As yet untitled (closed)

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As yet untitled (closed)

Postby Taldric » Tue Oct 02, 2007 10:46 am

Moonlight shines down on a broken mountainside. The ravages of time have not treated it well. Once tall and proud, majestic if austere, the peak is but a pale shadow of its former self. Boulders and scree from a long ago avalanche litter its base, leaving the ground in utter disarray. The ravages of time and weather have done there work, and, if one had viewed the crag at its inception when it first burst forth from the earth, one would be forced to say that it looked old and cowed. A sense of the ancient pervades this deep, dark night. Dense clouds block the stars, all but hiding the silent village nestled amongst the foothills. No living thing moves amongst it's streets and alleyways. If not for shadows in the moonlight slowly creeping across shuttered windows, one might think that time stood still. But, beneath the mountain, something was beginning to stir.

The air is heavy in the subterranean cavern. Cool, damp, and fetid the air presses down all around in the utter black. A sinister presence lurks in the stillness. It's not something one senses with the eyes or ears, but with what some might call a sixth sense, or others imagination. Foreboding images of bloodshed and death dance along the peripheral of the mind. Thoughts of torment and despair abound. Then something moves. A pair of glowing crimson orbs appear, darkness still clinging about them. Eyes lock as the mind recoils. A silent screech like nails on a chalkboard sends shivers down one's spine. Flames burst into life along the rocken walls, revealing the creature in all its dreadful splendor. The demon has awoken.

In the sleepy hamlet, a man stirs and rises from his bed. With a few words, a candle is lit, and the dancing glow fills the room. Leaning over the bed, he gently shakes the still form lying next to his imprint in the rumpled bed awake.
Quickly, wake the children, he urges his wife as a look of growing concern crosses her face.

As she walks with haste to the other room, the candlelight shines upon the man's raven black hair with just a touch of silver and the two objects hanging before him on the wall off to the side. He takes the well worn pommels in his hands and lifts the gleaming blades from their brackets. The warrior sets their familiar weight on the bed and digs through a chest at its foot. He straps the crossed scabbard to his back while woman and children huddle in the shadowed doorway. Vivid scarlet-orange light grows swiftly brighter through the crack in the shutters and the screams begin. He sheathes the blades and strides swiftly past the drawn faces of his family, blissfully unaware that he will never see them again. He's already too late to save them.

Fire fills the sky. It falls in molten waves, its touch vaporizing all that it comes into contact with. The man looks at the sky and redraws his blades, impotent rage burning through his veins. He lowers his eyes toward the mountain and finds a focus for his fury. The demon from his dream. Its path lays strewn with mangled corpses. Blood and vitae and the gods know what else paint its ebony skin. The gaze of man and demon meet, and the now familiar silent screech makes his skin crawl, yet he presses resolutely forward. An inhuman bellow of incoherent rage breaks free from his chest as the distance between man and monster closes. The horrific fiend stands his ground and snorts in mild amusement. Feet apart the scimitars begin to whirl, but to no apparent effect. A few drops of sizzling black ichor spray, but the demon calmly grasps the blurs of steel and sends them shattered back towards their wielder. A flash of fist and the man finds himself falling bruised and bloody down into the abyss.....
Making the world a better place, one heathen at a time.
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