The Forsaken, Part One Chapter 1, a game of thrones fanfic

The Forsaken

Chapter One

First encounters

Sitting next to the child, I lift and place his head onto my lap. I treat him as gently as I can, as if the slightest jolt or slip would result in further injury. It is a kind but useless gesture. Cold brown eyes stare at me... through me... as if they see something beyond and I am transparent. His skin is cold and smooth to the touch like a river rock during the winter and his lips are a shade of blue distinctive to the cold touch of death. A once delicate, budding flower that was torn from this world before its time by the savagery of man.

As I stare into his face, I cannot help but wonder what his life would have been like if he had lived. Would he have been a farmer? Maybe a miner? Or possibly a soldier who would become a hero who would face fear and death and conquer them both? People of Pelatia believe that greatness is granted through birthright and that only the noble are chosen for success but there are those that have risen from the depths of poverty to become the greatest of men. I have met some of these great men. They began their lives at the bottom of society and came from the poorest of the poor. They spat on the beliefs of the elite and took life by the horns. They believe, as do I, that greatness is granted by opportunity and a person's willingness to grasp hold of that opportunity. This boy will never be given that opportunity because not all men are great. There are some that are evil.

The boy was probably 6 or 7 years old, skinny, and not in a healthy way. I can feel his tiny ribs through his shirt and see the gauntness in his pale cheeks. His brown hair is caked with lice, which are washed in blood from a gash on his head. Such a fragile creature, another child succumbed to the atrocities of those evil men. The knife wound just below the heart tells me the boy did not suffer much; a good thing I guess, if somehow there was anything good about murder. There are worse ways to die; a voice in my head reminds me. There are indeed worse ways to die. I have seen people die in the worse ways imaginable. My hand itself has guided many to die in the worst of ways. In ways that haunt me in my dreams. To die is inevitable however, and Death seeks us all. I have seen Death, stared into its eyes and smiled at it. To see Death in the face of a child however, always rips at me and tears me apart. To see innocence stripped away is ghastly and sickening.

My insides burn and a pain courses through me, ripping at my insides, if only there was something or someone to lash out against. Helplessness eats at me. All of my strength and power, as great as it is, is for naught. If I had come along sooner I would have been able to save this boy but the gods did not provide me with their guiding light. They chose to allow this barbarism to be carried out. Why? It is beyond my comprehension. The gods just do what they do.

I stroke the child's hair, kiss him on the forehead, and then close his eyes for the last time. The tears overtake me, sweeping over me like a torrid flood; I stem the flow just as quickly as it had come. A man has to be tough and not show emotion my father once told me, but I never listened to him and seeing as no one is around, what's the harm. I hold my sorrow in check however because it is not the right time to mourn. My sorrow is replaced by anger and it builds inside. I fight the urge to lash out at the heavens above. Lasiter is the God of Innocence and it is his power that is supposed to protect children but he has failed again and I curse his name. In fact, I curse all of the gods one by one because if the innocent are not worthy of their protection then the gods are not worthy of my praise.

I look around absorbing the scene that lies before me. The cart was ravaged by the marauders; they stripped it like they stripped the life from this child, leaving nothing but a barren husk. The only items that are left are clothes scattered all around and bits and pieces of personal items. From what I can tell, the family was leaving Lynchburg heading south to Porterston or more likely Edwardsville to try to find work. Lynchburg had been hit hard by the winter storms and suffered more than most towns. A mining town, Lynchburg's biggest export is Allanium which is used throughout Pelatia for making cutlery, tools, and other household items. It is easily melted down and can be molded into just about anything. The Allanium mines are owned by several noble families but are worked by the common man. It is a known fact that several of the mines are drying up so work was getting harder to find so many families have moved on to other locations to find work and earn a living. The earth surrounding the town is worthless for farming as it is contaminated by sulfur that leaks from Mount Clouse.

Mount Clouse is a large mountainous volcano that dominates the landscape of the northwest. No one can remember the last time the volcano erupted but lava consistently flows from its base to the west and north. Sulfur fumes surround the mountain and every five years the sulfur clouds sweep northeast and drench the land. Residents as far as Port Deagle have to take shelter from the toxic clouds. The clouds cause their havoc for a few days until Wodein, the God of Gods, sees fit to blow the clouds back to their resting place around the mountain. Torrential rains follow, drenching the land and washing the trees and plants clean of the sulfuric residue. Plants and animals have evolved over the millennia to survive the event as have the people of the area. You can tell someone is a resident of the Lynchburg area by the rotten smell cast off by their bodies. Once the clouds disperse the people come out of their hiding places and carry on with their lives as if nothing had happened. There would always be some deaths, both animal and man, but the predictability of the occurrence keeps them at a minimum.

The father must have been desperate, why else would he risk travelling the "Bandit's Trail". Desperate times called for desperate measures but no matter how desperate you were, taking the "Bandit's Trail" alone was just plain suicide. A safer route heading east to Lagusburg was available and it is relatively free of scoundrels. The "Bandit's Trail" was completely opposite. Bandits and marauders from Clouseton prey upon the weak and desperate who chance the journey south. Why the King has not allowed the armies to move into Clouseton and restore order is beyond me. Maybe someday, hopefully during my lifetime, he will choose to do so and I will be more than willing to lead the army to glorious victory.

Only the truly brave or suicidal should take the "Bandit's Trail". Some may say I am the latter but in truth the former is more my persona. I relish challenges to test and hone my skills and "Bandits Trail" is the ideal place for challenges. I have travelled the retched trail on three occasions and each time I came away with a head, or two, and prisoners to deliver to the Northern High Court. The trail for me is a pleasure. It allows me to relieve the rage that manifests itself from time to time.

Today I was travelling the trail on business rather than pleasure. I traveled to Lynchburg to deliver an order to appear before the Northern High Court to the Regional Priest. Seems he could not stay away from sinful temptations and he was going to be stripped of his title. I was told he had heard of my arrival and immediately left south so I followed concerned that my quarry would escape or be killed. As I rode up on the scene before me my concerns for the priest vanished.

I look down at the boy's angelic face and tears well up in my eyes once again. I pull the tears back; I know I will need all of my strength for what I expect to find. I gently lay the boy's head to the earth, stand, and walk to the other bodies. The older boy lays crumpled as a result of falling off the cart after being struck by arrows. One protrudes from his right shoulder and the other from his chest, a well-placed shot that more than likely ended his life before he hit the ground. His throat had been slit for good measure. His hair is the same brown color as the smaller boy but without the lice. He is about 12 or 13 and just as skinny and malnourished as his brother; this family was indeed in a pitiful condition.

The father lays about five feet away, an arrow sticking out of his back but that was not the cause of death. There were several sword slashes and knife wounds covering his torso, arms, and back. He had been set upon by a pack of savages and the fury with which they struck was sickening. His brown hair is slick with blood and his face unrecognizable from the numerous blunt strikes it took.

I see the drag marks leading into the bushes and dread having to follow them because I know what likely waits at the end. It is something that I have seen in my many years and it is a sight that I wish no man to see. I am hoping not to find what I expect, but hope is not something the gods provide so easily this day. In fact what I find is far worse and more hideous than I expected.

The mother lays naked, bloody, beaten, and dead. The beasts had taken turns with her and from what was left several took pleasures even after she was dead. She is just as skinny as the older boy and her light brown hair covers what used to be a pretty face. In another place, another lifetime she may have been a real beauty.

The sight of her broken body is sickening but even it pales in comparison to the other body lying behind the tree. The girl may have been no more than 9 or 10 years old. A small thing even for a waif. A tiny flower, her petals plucked before their time. I vomit what is left of my breakfast. I cannot fathom the evil of man that would do this to an innocent creature. This time I don't curse the gods, I make a vow to seek them out upon my arrival to Veristagen for the final judgment and find a way to destroy them. I stand over her...

The blow knocks me to the ground. The force with which I am hit sends me a good ten feet. I land against the ground, my breath leaves me and I feel the pain in my lungs as I fight to get it back. My eyes reflect bright dancing sparkles of light as I try to rise but I fall back to the dirt. I lay forcing air into my lungs but just as I succeed in catching my breath I feel the weight of someone small mounting me. My arms are grabbed and forced over my head. I try to fight back but the strength is overbearing and as I try to buck the individual off I am struck in the face. Darkness engulfs me.

I open my eyes. The little sparkles continue to dance and I shake my head to clear it. Pain scorches through my skull.

"Be still if you wish to live." The voice is soft and tender as if whispered on the wind. The shadowy figure in my unfocused eyes is petit, a young woman by all indication. Even in a dazed state I should be able to easily gain the upper hand on someone so small. I prefer to identify the severity of my situation however before I act. If the intent was to kill me I would never have woken up, so I play it safe...for now.

"What do..." I am struck hard in the face. The sparkles dance ceremoniously around in my head once and eyes once more. It hurt...a lot more than it should have.

"Be quiet." The tenderness left the voice and is replaced by fury, almost hatred.

The voice definitely belongs to a young woman, probably just under 20 years. She is of little concern. The person who struck me is powerful and is the immediate threat. I wonder where the man is? He is probably standing to my rear just out of my peripheral; actually, now that I think about it, there may be more than one, which is of greater concern. If these are the same ones that attacked the family I am done for but an odd feeling, an understanding comes over me that these people are not the culprits.

The fogginess slowly dissipates and I make out the girl. She is even smaller than I had originally thought. She stands just over five feet and may weigh 100 pounds on a heavy day. She is wearing a gray hooded cloak that covers her as she kneels over the girl's body. I question my belief that it is a girl when she rises, cradling the other girl's body in her arms. From my experience, she should not have been able to lift the dead girl's body no matter how fragile she was alive but this girl lifted the other with ease, effortlessly. Slight curves in the hips and a lock of golden, red hair confirm it is definitely a girl.

The girl stands holding the other. What is she going to do with her? Bury her probably; it is the only thing that can be done. Then it happens. The dead girl blinks. My breath escapes me, she is alive, I never considered it possible. I had not been able to check the girl for life before being struck…. and then a realization strikes me. The poor child, my eyes tear up not from sorrow but anger. The pain she must be in. The men had not spared her and she had suffered the same fate as her mother. The evil of men and the indifference of the gods never seize to amaze me.

"Please, I..." I want to help but my words are cut off by the sweet sound of the cloaked girl's voice.

"She will be okay, her pain is now mine." There is a twinge of suffering in her voice. As soft as it is, it is still a commanding voice but one touched with the essence of pain. What does she mean by "her pain is now mine?"

"There is a small knife by your foot. You can use it to cut yourself free when we are gone." The girl informs me, then she commands, "Do not try and follow us or your life will be forfeited." With those words she walks away into the bushes carrying the girl.

The trail stops at a stream that rages with the snowmelt coming off the mountains. Another aspect of a hot summer and blistering winter is the floods that come with the spring snow melt. The lack of vegetation allows the overflowing rivers and streams to ravage the countryside. The girl definitely came this way but there had been no sign of her companions. Have they taken another route and would link up later with her? All I know is there is no way the girl crossed this stream alone. Even with help it would be impossible as the rapids bash and thrash against the boulders within. Night is fast approaching so I mark the area so I can start searching again tomorrow.

As I make camp further back the way I came, staying clear of the stream, I reflect on my search for the girls to determine if I missed something.

After discovering the knife the hooded girl had mentioned with my foot I was able to cut myself free. The girl had left but there was no sound of her companions leaving so I remained conscious of my surroundings in case I had to defend myself, but there was no one. They must have slinked off behind me while I was distracted by the girl. I wanted to chase her down but the bodies of the family lay where they were before so I dug one large pit and buried them together. I clothed the mother in her ripped dress as a last chivalrous act which I hope she remembers when I meet her in Veristagen. I knelt beside the grave and tried to pray but I am sure the mother prayed as she was raped and mauled so what good would it do. My thoughts were hampered anyhow by the hooded girl. For some reason she was the only thing my mind would entertain. I located her tracks which were the only ones visible so I followed picking up my pace as I went. I knew I would easily catch up with her but after two hours I didn't seem to be making up any ground. The girl was making good time even while carrying a body. Or had she passed the girl to one of her companions and was she leading me on a chase? I heard the rushing water and knew this was my chance to catch up but as I approached the stream that was now a river I lost the tracks.

I take the rabbit off the spit and bite into the meat, a little over done. My rambling thoughts caused me to burn my dinner. I finish the rabbit off anyhow, even the burnt parts, and clean up but the entire time my mind is constantly focused on the girl. There is something about her, something just not right but I can't pinpoint it. A cold hand strokes my back and I shake as if chilled. Tomorrow I will find her tracks and chase her down; I must know who she is.

I finish cleaning up and walk over to Gallant to feed and water him. Gallant is my trusted companion and best friend. He has been with me through some of the harshest moments of my life and has never let me down in my time of need. I believe our souls and destiny are intertwined and I hope they will be in the next life as well. Hope, there it is again.

After I check and secure my perimeter, I move back over to my bedding and lie down. Even though the hooded girl occupies my thoughts I have no doubt I will sleep soundly, it has been a long day. As I close my eyes I see a blank face covered by golden red hair, I dream of the family that was slaughtered and the faceless girl and of Jacelyn and Margaret.

I wake, still dreary. Was something there, someone? A yawn takes me; I rub my eyes, another yawn. I see only Gallant. I lay back down. It is just the wind.

Unbelievable. How did she do it? I awoke from a decent night's sleep and was almost finished making breakfast when I noticed the footprint. I spilt my tea as I realize I had been visited in the night. A small footprint reveals that the girl, I can only assume it was her, had been in my camp during the night. I quickly draw my sword but for what purpose. If her companions wanted to they could have easily slit my throat in the night. My visitor's intention was not to kill, but what? I rush to my pack, open the sack, and pull out my most precious possession. I quickly unwrap it. Safe. I don't know what I would do if it was ever taken from me.

I look at Gallant. "Thanks for the warning, old man." He stamps his hoof and paws the ground. Gallant whinnies what I am sure is a smartass comeback. I look over and see more footprints by him. I give him a quizzical look. No one can get near him without a bite or hard kick. Last night however, he let a girl come into the camp unhindered and not only that, he let her stand next to him. I really need to meet this girl.

I stow the doll back into the sack, gather up my possessions, and lead Gallant back to the stream. I search for a crossing and cannot find one. The only possible way across is a limb that juts about 10 feet over the water but even a jumping squirrel would be hard pressed to make the leap. No, somehow the girl backtracked and probably linked up with her companions.

I lead Gallant back to where the carnage took place the day prior. There are no new signs of the girl or anyone else. The girl still engages my mind but there is another task at hand. The men who did this have almost a two day start on me and if I am going to bring them to justice then I better get moving. From the tracks that were left I am looking for at least five men. Hopefully I catch them when they are sleeping; otherwise I could be in for a real battle. I have fought as many as three trained warriors at one time so I am confident I can handle some brigands. My concern is I will have to kill a few which I have no problem doing but I rather they face justice properly. The Northern Court will find them guilty and beheading will be their punishment and I will more than happily carry out their sentence.

I will send men from the next town to retrieve the bodies and deliver them to Lynchburg for proper burial. If I am real lucky I will find the men drunk or passed out in the next town. I can only hope. Hope. The gods be damned.

The Hooded Girl

I watch him as he paces back and forth on the other side of the river. The raging water prevents him from crossing and I know what he is thinking. He thinks there is no way I crossed especially carrying the girl but he doesn't know me; no one knows me. His frustration is evident and I smile. He is very determined I give him that. As he paces I recall our first encounter.

When I came across the carnage on the road I wanted revenge, especially after seeing the girl. I attacked the only person I saw. I hit him just below the chest and he landed hard against the ground a few feet away. He attempted to get up which surprised me. He was a large man but even so the force of my strike should have prevented him from standing. His attempt at standing failed and he fell back to the ground. I rushed to him and straddled him, holding his arms down. He tried to rip them free but my grip was tight. He tried to buck me off by raising his hips so I drove my elbow into his temple and he blacked out. I quickly dismounted him and dragged him to a tree and tied him to it. The things I had planned for him, the pain that he would suffer. I salivated at the thought. In my younger years I would have just ripped him apart but I have learned to be patient and discovered that when I took my time I would remain satisfied longer.

After checking on the girl and discovering she was still alive I became even more enraged. If she had died then she would not have to suffer any more but as it was she would feel pain like she has never known and it fed my rage, it fueled my hatred. I closed my eyes and breathed. I must keep the rage under control; I must be its master. Nicholaos demands it.

I made the girl comfortable and then moved to the man to feed the fire burning within me. I would make his pain last and make him suffer ten-fold what the girl had suffered. I knelt down in front of him and grabbed him by a tuft of hair and put my knife to his throat but as I looked at him I sensed something. My senses are keen including the one that lies beneath, hidden. Some call it intuition, others witchcraft. I call it a gift. As I stared at the man I realized he was not involved in the massacre. He was just the poor fool that happened across the aftermath. There was also something else. I sensed something within him that I had not sensed in a man in many years; goodness. This was a good and honest man. A man with a kind and gentle soul. It hadn't always been but it is now. How is it possible? Men are not good, men are not gentle, but my senses don't lie. I cannot feast upon such a soul and surely cannot condemn one to Pandaria.

I put a small knife by his boot so that he may free himself after I leave. I would normally bury the dead but leaving them would buy me time to get as far away from him as possible... for his own safety. I was positive he would spend the time to bury the dead, his heart is such. It would save his life. I won't feed on his soul but I would kill him if it became necessary. I hoped I wouldn't have to. He woke and shook his head. I struck him and told him to be still if he wished to live. He obeyed, but not out of fear. I can tell this man was dangerous physically but he was even more soul on an intellectual level which makes him even more dangerous.

I moved back to the girl, knelt down, and lifted her up. She was light, just a small waif. I felt her move and held her tight absorbing as much of her pain as I could; it hurt. The man spoke but I cut him off and told him about the knife and warned him not to follow. I wondered at the time if he could hear the sorrow in my voice? Never show them weakness.

I carried the girl through the forest; I could taste the bitterness in the air and on every bush or branch I touched, sulfur. This is a dying land. The man did not immediately follow, Samsaria be thankful. I knew he would care for the dead, he truly was different.

I came upon the stream. I could easily cross if I was alone but carrying the girl posed a problem. Nicholaos always said, "If you find yourself stuck always look up." I did and saw the branch that jetted out across the river. I put the girl over my shoulder and climbed up the tree. I walked as far out on the limb as I could. I looked across and spotted a nice soft landing spot. I backed up all the away against the trunk and then sprinted forward. At the mark I made, I leapt with all my strength. I realized halfway that I would overshoot my landing spot. I dropped the girl as I flew past, she landed softly, I crashed into a large tree. Pain shot through my ribs. I heard Nicholaos laugh. He always laughed when I hurt myself. In the beginning I would get mad at him but I have learned to control my rage and anger. The best remedy for pain is laughter, another lesson he taught me. I laughed hard, recovered quickly, hid the girl, and waited. He approached the river a while later.

His frustration subsides and he walks back the way he came. I wait a few minutes and pick up the girl; I find a secluded spot that is concealed on all sides. I quickly reinforce the concealment to provide even more protection for her.

I lay the girl softly in a bed I created from leaves. The plants on this side of the river don't seem to be as contaminated by the sulfur. I slowly move my hands over her body to check for broken bones and am surprised there are none. I look her over searching for cuts and abrasions. Her groin is obviously cut and torn. A gash about an inch long on the right side of her head oozes blood as does the cut under her right eye. Her nose and the cut on her lip have stopped bleeding and other then these wounds I can find no more. I clean and rub some sap from an Alaro tree on her injuries which will speed healing as well as protect the wound. I then set to the task of dealing with the injuries in her groin. Alaro sap will help but there is nothing but the will of Samsaria that can help the deeper wounds. The damage to her soul and psyche are unknown at this time and may not be known for years to come.

I take her small hand in mine and bring it to my cheek. I see the bruises darkening into sick but beautiful purples and blues on her face. My tears slide down and caress her delicate fingers. The rage is still there festering within, building for when the time comes but right now all I feel is heartache and sorrow. A precious flower lies in front of me, torn and trampled, decimated by rabid beasts. Her innocence ripped from her by the savagery of man. The despicable cowards will pay. They will pay severely for their evilness. I smile at the thought.

The girl is still unconscious but she will soon wake and when she does I will hold her. I will take her pain and I will suffer as much as I can for her. She will still feel pain and it will feed my rage and hatred. I will store the pain within and when the time comes, and it will, I will return it to the vile creatures. I will use the pain and suffering to instill justice upon those that violated this girl and her family. I will send the defiled corpses of the men to Pandaria but their souls will belong to me. Their souls will quench the thirst that consumes me and feed the hunger that tears at my own soul. Once satisfied, I will be able to sleep. It has been too long since I slept. The girl flinches. It is time.

I watch the man prepare the rabbit. I wonder what it tastes like. I have never eaten rabbit and never will. Little things like this intrigue me and if there is another life after this one I will be sure to try all of the things I haven't in this one. The man downs a small flask of wine. Something else I will have to try in my next life. I watch him stare at nothing, he is overcooking the rabbit. He bites into it and I see he notices he has burned the meat. He eats it anyway. Good, I hate wasteful people.

After I attended the girl I located where the man had set up camp. This man is a smart one. I have seen others camp near rivers and watched as they were ripped away by raging water or feasted upon by wild animals.

The man cleans up, walks over and feeds his horse, it is a magnificent creature. I feel they have a bond that has been forged in battle, forged by death and destruction. The man carries himself proudly. He appears fit and powerful, a formidable match for any normal man but of course I am no man and am far from normal. He walks around his campsite placing trip wires and identifying avenues of approach. Avenues of approach are areas that an enemy would most likely attack from so this man definitely has military experience. He completes his sweep and then moves back to his mat and nestles down to sleep. I will give him a little time to go into a deep sleep before moving to his campsite and investigating who he is. In the mean time I relax and wait and think about the girl.

She had twitched. A slight movement. Then she stiffened, pain racking her small frame. I held her tight and squeezed gently so as not to crush her ribs or other bones. There was no sound emanating from her but her face showed terror and agony. I squeezed a little bit harder. I reached into her and searched, rushing to find her. No matter how strong I was, or how powerful I could be, at that moment I was completely helpless, but not useless. I could hold her and protect her. It was her pain and she had to suffer it. I could enter her and guide her, which would alleviate some pain but it was up to her to fight it. She had to dig deep down and bury the pain, to take it and lock it away somewhere inside her soul. It was either that or succumb to it and allow it to take her beyond the darkness, to drag her into an abyss where she would never escape. She must find the strength. I gave her all I could. I forced my soul to reach into her and provide her with council to coax her to stand tall. I held her for what seemed a lifetime and would willingly do so if necessary. She vomited all over me. Sickening bile and blood and then she went limp and stopped breathing.

She took an enormous breath and her body went rigid for at least a minute and then she relaxed. I heard something that brought joy to my heart. The girl started crying, a soft whimper at first and then full on cries. I held her until she yielded and fell asleep. She would be alright, well as alright as anyone could be after being brutally raped by men. She would still suffer the memories, have to live through the nightmares that were sure to follow but she would live and I would be there for her. We will use her pain to bring judgment upon and justice to those that gave her the pain.

As she slept I washed away the blood that flowed fresh from her wounds and the vileness of the men that was forced out by her convulsions. I washed the dirt from the rest of her soft skin and kissed the bruises that revealed themselves. Bruises would cover her entire body before the week was over and there would be even more pain. The time it takes her to recover will be dangerous for me but I am willing to risk it. I kissed her forehead and then made my way to where I am now.

The horse is magnificent. Black as the night, he stands proud and is at least 17 hands tall and easily tops 1,000 pounds. He doesn't make a sound as I approach him because he senses there is no danger from me. Does he know something I don't? Why else would he not warn his companion? I put my hand on him just below his front hip. His heart is beating normal. He lowers his head and I place my forehead against his and close my eyes. His is an old and glorious soul, a warrior's soul.

I reach up and stroke the side of his face and caress his black mane. I rub his shoulder and feel the long scar that runs across it. I walk around him and feel the other scars that cover his body. This horse is truly a warrior, as well as a master at avoiding death. A creature that was born for war and battle, and from what I see and feel, a survivor.

I search through the man's belongings but there is nothing that identifies him. There is no emblem, talisman, or crest that would give me an idea of what his family name is. There was no mark on the horse that I could find either. I focus on a small sack within the man's pack. There is nothing except for a small item that is wrapped as if it is the most fragile thing ever. I gently unwrap it.

A small ragged doll, weathered and torn, stares up at me with one eye dangling from a thin thread. The cloth is singed and darkened by soot. I hold it to my heart and feel sadness seep from it. Tragedy has embedded itself into the essence of the doll. There is something else that is even more powerful, love, an innocent love, a child's love. I sniff it. I smell the aroma of fire and deep in the fabric the fragrance of a child, a small girl. I stick the tip of my tongue to it. I taste ash and the saltiness of tears. I prevent myself from crying. The doll was created by a man's hand but it was tragedy created by men that left its mark on it. I tenderly rewrap the doll and gently place it back in the sack.

I watch him as he sleeps. His eyes twitch involuntarily as he dreams. What is he dreaming of? A strange feeling comes over me. I don't like it. This man is as lost as I am. I fight the urge to touch his cheek. I really don't like how I am feeling. I don't feel for men, I hate men, despise them. Men are vile creatures that only want to destroy and defile innocence. Men are only good for one thing, feeding my hunger which soothes my rage. This man is different though. Even Nicholaos was like most men. Nicholaos did not prey on the innocent but he could be cruel and vicious at times. This man...this man's essence is pure, it is not possible. Men cannot be pure, they can only be abhorrent and cruel. I step back tripping over his saddle. His eyes open, I move as fast as I can into the bushes.

I freeze as he looks around. A large yawn escapes him. He rubs his eye with one hand as another yawn overtakes him. He lays his head down and falls quickly back to sleep. I quietly slink away and head back to the girl.

The Broken Flower

Please, please don't hurt me. The monster laughs at me as it strikes me. I hear my mom scream and the laughter of the monsters. I feel the weight of the monster on me and then I feel the pain between my legs, I scream.

I scuttle back until my back presses against something. Everything hurts. My legs, my arms, my head all hurt. I can't cry it hurts so much. Arms wrap themselves around me. Momma. Not momma. It hurts so much, I want to die. I try to cry, I must cry. Please help me, don't hurt me. I am so tired, it hurts so much. Please take away the pain, let me die, please, please, please take away the pain. My head hurts, I see darkness, a light, I see a light, I go to the light. I feel my stomach churn and then I vomit. It hurts and stings. I lose my breath and I think I will never find it again but then it comes and I breathe. I breathe and then I cry. Darkness wraps its arms around me.

I wake. I am alone. I am scared. Will the men come back? Where's momma? Dad? William and Lucas? The girl? There was a girl.

I squeeze into the corner of…..of…..I don't know what exactly it is but it was made to protect me. I wrap my arms around my knees as I pull them to my chest. The pain rips through my body and I cry out. Tears soak my eyes. I try to vomit but I have nothing in my stomach. Everything hurts. I want my momma.

"Momma!" I cry out, where is she? A voice inside my head tells me and I remember. I remember everything.

The man holds me. His grip hurts my arms. Another man is dragging momma into the bushes. William is on the ground arrows sticking out of him. I don't see Lucas. Other men have dad and they take turns stabbing him with their swords. He falls. I hear momma scream and the other men follow where the one man dragged her.

The man holding me lifts me up. I smell his breath and it stinks. He laughs and licks my face. I almost vomit. He carries me into the bushes. I see the men on top of momma. The man throws me to the ground. He rips my dress off. I scream as he…..

"NO,NO,NO!" I scream. I rock back and forth it hurts really bad, I want my momma. "Momma! Momma!" I call out but she doesn't come. I lay on my side. It hurts so bad. "Momma, please!" The sweet darkness takes me.

I open my eyes. I try to move. It hurts so much.

"Don't move." A sweet voice orders me. "Just lay there and try to relax"

My groin burns. Momma it hurts so much. I reach down but a hand pushes mine away.

"Don't touch; you will only cause more pain." Her voice is soothing and I do as I am told.

The girl moves up next to me. She helps me to sit up. My entire body hurts and I cry out.

"Shhhhhh! It is going to hurt but it will get better with time. You have to try to be strong." She whispers, sadness enveloping her voice.

Easy for her to say.

"Here, eat these berries they will help." She places a berry in my mouth and I eat it ravenously it's like nothing I have ever had.

The sweetness of the berry is followed by several more and then she pours cool water into my mouth. It tastes much better than the water at home. Dad says it is because of the mountain. He pours the water at home through a device that cleans it but it still tastes nasty.

After I fill up on the berries the girl puts some stuff on my wounds. Her green eyes are the prettiest things I have ever seen and there are tears in them when she puts the stuff on the wounds between my legs. I wince in pain and cry. It hurts so much.

She finishes and then sits in front of me. Her eyes glisten from her tears. Her hair is a color of red I have never seen. Within the red are golden flakes, it is the color of the sun as it sets. She is wearing a mask that covers her face so only her eyes are visible. She is bigger than me but not as big as momma was.

She hands me an apple.

"Thank you." I say sheepishly. I see a smile underneath the mask.

"What is your name?" She asks.

"Sarah…..Sarah Lancaster." I smile back at her.

"Well Sarah Lancaster." She says while standing. "My name is Eunomyah." She performs a perfect curtsy. She continues as I look at her confused by the name she used. "You can call me Elizabeth as it is more easily said in your tongue."

"My tongue?" I ask. "You are not from here?"

Elizabeth says something in a language I do not understand and her smile grows at my confusion.

"I come from a land far from this one and one you probably never heard off, Atraterria." She starts to continue but I interrupt her.

"The Dark Lands!" I blurt out excitedly, it hurt. I see her frown through the mask "My grandfather told me and my brothers a story about Atraterria. But it no longer exists." I look at her quizzically. Her smile returns.

"Nevermind about it. What you need to do is rest." She says lying next to me.

Elizabeth eases my head onto her shoulder and embraces me. I immediately feel warm and tired. I close my eyes but I do not sleep. I am afraid of what I might see.

The Evil of Men

"You need to quit sulking like a babe and get over it, Mansel." Dungar pushes a mug of ale in my direction. "What has happened, happened and there is nothing that can be done about it."

Dungar is my friend and has been since our days in the Southern Regiment. Back then we were soldiers helping to fight off the Nubasian Army that decided it wanted to control the southern portion of Pelatia. Fact was they wanted the mineral rich southern desert. The southern desert is a vast desert that covers the entire southern portion of Pelatia, Nubasia, and Cromaterra. The desert is rich with all kinds of minerals but the southern portion in Pelatia has the most abundant and precious and a man could earn a decent living if he was skilled enough and didn't mind the harsh conditions. Right now I wish I had chosen such a life.

"We could have stopped them." My voice raised a little too loud caused a momentarily silence amongst our companions who were sitting at another table.

"Quiet my friend or you may see our tongues cut out or worse." Dungar is right. The four men we joined are vicious and cruel and would not think twice to gut either of us and leave us for the stray dogs. "When the time is right we will make haste and leave these retched men and seek more appropriate work." He whispers and laughs to cover the seriousness of our conversation.

Hagert motions to us and we grab our mugs and join the others. They are celebrating the deed we have done except for Michel, our leader. He watches me intently as I walk over and sit across from him. He is a vicious man and the snarled look on his mouth reflects the discontent he has for me. I was only accepted in the group because of Dungar and at this moment I regret ever meeting my friend.

We slept the previous night's drink away and mounted our horses. Michel flipped the tavern keeper a gold barcken and the tavern keeper's wife a slick smile who shied from her husband's glare. Michel called for us to ride and we set off. My horse whinnied discontent but I gained control. My riding skills aren't the grandest but I become better day by day. Maybe I should have taken Randell Taylorman's advice and learned to ride when I was younger.

We raced out of town heading to God knows where. I know the road to Clouseton lies down the road but I will refuse to take it if that is our course. People flee from the street as we gallop past leaving Green Hill behind us and our dastardly deed even further behind.