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Entry Fifty, yay! Story time! |
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So I wrote a little mini story! It's about one of my more solemn characters, Gorash Uefire. He's a knight in the Kingdom of Taraxacum. In this story, he realizes something that will completely change him, as it will the other around him. For those of you who actually read this thing (journal), which I say for some earlier entries had 40 views for some reason, enjoy!
Gorash Uefire was glad of the cool breeze that blew across his sweaty neck and face, fluttering the strands of his black hair as well. Although he was wearing armor that was designed to prevent too much heat from building up, it felt stifling to him. He tugged uncomfortably at a strap connecting the left pauldron to his chest armor as he listened to one of the men in front of him speak. Early that morning he was told to meet with a small group of independent farmers not too far away from the main city of the kingdom he served under as a knight.
As they spoke in turns, pitching in what was needed for their farms and their families, Gorash shifted from foot to foot. Now not only was he feeling overheated, but his skin itched maddeningly. He couldn't understand why, he'd made sure his armor was clean before putting it on. Maybe some ants had crawled in thinking food was in there? It didn't feel like ants though, it was more like something under his skin was itching.
After a while, it occurred to him that he hadn't been paying attention to the farmers. They were staring at him curiously, so they must have noticed him spacing out, too. When one of them pointed at Gorash and said something that he couldn't hear, Gorash began to see little black spots dance across his vision. Was he having a heat stroke? It made sense to him just as he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. Then he felt as if he was falling forward and watched the farmers rush forward to catch him before he hit the ground.
A scream woke him up after what seemed several hours had passed. How long was I out? he thought to himself as his eyes focused on a blur in front of his face. His eyelids shot open when he realized it was one of the farmers wearing a fearful expression on his face. Did something happen while he was passed out? A low groan escaped the man's lips and Gorash was aware that he was pressed up against his chest armor. A flash of red diverted Gorash's attention away from the wide glassy eyes that seemed all so familiar and he glanced downward.
He saw his hand in the other man's stomach, blood pumping out of the hole. With a frightened cry, Gorash jumped backwards, his sudden movement pulling his hand out and the farmer slumping to the ground. Still backing away, Gorash stared disbelievingly at his hand where the metal glove had been torn apart, coated in blood and bits and pieces of organs. His fingers had taken the shape of claws bent upward, scales standing out darkly in the sunlight layering his skin. He shook his head back and forth, refusing to understand as his hand shook as well. Something nudged the back of one of his boots, halting his backwards progress, and he looked down.
Gorash's mouth went dry as he saw another of the farmers on the ground, his throat slashed wide open. What the hell had happened here? Has he really killed those farmers? He gulped, raising his gaze from the poor man. Instantly, bile rose in his own throat and he stumbled a full three steps away before falling to his hands and knees, effectively losing his lunch. Dizziness came over him again. He didn't want to see the horrid scene around him, but it stayed in his head anyway.
Dismembered limbs and other body parts scattered around randomly, a torn body stuck on the upraised pitchfork the man had once held, the wooden pole placed in the ground, the face of one of the bodies clawed off. Gorash looked at his hand again, gasping helplessly for air, then at the other to see the same terrible thing had happened to it.
"What..." he croaked out, feeling hot tears begin to form in his eyes, "What...the hell?!"
A dark laughter filled his head, shocking him. It wasn't his own thought, but then...it was. Gorash looked around to see if it had been someone else, but it hadn't been. Suddenly he froze. Then he felt himself move, standing not of his own accord. He tried to speak but he wasn't able to work his mouth. It was if somebody else was controlling him.
He felt his arm reach behind him and pull his light halberd out from the place on his back armor, and watched it come forward. He watched as he walked casually over to the still-living farmer that was cringing on the ground. A powerful kick flipped him over onto his back, unprotected. He watched as his halberd, wielded with only one hand, chopped quickly downward, sliding with a sick thunking noise into the man's chest and making him cough up more blood.
While he tried to yell out, Gorash's foot lifted up and stomped on the man's jaw, breaking it with a resounding crack and crushing his throat in the process. Even as Gorash tried to scream out in horror, he heard a shrill laughter come from his own lips. It sounded unnatural, yet at the same time he knew it was himself that was cackling. He saw the halberd blade being pulled out and raised up to his eyes. Except only half on the reflection was him, the other half...
Gorash's right blue-gray eye widened in fear as he saw the left half of his face covered in the same black scales as his hands, a bright orange reptilian eye staring back at him. It raised up as though he was smiling, and glee sparkled brightly out of it.
"This is so much fun. It makes my heart race! I just want to kill and kill and kill!", his voice said, raspy and hoarse. He broke off and laughed crazily, and Gorash saw the world go dark as he blacked out.
* * *
Gorash sat upright, wheezing desperately as he clawed at the blanket laid on top of him. Cold sweat dotted his pale skin and goosebumps stood out all along his arms. He patted his hands on his chest and face, feeling for any sign of the previous scales. His shirt was soaked through with sweat but otherwise he didn't find anything. It...it was all a dream...Gorash thought gratefully, Thank god.
He told himself that until he discovered his armor tossed on the floor beside his bed, the metal gloves twisted from being wrenched apart and his halberd lying alongside them, rust-colored.
"No..." He felt his blood rush to his ears, a soft roaring noise filling them. "No, it can't be true."
"Unfortunately it is." Gorash glanced up to see someone standing in the doorway of his room. It was Vlad, the king's closest advisor, he remembered. An unknown noble who'd come to the king for a low position on his court, but quickly rising up. Vlad tossed Gorash a clean, dry shirt to put on, and Gorash caught it mutely.
"What..." Gorash gulped, a cold trickle of fear filling him. "What do you mean?"
Vlad sighed and came fully into the room, closing the door behind him as he did so. For a moment he was quiet, leaving Gorash to stare at him. Then he blinked at Gorash. Vlad wasn't only known for his quick rise to power, he was also known for his eccentricity. Wearing almost all black with a white button up shirt and loose red bow around his neck, a crimson cape was clasped onto his jacket. He held his top hat in his hands for the time being. Short black hair much like Gorash's own hung to the sides of his face. However the most striking aspect of Vlad was his feral yellow eyes. The eyes of a wolf.
"Those farmers." He stated, with another resigned sigh. "They're all dead."
"N-no..."
"Yes."
"What happened? I passed out from the heat and...and..."
Vlad walked over and placed a calming hand on Gorash's shoulder, gently shaking the man to bring him to his senses. Gorash looked up at him, tears in his eyes as the harsh realization hit him.
"You're not a monster." Vlad said. "Well, you weren't. Until last night."
"Last...night?"
"Do you remember what happened last night?"
Gorash thought hard, trying to search through his groggy memories. He remembered the king had asked for him to dine with him. Recently the knights of his personal guard had been asked to talked to him, some sort of questioning type of thing.
Only a few months ago, Gorash had covered for his best friend who had also been a knight with him before he'd left the kingdom with the woman he loved. The king had been ordering them to do things that, if revealed to the public, would have appalled them. Unknightly things, such as threatening villagers out of their homes because of treason, which they had obviously never committed. Then slaughtering them when they didn't listen. Rore had had enough of it, and Gorash had stayed behind to make sure no alarms were raised.
Eventually, his king's words came back to him from the night before, his ice blue eyes showing up in his mind as Gorash heard them. 'Gorash, after the disappearance of Rore, one of the greatest knights in this order you're in, I've been thinking. Well, not exactly thinking, more like deciding. You shall be my new champion, for this kingdom destined for greatness. Things aren't clear at this point, plans will be brought into effect soon enough. But one thing I know is clear. Gorash, you shall be my Black Knight.' Then he remembered only searing pain and darkness.
Gorash shook, crumpling the shirt he held in his hands into a small ball as the truth became apparent.
"I'm sorry, my friend." Vlad turned away from him, an oddly hurt expression in his eyes.
A quiet chuckle echoed in Gorash's thoughts. 'Oh come now. It's not that bad in here.' At that simple phrase reverberating inside his head, the tears coursed down his face, and Gorash buried it into his hands and shirt, shoulders shaking as he sobbed and cried out in denial at the horrible truth.
--Ty
 Ty Gwynnia · Thu Dec 16, 2010 @ 01:47am · 1 Comments |
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