It was an early mid-spring eve, and the rain was drizzling from the sky in sheets. Water poured into the streets from rooftops and rain barrels overflowed, tiny streams trickled down the streets, amassing in a pool near the outskirts of town. Thunder roared, and lighting lit the sky with brilliant lights, and it seemed the storm as a lumbering beast, growling and prowling for fresh meat to whet its appetite, and innocent blood to quench its thirst. An ominous night, indeed. All the commotion and noise the restless storm made, though, was of little consequence to Bayron, whom our story begins with. No, Bayron was safe and warm in his bedroom with nary a care in the world. His wife, and daughter, were quietly knitting downstairs, and the maid was fixing him a late-night snack before bed, as usual. He was quite content, as was his family.
He was busy writing in his book, ‘Memoirs of Bayron the Protector’, at the time. It was not that the old man thought so highly of himself, but he wanted to leave something behind for his descendants, and in his prime, he was one of the most respected guards in the town. Fought off thirty orc raiders on his own, he did, at one point. With barely more than a shortsword and a net, too! But that’s a whole other story. These days he was old, retired, and too weary of fighting to give much care to the battles of the town guard. He was slowly beginning to nod off mid sentence when he heard the creaking steps of the maid walking up the stairwell.
He smiled, and was about to rise when he heard a noise. A whispering, coming from inside the room. He turned quickly, and the candles flickered out. A shadow swept across the room, and Bayron reached for his stave. ‘I’ll give ye this warning and none other, leave now, or I’ll break yer bones, thief!’ he shouted, waving his staff through the air in the shadows direction. It moved again, whispering harshly now. Something glinted in the moonlight- a blade! The shadow leapt at Bayron, and the old man swung his stave like it were a mace. Lightning lit the room for a brief moment, and thunder crackled. The window swung open, and the intruder vanished.
Creak. Bayron spun on his heels, aiming the tip of his staff barely an inch from the old maids face. She was startled, to say the least, and barely managed a ‘whoops!’ before the tray she was carrying fell to the floor. Bayron was half as startled as she, and immediately composed himself, dropping his staff to the wall.
“I’m so sorry, lord. I suppose I did sneak a bit of the way up here.” she excused herself to get a cloth and to wipe up the mess. He could only stare in disbelief as he held his lantern, the one flame that hadn’t flickered, and saw the room empty. Bayron simply shook his head, and told the maid he needed some rest, and not to bother making another snack. After a few minutes, and she had left, he quietly shut the door, and window, and got his night-clothes on.
Clambering into bed, he could have sworn he heard the whispers again, but he quickly dismissed it, ‘Just an old coots imagination of old battles and great victories..’ he muttered, pulling the quilt up close. He yawned, and thought of more pleasant thoughts, of his little girls first steps, and of his wed-ceremony. The trees outside were already making odd shadows across the floor, and the house creaked and settled. For a resting place, it was awfully unrestful during a storm. ‘Oh well.’ he yawned once more, and rolled over for a nice peaceful sleep.
He was only finally nodding off when the thunder growled outside, and stirred him slightly. Something moved across the walls, and caught his sleep-filled eye. He blinked, and stared at what he saw. All the nights he had watched the trees make ominous shadows across his walls, but nothing compared to this. Stretched across the pane of light, across the wall-lantern and his study, a shadowy cross bent against the wind. The image was so crystalline he could even make out droplets of water dripping from various notches in the disturbing image. He reached for his trusty staff, and turned to face the window, sprawling across the covers. The cross had vanished. “Bah! This is nonsense! I just need sleep, and to stop imaging such disturbing things!” he grumbled, pulling the blankets ever-so-tightly about his neck and shoulders. A soft whisper seemed to carry him off to sleep.
He dreamt beautiful things. He was standing in the town square, the sun was beaming down onto his back, and his Mary, his wife and soulmate, was crouching in the shade. Tera, who was only now a little over ten months of age, was giggling and squealing, crawling on her hands and knees in the dirt with her mother. Bayron couldn’t help but grim a wide smile as he stooped behind Tera, and held her up on two feet for a moment. He had barely let go when the babe squirmed out of his hands and waddled, giggling, towards Mary. He laughed out loud, and went over to sit beside them. He wrapped an arm around Mary’s back, and tickled little Tera’s tummy with his finger. She squealed and squirmed, and grabbed his aged finger with a grip made of iron. Tera certainly took after her father, but he knew all too-well she would be just as beautiful as the angel he called his wife. She had her eyes. Bayron leaned over a little and kissed Mary’s cheek, ‘One for you,’ he leaned a bit lower, and kissed Tera’s forehead, ‘and one for you, my little angel.’. She giggled and sucked on his finger. Mary smiled, and leaned against Bayron.
Suddenly, the town bell rang out, and a few men came running down from the south path. They carried with them spears and swords, and looked ready for a scrap. He glanced up and they looked at him. “Lo! There are orcs at the southern gate! We’ve got to stop them, they’ve set flame to three houses, with arrows, not to mention the wall!”
Bayron’s heart sunk. This was not how he remembered it.. Regardless, he kissed Mary, and after a few moments said, ‘I’ll be back soon. Keep safe.’ with that, he grabbed his spear and sword just inside the door, and ran off with the others. They hadn’t gone more than ten or twenty meters before they saw the flames. At least five houses, the ones they could see, were already well ablaze. Men and women were already rushing with buckets to put them out, but many were struck down by a volley of arrows. Soon Bayron and his boys were targeted, and they managed to crouch behind one of the burning houses before being struck.
“Blazes and brimstone!” he shouted, “Veiran, grab those barrel-lids, we’re going to need some sort of shield,” he turned to the other guard, “Creff, make sure no one is stuck in those houses, then come to the southern gate- we’ll need ye.” he peeked around the corner, and grabbed some random flotsam, lighting it with one of the licks of flame from the house. Once they all had their barrel-shields, they ran back out into the streets.
Dashing towards the southern gate, the arrows provided less an irritation, and more a foe in themselves. The barrel-shields were helpful against the dulled, pointless orc arrows, but the lids were too small to be very effective. When a few of the arrows were lit, they were hard-pressed to find cover, rather than have their defense burn to ashes in their fists. After much relentless dodging and luck, they found their way to the main gate. What they saw there wasn’t an orc war-band, though. It was something much, much worse.
It stood at least three or four heads above a man, with a slouched posture and dreadlocks dangling around large pointed ears. Dirt-filled brows tensed above beady red eyes, a nose that seemed up-turned like a pigs’ snout inches above a gaping, tooth filled maw. Though, calling them teeth was an understatement. Most were rotting and yellow, some seemed to be missing altogether. The ones that remained, though, were more like daggers than teeth, daggers embedded behind a cracked, fat lip. It had a short (for its size) beard that came down in another dreadlock. Slung over one sunken shoulder was a massive curved chunk of metal with massive nails jutting out from every which way. Its arms were easily twice as long as its unusually stubby legs, both with random bits of cloth wound about them, though the cloth was so muck-encrusted you could never make out what color they had been. It wore an animal-skin loincloth around its waist, probably from a bear, and clenched in its dirty hands was, what looked to be, an uprooted tree. The branches had been broken off, and it was obviously not too old by the looks, but it made for a formidable weapon, no less. The thing roared, and swung the ‘club’ through the walls of the nearest building. Someone came running out- a child! A boy, no older than ten harvests, he reckoned. Veiran’s eyes widened. He recognized the child, the child that was now frozen in his tracks in the middle of the monsters path.
“By the gods.. Degvan!” he yelled, and with a cry he ran out into the street, stopping only to harpoon the beasts shoulder with his spear. “Veiran! Get back here!!” Bayron shouted, but it was too late. With a single sweep, the tree struck dirt, and a haze flooded over them. Once it cleared, all that was left was a shallow trench, smeared with blood. Neither the child, nor the soldier, made it.
Bayron simply stared, mouth agape, stunned of these strange visions- this was not how it happened..
Before he could run, though, the monstrosity had already started towards him, swinging its club madly through the air, growling and roaring like a beast of the abyss. Bayron had no choice. This was his dream, and he would make it right, no matter what. He was the master of his own mind. “Bastard!” he cried, leaping towards the beast, spear readied. It rose up, gripping the club with both hands, grinning sadistically. Bayron could think of nothing better, and in the few seconds he had, he leapt right into the thing, jabbing the spear straight into its chest. He heard something snap, but couldn’t tell if it was the spear, or bones. The creature cried out, and swung his club down, agony and hatred fueling its brutal attack that much further. The guard grabbed hold of the beasts’ dangling dreadlocks just as the tree struck the ground, sending up a massive cloud of dust and dirt. The monster, though, cared less. It groped at its chest, snapping the spear without even noticing, reaching and clawing for Bayron. Bayron, on the other hand, had other plans. He leapt forth, still gripping the dreadlocks tight, and swung right through the thing’s armpit, and coming out the other side. It growled and moaned, scratching for the little thing that hurt him.
The ‘little thing’ jumped onto his back, and began clambering up the squirming and raging beast. It was unusually easy, as the things hair was so long and dirty, it clung to his back and provided a sturdy ladder for Bayron. He had only gotten to the creatures’ hunch before it finally noticed him. It was obviously not too pleased. It started thrashing about much more violently, reaching and clawing its own back to get at him. Bayron was flung to and fro, with only the encrusted hair to keep him on. Slowly, he forced his way up the things’ back, and finally to its elongated neck, and disturbingly proportioned head. He clambered a few more steps before it caught him. It grabbed hold of his ankle and squeezed tight, tugging with all of its unbelievable might to rip him off. He felt he would be torn apart right there, and as a last-ditch effort, released one lock of hair and reached for his sword. He swung it in a wide arc, and stabbed into the beasts wrist. It let go, and shrieked in agony. Bayron groped at its ears and pulled himself onto its head. He was only just barely keeping on as it thrashed and raged around the street, reaching for him still with both hands, even the one that still kept his trapped sword in its wrist. Bayron cursed the thing, and reached out for his sword. He managed a grip, only to have it slip and himself nearly catapult off of its skull. He groaned, pulling himself upright, for the moment. The wounded hand reached again, and this time, Bayron was steadfast. He grabbed the hilt and wouldn’t let go. As such, he was thrown from the beasts back, and left dangling on its clawing, reaching, and rending arm. He pulled himself closer to the sword, and braced himself against the things’ hand long enough to rip his sword out, and jump for its neck when the hand reached again. With one arm, he grabbed a fistful of hair, with the other, he swung his sword, effectively chopping off the creatures’ left ear.
This, of course, just made it angrier. It swung, rending a good portion of his side to shreds. Blood splattered across its skin and face, and it swiped again. Bayron managed to yank himself upright onto its neck again, and with a final word, he cursed the beast, ‘Die, abyssal thing!!’. He plunged his sword straight through the middle of its skull. Everything slowed for a moment, and with a groan, the beast tripped over its own feet and slammed into the ground. The dust swept around them both, and Bayron dislodged his sword from the hideous beast. Panting, he rose to his feet, and turned to see the orcish raiders gathered round, staring blankly at the man.
“You want some of what I gave this thing?” he grimaced, kicking the creatures’ corpse. The orcs stared in disbelief. One of them pointed and shouted, ‘Grehktu! Vionak grehktu!!’ the raiders ran, shrieking their foul language and cursing hatefully. A hand grabbed Bayrons’ shoulder. He spun, and saw Creff standing in awe. ‘What... what happened here!?’ he managed to say at length. Bayron grinned, and leaned against his sword, remembering the still-bleeding wound on his side. “I killed it,’ he started, and remembered, and his smile faded,’ it got Veiran..’. He cast his gaze to the bloodied trench made with the tree-club. ‘Creff.. make sure someone puts these flames out.. I’ve got to check on Mary and Tera..’. The soldier only nodded listlessly, still staring at the massive thing felled by his comrade.
A few minutes passed before Creff gathered enough villagers to move the foul thing, and even longer to convince them that it was truly dead. In the meantime, Bayron tended to his wounds; luckily, they weren’t mortal. If he had been hit any harder, he might not have made it. Still he wondered what was going on. There was never a beast such as this when the orcs attacked that day... Regardless, he was soon brought out of his thought, once he remembered that Tera and Mary were still waiting for him. He waved to Creff, and let him know he was heading home. Then, he quietly strolled along the streets, noting a few children and villagers staring at him from their windowsills in curiosity. Bayron yawned wearily, just turning the corner to his home. It took a few moments to notice, and once he had, he froze dead in his tracks.
At his feet a yawning puddle of crimson blood trailed across the street and into his house. Something laid on the porch, cloth dipped in red, and leaking into the street ominously. His mind raced, and he began to quicken his pace, though he couldn’t run from his wound. As he approached, the blood-soaked object became clearer. A dress, smattered in the stuff. Some bits were ripped and torn, and something was still within it. He got within a couple meters of the house when he first saw her face. It was torn, tears staining her tanned cheeks, her neck sheared wide dripping with her scarlet fluids. He stared, caught himself, and quickly dashed to her side, regardless of pain. As he knelt over her. She was soaked in blood, what seemed like hundreds of tiny cuts across her chest, arms, and legs. Her neck was concealed behind a single massive gash, deep and with surgical precision. She had drowned in her own blood. A tear began to form at the corner of his eye, but his emotion was interrupted when he heard a cry. A baby’s cry. His mouth ran dry, his breath caught in his throat, and he followed the cry, sword readily gripped. It came from inside.
The door was already opened by a crack when Bayron barged through. It looked ransacked, chairs and playthings thrown carelessly about in chaos. A few small puddles of blood were smattered across the wooden floor. He drew his sword, and headed for the bedroom. The handle was dripping and wet, stained by some fluid. He heard the cry once more, and grasped the handle tightly. The door swung open. The room was perfectly neat, save for a tiny trail of blood leading to the corner. A crow perched upon the windowsill, and a shadow dwelt in the shady corner of the room. Tera was cradled neatly within its arms, and a glimmer of steel shone closely to her face. She stopped crying almost as soon as Bayron entered, and he was glad to see her still alive.
The shadow-man himself was hideous. Wound tightly across his body were leather straps, as black as the abyss he came from. They wound everywhere, and in every way. Only a few patches of skin revealed from beneath the leather, and that skin was covered in lesions and cuts and cysts Bayron couldn’t even begin to fathom the nature of. Only one eye glinted through the leather, bloodshot, with a disturbing black and red striped pupil. His grinning mouth was even worse, it looked much like the fell beast from before, cracked teeth and blackened gums. Some teeth were sharp as arrowheads, others were dull, and small. All jutted every which-way, some even tearing from beneath others. Bayron couldn’t help but shiver, yet he still wielded his sword as if this man was no different than the lowliest of orcs, and deserved nothing less than death. The monster held a kris near Tera’s cheek, and it had already drawn blood once before. Some of her clothes and skin already had her mothers own blood on them, and it soon became apparent that this insane thing had little intention of stopping.
“I was beginning to wonder... if you would make it in time...” it rasped. His hand shifted ever so slightly, glimmering in the sunlight. He lightly brushed the broad edge of the kris against Tera’s cheek. “I had really hoped... You’d be here for this...” his crooked mouth spread to a grin. The bird nearby squawked eagerly. Bayron glared, his knuckles whitening, and tears trailing from his eyes.
Bayron took a step forward, writhing with his own emotions not to simply kill the fiend.
“Ah-ah-ah.. watch your step, mister ‘hero’,” his demonic eye twitched slightly. “wouldn’t want the little one to get hurt, now would we?” Bayron held his ground, and spoke after a moment. “What do you want, you monster?”
The bandaged man sneered, braced against the wall, the dagger still dangerously close to Tera’s cheek. His left leg stiffened as his shifted his weight onto it. The sun had already risen high into the sky, and it was nearing noon. The two men sat there for a long while, perhaps an hour or two, though to Bayron it felt like years. After the long silence, the man glanced outside the window, and adjusted his arm beneath Tera.
“...Well?!” Bayron growled, inching towards the man slowly.
The killer’s knuckles whitened and he grinned widely. “Humph..” he glanced to Tera, and then again to Bayron. “I knew she wouldn‘t come, no stomach for violence...” his one uncovered eye squinted and he snickered. “Catch!” he threw Tera through the bedroom window, and leapt at Bayron.
“Bastard!!” Bayron lunged to the window, just in time to feel the cold, hard blade dig through his rib cage. He heard a loud thump outside, followed by another. Tera cried, and the man twisted his knife, digging deeper through his chest. Bayron felt his bones give way, snapping and jutting into his lungs. His breath became shallow, and he felt immediate pain ripping through his muscles. The air grew so thin about him, he could hardly breathe. The bandage-man laughed, kicking Bayron in the diaphragm and dislodging the kris. The fathers’ blood spilled onto the floor, only a few droplets at first, but soon a steady stream of the crimson life fled from his gaping wound. He felt another pain, drowning out the first- the kris crashed into his back, the curved edges making unbearable screeching noises as they scraped against his spine. He grimaced, and the world became hazy. Outside, he could only barely hear Tera’s cries. Still, he reached for the window, muscles aching, his nerves shot, unable to even open his eyes.
Another strike came from behind, though he barely felt it, instantly his body went limp. He struggled to reach for the window, the wall- anything. His arms wouldn’t move. His legs were numb. Bayron crashed headlong, tripping across the corner of the bed, slamming headfirst into the wooden floor. He barely managed a groan, and the cries and the laughter of the madman became blurred, and the world soon fell into blackness. A final tear streaked from his eye, and his breath stopped.
Thunder growled outside and the room resonated in a dim light. A dog outside barked and yowled in retaliation, and Bayron awoke from the nightmarish slumber.
His face was tightened and beads of sweat dripped from his brow. He instinctively reached for his staff and lighter. Sweeping the blankets from his body, he sat up in bed and lit his bedside lantern. Bayron took a deep breath and rose from his bed, holding the lantern out ahead of him. His knuckles went white as he approached the open window.
He stopped inches from the windowsill and peered out into the rain, glancing into the streets and the rooftops. A dog howling angrily at the thunder, a few lanterns glimmering from inside nearby houses. Nothing more. No leather-strapped murderers, no fell beasts from lands unknown, no war bands storming through the streets and setting houses aflame. He let out a sigh of relief.
He returned to his bed, sitting up straight for a minute, focusing on more pleasant things in the hopes another nightmare wouldn’t invade his mind once more. Things like the day he and Mary were wed, and Tera’s first steps, and Degvan training alongside his uncle Veiran in the fall. Or how tomorrow would go, once he gave Tera her birthday present- he had spent months planning it with the others- and he knew how much she loved the ponies in Creff’s stables. Bayron smiled, and laid back into bed, gently blowing the flame out. He leaned his cane back against the wall in its usual resting place and tugged the covers close. Yawning gaily, Baryon closed his eyes tight, and the dog outside finally stopped barking.
The sun lazily rolled over the eastern hillside, bathing the town in a crimson-orange glow. Birds began to chirp as they always had, and a gentle summer breeze passed throughout the town. Children were even leaving their homes, playing in sparse groups. Tera was little different from them, and she was soon up and wide awake, her grin was wide, her eyes sparkling. She couldn’t wait for this amazing present her father had promised her. She skipped across the hall and opened the door to her fathers room. He was, as usual, still in bed, amidst crumpled blankets and hidden conspicuously into his pillow. His staff had fallen onto the floor during the night. She grimaced, her father was always such a heavy sleeper. Wouldn’t wake up even if she threw a pail of water on him. She sighed and wandered over to his bed, and hopped onto his side.
“Time to wake up, daddy!” she giggled, “Guess what day it is!”
There was no answer, and she was tired of waiting for the old fuddy-duddy to let him get any more sleep. She giggled, and tore the blankets off of him. Tera’s eyes went wide, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. The laughter faded into screams.
Back to Stories Page
Home?
