Chapter one
It was a bitter night for the exiles of Underalnd. The wind crashed in every direction, howling at all the other elements and the sodden rain soaked the ground to a thick brown sludge. As Illosovic Stayne groaned at the sound of the mighty thunder crash, another outrageously vile noise pierced the thick winter air- Iracabeth.
For a whole year, Stayne was destined to wander the dry, lonely outlines with this tragic Queen. She was a Queen who knew nothing of kindness, love or good qualities of leadership…instead she was an empty shell of vanity and selfishness. She was a Queen who thirsted for power and for blood. The colours of scarlet branded their slow, deathly path; anyone who was loyal to the Good Queen Mirana wore only white.
Iracabeth had now been complaining straight for almost two long hours, which usually would have broken Stayne's wild temper, but his depression was too great…so he remained silent.
"Stayne, Why aren't you listening TO ME!" this was more of an exclamation rather than a question. For as long as she was given her daily attention she didn't care what Illosovic really had to say.
Stayne sighed, rubbing his arms through his violent shivers.
"We need shelter!" he cried through the winds
But the elements were too strong to carry his voice
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?"
"I SAID WE NEED SHELTER!" but the winds grew strong, nearly pulling Stayne and Iracabeth back a few steps
"I CANT HEAR YOU, FIND US SHELTER, IDIOT!"
Stayne dragged Iracabeth behind him with all the strength his body possessed. If this bloody big head weren't chained to him, he would leave her in the cold to die…as a payment for all the souls she tortured.
At the top of the peak he could see an old hollowed out tree trunk. It would be the toughest few steps of the climb, but Stayne was determined. Once inside Stayne took off his black clock, giving it a good ring out. Iracabeth's big bulge of a head was covered in thick, wet strands of scarlet red hair and her porcelain white face was streaked with black giving the appearance of notes across her face. Stayne noticed and snorted in his attempt at not to laugh.
"Why are you laughing at me?" Iracabeth perked her head sending the notes on a different direction across her face. Stayne, endeavouring to compose himself, took a deep breath.
"It's just…we are so wet…" he turned away from her and began rummaging through the inside of his jacket. Two pieces of flint…two wet pieces of flint…
"Stayne! I'm cold! Hurry up and put the fire on"
Stayne grimaced, but if he was sentenced to spending an eternity of doom with her, he didn't want to spend it with her vile temper. His approach was trying to keep her from complaining (or speaking) at all. So he could wallow in his misery and pain, which he felt deep at heart.
"The flint is wet, Iracabeth, but give it a few minutes…"
"OFF WITH YOUR-"
"REALLY! You're still doing that?"
Iracabeth sighed, and then burst into tears loud enough to rival the thunder outside. Stayne thought to himself, this is going to be another long night.