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Chapter 2: Seeds of Insanity
Run, run from the demon's wrath
Run, run from one with heart torn
Lest you wish to walk death's path.
One choice, one path, light he shall scorn.
Blood will rain and war shall stand
All shall fall to a mortal's hand.
The world, an end shall see
And a kingdom undone
A dark age there shall be
When all bow to one.
Child of Fire, Ice, and Thunder
Shall cause the earth to sunder.
For by Bera the child shall be evoked
He, a passion of vengeance shall be cloaked
For blood shall be spilt for blood's death
And all shall fall to the Reaper's depth.
A low guttural roar swept across the rugged plains of Perion, echoing in the distant mountains, the humid air adding tension to the peaceful grounds, as if the very land was holding its breath; waiting for the inevitable. Amidst the rugged terrain, a village lay nestled in an indentation in the earth. As the night dragged on, the winds dampened and a deep sigh seemed to rise from the ground as the land let up its pent up breath, sweeping across the withered and charred ground. The browned stalks of grass rose in the tender breeze, dancing along with the gentle rays of the moon. A murmur ran through the plains as the gentle wind wafted through the darkened grass. A blanket of silence and darkness lay over the lands as Night herself held the earth in her calming arms.
--
Somewhere in the distance, amongst the sparse vegetation and jagged rocks, a shadow stirred. In the dark of a willowy tree, a tall figure rose to full height and stepped from the shadows. The darkness seemed to melt off his form, crawling off him as if in fear, back into the night. As the darkness subsided, the features of a muscular man became prominent. The man stood at over six feet tall, thick, dark, coarse hair cascaded from his cranium, held together with a loose headband. A thick ropy scar ran from his bony cheek down into the depths of the bandana covering the bottom half of his face. His skin looked withered and dry; an unhealthy brown hue lay on his hide. Light leather armor adorned his figure, cracked and covered in dirt from travel. Mail backed gloves were set on his coarse hands and steel plated boots fastened to his feet. The dark clothing blended the man into the darkness, making him one with the night. From the folds of his leather garment, the man pulled out a blood-red dagger, its edges reflected the glow of the moon as it slid from its sheath. The Chief Bandit twirled his weapon experimentally in his right hand. A light whistle split the otherwise silent grounds as the iridescent blade danced in the man's palm. Once the final tendrils melted off his body, the man surveyed the grounds. Seeing no movement, the figure raised an armored fist into the air, the rings of steel cut lightly into his skin, causing a slight burning sensation even as the wafting current cooled the metal.
On cue, shadows emerged from the lingering shadows. They seemed to melt straight out of the ground, trees, rocks, and weeds. The dark shapes slowly solidified into human figures. As one, their cloaks of darkness flowed off them, settling back into the crevices of the earth. The man looked behind him as the last stream melted off the assembled humans. A score and a half of men and women stood at attention, their knives and daggers unsheathed, as the man's gaze swept over them.
Satisfied, the man looked into the distance, inspecting the opposite side of the valley. Before long, his dark gaze caught a tiny glint peering from the long stalks of grass. The man narrowed his eyes as he scrutinized the grass. He opened his eyes fully as he found what he sought. Waves upon waves of men appeared; marching out of the vegetation. In swarms they appeared, one group after another, like waves crashing onto the sandy shores of a beach. Hundreds of bows, spears and unsheathed blades glinted in the dim lighting; the metallic luster from the weapons glittered in the night sky. The crashing of shields and boots rang out, slashing through the dense fog of silence. With a wordless command, the entire troop assembled into separate garrisons.
The Chief Bandit smiled. His lips extended into razor sharp lines below his covering. The Warriors and the Archers had arrived. It was time them to get their payback.
--
Footsteps pounded on the dry cracked ground, throwing up stifling clouds of dust and dirt. The air ran thick with parched earth, thickening the air, blocking out the silvery glean of the moon.
Only a little further…
The dry dusty landscape gave way to a leafy expanse. Tall, blossoming trees raced past on both sides., their darkened branches waving at the sky, clutching at the winking stars. Their trunks widening and their canopy thickening as time passed.
So close…
Muddy roots surfaced from the ancients of the forest, mossy rocks protruding like sores from the musty earth.
Ellina…
--
His heart pounded against his chest, like a hammer against an anvil. His feet felt leaden, his bulky armor weighing him down. His breath came in ragged gasps, in sync with the gasps coming from the three others behind him.
"Zeryoz… we can't go on any longer… we need to stop!..."
Zeryoz stopped and turned towards the speaker; a young man with a long mane of dusty blonde hair. The speaker unbelted his sword and sat down against a sandy root. He peeled off his plated gloves and wiped the sweat from his face before continuing.
"… We can't go on like this… we've been going for hours…"
"I agree with… John…" A second voice wheezed, his axe hanging limply on his back. The speaker removed his helmet, letting his hair fall free.
"John, Zach… we can't stop yet! We are still too close…"
Too close…
He looked behind him, past his three companions at the rings of smoke rising into the sky, obscuring the shimmering moon. He looked on as flames licked at the wood and stone that was his town. Tears shimmered in his eyes, before disappearing behind closed lids.
"I think they're right Zeryoz. We're all too tired to continue..."
Zeryoz turned around to look in the face of the third speaker.
"We really should rest… it won't do any good if we fall asleep on our feet."
"Stephanie, it won't do any good if catch us snoozing!"
"My dear brother… we need rest… all of us are exhausted… you're practically sleeping on your feet!"
Zeryoz looked into his sister's eyes. Seeing the same sorrow reflected in her eyes that mirrored of his feelings he gave in.
"Okay, we'll rest here, I'll take first watch." Zeryoz spoke as he unbelted his sword.
"Inferno!"
A swath of flames cut through the dense vegetation. Zeryoz could only stare wide-eyed as the dark flames smashed into Zach's back. Zach gave a cry of pain as the fire exploded, ripping him apart. The resulting shockwave sent the rest of them soaring through the air.
Zeryoz felt something smash into his mid-section, tearing through his plated armor.
He had only one thought before a red haze fell over his eyes.
Stephanie…
--
The Chief Bandit smiled inwardly as he watched the smoke rising in the air. The dark wisps crawled through the night sky, spinning a story of pain and misery.
The smell of decay and death fueled him; the screams of tortured individuals still rang clearly in his mind, a symphony of the damned. They fueled him, sating his hunger for blood and revenge… for the time being.
He looked up into the sky, his bloodshot eyes watching as the columns of tragedy and death obscured the moon, the only witness of this tragic deed.
They got their payment and he got his.
--
A fiery tingling crawled up his spine, sending waves of hurt through his flesh. Searing pain burned through his fragile body as if molten lead had seeped into his veins. His heart beat an unsteady staccato rhythm, doing its part in emptying his veins from the grievous wound in his stomach. The fierce spasms of pain slowly melted away into dull throbs as a veil of darkness clouded his vision, pulling him into its depths. He longed to let go, to become one with the void, to forget this agony; a physical and mental torture.
Two paths… one tainted in red and drowned in agony, the other a soft covering of peace and tranquility.
Mama, why do you grow all these flowers?
Son, I grow because I care for life for that is the way of the Paladin.
I know that… but why roses?
The rose is a symbol of love and virtue. A rose of pure white is one of pure love for your family or lover, untainted by the other colors of our world. A rose of shrouded red symbolizes passion and lust, determination and vengeance, a fire that can get you through the hardest winters. A yellow one symbolizes friendship, and like the sun, it will never fade; even in the darkest times, you know that they will be there in the morn. Lastly a black rose. Black does not symbolize evil, for we wear black to funerals not to show the evil ways of deceased, but for sadness and for remembrance of the past.
I understand mama.
His eyelids cracked open, tiny slits open to the elements, away from the haven of his mind. A shudder ran along his spine as agony ripped through his abdomen. Dark drops fell from his charred lips as his body was racked by a violent set of coughs.
A voice shattered the silence, "We got a live one! This one's still alive!"
His eyes snapped open.
What happened? Wait… did he say ONE's still alive?
Zeryoz slowly looked downwards and saw a chunk of metal sticking from his mid-section. It took him a minute to see that it was whatever was left of Zach's blade.
Zach!
He swiveled his head from side to side until it finally settled on two bodies. The unmoving mounds of flesh were charred almost beyond recognition, a horrible rank smell wafted from them. Both lay in grotesque positions, one was missing an arm, the other the entire lower half of its body. As he looked on, chunks of burnt flesh fell from the blackened bones; blood still flowing from the less damaged wounds. The rivers of dark liquid pooled underneath the carcasses, painting the ground an eerie red.
His eyes widened as his stomach churned at the sight and smell. He bent over and retched into the grass. He looked back up at the remains of his comrades, a strangled cry ripped from his lips.
No…
His heart felt cold, freezing over the burning sensation in his gut. Cold sweat glistened on his temples as warm tears leaked from his eyes; his clammy hands pawed at the ground as he crawled towards his dead companions.
He gripped the forearm of one of the bodies, his hands shook with grief.
As he made his way over to the bodies, a hand gripped his arm firmly and pulled him back. His head spun around to look in the face of his sister.
"Get up! Hurry, we have to get out of here!"
"Ste…steph…"
"Yes now come on!" fear tinged his older sibling's normally calm voice.
She yanked on his arm, pulling him up.
Before either could take a step, a rustling behind them brought their attention to another presence.
"Don't move scum!"
An archer marched out from behind the trees, bow raised.
A snarl was set on his face as he leveled his weapon at them.
Before they could react, a group of warriors burst through the undergrowth. They pointed their weapons at Zeryoz and Stephanie.
"What have we got here?"
Stephanie opened her mouth to speak but Zeryoz's hand shot out to stop her.
"Why should we answer you?"
"If you don't, you both die."
Zeryoz ground his teeth in frustration before answering.
"I am Zeryoz… son of Phyroz. I am Heir to the throne of Palaedine, House of the Holy Knights."
The archer looked surprised and pleased, the look on his face unsettled Zeryoz.
"Well it seems as if we caught ourselves some escapees." The rest of the band wore smirks on their faces as they realized what they had bagged.
"And what of the wench?" The archer growled, tipping his head towards Stephanie.
"She is my sister, a Spearwoman in training."
"Spearwoman? I thought she was your sister."
"She chose a different path."
The ranger nodded. "Eterminate them."
"You promised to set us free!"
"No I just said I would kill you if you didn't speak up, I never said I wouldn't." The Ranger said snidely as he released his bow string.
Zeryoz watched in horror as the shaft struck his beloved sibling in the chest, rupturing her heart, the iron head of the shaft burst from her back. Her eyes glistened over, still wide with shock and pain, a foggy film covering her eyes, forever locking them in a look of horror and surprise.
Zeryoz's mind went numb; his heart and mind shattered as he saw his sister crash onto the ground.
Zeryoz knelt down next to the corpse of his sister, his blood, his flesh. He grasped her hands, tears of pain and rage pouring from beneath his lids as he felt the warmth receding from her hands.
--
The archer looked at the trembling body of the Page. "Kill him." He said, jerking his head at a warrior standing close to Zeryoz.
The warrior strolled to a stop in front of Zeryoz as the young Page continued to mourn over the body of his sibling.
The man grinned and closed his eyes as if savoring the kill to come. Without another thought, he thrust his blade forward.
His eyes snapped open, the blissful look on his face replaced with confusion as he felt resistance coming from his sword. He looked down to see the young man clutching at his sword barehanded, blood streaking down his arm, pooling onto the bare earth next to his sister's arm.
The man pulled at his sword, attempting to dislodge his sword from the firm grasp. The figure below him just held on harder. Before he could move again, jolts of electricity ran up the blade into him. He felt a pleasant tingling course through his veins, only to be replaced with a burning pain.
The archer and the other troops looked on in shock as the soldier was electrocuted before their eyes, Screams of pain were muted as the man's vocal cords seared shut, his flesh burning and melting together, into a hideous form. The current came to an abrupt stop as the lifeless husk of the warrior fell to the ground; the flesh was seared from the man's face, leaving a grim smile forever fixed on his face.
He quickly looked back at the Page. A tremor seemed to run through the young man's body, his entire frame shaking as if an earthquake were running through him. At first he thought that the boy was crying until he heard the first peals of laughter.
The young man slowly raised his head, his dark tresses falling over to cover his face. A terrible noise of madness and despair ripped came from deep within. It came at a low, husky chuckle only to elevate into a high peal of insanity. The boy lifted his head to the sky and continued his song of madness. His eyes were wide open and wild; the previously soft brown irises seemed to have faded, leaving an opaque film over his eyes. His mouth was wide open, his smile stretching from ear to ear, that terrible noise playing forth from between his lips. His entire body shook with mirth, his insanity brought forth from witnessing the destruction and murders of his village, his friends, his sister.
The Ranger shook with fear as he looked at the crazed being in front of him. He tried to turn his gaze but found the harsh tones captivating. Fear rooted him to the spot; he felt nothing but the harmony of pain, the melody of despair. It mesmerized him like the songs of the sirens in stories of eld. Finally the archer broke free from the spell. He looked around wildly until he caught sight of another warrior.
"Kill him you fool!"
Before the warrior could even raise his axe, a flash of light lit up the forest. The archer raised his hands to his face as he felt an intense heat searing his skin. He lowered his arms as the brightness abated; only to see a pile of ashes were the warrior previously stood. The archer looked at the Page whose arm was outstretched and aimed towards the spot the warrior previously occupied.
As the archer opened his mouth to issue another command, giant pikes of ice split through the earth, piercing through his men.
The Page slowly got up to his feet, his arms hanging limply at his side, his head bent as he ambled towards his sister's murderer. Spears of ice continued to run through the other warriors, rending them into nothing but chunks of metal and meat.
The archer looked around; his arms trembled in fear as he saw the grotesque sight. Bodies lay everywhere, innards splattered the clearing, limbs decorated the ground. A Spearman that had stood next to him seconds before had a spear of ice pushed through his chest, the residue of his heart and lungs decorated the point that burst through his back. As he looked on, another jagged piece of ice erupted to smash into the side of the corpse, severing an arm and smashing open the cadaver's side. The organs slowly slipped from the open cavity, falling on the foot of the Ranger.
The man gave a shrill cry; his voice wavering from the horrors he was witnessing. He dropped his bow and ran for his life. As he was about to take another step the young man seemed to materialize in front of him.
"Going so soon?"
Above the leafy canopy of the forest, a piercing, blood-curling shriek rang through the heavens, joined by the echoes of countless others as they joined their ashes in the skies above just as the rays of dawn broke free of night's embrace.
--
Lord Henesys of the Plains of Southern Bera looked up from his studies as a light tapping was heard. He swiveled around and called for the visitor to enter.
When no one answered, he gave a quiet curse and stood to open the door. Confusion split his tanned face when no one was there to greet him. Cursing lightly under his breath, he judged the calling as another prank by the local younglings. As he turned he saw something shining on his door step.
What's this?
What he saw made his heart freeze in fear, his handsome face replaced with a look of pure horror, the skin around his eyes pale and drawn.
On his front porch was a wilted white rose, pale as the first snow of winter; intersecting perpendicularly was a blooming rose as black as the message it bordered:
The seeds of insanity have been sown.