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| Orbax |
(Prologue)
The shadows seemed to stretch endlessly as twilight settled on the plain. A lone figure stood among the sparse trees and shrubs. With the blood red sun throwing out its last desperate rays across the lightly clouded sky; and the dead waist high prairie grass gently sighing, the figure straightened. Throwing back his hood and cloak, his mail began to gleam like hell-fire in the setting sun. Reaching up with a gauntleted fist he grabbed the pendent that was his birthright. He stood, head bowed, the last king of a now non existent people. His grip tightened and his eyes began to glow more fiercely than the sun itself. Throwing back his head he howled more savagely than any beast, and cried out, "The world shall know my pain a thousand-fold! Let fires sweep the land! Let the rivers run red with blood! Let me have my revenge!" Thus began the War of Logans Blood.
Chapter 1- Awakening
It was a quiet day in the Mistwood forest. The snow was like a thick blanket covering the wood. The sky was the clear cold blue of a winter day with only a few puffy white clouds floating by. The snow from the other day had frozen during the night and now had a crisp top layer, the kind where it is impossible to hide tracks. Trad Ca’Vesh’s breath hung in the air in a dense little cloud in front of his face. As he rested and looked around at the woods around his home he realized what had been bothering him all day. The Mistwood was as silent as death. Only here and there could you hear the overburdened branches of the pine trees creak and with a slither and a thump drop their load on the ground below. None of the elk calling to each other to move on to greener lands, no finches chirruping in the trees. Nothing. A shiver ran through his body and he started off again.
“Mustn’t keep the misses waiting,” he thought with a smile, “she’ll be after me for leaving her alone all day anyways. Don’t need to add to it by being late.”
In the distance he could see his little cabin on the edge of the Wood. He had built that cabin eight years ago when his son had been born. The world had now forgotten about Trad and his wife Kanda, which was why they had come here. The Mistwood was rumored to be full of ghouls and ghosts but in the eight years he had been there he had seen only the occasional wolf and bear. As he neared the cabin he checked over the hen roosts and the little stable where they kept their one horse and five sheep. When he had made sure everything was in order, he walked to the front door and began to clean the ice of off his boots. Kanda wouldn’t appreciate him tracking water into her house. The door opened and Kanda appeared in the doorway with an approving look in her eyes. She watched him silently as he finished cleaning his boots and took his woolen jacket and hung it on a hook behind the door.
“The Wood is quiet today,” she remarked with the calm voice she used
when she was worried and did not wish to show it.
“Yes, the animals are frightened of something but whether it’s an
incoming storm or a wild beast I do not know.”
As Kanda walked back into the kitchen she said over her shoulder,
“Trad, Maarken has been staring out of the window all day too, he senses
it. If you hadn’t been gone all day again you might have been able to keep him calm but now he’s in a fuss over it. He keeps on saying that there is ‘something’ out there but can’t put a name to it. Probably all those ghost stories you tell him no doubt,” and with that said she turned the corner into the kitchen. Trad let out a chuckle,
“Glad I wasn’t late,” he muttered under his breath.
“What was that dear?” Kanda asked from the kitchen with a slight edge to her voice.
“Nothing dear, just thinking out loud.” Women seemed to have the uncanny ability to know what was in a man’s mind at the most inopportune times he thought to himself, just in his head this time, as he made his way down the short hall to Maarken’s room. He opened the door silently and peeked in to see what his son was up to. True to Kanda’s word, Maarken was standing at the window watching the Wood closely. Trad sighed Maarken was wearing nothing on his feet in the middle of winter, and he wasn’t even that warmly dressed.
“Maarken, put on some shoes before you catch…” before he could finish his sentence Maarken rushed at him and threw his arms around his waist.
“Father! Mother has been fussing all day about you being gone so long, and there is something out in the wood, something that I don’t like at all.”
“Have you seen anything?” he asked ruffling Maarken’s unruly red hair.
“No father, I can sense it though. Haven’t you noticed how quiet the Wood is today?”
“Aye, Maarken, I sense it too. It could just be a storm coming in though; you have been worrying your mother sick with all this talk of ‘something’ in the wood.”
“She senses it too, she pretends to not know what I am talking about, but she broke a dish this afternoon and I can’t even remember the last time she did that.”
Trad paused and looked gravely at his son for a moment. He shook his head slightly and said, “How about a story Maarken, it will keep us both occupied until the storm comes.”
Maarken’s eyes lit up, he loved his father’s stories, they seemed to so real even though they were fantastic, and could keep Maarken occupied for hours. As they were settling down the sun’s last rays were peeking over the treetops and in the darkening gloom they could see only a few feet out from the cabin.
Trad reached for his cup on the end table and then realized that he hadn’t gotten his mulled wine yet.
“Ah I’ll be right back Maarken I forgot my drink,” Trad walked back to the kitchen just as Kanda was pulling the hot poker out the mug. Steamy tendrils rose from the cup.
“You know me better than I know myself,” he chuckled as he put an arm around her slender waist and inhaled the rich scent of her hair, “I just got Maarken all settled in for a …” Trad’s words were cut off by a scream from Maarken’s room. Trad and Kanda rushed into his room to find him wide-eyed and pointing at the window. A small patch of moisture was just fading from the glass.
“It… It… was hideous,” hiccoughed Maarken as he held back tears, “little red eyes and a pig like face with fangs.”
Trad rushed over to the window and watched the glass for a moment and sure enough the glass began to distort as if it were melting.
“Dear God,” he thought, “A Gromm,” Out loud he said calmly, “Kanda could you go into my room and get my sword?” It had found them. Despite his best efforts it had found them. Those long eight years ago on the outskirts of Kerico he had thought that he might have left it for dead. He should have known it takes more than a sword in the chest to get rid of a Gromm.
After a swift look at her husband she rushed from the room, the soft whisk of her skirts a too normal counterpoint to the tension in the room.
“Maarken I need you to hide for me. Go into my room and hide in the spot you always went in to get away from your mother and me. Whatever you do don’t come out unless I tell you it’s ok, or you are sure whatever is out there is gone.’”
Maarken his face pale ran into his father’s room and slid under the loose boards by the bed. The light filtered through the cracks in the floorboards and he watched the dust motes lazily glittering in the air. He heard the steely rasp of his father’s sword coming out of it’s sheath and the front door opening, closing, and then being bolted by his mother. Only moments later his mother came into the room with a kitchen knife clutched in a white-knuckled grip and opened the window. She then sat on the edge of the bed and let her head fall forward. Her delicate hair hung over her beautiful, gentle face like a veil. Her lip trembled, and a single tear coursed its way slowly down her cheek.
“Maarken, if that… that thing comes in here, I want you to plug your ears. Don’t ask why, you just need to do it. I want you to always remember that we loved you Maarken, never forget that.”
Maarken’s breath got heavier with fear. “Mother what are you talking about, father is going to handle it right?” his mother said nothing but clutched the knife handle tighter. “Father’s going to take care of it,” he whispered and closed his eyes before the tears could come.
As they both sat there they realized they could no longer hear anything. No sounds of a scuffle, nothing. They heard the front door crash open, and the sounds of feet dragging.
“Trad!” his mother yelled, “Is that you?”
Maarken because of his hiding spot could not see what appeared in the doorway. It was the tattered ruins of what had once been Trad Ca’Vesh being supported by a pale, claw like hand. The hand released its grip, and Trad’s lifeless body collapsed.
“Your husband wass…delicious,” a voice hissed, “Sso full of…life.”
Kanda stood up with the knife held low in front of her as the Gromm stepped into view. Kanda barely held back the scream that came to her lips. The baleful little red eyes peered out from folds of greasy, maggot white flesh. Its mouth was like a knife gash, and greenish saliva clung to the rolls of flesh no matter how it swung its head. It was about seven feet tall and completely hairless. Its gaunt white arms poked out from a chain mail hauberk that had been ripped off at the shoulders and it carried a knife tucked up under the mail. It stepped over the Trad’s corpse and began walking towards Kanda. Maarken could only see flashes of white through the cracks but could hear it crooning to Kanda.
“Put your knife down my ssweet. You don’t want to hurt me with that do you? Jusst tell me where the boy iss and you can go free.” The hypnotic quality of its voice had made Kanda momentarily drop her guard and she had almost told the Gromm where Maarken lay. “He… He went out the window and ran towards the forest.” The Gromm still watching Kanda closely walked to the window and peered out.
“The boy would have left tracks yess? I think my ssweet that you are not telling me all that you know.” The Gromm made a throaty chuckle that made the rolls of fat jiggle on its face and slowly pulled out the knife.
“Now my ssweet, where iss the boy?”
“He is far away from here thing and I would not tell where he was if you could bring back my husband!”
Maarken’s breath caught. He bit his lip hard to keep from crying when he realized that the thump he had heard moments ago was his father and he could taste the blood from his lip beginning to fill his mouth.
“Ah yess,” the thing hissed, “She has spirit she doess.” A hideous parody of a grin spread across its face.
At the first sound of his mother screaming Maarken’s hands flew to his ears but even then he could not keep out the nightmarish mixture of screams and laughter. He closed his eyes tighter and tighter and then he realized that the noise had stopped. He slowly opened up his eyes and through the blur of his tears could see the thing standing right above him.
“Where could the little man-child be yess?” It hissed to itself. As it stood there a single drop of its saliva dripped from its mouth and landed on the floor. It slowly wavered and then slid through a crack in the floor directly onto Maarken’s hand. Maarken could not hold back the scream when he felt the searing of acid on his flesh. He rubbed the saliva off frantically with his sleeve and could see a puckered, inflamed wound in his hand where it had been for just seconds. In a heartbeat the Gromm had the floor boards off and was reaching hungrily for Maarken. It grabbed Maarken by the throat and lifted him out. No amount of prying at its wrists could loosen the iron grip it had. As he was lifted from his spot he looked around and saw his mother and father laying in a heap in the corner of the room where the Gromm had discarded them. Something broke loose in the back of Maarken’s mind. A rage that he had never known before came over him and he let out a scream of hatred and pain. He arched back and flame burst from his hands in a white-hot inferno. Maarkens hands touched each other and he realized that he had burned through the Gromm’s arms halfway to the elbow. The Gromm screamed and tried to look at Maarken’s hands but flinched away from the intensity of the glow. With an animal noise of Anguish the Gromm ran howling back into the Wood. Maarken stood there for a moment longer and then collapsed. The flames from his hand died out and the house was dark. Something had been awakened in Maarken, something. The last thing he heard was a picture crashing onto the floor.
stay tuned for chaper two...when I get around to it hehe. and Logans war will come into it eventually somehow...but I dunno when :) |
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| Orbax |
| Very rough draft by the way ! dont be too harsh lol :) |
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| Orbax |
| bumpz :happy2: :happy2: |
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| butterfly |
| do you read wheel of time? |
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| Orbax |
| Yeah ive read it a couple of times :) All my names were just kind of grabbed from the air, and its hard to not make them similair without thinking about it hehe |
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