the girls off balance, causing her to slip and fall. The man choked up on his sword a mere second, then finished out the swing, cutting the girl’s shoulder, but not deep. The girl roared the fiercest roar a seven year old girl could roar, and tears started streaming down her face.

The southerner turned to see who had ruined his kill. As his face turned, it met the butt of someone’s imperial long rifle, cracking his jaw, and throwing him to the ground. He hit the ground, with all the sky and buildings spinning and little lights flashing on and off. He could barely hear a thing… A dulled child’s cry… ‘So quiet…’ he thought. He heard ringing, and muffled footsteps. Small squeals from around him, blurs that were people running to and fro from the chaos in the streets,’ They have come…’ he whimpered, slightly smiling to himself. He heard an echoing boom, and felt something crash into his chest, shattering bones, ripping flesh, feeling every inch as the bullet tore him apart, all the more so as his other senses were nearly null thanks to the crack against his head. He coughed blood, but it merely splattered on the inside of his head wrap, causing him to cough up even more when it hit the inside of his throat again. He reached back, a futile attempt to find his sword, perhaps kill the one who shot him, but, as he did, the gun barrel crashed into his hand, breaking many bones. He would have recalled it to his chest, but the blood loss was making him dazed. He saw a young man over him, sword in his left hand, rifle in his right. The man lowered his sword to his throat. He closed his eyes in anticipation, and felt the firm slash. It severed his veins, and causing him to lose almost all consciousness instantly. He let out his final breath, and all life faded from his limp body.

William raised his sword, wiped it off quickly and motioned to a young woman to rush in and grab the little girl. The woman did as he asked, and rushed the girl off to the other side of town. Will reloaded his rifle rather quickly and rushed into the fray of soldiers by the gate.

The Royal Guard, headed by Jason, and the Guild, headed by Gabriel both held off wave after wave of the invaders pouring through the gate. Despite being outnumbered, these men were some of the greatest warriors the country had ever known. Like a typhoon the defenders rushed the enemy, the guard holding them off, while the guild tried to flank them, successfully. William ran in as the remainder of his musket squad rushed in. ‘Formation! Flank them from the right!’

His men immediately followed his orders, like a smooth running machine, and flanked them in a matter of seconds. Their sighs trained on the one who they picked as their prey. With hunter’s instinct they picked their foe, aimed carefully, and sent him crashing to the ground.

Jason was cutting a swathe of destruction through their ranks, swirling like a typhoon of steel, wave after wave of the enemy met wave after wave of his wide ranging swipes. His blade flowed like the gentlest stream with the force of a bolt of lightning. He pulled his sword in and out in order to cut a mortal wound, but pulled back to insure no momentum would be lost by the strike, allowing it to continue to the next foe. His claymore was glowing blue in the moonlight, giving it an ethereal appearance as he cut through them. He was also wearing a nightgown and a sleeping cap. It was thoroughly soaked in blood, and caused him to look as intimidating as a teddy bear… covered in blood. However, any and all stupidity was washed away by his skill in battle, causing him to still be feared and looked upon in awe by his ‘fearless’ enemies.

Gabriel’s men had struck from behind his foes, catching them by surprise, and trapping them in the gate house. It was like being trapped between a bear and a lion, and having both bearing down on you at once. Upon the realization of the guild’s forces behind them, the leader cried out in fear for his men’s lives… and most importantly his own. As he cried a sword crashed into his shoulder, and cutting down into his ribs. He threw his head back, and began to roar, but never completed the cry. Another sword cut open his throat, and a chain pulled him beneath the feet of the ruthless assassins. Each soldier was ripped apart in such a fashion, and the guild members were ruthless in their advance. The guild members were like one mind using many bodies to do its bidding. Each strike was followed by the second, and they were tossed aside before they knew what happened.

With a group of stalwart soldiers to their front, riflemen to their side, and a group of assassins reminiscent of a meat grinder to their rear, they did not survive long enough to kill a single man. When the chaos settled, and the defenders left from the gate, to the town square, they checked their numbers to asses any losses. To their relief, there were none. ‘HA! We bested the sand dogs! Give us more you bastards! HAHA!’ Shouted Jason, who now looked like a fool wearing a blood soaked night gown.

‘Yes, why do we not rush out to the sands and meet them head on?’ replied Gabriel snidely.

‘A grand idea!’ laughed the captain, who was likely intoxicated judging from his speech.

Gabriel growled at him, ‘Yes, a grand idea! Except for one thing you buffoon! We are his majesty’s finest! And all our combined forces amount to a mere three hundred! Fantastic! We will kill the whole lot of them! And why don’t we all dress our selves like jackasses and wear a night gown! That should scare the hell out of them! And then we will slaughter the millions of them waiting on our doorstep! My God you are pathetic you drunken bastard…’ Gabriel sheathed his sword and wrapped his chain. He cupped his forehead in his hand, and walked away slowly, obviously worried for his land’s safety.

William began giving out order to clean up the mess, then ran off down the street to check on the little girl and the woman. He ran to their sides and embraced them both. Jason looked confused at the sight, thinking of William as his best friend, and yet, the way he saw him, he thought perhaps it was his family. And William never said anything to him about a family, so he felt slightly hurt. As he stared in the direction, he heard rattling. A very unsettling rattling, like chains… chains falling all about a person. He looked to his side and saw a man in a long, worn grey robe.

The robe was torn, and hooded. Beneath the hood was a scarred face. The eyes were covered beneath a grey blindfold, and all around it were burn marks, as though they were burned out. At the side of his cheek there were long scarred over slits from lips to his jaw bone. They had since been healed… but they seemed self inflicted. From the bottom of his baggy sleeves fell a curve of chain. It has serrated blades upon one of the links, and a few more serrated blades were just out of his sight. He saw a few more chains falling from the bottom of his robe, and the serrations were present there as well. He looked back up to the man’s neck, and around it was a chocker, a spiked one. The spikes were facing inside, piercing his neck at various spots.

Jason looked, awestruck, at the man standing before him. The man seemed to be acutely aware of everyone around him, judging what everyone was doing, watching them without eyes. The man’s glance, so to speak, fell upon Jason, and he shivered despite himself. The man demanded to Jason in a vicious hissing sound, “Take me to your lord.”

The wind ruffled its short hair as it ate a small dandelion. It closed its, eyes enjoying the scent all around it. It sat in a small patch of grass nibbling grass and dandelions. It had a patch all to itself, and was rather plump for a rabbit. Its white tail wiggling in joy for its little life. But then it heard encroaching doom. Footsteps to the east. It smelled something… it was musky… The sound was getting nearer… closing in. Then, it stopped. The rabbit could see the creature, a large grey wolf. Were it in a clan it would be the patriarch. Then something sprinted from behind, grabbing the rabbit before it had time to react. The jaws clamped down, crushing its spine, and killing it painlessly.

A black wolf had taken the rabbit from the rear by surprise. It tossed it in the air and caught it to get a better grip on it, and shared the bounty with her mate, the grey wolf. A large grey bear came by and began to eat the various fruits and berries upon the ground. Alexander came by, and marveled at the beauty of his companions. The black wolf, who he had named Shadow, was so sleek… its fur was so shiny, and silky soft. Its mate’s fur was dull grey… but the black streaks… like lightning streaking down its side, a marvel to look upon. He named the wolf Storm because of its pattern. The bear was so large, it was more like a boulder than a bear. But its kind, loving eyes. They looked upon the world around it, and loved everything it saw, wishing to keep it safe and protected. He named her Mother… for it was how he imagined his mother would be… protective and loving.

It was seven years since he set out on his quest, and he stayed on the outside of the swamps and mires, in favor of a large and open meadow, and a dense, and mysterious forest. They kept him busy tending the trees and plants while he waited for the men who were to come, asking for the staff of life.

He pulled the crystal close once more… he saw her face, smiling down on him, and saw her lips speak the words, ‘I love you,’ and smiled in his mind. Every thought dwelled upon her, he couldn’t help it anymore. He would have forgotten his quest were it not that she was the reward.

His clothes were shabby, but fitting. We wore large fur spaulders, made from a large grizzly’s hide. From the bottom of it flowed a half cape of leaves, which covered his back, down to his waist. He wore nothing to cover his chest but for the strap his satchel was attached to. His legs were covered in deerskin woolies, and his feet were in soft moccasins. His staff was tall, and gnarled at the top, and only he could see the spirit of nature resting there. Though it did little for him, it still provided conversation when he wished it, and offered interesting solutions to problems facing the land.

He saw in the nearby forests a spirit of nature, one with corporeal from. He began to walk over to it while his companions played in the meadow some more. He neared the spirit and saw its beauty was incomparable, inhuman. It walked towards him, hair flowing down to her ankles, though, it was more like an ivy than hair. Her skin was brown, and earth brown, but soft, and attractive despite itself. Her hair flowed in front of her as well, granting her some decency, but she likely cared not about walking in such a state. After all, she was a spirit of nature, and should be one with it, forfeiting clothes. He still felt uncomfortable around her, however.

She approached and spoke in an unearthly tone, ‘Welcome, friend of nature. How can a sister of the forest help you?’ Her voice was sweet, and stuck all the most perfect tones. Her eyes, though inhumanly purple, were soft, and entrancing. He looked upon the creature, and found it hard to look away.

‘I am in need of little, sister. Unless you can answer me one question.’

‘What would this question be, brother?’ Her voice was sweet and childish, making him feel more comfortable around her.

‘I am wondering why me… Why was I chosen for this task… why is she my reward… why?’ He asked her in despair of himself. He had been so confused before, but willing to believe anything in the hopes of earning her back.

‘Oh, my brother, I thought you had known. Your wife was an angel of mercy. She helped various creatures along the way, she planted fruits and trees. She performed as much as she could for us, and the great father wanted to thank her for all her help once she had fallen. I mean, she really earned his favor my friend, every day, while you worked, she would go into the woods, exploring, and playing in my father’s realm. He grew to enjoy her company, and all the aid she lent.

‘Then… she died. He was nowhere near pleased at having her join him so soon. And then he found out who had killed her, and was enraged. The Dark King has been poisoning this forest,’ she motioned toward the swamp. ‘And killing any creature within his small kingdom. The balance there had been disrupted, and then he killed his friend. Oh that was a sad day for us all… She meant a lot to us all, even though she helped such a small area, it is rare to find a mortal who cares about nature of their own will, and is also willing to lend it aid. We all miss her…’ He could swear he saw a tear form on the nymph’s eye, but she wiped it away, and continued, ‘He still wished to repay her, and she said she wished for you.

Getting a mortal into our realm is not easy, and we must deem it worth our trouble, so he thought that should you destroy his enemies, then you would be worthy. Then his foe is defeated, she gets her wish, you get you revenge, and your love, so it seemed as though everyone would win.’

He stared at her in contempt, ‘and why could you not tell me, or for that fact, why didn’t any of your friends?’

She snorted at him, disappointed at his lack of gratitude, ‘Stupid human, I would have told you, but you are reclusive even for a brother of nature. It is one thing to remain aloof from humans and their…’ her body shook and shivered at the mention of this word, ‘Industry… But it is quite another to remain aloof from your own brothers and sisters. So you should consider talking to us more often. Maybe you won’t live in the dark for seven years, you holier-than-though HUMAN,’ she emphasized the human, almost as if it was an insult as far as she was concerned. She then stormed off, obviously angered by his remarks.

He rolled his eyes at her, and walked back off to his companions. They met him on the road, and began following him once more. ‘Come now friends… I have put this off for long enough… We need to enter this noxious mire, and find where his fortress is, learn the layout of the land, then await for the travelers to come…’ Storm bowed his head in sadness, while shadow jumped up in excitement, at the thought of adventure. Mother held its head low, then started to walk beside him.

‘Goodbye forests and meadows… I will miss your breezes, your wafting scents, and joy…’ He wasn’t planning on returning…