Prolouge

An Epic Fantasy, filled with a mystical world of shadow's and magical power that radiates from Gods long gone but who perhaps want to claw their way back in through the minds of humans.

Prologue

The clouds closed, darkness draped the world as sprinkles of snow graced the sky and a trickle of white began to fall. It was falling earlier now than it had done in the last decade, somewhat like the way lives had become bleak and grey for those that lived here, shrouding them with a coat of white death. The peasantry went about their lives, bringing covers from sheds so that they could cover the crops and maintain some semblance of heat. Quotas were hard his year. Shadows had been crushing supply convoys that were being sent to the granaries all summer and consequently more needed to be produced and left remained to eat. That was the way of Efraedel, Summers never lasted more than 5 months at best, followed by a brutally cold 7 months of winter that didn’t allow for any kinds of crops to be produced. Consequently, the summer seasons were vitally important, especially when southern soil didn’t allow for farming of any substance, forcing more onto the northern peasantry. They never stopped however, although hard and draining work, the world relied on them and they would appease their upper-class lords whether they liked it or not. Their only reward for not carrying out the work would be death, not just for the wealthy but everyone.

As the sheets of snow wrapped themselves around the crops, like blankets keeping their occupants warm in a cold bedroom, and the snowy blanket enveloped the world in a shade of grey, the mood reflected the attitude of the inhabitants. All was silent, but work was quick, hands flustering to get the tasks done so that they could return to the hearth. Wrapped in woollen cloaks, the harsh material wasn’t much help as they slowly returned to their homes and fires, mere minutes after the first snow had begun to fall. Although only a sprinkle, it was not worth messing with. They had learned the hard way not to mock the snow.

“All preparations have been carried out sir.” A young but weathered man said calmly as he pulled his hood down and came close to the fire.

“Very good.” Came the reply.

An elderly man rocked in the corner on a large wooden chair. Rising slowly, he came forward; light illuminated the wrinkles across his aged face. The town elder had seen many winters and had prepared his people for sudden winters with incredibly efficiency. He sat up and began to speak to the half a dozen men and women in the small hut. People began to dash out, grabbing blankets and sheets to protect those crops which were near to harvest.

“Bring more wood for the hearth…” The elder called out before laying back into the chair.

As he motioned to the wood with a lazy hand gesture, a younger man, unfamiliar to the locals burst through the door, panting, pushing visible air from his mouth. The panic was clear.

“A-a-a-attack!” he managed to stammer out. His lips pale, hands shaking; not with cold but with pure fear.

As the word stuttered through his lips, thuds began to reverberate throughout the hut, and men began to scramble with fear. Shaking hands reached towards swords in the corners of the sheds and children began to come in from outdoors, cowering behind furniture. This village wasn’t immune to attacks, however, they very rarely occurred and when they did, it struck great fear. These were farmers not soldiers. Not everyone was going to return home tonight. Around five dozen men rounded themselves up around the huts. Hoping to use them as some kind of cover from the coming onslaught. Or perhaps they were just too scared to step any further out into the open. As they stood there, teeth shattering no longer from cold but instead, fear. What had earlier been a rush of adrenaline as sheets of cloth began to cover crops, now turned to horror as a cloud of dreadful shadowy figures emerged from over a hill and came scrambling down followed by only what could be described as their mother towering above, it stood almost twenty feet tall and was constructed of a more dense substance than the others, almost as if blades of mist were weaving together in constant motion forming an incredibly unnatural and fearful form.

The swarm began to advance down the hill, towards the villagers. Fear began to emerge from the cloud of shadows as individual beings became visible. They started to scatter and spread enabling them to attack from all directions. As far as the villagers could see, there were at least a hundred. Cities would have fared fine, they were but a measly village. Only a few dozen in number, less of which were healthy enough to wield a sword or spear. As the swarm encircled them, a wave of sound rushed through the men, a crack as light was suddenly removed and the local world was plunged into night. A war cry sprang out amongst monsters, wordless but perhaps even more powerful at striking fear into the souls than it would otherwise have been.

As the invading force closed in, not more than fifty meters from the line of farmers, black dots appeared in the sky, high above the black swarm. Appearing to be carried by the air itself the dots closed in, as they came closer and closer, men started to stumble back until as the dots became shapes, cloaks could be seen flustering in the air behind them. Shrouding them in mystery as they had a lack of solid shape. Growing closer, they began to fall. Fall directly on the toes of the standing men who now had weapons raised at the forthcoming shadows.

With a flutter and an unusual amount of grace, human figures graced the snow with unnatural levels of precision. Followed by more, until all of a sudden a dozen human figures, wrapped in woollen robes, balaclavas and circular welding goggles were standing, unnervingly in front of the villagers.

“Get inside” A gruff voice mumbled through a balaclava from the centre of these intruders, saviours, invaders?

Before the villagers could even react, a flame erupted on their right and a sphere of water from their left. Two of the mysterious newcomers spun and elemental forces erupted from their hands thrusting out into the oncoming wave of creatures. As villagers began to comprehend some of what they were seeing, rather than moving to hide in their huts, they rallied in front of the shadows with a renewed vigour that no longer demonstrated the fear of peasants at war. Whilst many of the newcomers fell into line with the peasants, rallying and drawing various arms including flintlock pistols, arms were raised, and the remanence of a shield wall was formed to protect the new fighting force that had joined them. The person who had spoken to the villagers, flung up into the sky, pulled by the power of the air itself and swept through the first wave of the shadowy forces, short blades outstretched in his hands. Shadows fell to the ground and disapparated as the stranger flew through them, blades swinging blurringly fast. Whilst on the left, a bowling ball of water, smashed through the ranks of the flanking creatures, annihilating one after another in a terrifying force of liquid. But it was the right-hand flank were the true spectacle was held. With one hand controlling a ball of fire, the other wielding a pistol, reloading at an unnatural pace after every shot.

Shrieks rang through the snow as the flames connected with the enemy, weapons causing unimaginable levels of pain. All the meanwhile, a constant crackle surrounded the villagers as fire made contact with falling snow, rapidly cooling it, creating crackling pops all across the farmland, joining with the cries of humans and the emotionless chants of the shadows. Whilst these three strangers were able to cut down creature after creature, a small wave of a couple dozen were able to penetrate the defences of the masked strangers and contacted the frontline where the villagers held their ground. In seconds, earthen shields grew in front of the villagers and weapons thrust ahead of them, stabbing and slicing at all the could reach. A couple of villagers on the left side of the row fell, horrid screams crawling from their throats as their bodies were immediately consumed by the creatures. However, the strangers shifted, filling the gap and slicing down their opponents. The line held. Yet, these weren’t the only casualties. Although many of the creatures were being killed, their sheer numbers were enough to maintain their attack and ultimately, every few seconds another scream of an innocent farmer, mother or elder could be heard across the quickly forming battlefield. The frontline shrank, transforming from a line to more of a petrified huddle as people fought for their lives.

As hope began to fade, a masked stranger flung across the field with what appeared to be through the control of the one which could fly on the currents of air. Racing up to the mother, with its thin but pointed legs that reached down into the soil, the stranger released a terribly violent fireball at the creature’s legs, causing it to reach down in an attempt at defence, before the attacker swung round onto its neck; lifting their pistol, until it was pressed against what could be assumed to be the skull of the monster and pulling the trigger. The field went silent. The mother stumbled a few steps, before coming to the ground with an earth-shattering crunch, murdering her own guard with her weight, weight that would not be expected from a shadow. Both human and monster went quiet as they spectated the collapse, A sudden mass cry sprung itself from creature to creature and the thumping that had earlier symbolised the creature’s ferocity and determination to kill, now had them running back for the hill they came from. Crawling on top of one another to escape. No longer did they have their mother, and no longer did they have the will to fight and die. The battle ceased, these villagers were not all too keen on the idea of chasing down those who had killed their friends and family, survival was enough.

A few minutes ago, this had been farmland, it now settled into what many would perhaps perceive as a graveyard, the silence that followed the death became even more deafening than that of the battle itself. The locals drained both emotionally and physically fell back onto the ground that some had just given their lives to defend, whilst children ran out to find their mothers and fathers who had fallen in the protection of their homes. Elders counted the dead and offered condolences to the family.

Meanwhile, the group of strangers stood, huddled and silent, where the frontline had once fought. Luther, the village leader nervously stumbled over to the group, they slowly parted revealing that one of their own had fallen. With head bowed and a solemn look plastered on his face, the man approached.

“With your permission, may we lay a Preata flower on the body? It symbolises the life that you have brought us today.” He spoke slowly and deliberately, trying to maintain respect. He did not know these people, their lives or their cultures but no matter who they were they had allowed his community, his friends, his family to live to see another sunrise.

The crew nodded silently, and prayers were said before two of them started to dig a grave, whilst others headed to the hearth the elder had tendered before the conflict. As they pulled their hoods, goggles and balaclavas down, long red hair and a hardened but feminine face was revealed by the leader. There was a hardness to her eyes that could only be gained from years of loss and hardship. Although the village did not know these people, at that moment they became family, they would always be welcome should they need a hot meal or a bed to sleep on.

The following days were spent reconstructing their livelihoods. Repairing what had been trampled and burnt as part of the elemental attacks. The strangers stayed for the period, doing what they could to provide a successful winter for these people. But there was only so much that could be done, perhaps they would survive with the help they had given, or maybe the lack of extra hands would lead the village to death. Either way, the newcomers had to leave and move on. Only prayers and the small bit of help they had provided could be left behind.