Dawnstar

A simple man approaches the gothic fate that awaits him, as he notices more and more disappearances from within his small village.

            Far away, in a distant land, there was a small village hidden within the shrouds of the forest that lived simply. It was isolated from the rest of the world in an era that had come to a halt, for this town never grew nor ever shrunk. One side of the village had its back towards the lake nearby, and faced toward the town center. All of the buildings, in fact, faced towards the town center, as if looking for guidance. They wove around the tall, gleaming tower in a spiral that wrapped itself around a few times. The buildings that didn’t face the lake were bordered up against the forest, a thick and dark place that loomed over the town. Most of the resources used by the folks of the village were taken from the woodland, yet carefully. They had formed a special bond with the forest that expressed respect towards it's vegetation. For centuries the village has been able to regrow what they had taken in a mutual cycle with the woodland.

To the east about half a mile or so, a steep and rocky cliff faced itself towards the village in a shady manner. Yet, what was most peculiar about the structure was what was on the peak of its reaches. A mysterious and formidable manor that had clung to the rock for generations lay at the tip, perhaps even before the town was built. From the town, stretched a small dirt path that wound itself around terrain and connected with the mansion. However, it was extremely uncommon for this path to be used as the townspeople had learned to avoid the cliff and the area surrounding it. No one really had a reason to keep away from the house, most of the accusations were just speculation without proof, of course. Yet, some believed that the manor was haunted and the occasional disappearances in the town were due to whomever, or whatever, dwelt inside it.  Another mysterious effect from the building was the shadow it formed at dawn. Here the mansion would give off a great silhouette, gleaming with sunlight from both sides, but purely black in the center. The town would be concealed under the imminent shadow each day, precisely at dawn, which resulted in the village’s name, Dawnstar.

Within the town of Dawnstar lived a brave and peaceful man. He had a kind wife who was known across the town for being accepting and helpful. This man also had two sons, a 6-year old and an infant no older than a year. He and his wife cared for their children with all their hearts, and protected them from all dangers. Everyday the mother stayed at home to tend the children and watch the house, while the man would help around town with any job he could find. This would include smelting with the blacksmiths, harvesting with the farmers, chopping wood with the lumberjack, or anywhere else he could be of assistance. For his efforts, the man always made enough money to support his family and live a humble life.

One stormy day, after a long day’s work, the man ran home in the rain only to stumble across a small, old women who it seemed was having trouble fighting through the rainfall. The gentleman naturally helped her to her home, and refused to be paid for his deeds. He spoke with her briefly, wished her farewell, and a left with a tip of the hat. As the man walked away he reached his hands into his pockets for warmth, and found several hard objects.

“Ma’am, this is quite the pleasant surprise,” he laughed as he spun around toward her open door, “but I require no payment, it was a simple act of compassion.”

There the old woman leaned on her cane with a pleasant, yet cunning grin. As she put her arm on the door to close it, she spoke to the soaking-wet gentleman: “Keep the coin, boy,” she chuckled. “You’ll need it on the third day of the tiresome pursuit for your love.”

He always had trouble keeping promises. But before the man had time to satisfy his curiosity, the old lady shut the door and left him puzzled in the pouring rain. The man pushed through the rain, holding his coat tightly to his chest. When he arrived at his house he found the door wide open, and the lights off.

His heart skipped a beat as he slowly eased his though the darkness. Trying to find his way, the man stumbled and fell to the ground. Rain continued to fall upon the house like arrows upon stone, each drop nailing the wooden boards with excessive force. He pushed himself upward but stopped as his arm brushed a familiar texture. He worked his way to across the rough wooden planked ground until he grasped what he was looking for. The father then continued to push himself back up and light a nearby candle, revealing the blanket he was holding: the same blanket that he had woven for his child a few months earlier. Looking up, he discovered his home in a wreck, with trash and broken furniture sprawled across the floor.  Panic swept through every bone in his body as he swung his head side-to-side, frantically searching for his family.  He called out in hopes of response, but none came.  Only silence answered him. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, in a failed effort to relieve some stress. He thought of where they could have gone and why his wife would have left without telling him -- none of it made any sense. Then, from the darkness he heard a whimper.

“Hello?” he called out, walking towards its source, “Is anyone there?”

Another sob was heard, coming from the main bedroom of the house. The father walked cautiously inside, trying to identify who was making the noise. When one last cry was heard, the man lifted the covers of the bed up so that he could peak under the bed itself. Raven, the older of the two sons, held his baby brother, Peter, close to his chest.  Tears streaked both their faces.  He quickly reached out to grab the baby and pulled both boys out from under the bed and held them tight. 

“Where’s Mother?” questioned the father anxiously, rocking Peter back to sleep.

They searched for what seemed like forever. The man rallied the rest of the town, who in turn helped him in his quest for his love. They checked every house, looked behind every tree, and even investigated the waters of the lake. With no luck, the man grew desperate, and didn’t know where else to turn.  As he looked toward the sky on the third day of searching, he found inspiration in the glowing silhouette in the distance. The other townspeople urged him not to travel up to the manor, for it was a wicked and mysterious place. He disregarded all chance of danger and decided it was the only thing to do. The boys were left with the strong-hearted blacksmith next door, who had been a good friend of them for many years. Before the father set up the trail, the blacksmith recommended bringing a weapon, and a good one at that.  For this task the blacksmith returned a special silver sword, which at one time long ago belonged to the man’s father and his father before him.   Years ago, the heirloom had sold it to the smithy as a sign of peace -- for weapons were barely necessary in the town anymore.  Looking at the sword before him, the man knew he had no coin to pay for such a treasure.  Suddenly, the old woman’s words returned to his ears and he reached into his pocket to retrieve a handful of coins given to him just a few days earlier.   He left with his sword in hand and her words echoing through his head.

The man made his way up the dirt path to the manor in a steady and weary fashion for he had not slept since his wife’s disappearance. Yet, another thought passed through his mind:  how could the old lady possibly have known he would need the money?  It wasn’t important anymore; another task lay at hand.

As the man reached the house, it seemed to tower over him, making him powerless against its might. Yet, he pushed forward for the one he loved and was immediately consumed by the mansion’s dark shadow. He took a deep breath and then bashed on the door with its metal knocker, preparing for the worst.

The broad wooden door creaked open slowly, until the face of a well dressed, pale gentleman appeared. He took a slight pause to look the intruder over with a pleasant smile. His eyes were the lightest possible blue, any brighter and they would have been pure white. The eyes moved quickly, precisely as if studying the man standing before him.

“Well, hello there, my good man,” said the gentleman. “My name is Lucius Malthus.   And what is the pleasure of having such an unexpected guest?”

“Oh, thank you my kind sir. I came-,” the man on the porch stammered as something caught his eye inside the house, “…I came to ask you, if you had, by chance, seen a women recently in these parts? You see, my wife has gone missing and we have searched all of Dawnstar with to no avail.”

Lucius scratched his chin as if mulling over the question in his mind, but the man at the door already knew the answer:  his eyes were locked onto a familiar scarf flung on a table near the fireplace.

“I’m sorry to say,” Lucius raised his arms to shrug his shoulders, “I have not seen any woman around here of late.”

“Oh, that’s a shame…” said the man suspiciously back at Lucius, looking right into his cold, bright eyes.

They politely bid adieu to one other and the man left the mansion, but all was not in vain �" the silk scarf lying within Lucius’ house was his wife’s.  A gift he himself had chosen and given it to her when they had first fallen in love.  So the man thought of a scheme to sneak his way into the manor.

Later that night, when all was quiet, the man found a wooden plank in the back of the house that was loosely falling off. After he had removed it, the brave father squeezed his way into the basement, through the opening he had made. On his way down, he made quite a racket, by getting caught by some branches and landing on a table, but there was no response within the darkness. The hero aimlessly walked around in the dark with his arms out in front of him, struggling to find a torch or candle to light his way. After some time, he began to notice a strong stench coming from all around him, thinking it was only a dead rodent, the man ignored it. Finally, his hand hit the side of the icy, rock wall where he found a torch hanging from a hinge. After it was lit, he turned around only to illuminate a room that would have been better off shrouded in darkness.

            Rotting bodies and piles of bones were stacked onto each other in mounds all across the room. The man held a cloth to cover his nose, so he did not vomit from the grotesque environment he had found himself in.  Upon careful inspection, he found that the bodies all had something in common; they were all lost souls of Dawnstar. Every recognizable figure was an individual from his town.  None were from Bree to the North, or from Cloverun to the West -- every single dead corpse staring up at him was someone he had known, or at least seen in the village.

            “My love…” whispered a voice from the corner of the room, “You have come…”

            The man swung around to find his wife chained to the wall.  Her arms and legs tightly bound and unable to move.  She was weak and tired, as if she had not eaten properly over the past few days. Yet, her eyes shined with hope as she caught a glimpse of her husband as he ran towards her.   With a sweep of his sword, her chains shattered to the gravel below and she fell into his arms.  Relief turned to terror as the truth welled up inside her.

            “My husband, you must leave now,” she cried frantically as she struggled to look past him to the entrance of her prison.

“Come,” he demanded.  “I will handle this monster.”

“You don’t understand, he already knows you’re here!”

            The sound of footsteps echoed around them.  In desperation, the man passed the sword to his wife urging her to conceal it amongst the folds of her dress until the proper time.

Lucius’ tall, lanky figure appeared before them, his eyes piercing through the darkness.  “Well now, isn’t this unexpected.  I had a feeling you would return, just not like this.”   He motioned for them to follow.

            The couple hesitated, but knowing of no other escape, reluctantly followed him out of the darkness of the dungeon.

            Moments later, the three stood before the dancing flames of the fire. 

            “It has been a long time since I found someone with a heart brave enough to be my apprentice.  You can either die here with your wife or rule over this petty town with me, feasting on the blood of its peasants.”   The flames flickered in Lucius’ eyes.

            “I shall do no such thing, Creature �" and you shall not touch my wife.” 

            “Such a pity, such a waste.”  In an instant, Lucius’ hand gripped the man’s neck, lifting him off the ground and flinging him helplessly to the wall.

            His attention turning toward the wife, he strolled toward her with a devilish smile creeping across his pale, white face. 

            In horror, she reached for the sword and pulled the blade from within her dress.  

            “Do you actually believe that will save you, women?” Lucius laughed.

            Back on his feat, the man pounced onto the back of the devil.  Thrashing about with the extra weight, the two lost their footing, knocked the table to the ground, and fell to the floor.  Lucius pinned the man to the ground and sunk his teeth into the man’s neck.  Seeing her husband in agony, she rushed forward and thrust the sword into the monster. 

            “How unexpected,” Lucius murmured as the pool of black blood amasses beneath his fallen body.

            Kneeling at her dying husband’s side, the woman cried, “Don’t leave me!”    

            As the man took his final breath, he reached for the silk scarf lying on the floor beside him.  He pressed the scarf into his wife’s hand and whispered, “I will never leave you.” 

    He always had trouble keeping promises.