Colours
White: Brother One
-Existence 1 of 2-
A lone rider drove his horse to the brink of its existence, the foam coming in torrents from the animal's mouth. He heaved and groaned, the hoof clops like thunder against the stones. The man kept his head down and away from the thorns that colonized the tree branches above him. Already he had wounds and scratches on his armour and body. The forest loomed in dark green smears as the horse and tamer sped by.
An axe drove itself into a tree next to the rider's head and his horse reared in terror. With a grunt of surprise, the man fell from his horse's back and watched him fall as an arrow pierced his neck. The man struggled to his feet, clutching a wound on his thigh. He fell, his feet refusing his actions. A bony hand reached out of the darkness and gripped the man's neck, holding him high off the ground, his toes barely grazing the forest floor.
A second later, the body of an undead skeleton slid into view, the leering, controlled eyes like tiny candle flames in dark bowls of ink. The full moon glinted off the armour of the man; a sun set into the metal shone brilliantly. The yellow-boned skeleton grimaced at the radiant sight before clenching its fingers tighter still, feeling the bones in the man's neck snap into pieces before dropping him unceremoniously to the forest floor, his task complete. A sound emanated from the bushes nearby and the skeleton turned to glare at the source with its beady red eyes.
Another man stood up from the brush, gaping at the undead entity, ignoring the harsh, rotten smell it emitted. He howled like a dog and pulled a club from his belt. Without second thought, he charged the undead beast, throwing his weight into all his blows, paying no heed to the thorns at his face and neck, his mind only on his dead comrade. Within a few arduous minutes, the monster lay in bone fragments on the ground.
Panting, the man knelt by his fallen comrade. He silently drew the sign of Pelor over his chest, praying for his entrance to the afterlife.
Standing, the man replaced his club. A rock kicked somewhere in the distance. Swiveling, he came face to face with a man in a long, black cloak. Empty, white eyes peered from under a large-brimmed hat. Thin, white hands that seemed to have the flesh stretched tightly across the bones withdrew from the safety of its master's cloak. The man's breath hitched. Shaking, he pulled out his crossbow and fumbled an arrow into the slot. He took aim, his hand trembling terribly.
A high-pitched chuckle escaped the black-clad man's throat.
"Who-who are you?!" The man screamed, trying in vain to clench his bow steady. He stepped in front of his dead comrade's body, prepared to protect its remains.
"I am Dirk, but you may call me White." The blank eyes creased upwards; underneath the cape's tall, black collar, the man was smiling some feral smile.
"Why tell me your name, Dirk, if that IS your name?" Another chuckled reached the warrior's ears and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled in waves. Something just didn't seem right. The old man snapped his bony, long-nailed fingers. The warrior had braced himself, trying to prepare for fighting off a spell, but no sensations came.
"Looks like your spell failed, old man! Now prepare to meet your demise!" He aimed and cocked the arrow, but faltered in confusion as the old man spoke.
"Ah, ah, ah…look behind you, friend."
"Huh?-Ah!" The man cried out in pain as the body of his friend pierced flesh with his sword, controlled by the trickster in the cloak.
The zombie twisted the sword in the man's chest and pulled down, splitting the skin all the way to his abdomen. It ignored the yells of protest as the man tried to stop his former friend. Torrents of blood, guts and organs spilled out of the huge slice, but the zombie ignored it all as it reached into what was once the man's stomach.
The old man cackled with glee as he watched his new servant reach into the chest cavity, twist, and pull out the former man's heart. It fell to the ground as the only living thing left in the clearing relinquished his control over the soldier's dead body. With a dull thud, the zombie fell and didn't move again.
"That was fun! Let's see what other plans can be damaged tonight." Dirk removed his hat and long tresses of silver flowed from beneath the brim.
"So many choices." White said before changing his shape. His hair melted from silver to black and shortened to ear-length. The sallow skin seemed to melt away before it was replaced with a healthy tan. He gained height and shoulder width before turning on his heel and venturing past the moonlit glade.
-Existence 2 of 2-
"What will we gain if we do not take action? This new menace is going to terrorize these towns unless we do something! Already there has been-!" Chenkin yelled, slamming his fist down onto the elders' table. He'd been arguing his point to the stubborn Elder's council for nearly two hours with no avail. With that thing on the loose -What had he called himself: White? Chenkin tried to remember the vague detail- , several had been killed in the forests and their bodies not recovered. Only one had survived and he had said the word 'white' upon his rescue, though remained mute since.
"Silence! We will not tolerate this impaired idea of yours!" An elder in a white cloak grunted menacingly back. Chenkin did not flinch under his stone glare. Another white-clothed elder spoke up. His voice was softer, younger, more soothing in demand.
"And what will we do? We have no idea what this thing is doing to kill its victims and we've no idea where he'll strike next. The most we can do until we retrieve further information is to build the defenses around the city."
"I understand that, but-!"
"You are dismissed. It is simply against the point to gather forces together against an enemy we know nothing of." Chenkin glared in disbelief before wiping his forehead and bowing respectfully.
"I understand."
"Zhoomerstah, Chenkin, you are discharged." An elder said, his voice rough with age and wisdom.
Chenkin left the room, his spirits dampened. Quickly, he trod through the great hall where huge stained glass windows shone, fierce sculptures of heroes and dragons stood regally, like guardians, and magnificent tapestries loomed above him, but they were ignored. He walked past the stark, white walls of the temple the elders resided in and back into the harsh sunlight.
Sidestepping a vendor's cart, Chenkin's disappointment budded into anger. The elders hadn't even paid attention to his viewpoint! Hs family was in danger and bunch of old farts were NOT going to sit in his way, even if it meant having to hunt White by himself.
A few foot-stomping minutes through the quickly dying town near the end of the afternoon quickly calmed Chenkin and his head cleared of irrationalities again.
'If I'm going to defeat this necromancer, I'll definitely need help. But Gwyn can't help, what with her condition and certainly Sariah cannot even be considered; she's only five. I'll need to find other willing people to help me. It probably won't be easy to find people keen to risk their lives, but what else can I do?' Chenkin mused. A black cloud of crows swooped and dove above him and he intently watched, plotting as he walked.
Before he produced a plan, his feet led him home, to dinner and his wife and child.
Softly, he stepped into the house and stared lovingly at the sight that befell him. Sariah, his small, five-year-old child sat gaily on the rug, playing enthusiastically with her rag and rice doll. Her childish gibber and dialogue made him smile and laugh. And there she was: Gwyn, the love of his life. She, a fellow gnome, was leaning over a dancing fire, cooking her family's dinner, her belly protruding gently from her dress. He pranced over to her and wrapped his arms around her. Chuckling she stood up tall.
"Hello Chenkin. Any luck with the elders today?" She understood so little of their problem; Chenkin didn't want to frighten her in her precious pregnancy.
"No, they refused. They're all so stone-headed." He sighed, "What's the point of inviting people to share their ideas if they decline them all?" Chenkin collapsed on a chair in the kitchen and was immediately attacked by a small girl.
"Daddy! You're home! We're having vegetable soup for dinner! Mommy showed me how to make a new doll and I'm going to make another one tomorrow so the first one can have a friend!" Her seemingly endless babble cheered Chenkin and he felt better than he had all day.
All through dinner, Chenkin and Gwyn chatted and listened to their daughter, having to stop smiling only once to tell Sariah not to flick her food to make it stick on the wall. Eventually night fell completely and a pale moon smiled down upon the small family.
Kissing his daughter goodnight, Chenkin departed for his own bedroom, where Gwyn was already waiting in bed. Plopping down on the double bed, he blew out the lamp on the stand next to his bed and wrapped his arms around Gwyn. She shifted and turned to face him.
"What did you go to the elders for today? It must have been bad, or you would have just thought up a way to solve it on your own. Is there something wrong with our land or our presence in the town? Are we doing something bad?" Chenkin kissed her forehead gently.
"No. We are fine. Don't worry about it, Gwyn. Just get your rest, for yourself and our child." He heard Gwyn snort.
"Chicken-honey, what's the matter?"
"I hate it when you say that!" Chenkin exclaimed. Gwyn had a tendency to call him Chicken-honey when she wanted to know something.
"Come on, Chicken-honey. You can tell me."
"Tomorrow. Now is not appropriate." Chenkin murmured. Sighing, Gwyn snuggled up to Chenkin, her face nosed between his neck and shoulder. Lovingly, Chenkin traced his hand across her swollen belly. She drifted into a light slumber.
The next morning, Chenkin awoke revived, his arms empty. He grunted a little before finally rolling over and successfully off the bed. Covered in a heap of blankets, he groaned and pulled the covers back over his head and standing up, running his hand through his disgruntled hair.
"Gwyn! Sariah!" He called. Receiving no answer, he walked curiously out into the main room with the kitchen and living room combined. It was deserted.
"They're probably outside playing or something. I hope Gwyn doesn't run or over-exert herself." Chenkin muttered to himself. Lumbering sleepily out of his doorway, he noticed a note on the table. Yawning, he picked it up and his eyes scanned it. He became awake.
"No…Gwyn! Gwyn! Sariah! Answer me!" He ran back into his room and pulled some pants on, then ran outside, the already warm sun beat upon his back.
"GWYN! SARIAH! THIS HAS TO BE A JOKE! COME OUT! Please…" In despair, Chenkin clenching his fists and stalked out through the meadow in front of his house and scrambled atop the hill that sat not too far away. He looked into the distance, praying that he would see Gwyn and Sariah come up that hill, playing, and everything would be okay. Something cruel deep in his mind told him to stop dreaming.
A few frantic moments later, Chenkin slung his bow across his chest and admired himself in the mirror in his bedroom. He looked neat and prepared. Chain-mail armour glinted on his chest and his silver quiver of iron winked at him in the mirror. His clothes underneath were a plain pair of trousers and a white shirt. Chenkin read the note that was left for him three more times.
My dear Chenkin,
My, my, aren't we being quite nosy? I trust you shall stop interfering within my business as long as your wife and daughter are being punished for your recklessness? And if you admit yourself any further, your wife's pregnancy will come to an abrupt end.
With my greatest wishes,
White
Chenkin crumpled the note in his fist and threw it on the floor and stormed out the front door and into the sweltering afternoon sun, his pack already heavy on his back. He whispered a quick prayer to Fharlagn.
"I'm coming for you, White!" He yelled in enragement. Whistling curtly, he waited only a few seconds before a white mare trotted gaily over the meadow grass.
It took Chenkin all of twelve minutes to saddle her up and ride into the dust, his hopes already high and set for the return of his family.
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-Chenkin Zhoomerstah is pronounced Chin-ken zoo-mer-stay
A/N: This is only my second D&D fiction. My third will be arriving shortly called 'Twin Blade'. I hope you like these and if I make any mistakes, such as spelling or religion or magic-wise, please tell me. I'm still trying to get in the hang of using magic, having just become a sorcerer in my D&D game. Anyway, enjoy and tell me what you think, either positive or negative.
And I apologize heartily for not updating my other fiction, 'A Tale of Unknown' for all those who wish for an update. It will be coming shortly as well. It should be uploaded and ready to go. If you haven't read it, please do and tell me what you think. Advice is something I'll never have enough of.