Chapter 1
A lot of rumors and stories have circled around me over the years depicting my rise to power. While some of them may ring true to some degree, most are nothing more than outrageous tales of grandeur. In hopes to lay some of these rumors to rest, I’ve decided to tell the tale myself. After all, it’s my tale. A story about how one man overcame incredible odds to become, well, nothing short of legendary. I know this makes me sound a bit conceited. After the life I’ve lived, though, I think I’ve earned a bit of pride in my accomplishments. They were some great accomplishments, to be sure. However, I think this tale is perhaps the most important triumph that earned me a great deal of status throughout the realms.
Even though it happened ages ago, I can still remember it as if it were yesterday. So, where does my story start? Would you believe me if I said, “it was a dark and stormy night?” As unoriginal as it may sound, that was, indeed, the ambient weather when my journey began.
It was well past midnight. The storm blanketed any sign of the moon and stars, and the rain pelted the ground like miniature spears hurled from the gods above. To say the rain poured down hard would be an understatement. Between the sheer amount of water and the loose topsoil of the landscape, keeping one’s footing was nearly impossible. The only illumination on the field that night was the occasional flickers of lightning, which flashed with such an intensity that the surrounding area seemed to light up as if it were day, but only for the briefest of moments.
Imagine a warrior standing in the middle of that landscape. The rain had long drenched the leather armor he was wearing, making it somewhat difficult to move. His long, dark hair matted to his back while his beard straightened to the middle of his chest as the weight of the water pulled on each hair. The warrior held his long sword directly in front of him, trying desperately not to drop his weapon as the storm made holding the wet hilt quite difficult. He knew if he were to drop the weapon, the band of creatures in front of him would pounce quicker than the bursts of light flashing above his head. The warrior had already dispatched two of these human-hybrid monstrosities, but nearly a dozen growled and snarled in the darkness looking for a safe opening to strike. His horse lay half-submerged in the muddy water several feet away, its throat torn open after the initial attack from the darkness.
The creatures moved along on all fours, as some kind of viscous hunched-over animal, but had distinct characteristics of being humanoid. After cutting down the first two with ease, the rest of the creatures fell back to safer positions, which demonstrated intelligence and self-preservation. They were more like a pack of ravenous animals, and the warrior was fighting to keep himself from becoming their next meal. Or, at the very least, a side dish next to his horse.
Although the landscape had been darkened by the storm and a lack of proper torchlight, the warrior was an experienced combatant. Years of fighting for King Sethis in his Royal Army had given him quite the repertoire of skills that nearly guaranteed his survival in most instances. In this case, it was his hearing and analytical mind that helped him avoid the attacks in the first place.
Despite the fact that he was skilled with his long sword, this battle needed more of a defensive stance. The creatures outnumbered him greatly and were incredibly fast. Between the lack of sight, the difficulty of wearing wet leather, and the sheer numbers he faced, the warrior would have to let them come to him and focus more on counterstrikes. Yet, the warrior also knew that if they all attacked simultaneously, he would not survive. Surely, the creatures knew this. Nevertheless, they refused to come at him as a unit. Perhaps they also knew that if they did strike as one, the warrior would kill several before succumbing. Maybe none of them wanted to test his resolve.
I remember stealing as much detail as I could with each flash of lightning. The sounds these creatures made were horrible, screeching in frustration and anger. They couldn’t have been more than a few feet tall, with incredibly thin features. If not for the fact that they bled, I would have assumed they were the dried husks of corpses. Well, probably not dried husks since the storm had continued to soak everything. But you get my point.
They didn’t have a lot of muscle mass clinging to their bones, but did have a sense of modesty as they wore some kind of leathery garb. Now that I think about it some, they could have very well been wearing the skin of previous victims. Unfortunately, the lack of light made it difficult to ascertain exactly what it was these humanoid creatures were wearing. I suppose it really didn’t matter who their tailor was, but more of the starving looks in their eyes I was able to catch with each illuminated burst from the sky.
The stalemate seemed to last for hours when in reality, it was only a handful of minutes. The warrior wasn’t sure how he was going to make it out of the situation alive. Given the location he was in, it would also be quite some time before anyone stumbled across his corpse afterward. Recognizing the look of starvation in the quick glimpses he was offered occasionally, he threw a look back at his downed horse. Perhaps it would serve as a more appetizing meal other than himself.
Slowly making his way through the mud, he tried his best to keep a solid footing. The warrior knew that if he were to slip, the pack would undoubtedly take advantage of his fall. With each step, he moved closer to the horse, which was certainly dead from its wound. The idea was to see if the pack of creatures would accept horse meat instead of a tasty human fighter.
One of his feet connected with the underbelly of his traveling companion, which nearly made him lose his steadiness. The warrior was much closer to the dead beast than he had originally thought. As his foot slipped slightly in the mud, his heart skipped a beat. It was as if every nerve in his body came to life in an instant to prevent him from falling into the mud. Slowly kneeling down, he reached out to unclasp the set of saddlebags the horse had been carrying. He had no qualms about giving these creatures the horse carcass, but he had some valuables in the saddlebags he wasn’t about to surrender.
Holding the sword out with one hand towards the creatures and removing the straps of the saddlebags with the other, he figured the hard part was going to be pulling the other bags out from under the massive animal. Luckily, the mud under the horse was just as slick as the ground surrounding the beast. With a slight tug, the saddlebags slid out, albeit covered in mud. Walking backward and stepping over the horse, the warrior led the creatures to the carcass. It was a slow, macabre waltz dancing over the dead animal. With each step he took backward, the creatures in the dark took a step forward. Eventually, a flicker from above revealed the pack had descended on the poor beast of burden.
From the sounds they made, the warrior could tell the creatures immediately began feasting. With a quick flash of light from above, he saw a fleeting glimpse of the grotesque frenzy as the pack started to shred and devour the animal. Still holding the sword outward while tightly gripping the saddle bags in the other hand, he continued to make his way back across the field. The goal was to make it to what resembled an outcropping of trees a short distance from where he was. At that point, the idea was to disappear into the surrounding woodland. The pack of creatures attacked from a direction ahead of where he was traveling in the dark from a nearby ravine. The warrior was hoping the scar in the land was where they called home and that they wouldn’t pursue prey that far from their refuge. In any case, he was confident he could lose them in the forest should they decide to chase down dessert. His skills as a woodsman would give him a distinct advantage should these things reject horse meat as a nutritional supplement.
By morning, the storm had passed and the songs of birds seemed to echo throughout the wooded landscape. The warrior had been walking all night and found himself trudging along a road. It must have been well-traveled as the ground felt more like stone than soft mud or dirt. To him, this was a good sign as it meant there may be travelers abound. Between the lack of sleep, the weight of soaked leather, and the contents of the saddlebags, the man was moving listlessly, putting one foot in front of the other. His long sword was now sheathed on his hip, making the walk that much more arduous. The thought of the events from the night before drove him to put as much distance as possible between himself and the creatures he last saw tearing into his horse’s corpse. It was a vision that he surely wouldn’t forget anytime in the near future.
The lack of sleep ensured his imagination would constantly advise him the creatures were close behind looking for breakfast. Alas, each footfall felt heavier and his exhaustion was wearing him down. But as if the gods were paying attention to his plight, the warrior heard a wagon coming up from behind. He slowly turned and raised a hand up to gesture to the driver to stop.
“Whoa, there, Penelope,” the coachman called out to his horse pulling back gently on the reigns. He was an aged, well-dressed man sitting atop the wagon. His graying beard was professionally cut short and trimmed, which stood out against his nicely-tailored black overcoat. The beast he managed was a white horse, also well-groomed, pulling the wagon. It was a visage that was in contrast to the dirt-covered mess the warrior presented.
“You look like you’ve had a bad night, stranger.”
“That…is an understatement,” the warrior forced out wiping some of the dirt from his face, “I had some trouble last night and have been walking ever since. You wouldn’t have room in your wagon for a tired soul, would you?”
His breath was short and rife with fatigue. He really didn’t care where the wagon was heading, as long as he didn’t have to move his legs further down the road. The only thing on the warrior’s mind was to find a safe place to rest while getting away from things in the dark looking to eat him. Then, he would figure out his next move after a nice bath.
The coachman looked at the warrior for a few moments, pondering whether the mud-covered mess of a man posed a threat.
“I suppose you can throw yourself into the back, there. You’re lucky. Usually, I have a full load. I’m on my way to Witcham, in case you’re wondering.” The warrior made his way to the back of the wagon and crawled onto the wooden boards. Swinging his legs up, he rolled himself to a safer position near the center to prevent himself from falling off as he knew he was about to lose consciousness. The last thing he wanted to do was find himself falling over the edge and back onto the road. His weariness was to the point that he didn’t mind the fact that the hilt of his sword was under him, which would have been uncomfortable on any other day.
“If you don’t mind me saying, sir, you look half-dead.”
“I feel it,” the warrior replied with a sigh looking up toward the heavens. The canopy of trees over the road only provided the slightest glimpse of the crystal blue sky above. It was a far more beautiful scene than the one the storm provided the night before. With how serene the forest seemed in the daylight, it was hard to imagine the horrific series of events that played out several hours before.
“What is your name, stranger?” the coachman asked calling his horse to action with the reigns. The wagon slowly began to spring to life with the creak of old wood.
“Diemos,” the warrior responded just before closing his eyes and finally slipping into unconsciousness.
I suppose some shortcuts are not really worth traveling. Sure, cutting through an open field to save time might help, particularly when you’re on a narrow schedule. But those fields can turn quite nasty, especially if you’re not paying attention and a severe storm rolls in with demonic speed only to bring forth grotesque creatures who may have stayed in their habitats during any other time of the day.
Let this be a warning to any and all who travel at night. A seemingly wide, open field can turn dark in a myriad of ways quite quickly. The next thing you know, a dozen somethings eat your steed and threatens to turn you into a second course. It’s better to stick to the roads at night. Or better yet, understand the landscape in which you travel more thoroughly. Knowing about such creatures in the dark could convince you to travel the route during the daylight without marching through a massive storm while your boots sink several inches into the mud with each step.
The warrior really didn’t have anyone but himself to blame for the mishap in the field. He had been warned by several townsfolk about the dangers of traveling at night in this particular part of the countryside. Everyone he spoke with in Witcham knew well enough that anyone traveling too far from town after sundown had a high probability of never returning. Being the experienced swordsman, though, the warrior felt over-confident about traversing the landscape.
Diemos has dealt with a menagerie of creatures and foes over the years, and none have bested him yet on the field of battle. Then again, the warrior had never truly explored much outside of the regions of Horvashal, the lands further south ruled by King Sethis. On the contrary, he had been stationed at a forest outpost protecting the eastern boundaries of the country throughout most of his career. That isn’t to say that it was boring by any means. He has had to fend off a long list of foes, whether it was an army trying to gain a foothold or ruffians who often preyed on nearby villages. Some excursions would take far more dedication of time than what Diemos was comfortable giving. It would be days, sometimes even weeks before he would see his beloved and his son.
As he lay on the wooden planks of the swaying wagon, the warrior’s dreams were that of his family. More specifically, the day he found them.
After a particularly long tour at the forest outpost, Diemos made his way home, thinking only of his wife’s cooking and spending time with his child. He cherished every moment spent with his family and was eager to return. Only this time, there were no happy reunions.
No smell of cooking beef wafting on the breeze.
No sounds of his young child running out of the door to greet him.
Instead, the visage was of a battered door leading into the cabin. Drawing his sword, Diemos hastened his pace up the path to the small home. Rushing through the door, he was greeted by the sight of his lovely wife and son sprawled face-down across the floor, the living space torn asunder as if a great battle had taken place. Dropping the sword, he rushed to his family, the wood tacky with drying blood. He lifted his wife’s shoulder to see her face only to witness the deep and long gash across her throat.
Diemos opened his eyes and sat up quickly placing a hand on the hilt of his sword. It had only been a dream, but the anger he felt was still alive and well within him. He existed in that moment and has never found a way to free himself from that particular nightmare. It had driven him from potential mates over the years, as he couldn’t fathom having to relive a similar situation should the worst happen. Although there was no guarantee that, should he remarry, a similar circumstance would play out, Diemos was unwilling to put himself or anyone else at risk.
The wagon continued to bob back and forth as the wheels seemingly rolled across every rock and rut along the road. The sound of creaking wood along with the distant calls of birds reminded him of where he was. Laying back down on the wooden planks, he stared blankly up at the passing canopy of trees. While the death of his family happened many years ago, the dreams continue to haunt the warrior with vivid reflections as if they happened just hours prior.
I could never wrap my mind around why one man would kill another’s family. Yes, violence between men, especially warriors, is a part of life. But why slaughter an innocent woman and her child? Actions of such are not meant for a civilized world. Then again, those weren’t exactly civil times. Countries often warred with one another simply because of misunderstandings or because one lordship wanted the lands of another. In this case, though, there was no reason to put down the helpless. Killing without reason is simply purely evil.
After searching for the man who committed the atrocity, I asked him why he would do such a thing. His answer was simply, “Because I could.” That was before I pulled my dagger and disemboweled him with one, quick flick of my wrist. As he dropped to the ground, I grabbed the back of his head to force his eyes to look into my own. Blood began to pool from his lips and I could see the spark of life draining subtly from his expressions. I replied to him, “I’m going to kill you slowly…because I can.”
We all have our dark moments. When one is in a high degree of emotional pain and anguish, it’s difficult to think clearly. Then, we often do things we wouldn’t normally do. The sense of righteousness, logic, and rational thought escape a lot of people in similar situations. The only thing many of us rely on in that situation is revenge.
Although I felt justice had been served, I still feel the length of time it took for the man to die was too short. I suppose as the years continue to unfurl, I’ve become more of a vengeful, spiteful person. Still, who’s to say that my actions didn’t save many lives? This ruffian already demonstrated how he could kill a woman and child with ease. My actions not only served as justice for his crimes, but also a preventative measure ensuring he would never hurt another soul ever again.
At least, that’s how I justified those actions to myself.
