The moor was a dark, quiet scene; the sun having spent it's last rays upon
the stolid winter landscape. The birds slept soundly, nestled warmly in
their homes in the rotting trees and bramble nests, sheltered from the
biting wind and nagging cold. Likewise, as the sun sank ever lower over the
eternally red horizon, the townsfolk of Bridgeton remained behind locked
doors. Nestled in front of fires in the hour their children dread; the
nighttime curfew was approaching. The sons and daughters passed on to bed,
striding heavily from the hearth in the family rooms and down the dark,
cold-seeming hallways to their bedrooms, to sleep the dark away.
Things moved in the twilight. Dark shapes shot from the light-forsaken land. As the sun disappeared finitely beyond the crop fields to the north of the town in the valley, nightmarish shapes crept from the blending shadows. Then a child screamed.
The silence was shattered, like a rock, hurled viciously into a placid lake surface, the reverberating, spine-chilling sound shooting across the barren, motionless land. The townsfolk where nonexistent in the winter- ravaged community. Then the cries arose from the night, first one, sounding far off, alone, and then, as the adults recovered thier voices, the alarm was risen throughout the huddled masses of thatched houses.
"Awake! Awake! Townsmen of York to arms! To arms!" came the ancient Yorkshire cry of alarm. Fires blazed suddenly in the windows of the outlying houses, and a woman was heard screaming as the far, distant house caught fire and bathed the nearby area in a hellish light.
"My House!"
"Awake!"
". . .My Child!"
"Awake!"
"My God, Help Me!"
"To arms! To arms!"
The woman, stumbling, in the searing pain of heat from the pyre that had been her house, tripped screaming over the dark landscape in search of her abducted loved one. She saw it, suddenly, then, gliding, unsteadily towards the Evil Place on the outside of town, dragging the struggling child in it's wake. A demonic, twisted eye swiveled and fixed itself upon the terrified mother. She, with the passon only a mother could conjure in so deathly a moment, regained her senses in her child's terror, and lifted heavily a nearby stick from the cold, hard ground. The nasty eyes narrowed in hate and murderous intention. She is old, and frail. . .You will taste the blood of two tonight. . . The creature took a step towards the trembling figure of the woman. It smiled.
A blade whistled over head, and a flashing glint of cruel steel whirled swiftly and cleanly in the dark. The creature's face was torn, transfigured in it's agony and hate; blood ran thickly down it's wet claws as it gripped it's neck. Then it's hideous head toppled from it's body.
"Awake! To arms! The Demons are upon us!"
The child, covered in warm blood, stood staring as the rough and demonic claw slid heavily from his wrist. A tall, imposing figure stood in oppossite of him, pale white armor clinging together to form a terrifying and devilish shape of a man. The two hands clutched the hilt of a jagged, gleaming sword-blade, poised threateningly over the writhing carcass of the Demon-thing. The devil's head turned slowly on the mighty, mailed shoulders, green, glowing eyes glaring out from beneath a concealing and evil-looking helmet, satanic designs etched across it's bone-colored surface. A stream of vomit erupted from the child's chalky, dry lips and the bile spilled over the feet of the observing warrior-shadow. The warrior did not move an inch.
"D-D-Danathen!" stuttered the mother, in panic at this new threat; her violently trembling hands stretched frantically for her son.
The figure looked up, the eyes silencing the wailing woman and leaving the wretched child, holding his stomach in the pain of fear and sickness. Blood mixed with vomit on the rock-hard ground, and steam rose from the warm body fluids in the frigid night air. The eyes had still not moved from the mother, but now the townsfolk were arriving through the rapidly growing circles of torchlight in the town streets. The woman, pinned down irresistably by the horrible glare of the dark warrior, her eyes sucked, terrified to the ground at her feet as she sunk to her knees and babbled in utter horror at the powerful, hex-like gaze.
"To arms! Kill them all!" screeched a townsman, a sword of pitiable quality clenched in his white-knuckled fist.
The warrior, releasing the woman, quickly shot a glance at the approaching crowd of armed farmers. The woman dropped to the ground, exhausted, and the boy whimpered in terror as the shadow above him moved, quickly turning away from the wretched two and casting a gauntleted hand over the dark terrain.
A loud 'CRACK!' and crumble was to be heard and fires leapt up across the night, as several indistinct figures erupted in flame, then died away just as suddenly into the night. The jagged sword was sheathed as the townsfolk scampered cautiously towards the horrified mother and son, and kept a wary, nervous watch on the turned, unaware shadow-warrior.
"You!" cried a man in the front of the group. "W-w-who are you?" he asked, trying without effect to hide the fear in his voice.
The body turned. The now dark helmet centering almost wearily on the one who had spoken. The townsman gained confidence. "Who are you?"
"I," began the figure, the dense night seeming gather about it's obscure shape, ". . . I am the last hope for your continued existence." The warrior's gloved hand reached up and pulled the heavy steel helm from his head, and long silvery white hair toppled down past the man's shoulders. Presenting a sharp contrast to the stranger's tanned and youthful face, the hair seemed to glow in the night; breaking the heavy shell of darkness around the people.
The townsfolk stepped back, taken aback and could only gape at their strange savior; and the woman, now clutching her staring child, cried;
"Bless you! Bless your soul in heaven for all time!" She cried in joy. He had saved her child. He meerly stared down at her, a lackadasical, lop- sided grin wrinkled the left side of his face.
"Do you people have an inn here? Or must I sleep with the demons?" He asked.
Things moved in the twilight. Dark shapes shot from the light-forsaken land. As the sun disappeared finitely beyond the crop fields to the north of the town in the valley, nightmarish shapes crept from the blending shadows. Then a child screamed.
The silence was shattered, like a rock, hurled viciously into a placid lake surface, the reverberating, spine-chilling sound shooting across the barren, motionless land. The townsfolk where nonexistent in the winter- ravaged community. Then the cries arose from the night, first one, sounding far off, alone, and then, as the adults recovered thier voices, the alarm was risen throughout the huddled masses of thatched houses.
"Awake! Awake! Townsmen of York to arms! To arms!" came the ancient Yorkshire cry of alarm. Fires blazed suddenly in the windows of the outlying houses, and a woman was heard screaming as the far, distant house caught fire and bathed the nearby area in a hellish light.
"My House!"
"Awake!"
". . .My Child!"
"Awake!"
"My God, Help Me!"
"To arms! To arms!"
The woman, stumbling, in the searing pain of heat from the pyre that had been her house, tripped screaming over the dark landscape in search of her abducted loved one. She saw it, suddenly, then, gliding, unsteadily towards the Evil Place on the outside of town, dragging the struggling child in it's wake. A demonic, twisted eye swiveled and fixed itself upon the terrified mother. She, with the passon only a mother could conjure in so deathly a moment, regained her senses in her child's terror, and lifted heavily a nearby stick from the cold, hard ground. The nasty eyes narrowed in hate and murderous intention. She is old, and frail. . .You will taste the blood of two tonight. . . The creature took a step towards the trembling figure of the woman. It smiled.
A blade whistled over head, and a flashing glint of cruel steel whirled swiftly and cleanly in the dark. The creature's face was torn, transfigured in it's agony and hate; blood ran thickly down it's wet claws as it gripped it's neck. Then it's hideous head toppled from it's body.
"Awake! To arms! The Demons are upon us!"
The child, covered in warm blood, stood staring as the rough and demonic claw slid heavily from his wrist. A tall, imposing figure stood in oppossite of him, pale white armor clinging together to form a terrifying and devilish shape of a man. The two hands clutched the hilt of a jagged, gleaming sword-blade, poised threateningly over the writhing carcass of the Demon-thing. The devil's head turned slowly on the mighty, mailed shoulders, green, glowing eyes glaring out from beneath a concealing and evil-looking helmet, satanic designs etched across it's bone-colored surface. A stream of vomit erupted from the child's chalky, dry lips and the bile spilled over the feet of the observing warrior-shadow. The warrior did not move an inch.
"D-D-Danathen!" stuttered the mother, in panic at this new threat; her violently trembling hands stretched frantically for her son.
The figure looked up, the eyes silencing the wailing woman and leaving the wretched child, holding his stomach in the pain of fear and sickness. Blood mixed with vomit on the rock-hard ground, and steam rose from the warm body fluids in the frigid night air. The eyes had still not moved from the mother, but now the townsfolk were arriving through the rapidly growing circles of torchlight in the town streets. The woman, pinned down irresistably by the horrible glare of the dark warrior, her eyes sucked, terrified to the ground at her feet as she sunk to her knees and babbled in utter horror at the powerful, hex-like gaze.
"To arms! Kill them all!" screeched a townsman, a sword of pitiable quality clenched in his white-knuckled fist.
The warrior, releasing the woman, quickly shot a glance at the approaching crowd of armed farmers. The woman dropped to the ground, exhausted, and the boy whimpered in terror as the shadow above him moved, quickly turning away from the wretched two and casting a gauntleted hand over the dark terrain.
A loud 'CRACK!' and crumble was to be heard and fires leapt up across the night, as several indistinct figures erupted in flame, then died away just as suddenly into the night. The jagged sword was sheathed as the townsfolk scampered cautiously towards the horrified mother and son, and kept a wary, nervous watch on the turned, unaware shadow-warrior.
"You!" cried a man in the front of the group. "W-w-who are you?" he asked, trying without effect to hide the fear in his voice.
The body turned. The now dark helmet centering almost wearily on the one who had spoken. The townsman gained confidence. "Who are you?"
"I," began the figure, the dense night seeming gather about it's obscure shape, ". . . I am the last hope for your continued existence." The warrior's gloved hand reached up and pulled the heavy steel helm from his head, and long silvery white hair toppled down past the man's shoulders. Presenting a sharp contrast to the stranger's tanned and youthful face, the hair seemed to glow in the night; breaking the heavy shell of darkness around the people.
The townsfolk stepped back, taken aback and could only gape at their strange savior; and the woman, now clutching her staring child, cried;
"Bless you! Bless your soul in heaven for all time!" She cried in joy. He had saved her child. He meerly stared down at her, a lackadasical, lop- sided grin wrinkled the left side of his face.
"Do you people have an inn here? Or must I sleep with the demons?" He asked.