Edith whispered and babbled as her heart pounded with deathly intensity. She rested against a cave’s maw, pressed between the cold, damp darkness and the shadowy, perilous forest. All she had left was her bloody knife, a few silver pieces, and her tattered clothing.
“I escaped.” Edith repeated as she clutched her bloodied clothing. “I can’t believe I lost them.”
She still felt the tug of the demons that clawed and grasped for her. The bloody screams and wicked laughter of insidious sadism still rang in her head.
“The caravan is gone.”
Edith shivered, recalling the tales and hearsay of humans, dwarves, goblins, orcs, elves, and others taken and corrupted by the evil shadow. Small as the demonlings were that emerged from the forest dark, no less were they deadly, wicked, or wanton.
“By the light, hell is upon us.” Edith peered at the night sky above that teemed with unnatural, streaking webs of fire. “I pray the merchant finds peace.”
The merchant that led the caravan was painfully dragged into the dark forest by the insidious, stunted demons. Still, she could see their lust-filled eyes gazing upon him. Weak of heart he was, she knew, and so she wished for him to have died before they could commit their horrific acts of cruelty. Kind was the merchant to feed her and let her tag along the caravan.
“A cruel thought, but it’s a fate better than they what had in store.” Edith exhaled as she looked beyond the tall tree line. “The realm of Crastmarch is over the mountain.”
A deep, monstrous moan bellowed in the distance, only accompanied by the constant strange and unnatural animalistic sounds that permeated the atmosphere. Edith sucked in her breath and remained still. As she waited with bated breath and a cold shivering sweat, she prayed nothing would come of the noise as she tried to calm herself with thoughts of home with her wife. Lightning cracked in the sky with a blazing flash, further spreading the molten scars.
“Uncle… I hope you’re okay.” Edith shook her head. “I need to move.”
Silently but swiftly, Edith headed from whence she came. There was a town that wasn’t too far from her.
“I dearly hope Grethwald hath not fallen.” Edith slipped through the bushes with anxiety rushing through her veins.
The following quiet was deafening.
“By the light, thank goodness.”
Edith approached the still-populated village. Villagers and peasants in plain clothing looked at the night sky as it pulsated with ominous lights. A guard of the town approached. The guard wore a yellow tabard and a gray metal cap, brandishing a short iron sword
“Halt, who goes there.”
“Pray help! There are demons about,” Edith shouted. “You must run.”
“Is… is that what that is?” The guard froze pointing at the sky.
“Yes.” Edith ran past the guard and scrambled for the nearby inn.
The Wood and Stone Inn and Tavern was shoddy but home enough for adventurers and travelers that rested in its walls. They drank ale, ate bread with cheese, had pottage stew, and played games. All of it came to a halt when Edith barged in.
“Demons, there are demons about,” Edith said. “Our caravan was attacked by the dark.”
The patrons eyed her and then at each other.
A dwarf in chainmail sipped ale. “Aye, hell, that was those howls and lights earlier?”
A well-armored human adventurer stood up. “As an errant of the light, I must defend this town. Companions, to arms and on guard.”
Three other folks, dressed in chainmail and a tabard of white and yellow, stood up and wielded their various weapons. The four of them evacuated the inn as the other patrons weren’t sure what to do.
The chainmail dwarf returned to drinking just as another table continued playing cards. Edith gritted her teeth at their indifference. Others, involving a group of old drunk men, looked at her in denial. A few people scurried off to their rooms and others fled the inn.
Edith ran to the drinking dwarf. “Why aren’t you leaving?”
“Oughta be a good fight, lass. If you’re so afraid, get out on the next caravan to Bristlestock.”
Edith moved to the goblin and dwarf playing cards. “Are you not afraid?”
“Go away wench, those light knives will handle it.” The goblin spat into a bucket. “Beat that.”
“You call that a spit, lad?” The dwarf snarled as his nose sounded a horrendous noise and he spat into the bucket, ringing it as if a metal ball clanked its innards.
“Wha—why are you… there are demons.” Edith shook her head and tugged her hair. “There are demons about.”
A three-fingered hand fell on Edith’s shoulder. Edith turned her head and saw an old, seven feet tall jactuu. They had muscular purple skin, long arms, sharp facial features, two small tusks, a large chin, and violet-glowing eyes under a grayish-black mask. On the hip of their trouser shorts were two axes and over their tunic top was a leather vest.
“Lady,” said the jactuu. “If it may calm you, rumors say a crusade from Bathalburg is already rallied.”
“Get ‘er outta here.” The goblin waved.
“Rude one, aren’t you.” The jactuu sneered. “Let’s get you some water, lady.”
The jactuu led Edith to a barrel of water next to a table of clay cups, handing her a cup with his long arms.
“‘Ere, what’s your name?”
“Edith.” Edith scooped up some water.
The jactuu sat on a chair. “Edith, my name is Haklaji. Come, sit.”
Edith eyed anxiously Haklaji before sitting, she sipped her water despite her shaking.
“Though this town is small and weak of guard, there was a call to arms: a crusade from the Lumidox church and other realms. Like those fellas who rushed out to face the dark.” The jactuu took off his mask. “From Bathalburg and beyond, more followers of the light will arrive by the news of heresy out in the far woods. Yet it seems it was closer than thought.”
Take my mind off of it, take my mind off. Edith thought.
Edith took another sip as her quaking lessened, she glanced at the mask. “If I may ask and pardon if this is rude, for I have not met many other jactuus and yet I always wanted to know: why is the mask a common accessory, what is it made of?”
“Well, the mask keeps our faces moisturized but it’s a preference really, the scholars say it is made of a soothing fungi. Our bodies grow them to help calm ourselves.”
Edith sipped her water. “Does it work on humans?”
Haklaji blinked, almost surprised. “I am not sure, would you want to try?”
“Anything to rid me of this shaking.”
“Here.”
Haklaji handed Edith the mask. Edith reluctantly reached for it and immediately felt a soft calming sensation with its fuzziness.
“Wow. What if I just…” Edith placed the mask on her wrist and the mask wrapped itself around her. “I feel almost at peace.”
“Well, that solves that then. It is better on our face but that will do.” Haklaji sat up straight and crossed his arms. “Keep the mask, I can grow another.”
“Thank you, Haklaji.”
“Aye, don’t mention it.”
Edith tapped her cup with her finger. “What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I was on my way to Crastmarch until the lights appeared over the mountain.” Haklaji pulled out one of his axes and flipped it. “Not worth dying over some coin.”
“Mhmm.” Edith sighed. “I wish I could be in such a position. My uncle is in Crastmarch, I pray he found sanctuary against the darkness.”
“Sorry to hear.” Haklaji sat up. “The Holy Knight’s Order of the Silversight is there, there’s a chance the fella’s alive.”
“I hope so.” Edith tapped her cup, rubbed her face, then looked away. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Leave.” Haklaji leaned in. “You almost died. The knights, the followers of light, adventurers, and others will banish the dark.”
Edith sunk into her seat. “I don’t know, I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right.”
“Look. On your clothes.”
Edith looked at her ragged and torn bloody vestments.
“By your survival, it is obvious the blood is not your own. Do you wish for it to be your own? Not many are as kind to hear your plight let alone help you in dire straits.”
“I’ve defended myself once, I can do it again.” Edith pulled out her bloody knife from the pocket of her rags.
“Countless soldiers and warriors have fallen to the undead and demons and you believe you can defend yourself with this?” Haklaji pointed.
“I will see uncle again.” Edith looked into Haklaji’s eyes with fear but determination.
“An unmarked grave awaits you… or a horrible fate.” Haklaji rubbed his neck with a sigh. “I can’t let you go like that.”
He looked in all directions before leaning to Edith.
“Follow me.”
Edith curiously followed Haklaji out of the inn and carefully into the dense forestry. The two traveled into the darkness barely lit by the hellish night until Haklaji stopped and opened a hole in the bushes.
Edith leaned in and saw the corpse of a young man. The corpse was shoddily dressed in bloodied chainmail with a short sword next to them. The woman stepped back shaking, holding her hand close to chest.
“W-what?”
“Calm yourself, Edith. This human picked a fight with me because I’m not one of his kind. Fella thought he could sneak up to me while I was pissing in the bush, he did.” Haklaji kicked dirt to his corpse. “That was his last mistake.”
Edith took a deep breath. “Why did he—”
“Nevermind that.” Haklaji shook his head. “Take his chainmail and sword. There’s a creek down there, wash it.”
Edith looked at Haklaji, hesitating slightly before proceeding. As the gear was washed, a thousand thoughts raced through her mind: she didn’t know how to fight, this was certain death, and she did not want to break her promise with her wife.
But she could not let her uncle suffer.
“These are the flimsy tools protecting your life now, firmly hold onto your blade and keep it always within reach.”
“And I know not to fight if I can run.”
“Good.” Haklaji moved forward to the village. “It’s a small chance, but you may make it to Crastmarch. Don’t even consider yourself a fighter, let the other adventurers and zealots do the fighting. You need to focus on surviving.”
Edith nodded.
“I will survive to Crastmarch and back.”
Zelastar 