Prelude: Silence

The forest was quiet.

The warband of men did not notice; they marched with the purpose of intent, oblivious to such trivial matters.  That the forest was quiet, there could have been many explanations for, and none of them concerned these warriors.  They were a mercenary band, hired out by a poor peasant village to slay a local Ovishan bandit.  The caprine man was vicious and brutal, controlling the roads in and out of the village, as well as demanding a heavy tribute in gold from the villagers.  Backed by his savage herd, he would prove a difficult opponent to slay.  But the villagers had promised them a most precious artifact, a statue of a great hero, sure to fetch a lifetime’s fortune on the market.  

Had they been less focused on the task ahead, they would have noticed the supernatural silence, the calm before the storm.

The forest was quiet.  Too quiet.

Descending faster than the oozing darkness of night, he came, an unseen shadow against the blood-tinged evening skies, predatory stealth and senses targeted on the unfortunate man who had stopped moving to tighten his boots that would become another unfortunate victim in his endless hunt.

Hssssik!

The banshee keen of his Thyces as they rent the dusk masked by the unnatural aura that embraced him, he struck, powerfully, subtly, silently.  No time to utter so much as a death cry, the man crumpled beneath him, face twisted into an unheard scream of anguish.  The darkness permeating him seemed to hunger, for it swallowed the man’s corpse into itself.  Glaring forward from beneath his hood into the sunset gloom, he saw the rest of the group, the targets, whose deaths were predetermined by the Fates themselves, twenty-four of them in all.  With the unnatural grace and speed of a demon, he moved in between the rearmost two men and slashed their throats open in one swift, fluid motion.  

Still unnoticed, the Shadow swung his Thyces in a lethal upward motion, cruelly disemboweling his next victim; he fell, but not before the dying man had shouted in pain and alarm.  The remaining twenty-one fighters turned and drew their weapons instinctively; surprised for but a moment, they quickly spread and circled the cloaked slayer, a mark of their experience and skill.

Unfortunately, no amount of skill and experience can triumph over Death.

The shadows lengthened as the sun clung on to the last vestiges of day.  As a group, the men charged, weapons raised, yelling their battlecries and prayers to the skies above.  A low, near-unheard sound issued from the cloaked figure, almost like a sigh, a warning to the winds; one of the men stopped charging in his tracks, as though sensing what was about to come next.

The cloaked figure raised his Thyces.; the bladed end of the weapon trembled, in anticipation, possibly, of the inevitable deed.  The charging men saw this, but they had the advantage in numbers, the element of the rush; to stop would be foolish.  The cloaked figure tensed his entire body, and, in one dramatic motion, swung his Thyces in a full circle.  Just once.

If a god had heard these men's prayers earlier, that god had chosen to indifferently ignore them.  The forest filled with twenty malefic wails in unison, followed by twenty uniform thuds as the bodies hit the bloodstained forest ground.  The Earth drank the blood thirstily, but it had not been satiated yet; one man was still alive.  The survivor dropped his sword and stumbled backwards, trying to reach the edge of the forest growth.  But there was no escape, and the man knew it.  Looking up at the cloaked figure, he asked, shaking, “Why are you doing this?”

The cloaked figure stared down at the pathetic human being cowering in his shadow.  For reasons unknown even to himself, the figure reached a gloved hand up to his hood, and pulled it off.  He looked young, perhaps no more than twenty-five summers, but his eyes were old, so terribly old.  A chill breeze picked up as the sun finally crossed the horizon, casting the world into night, whipping the ancient youth’s dark red hair across his pale and emotionless face, where a mysterious crescent shaped symbol lay, marring his skin, which seemingly glowed in the thick darkness.  He opened his mouth, and a voice he barely recognized as his own issued forth; it was melodious, light, and beautiful to hear, but carried beneath the surface the bitterness of an age of despair.

“I don’t know”, he said, simply.

The cloaked figure raised his Thyces by the blade handle, chains rattling as the weapon sensed an imminent kill.  The man on the ground gazed hopelessly into the young man’s face; for just a fraction of a second, he thought he saw an emotion betrayed in the young man’s once again blank visage.  Was it pity, or regret?

Hssssik!

The Earth lapped the blood up greedily; just seconds later, the only traces of blood on the ground were faint, purplish stains.  The man had died without the customary look of fright that his other victims displayed; instead, there was something akin to understanding in his face.  It bothered the cloaked young man.  Drawing his hood up once again, he turned towards the forest growth.

Sensing that he had been discovered, the Ovishan came out.  His muscular frame was dressed in layers of dirty rags and bedecked in metal jewelery from head to hoof.  Muscles rippled across his body as he moved towards the cloaked man; had this been a gladiatorial duel, the spectators would have most surely placed their money on the rougher, tougher, more ferocious looking Ovishan, for he was a monstrous barbarian to behold.  Yet though he was taller than the cloaked figure by over two heads and much bigger in size, the beastman kneeled down on one knee and touched his caprine head to the man’s feet.

“I thank you for your aid in dispatching the mercenaries, servant of the Dark, bringer of destruction.  As promised, you may take whatever spoils you wish from the village once my herd and I ransack those treacherous peasants”, grunted the bandit.

The man nodded once, an indication that he had heard and understood.  Turning, he melded into the shadows and disappeared into the night, leaving the Ovishan bandit to blink dazedly at where he had been but seconds before.

The forest was quiet, once again.  Dead quiet.