Children of the moon pt1

Prologue

The garden was a beautiful, a perfect, heavenly place fitting a dream. The moonlight beams, silver and bright would come piercing the treetops, playing upon flowers strange, in patterns that no human artist could ever even dream to picture. Hidden somewhere a silver waterfall would send a shiny river to run through the dream garden singing a sad song about eternal love. Between the song and the moonbeams, lives and dreams long gone would pass, floating pictures, through the waters of the river. In the wind little creatures like small lanters with many colors would play. They would chase each other like children the strange creatures, hiding between the flowers’ petals and laughed as they dived in the cold waters, laughed like children in mother Selune’s embrace like so long ago. Suddenly they saw her. A beautiful fairy, tall and fair like a woman, resting in a bed of red roses, and her long hair a second, silent river of the night caressing the fragrant flowers.

They started to wander around her face,  wandering what dreams would hide behind these silent eyelids of this naiad, a dream herself, in a dream trapped. Her eyes even closed would dominate her beautiful face with their exotic beauty. And as the little spirits would play and fly above her, a sigh came from her cherry –painted lips, the same as a drop of blood from her finger pierced by a rose’s thorn.

Slowly, it seemed that she would wake. She stirred her big, light blue butterfly wings, and raised her body to the moonlight. She looked around her the marvelous garden. A soft, light breeze came, and brought the smell of distant nightflowers, making purple bells to shudder under its touch. Her eyes drifted in the picture around her.

Every color, every shape of flower that had ever existed looked as if it had gathered in the garden around her, while in the tree branches shone fruits of all forms ripe and tender ready to be cut. She didn’t even notice the little wound in her finger that had painted with crimson drops the leaves.

“Where am I?” she asked herself and anyone else who could hear “this is nor the crimson canyon neither any place else of those I know in this world…”

“You are in a dream silly” replied a little spirit , giggling , right before vanishing , flying with its brothers and sisters among flowers in tall branches where the moon could see them.

The fairy smiled. It must be a dream she thought and a good one too since she wasn’t afraid at all , even thought she was in a strange place all alone. She started then to walk into this dream-garden, crossing leaves and places where many flowers would bloom together filling the air with their intoxicating smell.

She lifted her eyes. For the first time she noticed the moon. Selune ruled above creation these dark hours, sending rivers of silver light which passed through the blossoms, through the flesh reaching for the soul itself. She saw that moon, that magnificent fullmoon that she knew was real and for the first time she started to doubt whether it was a dream or not.

Somewhere far, in the darkness of night she heard the river’s song and even if she didn’t exactly knew what it’s sad words meant, she decided to move on, enchanted, puzzled by it.

Finally she saw it : Through the branches and the leaves she could make the sight of that weird stream, child of the moon and the river, shining through the night, binding worlds beyond the frozen stars, carrying dreams and wishes long lost.

On its shore he was standing, and some times he would look at the water and he would dip his fingers inside causing waves when like a child he tried to catch the pictures that would appea,r but finally grabbing only water which slipped through his fists.

Other times he was standing tall, proud, looking at the moon as if trying to defy Selune’s rule with his dark glance.

His was a statuesque body, like carved on marble and his hair, long and wild like waves of faraway stormy seas touched his waist. He had great wings were obviously larger than hers but quite different, his being black and strong like a dragons’. Contrary to her fragile ones his seemed able to take him flying through thunderstorms and falling hail.   

 The fairy hid in the bushes and waited. She prayed that his face was also beautiful.

The stranger ducked and looked at the river. He caught water and threw it on his face with disappointment. One of the little spirits startled the fairy. The stranger turned his face like a scared animal that  hunters have trapped and for the first time after millenniums outnumbered he was astounded. Those eyes….The fairy also knew that no prayer could ever give so much beauty to any face. He was like a god. Perfect.

“I’m sorry” she said and blushed “I-i didn’t mean to scare you.”

It was the first time that he was speechless. It was the first time that felt something stir in his breast and was scared. But fear or not he knew he would go on.

“You didn’t.” said he and smiled which caused her to blush even more. “It’s me who should apologize. I shouldn’t be here. I just came to take a look at the river. I’ll leave now.”

He turned to leave and she panicked. When his face left her sight she was so scared that she couldn’t see him that she wanted to leap up and grab him. Instead she only had time to shout :

“Wait!!”

That was enough to seal her fate. They spent the night together of course and they made love in that dream garden with the playful spirits all around them  like tiny cupids and the river song which seemed to drift away into the night to escort vows and kisses.

She was lying next to him when she whispered:

“It’s dawning anytime now…What we’ll do then?”

He shook his head without looking at her. “The day never comes my love. Time does not pass” he added caressing her chic. “It is a dream. Remember?”

The young fairy all but cried. “I’m so afraid to wake up…I don’t want to lose you.”

The demon wondered for the first time what was keeping him. The trap was set, and she had been caught. He had won. And for the first time he realized that he was more afraid than her, afraid that he would never see these eyes again , he would never againg hear her voice.

He looked at her and he felt that pain in his chest once more, that horrible pain as if something had been planted inside him, as if something living stirred inside him. Yet his sense of self-preservation prevailed for a while and he managed to make it shut up, just for a while just to give him time to stand up.

“I have to leave” he said with a trembling voice for the first time “I have to leave”

She stood up behind him as if to prevent him but stopped. Without looking at her he heard her breathing in the brink of weeping. Yet she didn’t cry.

“I understand” she said.

He turned and stared at her so surprised, so crushed, and she smiled, with a sad smile and her eyes shone and it was if she really understood and more. As if she was forgiving.

He took a step towards the flame gate and his feet had iron balls tied to them. Every step was torment. One more, and inside his heart hell raged much more fiercely than it was beyond than portal.

“I understand” said she and small rivers run across her face. “But I’ll be waiting for you to return.”

He clenched his fist sharp nails drove into his flesh cutting him and blood spilled to the dark earth. But he managed to take another step.

“I’ll be waiting for you. Forever if I have to.”

And that was the only thing that it took to seal his fate too.

He turned his face and looked at her and the moon had taken them both. The moon that played upon the bodies, the moon that dived into dreams, and could not be controlled by gods or demons, fairies or humans, embraced them and made them hers.

“I will return” He said just before  entering the gate of fire and they both knew he told the truth.

-----------------------------------------------

Beyond the portal hell itself yawned.

It was a horrible, grotesque, scenery in which rivers of blood and flame rolled between hills of skulls and in which the souls of the damned screamed in pain and anguish for the rest of eternity. Above all, a huge pyramid loomed over all like a small mountain. Demons in curious shapes and forms disgusting, flew and crawled everywhere in the horrible landscape. Inside the pyramid a throne of bones stuck together with blood and dripping venom wrapped in so much darkness that would make starless nights seem bright, surrounded by magic symbols.

He kneeled when he passed the flame.

“It all happened as you commanded my lord. The gate….”

“Ssssplendid” came the answer from the darkness before him. “Perfect you are for thesssse bussinesssesss. Great sssssshame your failure would be.” A hissing voice like a curse by itself.

“Sssstill…”

In ages past it would have been  impossible for him to be ambushed. In ages past it would have been impossible for the shadow to creep behind him without been noticed. Yet now his heart bit fast and was the first to be nailed by the poisoned blade. He fell in the burning ground and his blood flowed like a crimson river. He didn’t feel his wings as they ripped them from his back.

“We cannot rissssk…”

He didn’t feel the spears as they pierced his flesh.

“our little plan…”

He didn’t feel the thunder burn his body and soul.

“to be known.”

The only thing he felt was a tear burning his cheek for the first time for a little fairy that would wait for him. And he closed his eyes hoping to dream.

A knight's tale pt1

Prologue

The city was shining beneath the morning sun. The tiling on the rooftops boasted red or brown, creating a cover that reached from the highest towers to the smallest houses. The pale blue sky, clear and bright with one or two passing clouds that contributed to the day’s beauty more than consisting a threat. Long, white and golden flags waved at the houses’ and the towers’ balconies and seemed to dance to the various tunes that echoed through the streets.

 It was a day of celebration.

Plumed ladies of noble standing walked through the streets with their escorts, or were going about in their coaches enjoying the sight, mixing with peasants, shouting traders, and they smiled blushing, or left insulted at the song of a bard or the street poets’ rhymes. Smells of food from inside the houses and the streets, mixed with rare perfumes from the necks and bodies of the nobles. And as the day moved on, the crowd gathered as more and more people flowed to the centre of the stone square, and a celebrative rush covered everything.

 Noon was approaching when they crossed the great gates and the young man waved at the guard with the stern face. Despite the kind greeting, his appearance, that of a rogue, of a wanderer didn’t inspire any trust to the gate guard who simply motioned for him to move on. A beautiful, black-haired woman followed and disarmed the young soldier by giving him her most playful smile.

 The white sandals followed the boots on the stone street towards the central town square. He wore simple clothes, a pair of pants with the color of earth after the rain, and a loose shirt, dark green like moist, young leafs. His grey cloak was carelessly thrown to his back, while he also held something like a leather bag. The first thing that someone noticed on the young man was his hair, shining blond as if painted by gold, and then his eyes, small, non-human, strange, and always moving as if trying to see everything that surrounded him, as if trying to take a look at every little corner of the castle-city around him, so as to exploit every little detail of the space, to use every advantage he could find.

He looked young, early in his twenties, but those who met his stare tended to doubt that.

Because, in his eyes perhaps someone could see a passing spark, a fleeting image of all the years he had lived, of all the stories he had to say.

 Yet, this spark remained hidden as he moved to the central street, covered by a shadow over his beautiful face, making most of the stares fall on the woman that came after him.

 A great deal of her own beauty rested in her eyes. They were beautiful, well formed, dark eyes. And inside them, even if not so well hidden, a sweet melancholy waited making her even more attractive.

 The pair walked to the middle of the square winning with each step more and more stares, as their appearance of a common vagrant couple mixed with something strange, something eerie and magical.

 When they reached the centre of the square the air almost stopped. He looked around him, at those enjoying the festival, and silently met their stares. He turned then to the woman following him.

 “Here?” he asked.

“It seems alright” answered she.

 The young man smiled in content. He nodded at her then, as she went and leaned to a tree’s trunk, one of the old trees that shaded on the stone square. At the same time, the rogue, started to untie his leather bag. He reached inside with his thin hand and started to search. His certain look turned to an annoyed grin as it seemed that he couldn’t find what he looked for. His hand went inside till his elbow, and then all of it to his shoulder. Of the onlookers, those that watched his tries stood astonished as after his hand, his shoulder and also his head, until they heard a triumphant shout and the young man to reappear with a shining smile from inside the bag, that seemed to be barely able to contain a loaf of bread.

 This time, he held something that reminded the musical instruments that almost every bard in the city used – simply reminded for this was better, much better in every aspect.

It had the general shape of a pear, and it was made of ancient, dark wood, and silver metal which seemed to flow and mix with the organ’s main body, but without any evident sign of nailing or binding. On the contrary, upon the black speaker appeared stars of silver and a stream which passed among them and shone with their light. A unicorn galloped on the back side of the handle while in the front, a dragon also completely made of silver, opened his wings under the strings, flying towards the tower and the knight on the front side of the round speaker. On the tower’s window a princess waited for her dear.

Finally, around the organ, runic letters appeared and shone like fireflies in a dark swamp, and if the bard was asked he would say that it was a simple trick of light.

 The young man twisted the instrument in his hands, and caressed softly the strings with his fingers, making the instrument moan, that made everyone close to turn and look at him. He smiled sweetly at them and then tossed back his head, making, as his hair moved, his long, triangular ears visible. Only for a moment.

 Then he brought his hair forth again, and turning he send a kiss with his hand to the woman that waited a little farther from him. She smiled.

 Afterwards, the show begun.

The bard focused fully on the crowd. Busy, happy people, entertained themselves with the fair’s attractions and enjoyed the beautiful day. A few looked at him, but as he still hadn’t done anything to attract their attention most of them were elsewhere occupied.

A tale of war pt2

2.The Night Lord

“I have repeatedly witnessed the use of the term “Aristocracy of the night”. And I can tell you this. It is utter nonsense. Among us there is no aristocracy, no leadership, no reason. We are beasts, beasts that hunt and kill in the night, monsters that would butcher without remorse even the last of our kind.

The wind comes and carries the sounds of battle. Looks like tonight we will have a gathering.”

A tale of War pt1

Prologue

The morning mist slowly crept through the field.

As the two armies slowly became visible to each other like ghosts in the haze, and the sound of the approaching foe came to them, a thought echoed like the roar of a raging god all above the battlefield: “I will kill today. I will gut, and I will slay, and I will bring death to him, to my enemy, just before my own blood feeds the earth.”

As if the voice had been silenced, horns sounded. The warriors’ eyes widened, trying to discern the figure of the enemy but to no avail.  Hearts raced, as the call for slaughter echoed across the field.

Soon, all was madness.

A great roar rose from the warriors as they raced to meet each other in the centre of the valley.  Spearmen regiments stood fast to meet the charge of lightly armed warriors, while cavalry regiments thundered against the enemy knights. A joust, in which the banners would all be the brown of mud, and the crimson of spilled blood eventually.

Untrained spearmen impaled the warriors on the tips of their weapons with closed eyes, as the blood splattered them, trying their best to stay alive. Meanwhile, the knights clashed with a sound that threatened to drop lesser warriors to their knees.

1.The Warrior

“One thousand battles I have given. I meet them there every time. Those warriors, veterans, and recruits, butchers, rapists, poets, lovers, soldiers, brigands. Different faces every time, yet the same people. Many will die today. Others, will survive and return to their homes. Their fields, their wives and children.

As I pack my sword and armor to march to war I think: I am finally going home.

The only thing I fear is the end of battle.”

Through the ranks of Spearmen he came, as if they had been there only to carry this deadly weapon to battle. A lean figure, pale like a ghost, with dark brooding eyes, darker as the shadow of his long hair fell over them.  A wild, vicious joy burned now in his eyes, and a savage war cry came from his lungs. He lowered his sword at the terrified militia, crushing a man’s skull and hit again like a crazed demon laughing as the blood rained on him. Next to the knifes of the militia he was facing ,  his giant sword appeared even greater, a weapon that crushed  bones and weapons, and dug into flesh like a razor.  It was almost as tall as him, and yet he weaved it around as if it weighted a little less than a child’s wooden one.

Soon it became obvious that the scantily armored militia were being driven back and not by the valor of the spearmen.  He now was covered in crimson, only his teeth appeared white as he laughed, bleeding from tens of cuts surrounded by enemies, who could not touch him as he waved a web of death around him. He soon grew bored though. He took a life with each hit and yet it wasn’t enough for him.  Dark memories came to him, and savage sadism woke inside him.  He started playing with his victims. He pretended to stumble, and when someone screamed : “Now is our chance!” He pretended look in horror at his would be slayer.

The man came to him with a crude sword, a little longer than a kitchen knife. Ymir, had to try to contain his laughter. As the primitive weapon came down on him, he rose and punched the man hard on the chin, enough to stammer him so as to relieve him of his weapon. The next thing the over-optimistic warrior knew was that his hand was falling to the ground.

Ymir caught him as he screamed and kept on waving his greatsword at the wall of terrified enemies, who now jumped back anxious to avoid him.

“Look at them” whispered Ymir to the warrior’s ear as he held him, his arm around his his neck in a grip the enemy could not hope to break. “You know what they fear? They fear that they might meet your fate.”

He waved his greatsword again, just to keep them at bay for a moment more, and this time he took out his opponent’s eye using his own weapon. Next came his other hand.  And then his other eye.  Someone came at him trying to stop him, but he was decapitated instantly. Afterwards, Ymir disemboweled his victim while he still screamed, and let him fall to the ground, slowly going for the next. 

There would be no one else. They were running now no more eager to face the insane demon that came at them. He stood, and laughed madly against the bleak sky.

He didn’t even realize, how he was knocked unconscious next to the corpses of his enemies, he didn’t even realize as the world darkened around him that no one would know where he had fallen like a corpse among the corpses.