Petty Men, Doomed To Die

A Chapter by MSal

The Prologue to the book The Fall of Obviohaven

Prologue

Petty Men, Doomed To Die

Tangled branches hid the moon’s light from view, down beneath in the Solmhelm Woods, leaving the large snow covered pine trees quite invisible. The fallen snow had risen over four feet from the hard, flattened, forest floor. The grey clouds above loudly announced the oncoming of a storm. The thundering awoke many of the tents residents whom were encamped upon the frozen river’s banks. It was not long before all of the Blackhound Guild members were staring up at the cold, dark, sky. A handful of drops raced to the red-tipped tents and slowly sank into the black cloth.

The men of the guild had not seen freshwater in such a long while. “Eighteen dead,” remarked one of the older members. They had embarked upon this journey from Solmhelm and made it their oath to bring word of the Lady’s news to Obvioheim. It had taken the men of Solmhelm over two weeks in order to reach the crossroads in the first quarter of the forest. Yet they still had much more terrain to cover. Through this miserable, dying, feat of hardship, they had lost all of their water supply, a number of god-blessed arrows, and not to forget, “Eighteen men,”

In the grounds where the Blackhound Guild camped, sat three, middle aged, merchants around a heated kettle. They sat on old logs they had found not too far back and all wore ragged clothes with a cheap blade. The men around the fire had not much to do, except to worry about the forthcoming day, unknown creatures of the woods, and what they would find to eat. As protection from falling spiders or poisonous insects, the men perched a cheaply woven cloth on top of a number of branches. A pile of snow had gathered on its top side and was stretching towards the ground.

They all sat in silence, for one of them had fallen asleep on the log. Most of them felt tired in fact, for not much rest had been obtained over the past two weeks. The guild had often come across a number of creatures, including odd, large, black shapes which often followed them when the torches had gone out. Much trouble had they gone through, yet company was abundant. One of the men broke the long, calm, silence.

“Were you booted out here then James?” wondered Arorian as he rubbed his frostbitten fingers together rather slowly. His tattered clothes and callous complexion immediately described his personality. “I’ve ‘eard the lady has been sending off the poorer ones,”. He loved to pester and bother those whom he felt superior towards. He gave a mixture of a chuckle and a sickly cough.

Understanding the hint of ribbing, James replied back with a grin.

“No I was not booted,” James rubbed a small talisman which dangled down to his chest. Under the silver locket was written the prayer to the God of Wellbeing. He tried to prevent most of the instigations by Arorian.

“Don’ you dare lie to me,” Arorian said half drunkenly and half comically, his battered, yellow, teeth showed with every grin. He struggled to lift himself off the log, but fell back down out of breath. “You can’t even afford a damn pint,” he mumbled as he drifted off into sleep like his other, the only hopeful place in these woods.

The captain crouched out from one of the tents patted his firm hand upon Arorian’s shoulder, yet he was fast asleep. The captain’s eyes revealed how exhausted he was. A good, sturdy leader, yet very hard working. His steel armor shined heroically with the crackling of the fire light. The thick clouds blocked the moon’s hopeful light.

“Come now,” he softly said to James as he patted his arm. “Let us prepare for night’s sleep, or what we may get of it. The signal of rain is here and we must make haste tomorrow before sunrise.”

James tucked away the rusted chain into his cloak’s pockets and looked up. The maroon cloth was still, yet small holes appeared to be forming. The holes appeared to be forming larger and small green patches would form where one hole would start. He brushed his finger underneath the wet cloth and brought it back down for him to examine.

James brought it closer to his eye where he found a green droplet. The droplet began to irritate his skin, but it was only a matter of seconds before it began to burn through his skin. He felt the excruciating pain along with it. He looked over to where Arorian was sitting, however he was nowhere nearby. Soon enough, the droplet had completely disappeared and his finger began to drip large amounts of red. He looked down to see the blood-stained snow before he had realized what happened. He brushed his blood sodden finger against the snow beside his feet.

Before he could marvel at the uncanny event that had just occurred, Arorian gave out a bloodcurdling cry which shook the forest awake. He was crouched on his legs, under the open sky, his eyes covered by his hands. James unsheathed his iron blade from his cloak, before ultimately realizing what was happened.

Blood started to drip from where Arorian covered his eyes, which dribbled into the pure white snow as a stream. James stopped in his tracks like many of the other men outside their tents who heard the scream. Second by second, burned areas opened up on Arorian’s body which bled as well. All the men of the Blackhound Guild stood silently as Arorian cried in excruciating pain. It was only a matter of moments in the cold, dark, woods, Arorian’s bloodied body lay upon the ground, his iron blade stuck in the ground. He had been burned to death.

The sky clapped thunder once more as it began to pour.

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