A Story from Midithar

Blood World. The place where the fantasy and spiritual realms coalesce.

He reached his hand out towards the cool surface of the lake. The sleeve of his robe receded up his arm and his wrist was exposed. He grunted as his eyes glanced at the words tattooed across his pale flesh. 'Galations 5:22.' He recited the words of the proverb with a mumble, as he adjusted his position upon the grassy bank. Kneeling beside the calm waters, his hand captured a swallow of the liquid and brought it to his parched lips.

A breeze swept across the warm summer afternoon. He welcomed the soft wind with a smile, as he drank from his hand a second time. The snap of a twig from behind, pulled him out of his lull. He sighed. 'The fight seems to never end,' he thought. His eyes fell upon another of his tattoos. 'WOR'. Purposefully gaining his feet, he quietly reminded himself of the acronyms meaning. "Warrior of Righteousness."

His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Which hung in its scabbard, strapped about his waist. He turned to face the dense woods, he had exited only moments before. His pale blue eyes squinted. He attempted to focus his attention on the vicinity of the disturbance.

The warrior could not see much past the thick tree line. Moments before, the birds sang their songs. Chirping on the high branches. A stillness had fallen upon the 'Lochsteel Woods.' He felt he was no longer alone with nature's denizens.

"Show yourself!" he exclaimed to the unseen presence. A foul smell permeated the air. It seemed that even the wind had decided to lay still.

His brow furrowed and a low growl escaped from his lips. The steel of his blade sang of it's freedom as it was pulled from its sheath. He steadied his feet in the lush grass. Fiercely he reiterated his command, "Show yourself!" "Now." he added.

The sharpened blue sword had been smithed in the bowels of the Heavenly realm. Upon a Holy anvil anointed with living waters. An Archangel etched the glowing runes of it's blade as he mastered the tomes of The Ancient order. The weapon was a double edged tool.

"I only approach the water to quench my thirst as you have, oh mighty man." A raspy, patronizing voice broke the silence. "Why are you standing in my spot?" The rasp was replaced by a deepening bass. The gutteral voice was of a female. Yet the warrior knew it's origin was inhuman.

He moved to allow his shield to slide down his other arm. The blue discus was strapped over His shoulder and slung across His back. The color of a red fiery cross was etched in its center. Much like the blue runes of his sword it too produced a dim glow. The color of Blood. The sigil of his order. The Shield came to a rest in his hand. He faithfully gripped its handle.
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A small human child stumbled into view. A ragged cone shaped cap covered most of her matted, blood stained hair. The hint of a few wispy golden locks protruded from beneath the brim of her dirty cloth covering.

The child's bruised legs were caked with dirt and dried blood. Fresh scratches dribbled blood down to her bare feet.

She seemed to be pushed out from behind one of the many trees. She struggled to catch her balance. There was a pack full of sticks awkwardly slung over her shoulder. She collapsed to her knees and sobbed as she attempted to regain her feet.

The Child wore a tattered, dirty dress. The color was no longer recognizable. A thick leather collar was clasped about her neck. From it a leash could be seen stretched taunt, leading back behind the large tree. The line snapped and the little girl yelped. The pain in her voice intensified the building fury in the warriors spirit.

His first instinct was to free the sobbing babe. His training took over. The value of assessing the entirety of the situation flooded his thoughts.

He restrained himself as he took a step towards the nauseous affair. He steadied his mind. He began to whisper to himself, words from the Ancient Tomes; 'Proverbs 15:29 The Lord is far from the wicked. But he heareth the prayers of the righteous.'

The pain of his inner cry dropped a tear from his eye. He pushed down the growing lump of sadness that swelled up in his throat. He adjusted the grip of his sword. Spinning it in his hand, to vent the frustration that welled up in his mind.

A snarl moved across his lips. His nose flared and his forehead slanted forward in sternness. His tightly fit, blue helmet never shifted upon his bald head. A ray of light seemed to glisten from the centerpiece that lay between his eyes. He was so enthralled he hadn't noticed the sun peek out from behind the cloud cover. The gleam danced upon the still body of water that was only inches behind him.

"Gather my sticks!" the ragged feminine voice demanded of the sickly child. The portly figure stepped into sight. It's tall bent body lurched forward. It's head wobbled on what seemed to be a missing neck. Patches of course black hair stood out against the grayish, green pallor of it's skin.

The warrior knew the manifestation was a member of one of Midithar's most evil races of humanoids. These creature are generally reclusive and very territorial. They are usually almost the size of three grown men. Reaching heights of nearly fifteen feet tall. Some males have even been measured to exceed twenty feet. And this one was no exception.

Hunching her back, and bending her knees brought her down to the size of just more then ten feet tall. She was obviously attempting to not be seen as a threat. But to allow her to close the distance between them would be a mistake. They are known to be cunning opportunists that often attack without warning.

The Troll tugged on the line again. "Move quickly, Child. It's no time to sleep." the creature snorted.
The warrior glanced towards the unfortunate prisoner. Hunched over as she stood. Gathering branches. Her hands brushed against a trampled dandelion.

The color of the yellow weed nagged at his mind as he turned back his eyes upon the Gnarled visage of the beast. He growled at its attempted smile. The disgusting aperture revealed missing teeth. The remaining few were darkened with stains that contrasted with the flowers pedals.

The brute wiped at an oozing sore that was nestled upon her cheek. The attempted smile had caused the old abrasion to flow. Her dark hand fell to her side. Past her naked breasts. The saggy discolored proportions were revolting. The warrior winced as he observed the white substance run along the Trolls finger and drip from her dirty, cracked nail.

"That's close enough!", he growled vehemently. The creature did not pause in its approach. It brushed past the whimpering youth. Knocking her to her knees.

The trolls smile melted into a sly smirk. "You no share? Huh?" It questioned in broken common tongue. "I no like that." scolded the behemoth. It's great hand raised to wraggle it's finger. While the other tugged on its line. The girl had just regained her footing only to be yanked backwards. She landed hard on her back and rolled to her side. Her pack seemed to cushion her fall. Snapping a few twigs in the process.

With a side glance cast towards the girl the creature snickered. Enjoying the torment it was dishing out. The warrior took advantage of the momentary distraction. He moved to give the duo a wide berth to the waters edge. He wasn't going to let this enslavement continue. However, the trolls argument with him held logic in it's strategy to approach him unscathed. He knew the beast couldn't resist challenging him. He wasn't going to let it use his compassion against himself.
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Author's Note

Haven't wrote in a few years. I'm going to keep submitting and editing. If you have read it once, you've not read it all. The story will grow. When I finish I'll say so here. Feel free to comment any turns I might take in the story. Thank you.