The sun fell below the city wall, smothering the town in darkness. The town gates la y open and the streets were free from life. The inns and taverns were closed and empty, every source of light drowned out by the darkness. Within the veil dark figures moved through the empty streets, living shadows hunting for food among the waste. Outside the city wild beasts stalked along the city walls, none daring to pass through the open gates not even to follow the only living flesh they had seen in days.
Grimlock peered through the window of his room, straining to see past the swarm of darkness he managed to see two points of crimson light, eyes, moving through the shadow. There were more now, at least 5 pairs of eyes stood beneath his window, following his movements through the gloom, each pair of glowing eyes was accompanied by a glint of old steel as what ever light there was bounced off ancient armour and stained and broken weapons. Grimlock looked to the town gates, it had been dark for hours and yet the city gates were still open and unattended, this town had no fear of bandits or marauding Orcs and yet every tavern and inn lay deserted, the streets empty. What fear had driven the people from this place? Grabbing his sword and a fold of cloth from his table Grimlock opened his door and waded out into the darkness. Before he had reached the door light flooded the tavern, an old man held a lantern at the top of the stairs.
“Don’t go outside traveller, this place is fowled with the touch of the undead.”
The old man took a step forward and started down the stairs, struggling with each step to keep the lantern from the darkness that still remained even with the lantern lit. He watched the darkness as if it were alive and thought it might grab the light from his hands. As he neared the bottom of the stairs he spoke again,
“Every night this town is filled with the living dead, and any fool who wishes to join them steps out into the darkness.”
The old mad took a seat by the bar, struggling onto a stool.
“You a hunter?”
“Of sorts” Grimlock answered watching as the old man reached under the bar, his hands tightening on the hilt of his sword. With unsteady hands the old man lifted a jug of ale from beneath the bar. He removed the cork from the jug and lifted it to his lips, before he placed it to the bar the door was flung open and the figure of a man fell inside. He was wearing old torn clothing and a dark red stain covered his chest. The man rose to his feet slowly and collapsed into Grimlock, grabbing his arm.
“Are you the hunter?” The man coughed, through teeth stained with blood.
Grimlock eased the man to the floor, his eyes taking in the large piece of flesh missing from his shoulder and the large open wounds across his chest.
“Yes, I am a hunter.”
The mans eyes flooded at this and he grabbed Grimlocks arm tighter pulling himself from the floor.
“Please, you must help us, we cannot survive in this darkness, help us.”
As the words passed his lips the man shuddered and fresh blood oozed from the wounds in his chest, then he fell silent.
Grimlock looked to the old man at the bar. He had already poured some oil from his lantern into another jug, Grimlock took the jug and poured the oil over dead mans form. Taking a candle from the bar Grimlock set the oil alight.
“Who was he?” Grimlock asked as he watched the flames stalk over the corpse.
“He, was shancrof, the local ironsmith, he lost his daughter to the darkness three nights ago and had been looking for her until tonight.”
Grimlock looked back to the man on the floor, the flames were dieing and already a large black bird and found away inside to the corpse and was picking at the dead flesh. Looking out the window Grimlock noticed that the crimson eyes were now at the window, staring right at the dead body. Grimlock bolted the tavern door and stepped back, he watched as the eyes moved their gaze across the room until they fixed on the cloth by his side. The eyes floated across the window and moved to behind the bolted door. Grimlock grabbed a chair and placed it against the door, as it settled into place the door jumped violently sending splinters of oak to the floor. Again the door shook, attacked by unseen weapons, each blow forcing the wood to buckle and split. Suddenly a jagged blade broke through the door, followed by a rotting hand with skeletal fingers reaching for the bolt. As the bolt slipped the door burst open and darkness swept into the room, swallowing the light and killing the lanterns flame. Now three dark figures stood in the doorway, each figure staring with dead eyes searching the darkness. Behind the figures stood a tall man, dressed in dark robes, his face hidden within the darkness of his hood. Grimlock gritted his teeth.
“Necromancer”
The word squeezed through is clenched teeth, accompanied by a metallic hissing as he drew his sword from its sheath.
The dark figure drew back his hood, his skin covered with runic tattoos, including the mark of chaos in the centre of his forehead. He smiled as Grimlock drew his sword,
“So you are the one the council sends to silence me.”
There was a tone of amusement in his voice.
Grimlock started to move forward but with his first step the figures face twisted and he flung his arms outwards.
“Kill him,” he snarled.
The two decaying warriors stumbled forward, their armour glinted dully each baring the scars of a millennia of battle, ancient weapons raised and their crimson eyes glowing.
Grimlock dived forward with his sword in hand, as he got within range of the first attacking figure it swung its rusted axe. Grimlock ducked beneath the blow and the axe bit into a near by wooden beam. Grimlock rose quickly while the beast tried to free its weapon, and brought his own sword down in a vicious strike. The blade bit deeply into the creatures’ flesh, the gleaming blade slicing through its skull. Grimlock pulled his blade free as the creature fell to the floor in a spurt of black blood and foul smelling ooze. The remaining creature kissed and went in for the attack. Grimlock side stepped a thrust from the creatures’ sword, then ducked as the creature spun the blade back towards him. Grimlock turned his sword in his grip and brought he blade sharply upwards, piercing the creatures’ throat and forcing the blade through the back of its skull. The creature went limp and Grimlock placed a foot on its chest and pulled his weapon free. The Necromancer hesitated for a second then lunged for Grimlock himself, however years of dark magic had left his body twisted and weak and Grimlock grabbed him around the throat and forced his back against the wall, driving his sword through the necromancers stomach pinning him against the wooden support. The necromancer grunted as Grimlock forced the sword into him burying the hilt of the sword in his robes.
“Fool, your weapon can’t kill me, the dark gods have made me immune to death.” As he spoke blood oozed from beneath his robe. Grimlock smiled and pulled the cloth pouch from his belt, unfastening the leather strap around the cloth he drew out a silver dagger that glowed in the darkness and blue flame playing along the blade.
“Who says I was planning on killing you.”
Grimlock drove the silver blade into the mark of chaos tattooed into the necromancers’ forehead. It was as if the darkness itself felt the blow, as it seemed to shudder as the blade pierced the mark. Grimlock stepped back from the necromancer, his body twisting violently against the blade. Suddenly from within the necromancers flesh an inhuman roar echoed around the room. The demon that was joined to him by the mark fought against the magic blade, fighting against a death it had avoided for centuries, buried within the necromancer. As the screams died, the necromancers body slumped and fell still, black flames burst from his empty eye sockets and he was consumed completely in the demons death throes.
As the sun rose above the wall, Grimlock looked back to town, huge plumes of black smoke filled the air with the scent of burning flesh, as the people burned all that remained of the walking dead. It filled the dawn air with the memories of pain and death. Although that did not matter, for now the people would have an eternity of dawns and light in return for the darkness they had suffered.
Thirty seven hours, it doesn’t seem that long a time but without rest, without sleep thirty seven hours might as well be a lifetime. Thirty seven hours of Smokey bars and dimly lit peep shows. It really doesn’t matter how long you go without sleep the real problems start when the sleep catches up with you. You start to drift off, your mind slows to a drunken crawl and then the memories hit. Every dirty rotten thing you’ve ever done creeps up behind you and brushes against your neck. Every unpleasant thought your mind can drag up, one after another each more sickening then the last. Then your mind collapses in on itself and you just can’t fight it anymore, you sleep.
Klein jumped slightly with each breath, the dreams had hit hard. Under the neon red glow blurred figures moved with unsettling slowness. How long had he been out? The clock behind the bar said 9 but was that am or pm? In a bar like Joes it didn’t matter, you couldn’t turn your back on anyone day or night. Louis checked his pockets, he still had his wallet. He couldn’t have been gone for more than 5 minutes, still 5 minutes was too long. He got to his feet slowly dodging the ray of sunlight drifting through the 2 by 4s. Definitely am. Ducking the haze of neon red smoke Louis made his way across the bar. As he got to the door he gave the place one last look, just one more place where he couldn’t get away, there weren’t many places left that could keep a person awake in the city. Stepping outside he sucked in a lungful of Joes and was gone. The streets were different each time he'd woken up, every few days when he couldn’t stay awake any longer the streets would rearrange themselves. Nothing stayed the same after he’d slept, not even himself. Every dream he had changed him, in subtle ways at first, a new signpost above the bar where he’d spent the night but recently the changes had been more noticeable. He’d wake up and find that half the block he’d walked to get to the bar had decayed overnight, entire buildings were deserted and torn down while he slept. How long would it be before everything was different? How long would it be before he didn’t wake up?
COMMENTS
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XiroIntentions
13:01 Mar 11 2011
wow i love your writing style i will be adding your journal. i have a lot yet to read in just this section.