The Forsaken

MOONCHILD

The Moon beckons me to fight

As the forest sleeps in the deep night

Darkness conceals everything out of sight

Small rays shine with their light

Illuminating everything ever so bright

Reflecting the path in magnificent white

The Moon commands its knight

Through the forest, a gust of wind blows, swaying trees in its wake; some leaves shake while others fall carried far away in the wind’s tight embrace.

It is hard to see. Too hard. Darkness devours the light as moonlight breaks the shadows apart in a never-ending dance of black and white. Thick moist fog floats; hiding the deep mud that drowns each step, making them heavy and slow. It is cold; his body shivers. There is a reason he is here; his purpose is clear. He will not falter... he cannot.

A youthful man with a clean shave, short brown hair, and an amulet in a shape of a white rose walks through the forest. Upon his face, he wears three scars. These are his scars, they are proof of his deeds; he wears them with pride.

Clad in chain-mail armor and a brown dirty coat, adorning a long sword, a dagger, and a modified crossbow with multiple bolts in readiness with the name Evrose carved into the wood. He braves deeper.

With each step he takes, the silence breaks with the sounds of metal clanks. The metallic sounds soothe his ears, for they are a familiar sound.

Walking for what seems like an eternity, he reaches his destination. In front of him, in the middle of the forest, lies a beautiful green clearing in the shape of a circle; in the heart. There is no fog here. He can see it as clear as a crystal. The moonlight converges at this spot in a pillar of light; glowing tall and radiating high. In its midst, a small, simple wooden cottage. From the windows of the cottage an unnatural red shine, and from the chimney a smoke blacker than night. He makes his way forth.

The cottage door is at arm’s reach. Quickly, he readies his crossbow. Steadies his breathing. He must be wary. Only a moment of inattentiveness is enough to spell doom. Slowly, he reaches for the door as it opens. Inside, wooden chairs, tables, and shelves. On the shelves some plants in glass jars, some silverware on the table, and pieces of cloth scattered here and there. Nothing unusual. If it wasn’t for the red glow, nothing would catch his eye- something does. A black cauldron! The source of the unnatural smoke and red glow. He walks towards the cauldron to inspect it. Drawn like a moth to the flame, he stands above it. The mixture of purple and red intertwine in the bubbling liquid. Mesmerized by the dance of colors he stares at them. Too close to the cauldron, the fumes from it reach his nose as his stomach almost fails him. An expression of disgust rises on his face at the putrid stench. Disgusting, he thinks spitting on the floor. Suddenly, a human eye pops out followed by a human hand, then a human foot, and a heart. All cooked inside the fuming liquid. He takes one step back as cold sweat forms on his brow.

A realization comes to mind. The hand, foot, and heart are all too small. How can this be so? Adults shouldn’t have such tiny body parts, should they?

The cold sweat flows as he realizes- these parts are not ones of an adult human. He turns around, making his way forward, tightly gripping his crossbow. Stepping upon a wooden plank, it screeches. He stops; standing ready and alert.

His breathing is heavy, he can hear his heartbeat; it is loud. How is it he never heard it before? Was it always so loud?

Suddenly, the door of the cottage opens, and with it- a scream. The room shakes as glass jars shatter in one fell swoop. He covers his ears; blocking the sound as much as he can… enduring the pain. The scream passes, but the pain lingers. Blood flows from the ears. He opens his eyes.

In front of him, a visage of a deformed human-like creature- lunging at him. Quickly, he shoots the creature with the crossbow. A rapid succession of bolts hit it, slowing it down for a fraction and drawing blood! The monster continues forward, slamming into the man and knocking him to the ground. Lying on the ground, the creature stands upon the man ferociously slashing at him with its claws. He dodges to the left and dodges to the right; evading where he can, holding the creature’s throat with his hands, keeping the hungry snapping mouth away. Closer, he can see that the creature resembles an old woman or something once human long ago. Now, hard dead-like skin adorns its body, pure white eyes with no iris, some strands of hay-like light hair here and there fluttering around, and sharp dirty nails; sharp as blades, and dirty as earth.

The creature continues its assault with unadulterated savagery; with four bolts stuck in its stomach. Blood pours from the wounds on the defending man. Where its attacks miss, they leave deep marks upon the wood. Gaining a bit of control, the man pulls out a dagger and stabs the creature in the eye. The creature screams in pain, moving away and pulling the dagger out.

Leaving a hole where the eye used to be. The man stands and unsheathes his blade. For a moment, the moonlight reflects from the blade as it pierces the unusual red glow inside the cottage, blinding the creature for an instant. He rushes forward in a mighty slash. But the creature is fast and its will to live is strong; it dodges the blade, but not before paying a tribute of flesh to the hungry steel.

Its left arm lies on the ground. The creature screams as it bends and twists unnaturally. Quickly, it flees away through the window.

The man rushes outside with sword in hand, panting, and watching. A scream pierces the serenity of the night. He looks around to find the source. Impossible, the foul cry echoes from everywhere. Suddenly, the fog moves as coming alive; Surrounding him yet he stands vigilant in its wake. He must. Only a moment of inattentiveness is enough to spell doom. Suddenly, up high in the sky the creature appears falling toward the direction of its prey as pouring blood follows in its wake. Blackened blood under the moonlight, blood in the shape of a dark crimson cape.

Time slows as if catching the moment in eternity. Slight details are visible, the man griping his blade, the creature grinding its teeth, he can hear the softest sounds, his heartbeat, the creature’s screech of pain, and he can feel the bloodlust in its eyes. Death is approaching.

The two clash as they go in for the kill; in one flash of the blade... the creature falls. Clinging to life, trying to make the way forward, trying to take one more breath... trying. Crawling to him, it leaves a trail of blood; with the last scream, it dies below his feet. If it weren’t for its appearance, one could feel sorry for it. There is no sympathy, only victory!

The man falls to the ground as the fear gripping him turns to joy and manic laughter.

“You did it, Ulric! You did it!” the man says as he laughs.

“The Moon has given unto me,” Ulric adds, throwing himself on the ground still maniacally laughing.

I am never alone, for the Moon is my companion; I am never lost, for it shows me the path.

The moon beckons me.