In the vast forest of Calebria, which was several hundred miles long, there were many oak, pines, sycamore, and even the occasional ginger tree evenly spread among the premises. Among the variety there were several rivers, which were all interconnected, and provided water for every living thing within the forest. Cicadas made natural symphonies with crickets, squirrels, and the copious songs of the birds. The sun shone lightly, scattered on the forest ground on this particular day, illuminating amber pine needles, and small pebbles which carpeted the floor. Indeed, it was what it appeared to be, until one comes to its very heart. Here lay the entrance to the realm of the Rhyolithe fairy. A splendid arch, bridged with an entwining strand of ivy which ran up two birch trees, and met with each other This created a frame, similar to a doorway. The arch led to a dirt path, with many rusted lanterns unevenly placed in two rows on either side. The light of these lanterns were kept alive by many fireflies, whose glow was kept lit with an unending flame.
As Soben continued to venture into this newfound realm, the sweet smell of honey seeped into his lungs, and the buzzing of large bumblebees soothed his wretched nerves. Nonetheless, he gripped his crossbow with sweating palms. Every movement caused him even more paranoia, and though a brave warrior he was, a strange place can bring many burdens for the unwary adventurer.
He bent down to check that his armor and weapons were all in place. His iron sword, the blade which was presented to him by the master of the land, The Sole Reaper, was ready at his side. He ran a hand over the ruby-studded grip, and a soft radiance drew over the sleek, curved blade, pressing into his skin, as though comforting him. His quiver was filled, about fifty arrows accompanied him today, and though they were for arming purposes, Soben prayed that he wouldn’t have to touch them. They too, were a possession of honor, and the heads were made from fine polished obsidian, and ended with feathers from the dove of Felarien, the first wife of the master. He ended his examination, by glancing to see that his bronze shield was in position, fastened strongly to his forearm.
Soben’s quest was to capture a Rhyolithe fairy for the advantage of his army. It was rumored that their very veronyla, their magic, was enough to create something so strong, that it could create chaos for anybody who used it improperly. They were knowledgeable fairies, and are generally welcome to those who want hospitalization, but they will not willingly let one of their kind be caught and abused.
A loud chirping distracted him, and Soben’s reflexes kicked in. He assumed a defense position, stooping low, and held his left arm in front of his chest, allowing the shield to protect him. Another rustle in a nearby thorn bush caused his adrenaline to kick in, and he drew an arrow, fitting it to his crossbow. Inching slowly towards the source, he drew in a deep breath, and aimed towards the target, drawing back his right arm with a smooth motion. Squinting to try to get a better look, he gasped at what happened next.
A pure white wing appeared from the thorn bush, covered in glistening red blood. The creature made a noise, as though calling for help, and began to thrash around trying to get free. Blood spattered to the ground from the deepening wounds, and Soben dashed forward to help this creature in vain. He dropped his crossbow onto the ground next to him, and began tearing at the bush with his bear hands, struggling to reach the creature. His hands became raw and scraped, as new blood from his own wounds began to mix with that of the creatures. The thorns seemed to grow sharper, and twisted even further. Soben could get a better look at the creature now; it appeared to be a swallow. It opened its small beak, and let out a cry of pain that only a creature of its size could emit. The sound echoed through the forest, reverberating off the trees. Soben could bear to hear it no longer. He tore fiercely at the thorns, ignoring the tedious pain it was causing him, and finally managed to unscramble the puzzle. He grasped the creature gently, and pulled it out of the hedge. It was almost completely stained in red, the blood still seeping from deep cuts on either side of its dorsal feathers.
Soben cradled the birdlike creature, a site so uncommon with a warrior. But there was something about this moment. Instead of slaying others in battle, or leading rampages through towns for territory, he was able to save a creature- A creature that was once pure and fair. A creature that held more than met the eye…
The blood that stained the ground began to glisten, catching Soben’s eyes. It was disintegrating, evaporating into thin air. Soben looked down into his hands, and noticed that the rest of the blood was following suit, and soon, it was gone completely. The wounds around the wings slowly healed- the red turning to a faint brown, which gradually shifted to its original pure white. The creature righted itself into his hands, and for a second, there was a sense of connection between Soben’s eyes and the heart of this saved soul. Then, it spread its wings, caught a small uplift of air, and disappeared into the heavens.
Soben looked up into sky, which was approaching dusk. Streaks of pink and purple lined the sky, and dark clouds began to swirl overhead. He picked up his crossbows and cursed at his own hand wounds which still stung harshly. Gritting his teeth, he willed himself to continue on into the forest. An invisible wind crept across the ground, and blew swirls of leaves around Soben’s feet. The trees seemed to loom closer together, the branches reaching out to grab him. The sky grew darker still, until naught was shining in the sky, but one or two dim stars. He picked up his pace, not wanting to stray in this place longer than he had to. The brisk walk became a slow jog, as the hairs on the end of Soben’s neck stood up, prickling his senses. Even denser, became the vicinity of trees, and Soben suddenly lost his footing, and twisted his ankle on a protruding root from the ground. He collapsed to the ground, and grasped at his ankle in pain. It was excruciatingly, and though he attempted to make a stand and keep moving, the sharp sting in his foot told him otherwise.
A howl came from deep in the woods, and Soben jerked around, losing more of his nerve with every second that passed by. The hairs standing on his neck slowly proceeded to move downwards, until his entire back was prickling from the same sensation. He gasped for air, as the howling noise grew closer. Two blood red eyes shone through the crack of the bark from a nearby tree, followed by several other pairs. Soben began to panic, as he drew another arrow from his quiver and placed it on the bow. His senses told him to run. Making a second attempt to stand, he managed to hobble forth, turning back towards the entrance of the realm.
He was being chased now, Soben was sure of it. Scattered footsteps padded along the Earth behind him, and the buzzing of wings beating on air was on either side of his head. Another low moan escaped from somewhere in the forest, followed by a chorus of ear-splitting howls. Unable to take it no longer, Soben collapsed on the forest floor with his hands clamped over his ears. His crossbow fell on a nearby rock at an odd angle, cracking the wooden frame.
In an instant, on all sides of him, wolves appeared, their eyes glowing intensely against the pale moonlight. Their growl was low, and sounded absolutely ferocious and their bared teeth showed that they would have no survivors enter their premises. One of the black wolves moved closer towards Soben, drool dangling from its sharp, pearly fangs, which were already slathered with blood.
Soben glanced around him. He didn’t see any way out of this tight situation, but his training reminded him that he was to fight to the end. He drew his sword. It emitted a soft radiance against the lunar waves, once again soothing Soben slightly. He drew himself to his feet, just enough to dodge the first attack from the advancing wolf, which sprung on its hind legs, prepared to clamp its jaws over Soben’s throat in a death lock.
The wolf’s head met with a sheer slice of the iron blade, and blood sprayed in every direction, some landing on nearby trees, some coating the fur of the other wolves, and a good amount running down the alit saber.
