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The difference between day and night in Lentiqua Marketplace is as stark as light and darkness. During the day, the market is bursting at the seams with life. The mouthwatering yeasty scent of fresh baked rolls and bread from the baker mixes with the sweetened aroma of fresh berries and fruits from the farmers. The bickering chatter of the two fishmonger brothers—each trying to outsell their brother’s stall – almost drowns out the yelling perfume merchant, attempting to beckon the lonely housewives and servants to his stall with promises of love and fortune in every one of his expertly crafted scents. Although the most overwhelming factor of Lentiqua is the sheer size of the customers, masses upon masses of people migrate through the marketplace like some massive plague of locusts, devouring everything in their path as they journey onward through the city and leaving behind nothing but empty stalls and highly satisfied merchants.
By night, Lentiqua is completely different. Anyone under 21 is forbidden to roam Lentiqua after nightfall, the punishment a week’s stay in the Dungeon – another weird rule of King Nikos that is supposed to prevent the corruption of the kingdom’s youth. Raucous drunken men wandered the filthy streets littered with trash from the day’s sales. Scantily clad women with black rimmed eyes and vividly painted lips congregate on street corners, alluringly calling out to the male passersby with hooting cheers of their seduction abilities. Stray cats – their bodies turned completely skeletal from the constant starvation – search empty tin cans for food left behind, the eerie clanking sounds and the mournful wails slice through the silence, mistaking more than once for a banshee or some other unholy specter. The stalls, now deserted and bare of wares, slouch crookedly like drunken old men. The shadows they cast loom long against the crushed ash and charcoal streets even in the darkness, providing excellent cover for a single girl to avoid the occasional army patrol that slouches through, their focus more on frequenting their favorite ladies of the night rather than patrol the packs of black jumpsuit clad prisoners picking up trash.
Cold, filthy water splashes up my left leg as step in a puddle of stagnant water trying to avoid a staggering skeleton of an old man with a beard so long it reaches his knees. He never noticed me, raising his clear glass bottle with a light amber colored rum – I can tell by the smell. Mama uses rum in the cakes she bakes for the winter holidays – and waddles onwards with shaking toothpick legs. My shoe makes little squelching sounds as I continue on, water squishing jelly-like in between my toes. That’s just great! I’ll probably have another blister on my foot but I don’t really have time to stop and let my shoe dry. Maybe if I just let some of the water out, it won’t be so bad. I look around but I don’t see anything I can sit on, I guess I’ll just have to lean on a wall. The flower merchant’s booth seems to be cleaner than most, so it’s my lucky choice. The flimsy wood bends under my weight but it doesn’t break, hopefully I won’t land flat on my back. The knot tied in the laces of my shoe unravels with a few tugs. When I pull it off, a steady stream of grey water leaks from the sole. I hope it’s not infected with something, the water that collects in the streets usually is.
The one lucky thing is I haven’t run into any guards tonight in this sector. Maybe they are all too busy with their ladies of the night. That would so convenient and make it a much quicker trip for me altogether. With a final twist to my shoe, I slip it back on and hobble off, my hood pull low over my face. A low thumping comes rumbling down the pathway ahead. It shouldn’t be thunder, it sounds too metallic. Maybe a cat’s got stuck in a container or something? The uneven rhythm creeps closer, a drum thumping out of rhythm till I realize what it is.
Oh, shit! It’s footsteps!
The dull, thumping steps grow closer as I duck inside a flower merchant’s booth and huddle down, my back pressing painfully into the protruding empty wooden shelves that normally display fresh bouquets of tightly budded pink roses leaking a delightfully honey scented perfume and individual stems of fleshy petaled lilies bloomed out in a spray of elegant soft white. The thudding steps grow closer, the dry clanking of his armor provided a discordant symphony of clatters and clashes. The clamor came to a halt right on the other side of my hiding space. Risking a peep, I glance quickly over the edge of the booth and my breath catches in my throat in horror. It’s a guard! A short man with a watermelon shaped pot-belly barely contained by his black armor and a bushy beard littered with crumbs. If one was so inclined to imagine, he could briefly pass for one of the bearded dwarves from a fairy tale, or at least a drunk one based on his nose burning scent. A sour tang of sweat both new and old mixed with a hint of bitterness – the unique scent a byproduct of a night spent drinking only the cheapest liquor from Harold’s Tavern – swamped the surrounding area, completely overpowering the sweet lingering scent of flowers and making my stomach heave in protest. Another rolling wave of nausea slides through my stomach and I have to press my hand to my mouth, stifling the urge to spread my stomach contents across the floor. Maybe if I try taking smaller breaths, then the smell won’t be so bad?
Wrong! The smell is just as bad, only the tiny inhales of air are making me dizzy in addition to already being nauseated. My entire head is spinning, my chest is aching, and I’m gagging, the bubbling acid rising in my throat and burning like liquid fire. In response to my panic, the buzzing energy shimmers across my skin once more. This time becoming more visible as a faint golden glow spread across my limbs.
Finally, with a few muffled curses and a loud honking belch, the guard shambles on. The cluttered clanking and belching fading away as the rotten stench trailing him like a living tail. The burning in my chest and throat eased as I let out a huge whooshing breath. The air is returning to the normal stale smell but it’s never been so sweet in all my life. At least, I’m nearly to the gate, so I shouldn’t run into any other guards, drunk or otherwise. The most problematic area will be at the gate itself as an entire squad of soldiers are stationed as guards.
Life inside the walls hasn’t turned out as well as the King proclaimed at first. After the wall was solidified, most of the citizens turned towards building new lives in our gleaming capital city of Melrose. Rows and rows of houses seemingly sprung up overnight, fully formed and ready for new occupants. What forests and farmlands left inside the wall that hadn’t already been savaged by the army for materials was cleared of all trees and shrubbery and turned into giant farms that worked the lowest ranked citizens to literal death. Giant factories were built on the outskirts of Lentiqua to manufacture items that were previously traded between Althea and the other kingdoms like steel and glass. Although the grime ridden complexes do provide highly valuable jobs to all the people that couldn’t find work as merchants or servants, but the aftereffects on the factory workers are intense. A constant stream of throat-clogging smoke and smog erupts from the factories heated ovens, polluting the air with their discharge and releasing their waste in what water sources remain inside the walls. Inside, the workers are frequently burned from the heated metal and glass and the toxins released from the manufacturing process poisons their lungs, sometimes limbs are lost to the giant blades that descend from the ceiling to slice the glass into prespecified shapes, but the factory never stops. It can’t stop. The demand for their products is too high.
Rather than gamble with their life in one of these treacherous occupations, a select group of others has decided on a slightly darker way of living. Shifty men with hooded faces and gloved hands lie in wait for members of the royal family or the magistrates to come to Lentiqua Marketplace, kidnapping the unsuspecting member of the wealthier class and holding the person for ransom. Cunning women, armed with a razor edged knife and a beautiful charming smile, tempt their victims siren-like into the shadows where they are quickly relieved of their belongings and left bound and gagged for someone else to find. Wily children, their cherubic faces innocent and sweet, drift through the crowds of people with lively steps, removing purses and wallets filled with money with well-trained nimble fingers. Infuriated by this blatant display of disrespect for his laws and system, King Nikos ordered the arrest of these renegades on sight but they slipped away into the darkness on silent wings. Together they banded and formed a network of outcasts, spies, and thieves—The Raven’s Guild – and that’s exactly who I need.
The rumor is that their main headquarters are hidden in the east wing of Lentiqua, the entrance nestled in an abandoned warehouse half-destroyed by a lighting strike. Perfect for hiding and running an underground black market right under the nose of the king. The Raven’s Guild specializes in selling items unique to the area outside the walls. Need ground faery wings to cure your lung cancer? A vial filled with Nashire poison to permanently rid your house of rats? Werewolf claws still bearing the blood of their last victim? They have it all... for a hefty price. For those who won’t pay the price – or most likely can’t afford the high rate – there is an option, the Raven’s guild allows a certain number of people to travel beyond the wall with an escort of their own members. There is a catch to this plan to prevent just anyone from walking into the halls of the Guild and demanding to be taken to the forest. First, you have to first make contact with one of four members of their approved vendors, or so the snaggletooth old junk dealer I spoke to last week said – he better not have lied, I paid him two week’s wages for that particular piece of information. Those four members are stationed in the four quarters of the Althea kingdom: The crown city of Melrose, Lentiqua, the Desrique farmlands, and the Mattior mining area. If my information is correct, the contact in Lentiqua should be the owner of the tavern, The Amber Dove.
The problem is that the east wing of Lentiqua is full of taverns with every combination of name imaginable. The Bloody Nurse. The Sharpened Nail. The Magistrate’s Daughter. Somewhere amongst these merry liquor dealers is my target, the most difficult part is finding it.
Strolling through the streets with my hood pulled low over my face, breezing past loudly cackling men and women crowded together like crabs at the entrances to the taverns. No one seems to notice or care that my cloak and hood obscures my body completely from sight. I could easily pass for a dangerous thief or murderer just as well as I could pass for an older woman. I guess sneaking around comes naturally to a quiet little mouse. I’ve certainly had enough practice.
It’s only when I pass the same tavern for the third time does a gloomy sense of despair well up. It feels like I’ve been walking for hours, round and round in the same ole circle. The blister on my left food is stinging like fire. Sweat is dripping from the tips of my hair from the stiff summer heat and flies are circling my head, their miniature buzzing filling my ears like a swarm of bees and it’s driving me crazy. I just have to find that tavern now or it’s going to be too late to go into the forest tonight, with the limited time span and the obscene amount of embroidery to be done would ensure that I couldn’t come back another night. I slump down onto an old wooden crate and bury my head in my hands. If those dresses weren’t finished to satisfaction, we would lose everything. Things couldn’t possibly get any worse.
“Hey there, Shirley! How’ze about giving us a kiss?”
And they did. One drunken old man wasn’t enough tonight?
Peeking through my fingers, the first thing I see is a pair of large blubbery fish lips leaking a stream of putrid yellow drool. The second thing is the large pink saucers ears sticking straight out from a pale egg-shaped head. The egg man squinted at me through liquor hazed eyes, his liquid dinner for the evening preventing him from seeing my form as clearly as he should have. “You’re not Shirley! What’cha do with my Shirley?” He jabs one meaty finger in my direction, the other hand lifts an empty liquor bottle with a brown bird imprinted in the glass to those horrifyingly large lips. It couldn’t be that easy. Could it?
I stand up, shake out my skirt, and approach the egg man whose had now lost interest in me and had staggered across the street to a new target. A tarnished gas lamppost now christened with the name of “Shirley”. The loud pleading of his sobs are nearly heartbreaking while he desperately clutches his arms around the steel post as if his life depended on it.
“Oh, Shirley,” he blubbers. “Why did you leave me for him? Why? What does he give you that I don’t?” His rambling chatter dissolved into loud hacking sobs, his whines were drawled out so long that it sounded like a cow was slowly being butchered apart piece by piece while still alive.
“Excuse me, sir?” I lightly tapped the man on his shoulder, allowing just a little bit of the sparking energy to focus at my fingertips as an extra awaking jolt to stimulate his drunken thoughts. Those unfocused watery eyes sluggishly drifted up towards my face. “I’ve been looking for a specific tavern all evening, and the logo on your bottle looks like it might be the one I’m looking for. Could you please tell me where you found it?” I smiled my most charming smile. He released the lamp post and looked down at the bottle in his hand. A nasty little smile appearing beneath his puffy damp cheeks as whatever muddled thoughts were now coming into focus.
“I’ll tell you, but you gotta buy me a new bottle. Shirley always bought me a new bottle.” He held out his hand, palm up and greedily awaiting payment.
“Okay.” I reached for my purse, pulled out a few coins, and dropped them into his awaiting hand. It physically hurt to give my hard earned money away to a drunkard who was only going to spend it on booze without a further thought when I had spent many a long sleepless night myself working for that money. “Now tell me where the tavern is.
His new funds procured for another evening of drinking, the egg man points to a street off to the left, a shadow laden alley wedged between an abandoned general store with tiny arched windows set deep into the squareish building had previously been boarded up with long wooden planks but were now hanging halfway down like a limp curtain and a closed toy store whose darkened interior and iron bars placed across the windows gave an appearance more fighting than playful. The perfect habitat for an entrance to a thieves den, I suppose.
With a nod of thanks that was completely ignored, I left the egg man to his intoxicated wanderings and ventured toward the shadowy gloom. A few people I passed shot questioning looks in my direction, like they could see under my cloak to the scared girl inside and knew my destination but they didn’t dare voice their curiosity, simply allowing me to continue on my way – if they could see under my hood to the haunted look on my face, they probably would have laughed themselves silly. It didn’t matter to them if I was attempting to enter an agreement with a deadly band of thieves for contraband items, potentially never to return again. I was just a passing stranger in the night.
I paused at the mouth of the alley and tugged nervously at my hood, pulling it lower over my face before venturing further into the darkness. Deathly silence enveloped the entire passage, only broken by the soft thudding of my steps and the rasping of my breath. The chattering hum of the drunken conversations were so far away, completely blocked out just by taking a few steps into the alley. It was like I had become submerged in a cool bath of calming dark silence, opposed to the bright raucous I had just exited, it felt almost heavenly.
I don’t know how much time passed in that darkness—it may have only been minutes but it felt like hours – but distantly I became aware of something small and flickering, glowing faintly orange as it fluttered to and fro, a butterfly of living flame. It danced closer and closer as I walked. Darting up, down, up again before landing and become still, all the while growing brighter. My own strange energy sizzled into a higher life in response to the hypnotic dance, eager to reach for its sparkling kin. As I drew closer, the light broadened, illuminating the outline of a plain wooden door. The light was filtering through filthy glass panes clouded with dried splashed liquids of unknown origin and a thick frosting of dust. Etched into the glass were words now faded and illegible, but one faint image was still clear. A brown bird, its body plump and round with a long thin tail and large tipped wings spread open in flight. This was it! It was the Amber Dove.
I reached for the tarnished brass knob and twisted, the old wooden door opening with a whining protest from the rusty hinges. Immediately a rush of air tinged with the smell of stale beer and old smoke wallops me in the face. Another push reveals the hidden interior, an empty room lit dimly by the tiny gas lanterns placed on every other round scarred table that are scattered around the room, their matching chairs upturned and placed seat down on the tables. An old man shuffles about the room, his head bald and spotted with age. He’s pushing a threadbare broom that looks almost as ancient as he does across the floor, a mat of hair and cigarette butts resembling a large black rat forming at the broom’s tattered ends.
“If you can’t read the sign, go back to school.” The old man eyes never leave the floor as he points a finger to a tiny sign barely as big as my hand in the corner of the door’s window. The curvy elegant script announcing in bold black letters “We’re Closed”. “We’re closed for the night. Go drink yourself stupid someplace else.”
“Excuse me, sir? I was told that I could find help from the Raven’s Guild here?” I said. Even in the quiet silence of the shop, my voice still sounded like a whisper while a nervous shake cast my tone into something more appropriate to a three year old. My eyes dropped to the floor, unable to hold the fierce little man’s forceful gaze.
He frowned, bushy grey brows drawing together so close that they wrinkled like dried onion skin. “Who told you that?” he snapped. “What good does it do to have a secret entrance when everyone and their brother knows about it? He stomped around behind the long wooden bar that stretched against the entire back wall and knelt down. A sharp sound like cracking wood echoed out along with a few mumbled curses about his old knees “I suppose that you’re wanting to go outside the gates too. I swear, I’m going to start charging an entrance fee one of these days. I’ll make millions in no time,” He grumbled while he rummaged around the glass bottles of liquor stored beneath the bar. The sharp pings of glass-on-glass contact pealed out repeatedly before he emerged with a loud “Ah-ha!” He reemerged with a wide triumphant smile that showed off the five yellowed teeth hanging from his puffy pink gums, and a golden key ornately decorated with molded filigree on the bow in the shape of a diamond. Motioning me to follow, we stepped through the swinging bar room door into a positively tiny kitchen. A dingy single sink was overflowing with dented pots and pans crusted with the remains of dinner from the evening’s special. Surrounding that sink was boxes upon boxes of bottled liquors towered all the way up till they scratched against the ceiling, some so closely crowed together that you could barely walk pass. Stepping up to the tallest stack with stringy arms exposed by rolled up sleeves, he successfully shoved it off to the side with a few grunts of effort. I hadn’t expected the old man to still be so strong, or for the black iron door to be revealed behind the stack with his effort. He slid the ornately decorated key into the lock and turned with one smooth motion. The door swung open with not even the smallest of protests, another hallway of gaping black darkness appearing behind its constraints.
“Here you are, girlie. Good luck to your scrawny self.” The old man reached behind one of the crates and shoved a battered old iron gas lantern in my hand. “Now bring that back, you here!” With his final words imparted, he shoved me forward in the gloom and slammed the door shut.
Of all the scenarios my mind had conjured up about the Raven’s, me fumbling through the darkness for a way to light the lantern was not one of them. The metal was cold and smooth to my fingers, not a knob or switch in reach until... There it is! With a twist of the little round knob on top of the lantern, the sweet tang of the igniting fluid producing a soft, warm glow of faint orange, much like the glow I had seen the old man carrying around earlier. At least there wasn’t any visible spiders. I shivered at the mere thought, I truly hated those little six-legged monsters more than I was scared of the enchanted creatures beyond the wall. They just weren’t natural. Those eight beady eyes watching your every move. The gouging fangs that mercilessly killed their prey and pumped them full of venom. Ick! It’s enough to make you run screaming for the hills.
Just in case, I let a flaring bolt of the energy concentrate in my palm, illuminating the surroundings with a combination of orange from the lantern and the golden light from my skin. The light danced off the walls, the tiny cracks running through the smooth stone surface broke into dark hair-like shadows that stretched from the ceiling to the damp floor. Good, there was no spiders. At least my freakish nature could be good for something.
I hadn’t wanted to be born with magic. A substance outlawed in this kingdom shortly after the wall was constructed around Althea, not only were the people isolated from the other lands, they could no longer practice the magic that used to flow just as freely though the mortals as it did here in the forest. According to what I have read in a few banned books that I managed to read before our library was shut down for spreading false information, magic is still practiced in the lands outside of Althea and this kingdom is the only one to outlaw the practice. After the death of his Queen and King Nikos’s descend into madness, he declared any and all artifacts or objects with any amount of magical power to be destroyed completely. Human practitioners of magic were banished from using the power upon pain of death, even medical healers who used the magic to heal the most wretched wounds were not allowed to perform the sometimes lifesaving activity. Rumors of retaliation against the king crawled through the kingdom from the most fearsome of the magic users, although no actions ever took place. Soldiers from the Royal Army were sent from house to house, from farmer to magistrate, completely defiling the homes in claims of searching for evidence of contraband magic. A few magical relics were found and their owners executed with a swift chop to the head from the sharp flash of a blade. After the first few deaths, no one wanted the risk of having such dangerous items in their possession, choosing instead to conceal the illicit goods in the forest, never to be found again. The tale I read then went on to say that any users still in this kingdom hid their magic for their own safety, not even being practiced for fear of death.
That’s why I have to hide what I can do. I can’t ever let it be known that I have this disaster of a power. One that lights up whenever I become the least bit stressed or anxious. I’ve learned to repress it for my safety, but sometimes it would be easier if I could just let it go.
I didn’t have to wait too long on my journey to find a way out as another door quickly appeared just beyond the reach of the light. This one swung open just as I reached for the knob. A man completely swathed in black – I’m assuming it was a man since a hood hid the figure’s face and he was so tall and broad at the shoulders and arms – silently gestured me forward. In the world beyond the door, the clouds had cleared and the moon was a pale circle high in the sky. The white light washing over the gigantic looming silhouette of the Wall and the arched wooden gate contained in the center, the hunched raven-like shadows of the guards stationed atop the wall, and the wagonload of people crouched down in a small grove of wilted trees just beyond the door.
The hooded man motioned me to sit with the others in the shadow of the trees. Men both young and old, women and even some young children were present. A few with more experience were softly chatting with each other but the effects were obvious by the look on everyone’s faces. The pinched brow, tightly clasped lips, and eyes darting back and forth between the guards and the squad of twelve black cloaked members of the Raven’s guild sneaking towards the wall like wraths in the night were all hallmarks of one emotion. Fear. Fear of being caught, of the brutal punishment that awaits if we are caught, and of the dire alternatives if we didn’t retrieve the items we so desperately needed. Fear was what banded us together as one silent member, awaiting the moment we would race for the open gate as fast as our legs would carry us to the forest beyond.
My hands were slick with sweat, both from trying to keep myself from lighting up like a blazing fire and from the stress, but the only thing I had to wipe them on was the folds of my skirt. The slide of my hand against the rough fabric momentarily distracted me as every other eye was trained on the silent members of the Raven’s guild as they crept toward the wall with swift noiseless steps, curving and swirling through the trees like living smoke, nary a bird or branch disturbed in their wake. Two sets of guards were posted at the wall, one stationed still above and one patrolling on foot around the base. A collective breath was held when a member of the ground based patrol paused and surveyed the patch of wilted woodland where we waited in silence. The air grew as tense as coiled springs, one moment of loose pressure or false movement could cause a chain reaction of horrible events.
With his curiosity satisfied guard indeed turned away, running to rejoining his group with a jostling jangle of armor and weapons. When I looked back towards the trees, I could see the faint gleam of weapons being hastily returned to holsters. A chilling thought sparked through my head like lighting. The Guild members had been prepared to kill the guards just so we could pass. This was so much more different than the last time I had snuck out to the forest. I had just waited alone in the darkness for one of the passing patrols to open the gate for the King’s squad of hunters and slipped out as they exited – although it did result in my back getting grazed by a sword on my return through the gate.
With a brief nod of acknowledgement, the shadow wrapped members slink forward like cats to border the wall, forming a watchful barrier while two other members were carefully scaling a hidden staircase that seemed to ascend almost vertically up the wall, the end emerging at a little guard shack stationed atop the wall. Another guard patrol was dangerously close, just barely fifty feet away from the two Guild members. The slightly taller of the duo emerged first from the staircase and glanced around—the movement slightly reminding me of the way a mouse will look around for a predator—then the body vanished momentarily – I’m assuming they crouched down low enough that they couldn’t be seen by the ground patrol – and only remerged at the back of the little ramshackle shed, the faint outline of a bow and a deadly sharp arrow clasped against their chest shining in the moonlight.
The shorter member followed the almost exact protocol: pop up out of stairs, look around for opponents, and then crouch down and crawl to the target. This time, the target was the shed as I could just barely make out a glimpse of the shed door sliding open just a crack and then closing. The shorter person must have snuck inside. I bet that’s where the control for the gate is located. We all waited a few heartbeats before the taller member drew his bow up tight, the head of the arrow sparkling like a diamond in the moonlight. The black feather tipped arrow released with a hissing twang, striking the unknown target with a deadly accuracy. A scream so shrill split through the air like a sword. Burning streams of pain flowed through my ears, feeling like someone is both stabbing me with a knife and lighting me afire. My hands clapped over my ears to try to muffle the sound but it doesn’t help, I can still hear the unholy pain filled screech. The other’s must be in the same pain, some rolling around on the ground and others begging for death to take them away, no longer caring for the consequents while tears fall like rainwater down their faces. I’ve read about the agonizing howls of the Bloodwrath, how it can completely paralyze an opponent for hours in an audio induced coma. I also know a few veteran solders that reside in Lentiqua who’ve had multiple encounters with the shapeless shadow demons and have gone deaf as a result.
“SEND OUT THE ALARM SIGNAL! WE’RE UNDER ATTACK!”
Through my teary eyes, I watch squadrons of jet black helms gleaming in the moonlight as they charge toward the area of the wall affected by the monstrous scream but they were too late. A rolling, boiling mass of edgeless black the size of a well-muscled stallion poured over the edge of the wall onto the battlements. Settling, reforming, and settling again into a giant cotton-like mound before two burning red eyes appeared in its center, flickering brightly like flames as it glanced around for the visage of its assailant.
“FIRE!”
A dozen arrows sliced through the air like hornets, honing in on the misshapen lump with deadly accuracy. The creature born of shadows howled again, sending many of the younger soldiers hurtling to the ground in a wracking fit of audible pain. The broken arrows scattered across its back like the spines of a hedgehog. A steady stream of viscous light blue liquid streaming from every arrow wound, filling the air with a sulfur-like stench so thick that it’s choking. The Bloodwrath squealed in pain and anger, the sludgy body shuffled forward while extending two long arms like thick vines. The arms whipped through the air and grabbed one of the lead soldiers around the waist, hoisting him high into the air. Within the center of the dark body of the Bloodwrath, a giant gaping maw opened. The inner moist cavern of plum colored skin was lined with jagged white fangs, looking all the world like uneven stalactites and stalagmites in a cave. The hapless soldier screamed in terror as the arms dropped him into that nightmarish mouth, his squeals cut off with a sharp crack. Scarlet blood oozed from the corner of the lipless mouth while the burning orange eyes slanted with delight, a sickening symphony of sucking smacks and grinding crunches mixed with the Bloodwrath’s moans of delight, the fresh taste of flesh satisfying the creature’s vast hunger.
While it was a miracle that I had not lost control of myself while under the Bloodwrath’s mental assault, I took advantage of this momentary reprieve from the migraine inducing howl by scrambling to my feet. I glanced around at the remaining soldiers, not one made a move towards the monster. Instead they stood motionless, frozen in horror at the savage execution of their comrade with skin tinted a vile shade of green like fresh mold. A few of the younger ones heaved the contents of their stomach into the greenish shrubbery. The soured scent of bile mixed with the coppery tang of blood for the fallen solider and the Nightwrath’s own sulfur-scented blood, producing an odor so foul that my own stomach churned violently in response.
More liquid ink like blobs lurched over the wall – Bloodwraths attracted by the screams of their fellow family member – with their tentacle arms waving in the air, knocking whole squadrons of soldiers to the ground with the sharp crack of shattered bones. With an order of attack from the commanding officers, the soldiers charged towards the beasts with flashing weapons of deadly steel blades fully extended. A chaotic battlefield erupting from the clash between man and beasts as each struggled to be the victor on this night.
“Come on! We ain’t got all night! ” A voice harsh and deep breathed in my ear, forcing me to tear my eyes away from the gory red and blue scene before me as a heavy hand clamped down on my elbow, tugging me away towards a wooden gate that was now standing wide open in the smooth stone surface of the wall. The Guild members must have continued to work unnoticed on gaining our entry to the forest while the turmoil raged on. I was one of the last of our squad to be guided out to the forest, the others had already stumbled to their feet and fled from the relative safety of the crop of wilted trees to the gate and beyond. Even the old lady to my right was hobbling her way to the gate. Shit! I should have been paying more attention. I scrambled to my feet as ungainly as a chicken, all flapping arms and sliding feet, and shook off the Guild member’s hand. Taking only a quick glance to ensure that the fighting army soldiers’ attention was still firmly fixed on their battle with the voracious Bloodwrath beasts – thankfully, it was – and ran towards the open gate like the hounds of hell were nipping at my heels. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure my feet were touching the ground, instead I seemed to skim across the bare ground, my cape flowing out behind me like some great bird gliding over the landscape. I sailed through the gate and into the forest beyond to the roughly gathered group beyond. The Guild member who had urged me forward followed my lead and ran for the forest himself, only this time the gate closed behind him with an unexpected soft snick, locking us all out into the magical and equally dreadful forest.