Sword in the White Forest part 4

Regina felt nothing as she left the mangled corpses. The barbarians of Lesser Kurzia never felt much for killing. They were a simple and nihilistic people with a sky full of apathetic and cruel gods. Regina had been killing animals and men since she was a child, and the song of her blade and the of it finding its deadly mark were unremarkable to her.

Instead, she thought of the vibrant rhythms of the woods around her. Beyond the dirt track which was continually broken flat by wagons and horses, the tree line was an impenetrable mass of brambles and thickets. The birds flittered in long streaks between the densely packed trees. Regina could smell the tang of different plants, the calls of animals, the rush and swell of the old strength of the forest. Her nomad senses drew a tapestry of interlinking lifeforms from the sensory kaleidoscope around her.

She also thought of her mission. Where she had been bid to come to and why. She thought of what may be at stake and why it had been necessary for her to come here.

She had already forgotten about the bloody bodies of four bandits decaying on the road. Their deaths, like all she had inflicted, no longer registered with her feral mind.

It would only be another two days before she’d be forced to kill again.

Sword in the White Forest part 3

The woman was simply dressed, her hair tied in a functional style, and she didn’t wear earrings. Looking at her, Ednar Snid couldn’t see anything worth stealing. She had a cloak over her shoulders though, and his keen eyes could make out the outline of a shoulder bag. She had to have something.

-excuse me miss. Ednar approached with his usual swagger. His companions watched silently from the surrounding trees. -what brings a nice lady like you down one of these quiet lonely roads?

The woman said nothing. She did not look at him. Ednar was undeterred. Denial was coming at this stage. A lifetime of protection by men left many women emotionally unprepared for the realities of the road. Her smiled horribly.

-excuse me miss. He started. -I asked you a question.

-I heard you dog. The woman said simply. Her voice was coarse like desert sand. She stared at him with burning eyes.

-now that’s not very nice. Ednar said. -I think I’m going to have to teach you a lesson aren’t I? I think we all are hey boys?

The other bandits dropped from the nearby trees and made their presence known to the woman. She seemed unphased. She stopped. Ednar was blocking her path.

-stand aside. That same strange tone. That foriegn sting. Ednar had met many kinds of people in his life but the woman’s voice unnerved him. It was familiar. Where had he heard it.

-perhaps you don’t quite understand the situation you find yourself in. Ednar continued. -my friends and I would like to get better acquainted. Perhaps you’d stop a while.

One of the other bandits put his hand around the woman’s waist. In an instant, she grabbed his hand and stared daggers into his widening eyes.

-a touch means death scum. The woman said. Of course. Ednar realised. That accent.

A Barbarian.

In a flash the woman’s sword was drawn. The handsy bandits head flew in a wide parabolic arc raining blood and brain matter on the forest floor. Each of the bandits let out a scream of horror and suprise and reached for their own weapons. Ednar watched in dumbfounded disbelief as three more of his countrymen were summarily disemboweled. The woman was impossibly quick; her sword making a cold dance of death. He couldn’t even draw his dagger from its place before he felt a rod of cold steel drive deep into his trembling heart.

Regina stepped over the gibbering corpses as she wiped blood from the end of her sword and sighed. It had been a long day indeed.

Sword in the White Forest part 2

It was a long-standing superstition in the family of the Royal Line of Niva, that women of the Royal Blood possessed powers of premonition. Many a queen and princess had experienced dreams or visions that had come to pass sometimes months or years later. None could speculate as the cause of these spectral epiphanies, and only the more superstitious branches of the family paid true heed to them.

Queen Sifra, the Pantheress of Niva, First Amongst Sovereigns, was a woman as intimidating as she was ruthless. In battle, her skill was beyond legendary, and her demeanour and poise made her just as terrifying to the men of her court.

None of those men would have recognised her as she lay shaking and crying in her sleep; wracked by dreams terrible and malfeasant. Sweat ran down her broad forehead and her legs and arms twisted and tenses as she rocked. She saw the future and it was beyond terrible.

Sword in the White Forest Part 1

The White Forest, which stretched across the broad back of the Island of Niva, was not a mere stretch of trees. Spectral mounds of fungus sprawled between the ancient trunks. Sugar-dusted spiderwebs gleamed in the cold winter dawn between austere branches. Evil brambles reached into dense thickets with many-spiked fingers and every step was treacherous and wore heavy upon he who took it. A soft blanket of snow lay heavy and still on the uneven ground. It’s softness muffled the howl of the approaching wind.

It was into this unforgiving abyss that Regina found herself advancing. Her blade kissed the cool air with an Arctic hiss as her eyes darted between the silent trees.

She could sense that she was not alone.

Heterodox Matraliniel Filiel Piety

I’m stabbing you and you cannot complain because you have running water.

Left

Stones slide rough and hewn against ruddy fingers. With nothing to go on, why not go left?

You follow strange patterns and make your way through unfathomable paths. Monsters block your way but you fight through them. You go from room to room; so sure that you’re making forward progress.

Not realising that you’re being dragged through an endless and hopeless task.

The Hunt

The forest is swept by a icy wind. Black horses ride on the rigid clouds their breath scorching and eyes aflame. Dogs of phantom cruelty charge amongst the shadowed canopies. Cries and shouts flit amongst the howling gale. These are not the petty pretensions of Christ and the angels. No redemption for sinners. A world cruel and unpretentious. A world of blood and wretchedness.

Hail the old gods and long live that merry bloody hunt.