Fantasy
The Cult of Beelzifrus
The infant clung to the young woman as she ran through the forest. He gazed up at the mesmerizing shapes of sunlight in the tree canopy towering overhead. She set him down on a broad flat rock and hastily drew a circle around him with black charcoal. As she untangled herself from his grasp and took a few steps backwards, he reached for her. She stared at him, her lips moving quickly but soundlessly as she clutched a pendant that dangled from her neck, a smooth opal tear drop that began to glow. Her eyes began to glow the same light dappled violet colour as the stone. The two year-old child felt a flicker of fear ignite into a larger flame and big tears began to splash down his ruddy cheeks. Flashes of an incomprehensible horror crowded his mind; many screams and then bodies lying quiet and still on the floor as blood spilled from them in several places. The images receded and he reached out again for the woman, whimpering softy. He tried to move his limbs to climb down off the rock with his relatively recent powers of locomotion, but he quickly realized he couldn’t move, some force was keeping him locked in place. As the woman broke from her soundless chant, she gave him one last look, eyes soft, loving and welling with tears, then turned and ran off, her black hooded cloak rustling up a pile of dried fallen leaves behind her.
By Amy Mackenzie4 years ago in Fiction
Inferno Legacy
His inner eyelid opened, slowly, tracking movement through the forest of the creature whose loud breathing had woken him from his slumber. Between the trees he saw a small human, a boy wearing a tunic too large for his little frame, wandering up a rough and poorly maintained path. He flicked out his tongue, tasting the air, smelling the boy’s fear and confusion, with a tiny dose of determination mixed in. He detected no other human scents nearby, though within a couple of leagues or so he smelled others, including one he’d encountered before. In fact, the scent of the boy, who was clearly lost, resembled that of the familiar one but with a stronger scent of determination. Perhaps his long wait was finally over. Perhaps he would be able to fulfill his father’s wishes after all. Sinuously, he moved his head forward until it was only a few feet from the path. Grasping some leaves, he spread them over his head. Motionless, he then concentrated for a moment. Just in time, as moments later the boy, clearly exhausted from walking up the steep path, sat down on his snout with a sigh. He waited a few seconds before shaking the boy off, then slowly rose to his full height. Unlike the last human he’d met, this boy didn’t run off screaming, instead holding his ground despite the growing scent of fear he emitted. He’s the one, he thought, opening his jaws in a grin that let his fangs sparkle in what little sunlight filtered through trees. He lowered his head towards the boy…
By David Rabbani4 years ago in Fiction
A Light, a Child, a Forest
In the Labyrinthine Forest, time did not behave as it did in the rest of the Rainlands. Beyond those leafy borders, months and years trudged along in an orderly fashion. But in the Forest, under the boughs of the primordial trees, in that perennial autumn where leaves and rain fell inexhaustibly, the passing of time was as impossible to distinguish as drops of water in an ocean. So it is with some trepidation that we say our story occurs in the Third Age, when the Lost Kingdom of Eld was at the peak of its influence, and its citizens still honored their ties with the Forest, and surrendered those unfortunate children born before the harsh summers to the mercy of the trees. A brutal tradition, to be sure, but a necessary one, the farmers that lived along the Forest border agreed – for it was ultimately a choice between certain death and an uncertain future. That was, if it could be said that there was any future in the Labyrinthine Forest… or past, or present.
By M. S. Bird4 years ago in Fiction
What Happens Next?
"Zartolomhew Brendan Rhenderghast Plim" I turned the tag over in my fingers, It was hastily made of bark and tied with sinew around the sleeping little boys wrist with care. He rested at the base of an elm tree, the light from the late midday sun streaming through the trees leaves onto his small unconscious form.
By Alicia Anspaugh4 years ago in Fiction
Into the Fire
Narial pressed a foot into hardened ground. Frost stuck to the air around him as he gazed towards a desolate, forgotten land. From the peak of a cliff he stood and saw a wide view of the horizon below – still in the fading light. He knew it was time. Breathing cold breaths, he walked towards a castle nestled among dead oaks twisted in their treachery. Their branches etched lightning in the darkening scene around Narial as he crossed their path while his footsteps sounded of hollow logs in the deep quiet. He brandished his hand knocking the strands of long brown hair out of his eyes. Some strands stuck to his beard. He laid his hands upon the hilt of his sword – a stout creation of wootz steel blended from magnetite ore and clay. He felt at ease with his weapon. Though, the lingering darkness and the closing in of trees increased his heart rate. Pound. Step. Pound. Step. A cadence grew as he walked. He let the rhythm guide his footsteps. Pound. Step. Pound. Step. Pound. One step closer to the goal, one step closer to understanding.
By Fred Arnold4 years ago in Fiction
From ashes
Chapter 4 We set off to find our kings “nightmare”. Several nights in season, the king's banquets known throughout the territories as a spirited gala of ceremony (and sometimes ill-repute), have become nothing now but a kingdom left in ruins, filled with a graveyard of my kinfolk before the night's end. My liege’s fear of this being, this “Grendel” is believed to be what has been terrorizing our lands. This Grendel must be vanquished. Our spirits expressed the concerns of many, whom in our provinces now realize that what we are in perilous search of this beast only witnessed by the dead that experienced its wrath. My colleagues, appointed by the king to assist me on my quest, have solicited my lordship with urgency to act as guides with the task to track down this creature and destroy it. They seem to have a certain familiarity with this Grendel. They (my companions) claim its existence (spawned from drunken bards and children's fables) to be of a different nature. These myths have festered into reality. A reality that spread like plague throughout the decrepit kingdoms and forgotten lands that creatures alike and such as this have survived the “century wars” which after the great battles between kingdoms, in what now remains of these regions, war-torn still and in ashes. These lands we travel today jointly will soon behold what terrorizes our people, regardless the nature or being. It matters not., I will allow this monster no further premise or cause in our lands. The days of its feasting on my kin are over. With our steeds, we set off from the Kettle-whistle Inn; where my oldest and most trusted friend, Chēmosh, said his goodbyes and reminded me to always “thrust-thrust-kick” when in combat. Perhaps he feels I am careless and quick to run in battle without him, being we fought so many together. My thoughts of home have become more focused, more so on our task as midday’s travels continued into the countryside. The one, only known as “D” so far, and whose name, by his demands, never be uttered ever in his presence; “I feel its life-beat,” whispered callously. “Quiet! You sense nothing but remembrance, and it has a name, and he has been awaiting us, as long as we are, for him”. The weakened response the mage extended left him twisting in agony, coughing while spitting up more blood, and collapsing into the hallows of the dead thistle. “What good is staying obscured within the night's shivering embrace when the spattered scent of your imminent death that you spew gives prelude to our intent, my venerable master”, D hissed with hesitancy. They both speak of “it” or “he” to themselves, as if they perceive what or whom we are searching for. “It smells us, our fear, as we draw closer. It knows we are near”, I stated. They glanced at each other. The type of glance that almost implied that I am a fool for stating such things. Both of my beleaguered companions present a necessity in discovering this creature; unknowingly to its purpose. They appear to keep a separate agenda then mine, which was appointed. Their actions suggest, however, a commitment in finding this mythic entity, and ridding it of our lands. I experienced what the stories are and what it’s suspected to be, but dare not say. Such creatures do not exist. Through the countryside, now exhausted after a full day's march that lead us to an embankment near a stream and underneath a canopy of oak trees, we stopped. I noticed the nocturnal air thicken to a dense vapor. “We must stay concealed and rest here until sunrise”. I watched as both of them, without trespass, collapse from exhaustion. Mental exhaustion, not physical, and both awaited my next decision in silence. “We’ll make camp here tonight”. As dusk few remaining rays of light gave form to the shadows of night's embrace, I built a fire. The fire flickered setting the ambiance underneath the trees, with the blackness of nighttime creeping in, a distant early warning of thunder lurked beyond the horizon. “We must not give way to our presence, despite our urgency' dulling the glow of the embers on the campfire. I untucked my bedroll, placing it in between two small mounds, forcing me ground height at all times just beneath fog’s horizon, and is easier to keep a mindful eye on those who I’ve just met two days before, or anything else that might prevent me from what seems now to be my destiny. I observed my two companions while sharpening my broadsword, wondering how they impose to battle, and what with, whatever lies ahead of us? The magi displayed only a walking stick or as he called it a “staff”. Neither brandished any belongings save the staff, except several pouches carrying (only they knew) items to provide them with their daily or endeavors. Fine, let them engage in with words and a long stick. They seem confidant with only what they have, so I guess I’ll have to wait and see. With the fire now only a deep glow, I removed my helm and let the warmth of the fire hit my face. Blisters had formed on my brow from its permanent fixture to my head, but its warmth felt good against the chill of the midnight. With my pack as a pillow, I retired into the earth. I unwrapped some salted eel and honey coated Malynx bread (best in the kingdom) that I had kept from the king's jubilee held in my highest honor the night before. I believed it to be a fool's errand then, but today realize something fated me to this, and know it to have been so my entire life. “Do either of you want any”, I asked, knowing both would refuse and only would consume whatever they have concealed in their little pouches themselves. I chuckled to myself about this for some reason as I watched them peck like birds into their open hands. “More for me”, I mumbled, with my lips covered in honey and salt. “Get some rest. I will take first watch.” They had situated themselves in a semicircle near me, and from what I could identify with them, witnessed a relative sense of complacency from this closeness. They trust me. Both were very similar. The taller was Elvin (or claimed to be) and proceeded with elegance and seem to produce no sound as he moved, or ever. His dialect had a sense of aristocracy, but could explain he was nothing spawned or privy to such. The frail one. Very contorted in stature, and could fall over any minute. D related to him frequently as “master” or committed to himself as his “student”. He also never mentioned his named, nor did I ask. We spoke only of our task, and the task was given by the king to escort these two to whoever or whatever is feeding off what remains of our kingdom. He claims to be magi. They both do, however, these days to say that only means that you apply herbs from the forest to heal the sick, or live in solitude talking only to cats. They are particular to their daily discipline and dedicate numerous hours a day deep in thought, canting over and over particular unintelligible words and phrases that I do not understand. Evidence suggests they are both not from these lands, or I believe this realm even. They communicate in the past tense, about events that has never happened, or about kingdoms and wars that are not there, and never went on. Both adorned like death’s servants, shrouded in heavy black cloaks, conclusive of what “magi” or “wizards” would garb themselves, though D’s veneer is of a distinct quality. Ornately stitched, not worn and withered like the magi’s, which bestows that of another color at one time. Maybe dark red or something else, and may have been turned black from travel, or his constant release of life’s-blood, soiled over and over by his apparent illness or condition. He seems to prioritize the preparation of his liquid concoction that reduces the cough and symptoms, but appears to only quell this momentarily. His sickness does not represent his age. He looks older than the elf (impossible, elfs don’t age) and I, but could identify he has not passed midlife. One could reveal that they have been around, wherever they have been,around, wherever they have been, a long life, and wherever they have been, led them to this expedition now. They speak like this is the “final” quest and with a compassion for all this to be over; it desperately shows in both of their eyes. My two allies presume to have outlasted the sands of time, and are of legends. Glorious hero’s of an even greater war. Glorious only to those who remember the past through lost tombs and legend-speaks. Today they are, but nothing. Vanished vagabonds who live in the shadows of their once fabled selves. These selves now looked broken, almost as if I traveled with the dead, and perhaps I am. I considered of my companions throughout the night, until I woke the magi to relieve me from my duty to watch the camp. I fell asleep quickly and as I gazed upon them one last time, my only concern was, to what resolve do they seek from this creature? This Grendel. With desperation they search, bound to existence only by some curse. For them, it is different. They preceded by courtship, and with sanction from my king, to find this creature. Sought today, yet only to maybe die tomorrow and pass on by the nobility, and once alleged conjoined kindred spirit, a dragon.
By Matthew peters4 years ago in Fiction
Fox Tales
A grown dragon finds a lost — or abandoned — toddler in the forest. The dragon approached quietly, with uncanny stealth and grace considering her massive size. She gently sniffed at the child who lay huddled at the base of a large Sugi (杉) tree with nothing but a fleece blanket to cover him. Lifting her head with a look of curiosity and surprise, she sensed a magical aura about the boy and noticed his blanket bearing the crest of the high Vulpine Court of Celestial Foxes. The boy looked human, probably around two years of age, and unlike the local population of humans in this region who all have ebony black hair, this boy had very light blond hair, nearly white in fact.
By D. E. King4 years ago in Fiction
