Many a thousand years ago a dark ruler tormented the land and much like a child he desired things he could not have. The local fauna contained a beautiful flower used by the local people for healing and ritual purpouses. Within the steaming undergrowth of the deepest depth of forrest, only a select few were chosen by the shamen to be directed along a secluded path to locate and pick a very small number of these precious herbs. In the midst of a drunken torture session the dark ruler slit his thigh on a blade tainted with old mottled blood. The wound began to rise and spew forth white yellow froth and smell of the corpse he would soon be, promising reward he attracted many advisors preaching of the beautiful secret kept by the forrest shamans. A many thousand year old man living at the peak of a small hill rising from an ancient forrest was aproached by a very large scarred man, carrying many a weapon and not much else. This man told a tale of the trail he had followed from city to town to vilage, to hut. maiming, burning, and torturing along the way as need arised. he searched and gathered what he needed to locate the eldest shamen. When his tale was finished and the obvious question asked, the ancient requested the man follow him to the small patch of tilled earth behind his home where in perfect little rows grew teh most beautiful flowers the brutish man had ever seen. His eyes could barely be pulled away from the magesty of the delicate almost crysteline structures jutting up from the neatly organised piles of black soil. The ancient advised the man that these were the last of the Senshari as they were called and for the king to survive he would need all that was left, and asked the man to search his heart for the wisdom to see the folly in destroying something so beautiful for the all of eternity. The man being paid handsomly in gold had no care for the words of the ancient and began to aproach the garden with a sack. Turning his back to the weak old man fearing nothing but his smell, he left himself exposed and unaware of the elders great stag that had been looming in the short distance. Opening his mind to the stag he allowed a thought to slink between the massive rune carved halves of its crown. immediatly and violently the stag closed ground and removed the savage from the patch before he had touched a single petal. Standing over him the stag lowered its head and began to not so gently rouse the unconsious man, who quickly jumped to his feet and sped away in the direction he had came. Returning to the king empty handed was not something he would ever do again after the king had removed them. The dark ruler drunk from spirits sickness and rage, collected a small army of his most terrible underlings which he led, riding upon the back of the handless man. Half an arc of the sun they watched the ancients dwelling from the tree line. Not a whisp from the chimney, not a passing shadow behind a window, the lifeless cottage sat silent. All at once the king moved his terrible force to encircle the hill and began to climb ensuring no escape for any occupance, but there was none. No great stag had been seen, no ancient smelly man, just a neatly planted patch of those most beautiful flowers. The handless man collapses at the edge of the patch falling just short of a flower his journey was so long. His ache was like nothing he had never felt before. Absolute overwhelming agony shot threw every muscle he could name. But there, with his cheek in the cool damp black soil meer inches from the object that wielded his terrible misfortune, he was content. So close he was to their beauty, he could smell their putrid scent, he could see the puny harmless thorns coating their fire red stalks, and the black blue veins in the fleshy petals. The thousands of tiny dead insects that littered the soil beneath them brought a smile to his face, it was here that he took his last breath. It was here he had his last understanding of the old mans cunning. With both hands the evil king began to devour the patch of flowers barely pausing to suck air into his lungs. After devouring every petal, every stalk, pettal, and inch of root he stood. Pulling a knife he began to cut away his pant leg to observe the wound and pick at the fissure. nothing was happening...maybe it takes time he thinks to himself. He turns to his cohortsand proclaims his oath as ruler. Feeling acomplished and having his ego bolstered by the cheers of his gold thirsty hord he begins the journey back commanding his followers to rape and pillage as an extra privlage for a job well done. Sitting atop his newly constructed throne of sobing naked women bound together with chord, he began to contemplate the cowardly old man and his stag when a putrid odor began to fill his nose. thinking one of the women had soiled themselves he began stabbing amidst there cluster with his eating blade taking pleasure in the momentary rage. Denieing his claims they directed his attention toward an old man slowly shufling tword them from up wind. The king recalling the description given to him by the then handfull man began to feel an evil glee fill his heart. his throne now a screaming bleeding mess was no longer capable of carying him anywhere. The king climbed from his pile of screaming misery and began to slowly hobble his way toward the festering old man. As the distance closed the festering wound began to pulse softly with the beating of his heart, it began to swell with blood, puss flowed freely and the dark one became immediatly aware that the wound was reacting to the ancient one. He began to call for his minions and turned in an attempt to flee but the swelling was too great and the wound split wide like a blooming lotus, his screams became nothing more than a wheeze and flapping maw, His leg failing him he fell to the ground and began to crawl in the direction of his steadly approaching soldiers. The ancient could smell the rot and used it to zero in on the pathetic worm that lay somewhere in the blured void before him. Reaching his destination the many thousand year old man drops to his knees and begins to dig at the wound with rancid talon like hands pulling aside muscle and clipping tendons. With a violent quickness he retracts his bony fist and his prize, a single jet black seed just beginning to sprout a blood red vine. Pocketing the sprout the old man turns and begins to retreat to a cluster of old oak standing nearby. Being pursued by blood hungry savages will give wings to most anything but fear was not within him, for withn the cluster of old oaks was waiting the ancients most ancient of friends, a massive stag wtih runecarved antlers. Mounting his soulbound companion they faded into the forrest growth without a trace leaving the misguided goldless godless mercenaries to hunt the air... The dark one nothing more than a swolen tattered corpse was left to rott for the only company he carried was secured by gold, and as you know corpses hold no gold.... well not for long anyway.... The ancient stag saw the ancient man to his cottage in the wood atop the hill. There the shaman dug from the earth some clay which he fashoned into a pot, he then went to the stag who gave him fertaliser with which he filled the pot. The old man then makes a small tunnel with a blood stained tallon and drops the seed inside. Throwing open the shutter causes it to fall to the ground he pays it no mind and places the pot atop the sill to best catch the suns rays. Finally after retreating to the comfort of his ragged bed the ancient suckles a tallon enjoying the sweet metalic residue till sleep takes him.
Posted on: Fri, 12 Dec 2014 07:41:11 +0000
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