The Forsaken

THE TRUE KILLER

It’s been sometime after the incident at the tavern involving Tyr and the unruly ruffians. Tyr’s unworldly skill with the blade quickly branded him as a dangerous man; rightly so. His traveling companions keep their distance all except Patrick. The incident left Patrick with a nasty bruise and a high admiration for the skilled warrior. Neither of two he will forget soon.

They travel together, as per the agreement, in search of the mysterious creature- the devourer of men, the demon of Greybloom. Patrick, Tyr, and a handful of other mercenaries slowly transverse the lands in a caravan. Behind the carriages pushed by horses hard faces stare in silence. Some are in search of high adventure, glory, and heroism; others, in search of coin. If Tyr knows anything apart from the sword, it is the fact that one can get as many drinks as he wants if he has the coin to pay for them. This is not the case for glory and heroism.

The caravan stops near a mountain pass. Horses are fed and put to rest while the humans stretch their legs, light campfires, and prepare delicious treats of meat and mead.

Exhaustion and discomfort cover the faces of the traveling party; apart from Patrick and a few other naive adventurers. This is engaging, fun, etc.-this is an adventure! It is what he sought from a young age. Naive.

Patrick chats with his companions as he returns and sits on a log where Tyr sits, alone. He was always a loner, and the fact that he killed four men in a flash didn’t invite many to chatter. Not many at all.

“Isn’t this grand? Isn’t this the life?” Patrick says as he looks at the sky, the mountain pass, the camp, and nature around them. Full of life.

Tyr grunts, saying nothing. His look, completely blank.

“Come now, you can’t say this isn’t exciting?” Patrick comments.

“Exciting? Traveling for days and eating in nature? Surrounded by… those people,” Tyr says as he looks at two mercenaries punching each other.

“This is youth,” Patrick says, dismissing the fight as if it was a minor squabble between children.

Tyr takes out a piece of meat as he eats it with all the grace of a starving wolf.

“I have to tell you. It has been a long time since I felt so good,” Patrick says as he smiles.

“You are a child,” Tyr says, shaking his head. He did not mean to say it out loud, but the words came out.

“I may be but a happy one,” Patrick remarks as he looks at Tyr.

A moment of silent staring ensues amongst them as they burst out laughing.

“I made you laugh. I believe this is a miracle that must be celebrated,” Patrick says as he continues to laugh.

“You know we can travel out there and find no demon; or worse, we could find it and die,” Tyr says.

“With your skills, I doubt any demon can best you,” Patrick says, confidently nodding.

“There is always someone stronger,” Tyr murmurs as he places his hand over his sword and looks away in the distance.

“You never told me. Where did you learn to fight? Can you teach me?” Patrick asks.

“It was long ago and I can’t teach you. Even if I could... you wouldn’t want me to,” Tyr says as his expression changes for the worse.

“Who wouldn’t want to be strong?” Patrick asks.

“Those who would have to give up everything. Blood and soul. Those who would have to pay the greatest price,” Tyr says, reminiscing.

Patrick notices Tyr’s uncomfortable expression; he stops his inquiries. There is a time to move forward and there is a time to retreat.

He stands and stretches his arms.

“Come on. Let us join the rest. They have drinks and freshly cooked meat,” Patrick says.

“I don’t think they would welcome my company,” Tyr says, dismissing this idea.

“You are underestimating yourself,” Patrick adds.

“They call me killer,” Tyr says.

“They were surprised; surprised with your incredible skills. But fret not, I talked to them,” Patrick says, extending his hand.

Tyr grunts in disinterest.

“Did you not hear the part about the booze?” Patrick asks, looking at Tyr as though he got ill.

Free booze is and always was a deal changer.

Tyr gets up as both of them proceed to the crowded campfire.

Arriving amongst the others, their chatter stops as silence takes over.

Tyr stands in silence over the burning fire.

One mercenary stands and faces Tyr.

“Well, if it isn’t the killer,” the tall, bearded mercenary says, holding a giant axe in his hand.

“You came for us now, killer?” a female mercenary asks, looking at Tyr.

A standoff of glares.

Tyr, with caution, places his hand over his undrawn sword; the mercenaries burst into laughter.

“Come on, sit and have something to eat and drink, killer,” the bearded mercenary jests.

Tyr withdraws his hand hovering over the blade, and sits with them.

“Those were some incredible skills. The best that I ever saw,” a female mercenary adds.

“With you on board, I doubt the demon we are hunting will stand a chance,” another mercenary says as they laugh.

“Bring a demon to fight a demon,” the axe-wielding mercenary adds with a smirk. There are no weapons in hand only drink and food as the merry men and women chat around the burning campfire as the nearby horses relax munching on grass. The trivial chatter continues until the camp grows from raucous to reticent. Slowly they go to sleep.

And as the deep night descents...

Crackling sounds in the distance amongst the unaware caravan of mercenaries. Small flashes of light in the distant night; small but bright. They explode. The crackling intensifies. Tyr wakes at the commotion as he squints at the coming light. His eyes open wide; wider than ever.

“INANIS!” Tyr screams.

The sleeping mercenaries immediately open their eyes; panic and fear instantly fully wakes the half-dormant mercenaries.

“Inanis?” Patrick asks, still in a daze.

“It is a cursed storm. We must hide,” Tyr says as he beckons haste.

“Inside the mountain! There is a path,” the bearded mercenary yells.

The unexpecting men run towards the cracks of the mountains, to the inside, to safety.

Lightning explodes in a blue whirlwind. Looming over the unfortunate as if materializing from the void.

With unbelievable speed, the blue storm closes distance as it pulls mercenaries onto it; breaking them apart like rag dolls, leaving nothing but screams and flesh in the destructive light. Running inside the pass, they fumble over the terrain at the combination of panic and the unnatural disaster at their backs. The opening is nearby yet seems an unreachable distance away. Amid the chaos and death, the hapless men and women run in the domain of pure chaos. Their voices and screams mumbled at the exploding sound of the thunderous storm at their backs. They run, those who can. The storm turns red-colored by the blood of the unfortunate. Scream and thunder. The symphony of destruction.

He is almost there. The opening is close yet why are his feet so heavy? They betray him. Patrick falters as the cursed storm pulls him. Suddenly- a hand. Patrick looks up and finds Tyr holding him; he quickly pulls him. Outside, they hear screams as the bright blue flashes.

The crackling intensifies as with it- the screams. They do not last long.

A handful of mercenaries stands hidden deep inside the mountain entrance as the outside world shakes and quakes.

“Don’t look at the light,” Tyr says to Patrick with closed eyes.

“What?” Patrick asks, his body trembling.

“Quickly! Close your eyes,” Tyr says as Patrick closes his eyes. With his eyes closed, Patrick comes to a realization; his entire body uncontrollably trembles. He tries to stop the shakes... in vain.

For a moment that lasts for eternity, thunder explodes as blue light illuminates the mountain pass.

***

It stops.

The survivors exit the cracks of the mountain as they look at what was once their campfire; now only black ash and destruction remain.

They look at their companions; scorched and broken body parts are scattered everywhere. Nothing else remains... not even a piece of wood or bone.

Patrick turns pale.

“This is an adventure. This is what glory and heroism are. This is the truth of the world,” Tyr says.

I am a killer! I have to be one to survive in this world.

I may be one, but this world is the true killer.