• Zekreth Chapter 1

    Zekreth felt horrible. He knew he shouldn’t have reacted so strongly to the drunken man, but his anger got the best of him. He did, in fact, have a good reason to be angry though. The man had asked Siria to be his, and when she refused, became violent. Thankfully no one had gotten hurt, save a few inanimate objects. Lost in thought, Zekreth wandered aimlessly. So, it was a great surprise to him to find himself at his greatest friend’s door. He knocked on the door before he realized what he was doing. “Wha? The hell is it? And can it wait till morning?” Came a groggy voice from inside. “Its Zek. I could really use your company,” was Zekreth’s response. A moment later, the tall, gruff Ikarith, opened the door. “What’s so urgent?” Zekreth motioned for him to follow. He explained what had happened at the Dancing Doorknob Inn. By the end of his story, the two had reached the southern battlements of the wooden wall surrounding the village. Looking out over the dark plains, Ikarith began to speak. “By my account, the idiot deserved what he got. He challenged you, and you won.” “Unfortunately these fools do not have the sense of honor that you and I do. They saw it as me being vicious and dangerous. They might believe that I’m a threat to their safety now,” Zekreth responded. Ikarith chuckled. “In all honesty, you are Zek.” They both began to laugh. Zekreth looked out over the night colored plains of Istarim, and saw something that disturbed him greatly. A figure, dark and foreboding, was walking toward the village. The light of the stars reflected off the runed armor that he wore. And behind him, it seemed as if the very shadows themselves marched along with him. “Ik. He’s here.” Ikarith, who had noticed the same, drew the large axe draped across his back. “Looks like you really are a threat to these people.” No laughter came this time.

    The fool wont escape this time, the horror on the planes promised himself. His lieutenant came up beside him. “He is there milord. Our weavers sense him.” The horror continued his vigil of the small village. “No mistakes. Find him and bring him to me. The hunt ends now!” The lieutenant nodded. He motioned the army forward. The shades slid forward noiselessly over the plains. There would be no mistakes. There would be no escape this time. His Brother would not escape. The horror swore it.

    Ikarith and Zekreth rushed down the walls, shouting warnings to those at the watch. The walls would not stop these monsters. They never did. “Where’s your sword Zek?” Ik asked as they ran down the streets. “I left it in my house, I didn’t want to be tempted by the fools in the bar!” Was his hurried response. Zekreth stopped. “Ik, you get people out of the city. Get them to the hill. I’ll go to the garrison, see if I can get them ready before those things get here.” Ik nodded, and continued running through the streets, shouting warnings. Zek sprinted to the garrison, wishing desperately for his sword. He came up to door, hardly stopping to open it. “Grab your swords! Everyone grab-“ he stopped. There was no one there. He sighed. It was the celebration tonight, so of course no one would be here! He grabbed the closest sword, again wanting his own sword in his hand. He heard the screams of pain and terror ring out throughout his home. He cursed loudly. He ran out into the frenzy outside, hoping that his friends were safe.

    Ikarith’s arm was burning. Fighting with an axe in one hand, and a small boy in the other was no easy feat. The boy’s constant screams of “Papa!” weren’t helping much either. “I’ll get you to your papa, so just shut up!” The boy only sobbed harder. Ik sighed. Zekreth was much better with kids. Ik ran out of the burning building, the flaming timbers collapsing behind him. He was given no respite, as hundreds more of the shadowy assailants were pouring down the streets. Ik couldn’t carry the kid and take on any more of the things. “Kid, you have to use your own legs now!” Ik set the kid down, and hoped that he made it to safety, but had more pressing matters to deal with. One of the marauders lunged at him, its blade-like arms flailing. Ik retaliated, his axe strokes cleaving the thing in two. He grinned. Maybe these things weren’t so tough after all. The thought was short lived, as the severed halves came back together, and remade his vanquished foe! He growled, and swung again, and again, and again. Every time the monster shrugged off the blow, and came back, just as vicious as before. He looked around, and saw that the other defenders were having similar problems. ‘How do you kill the things?” came a desperate cry of one of the young villagers. No one had an answer for him. Ik realized what they needed to do, though it pained him greatly. His code of honor dictated that he never run from an enemy, but the villagers were getting slaughtered. He loved this village; he had lived the best years of his life here. It was his home. And yet he did the unthinkable. “Everyone, get out of the town! Get to the hill of the soldier!” They needed no more encouragement. They turned and ran, and Ik joined them, stopping occasionally to take a few swipes at the invaders. Ik could only hope that his friend was still alive.