this is your story
and you hold onto the belief that
everything will get better in time
just to feel
just to feel again.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Time starts with a tick
set in motion by the crafter in space.
the consistent thrum of the pendulum rushing above your head.
And just like a tick, a blood full parasite drains the youth from the unbound souls until one by one they parish into sand and silt to be poured into the ceaseless glass of time. they fall tick. the rise tock. they fall tick. they rise tock.
Chapter One "Tick"
“There are limits to power Boyy’o,” that’s what the head warrior of the Magrathor Mountains had said to Petterinth as he sagged into his restraints. Petterinths’s travels, further into the kingdom, has lead him along the less worn passes of the mountains. those not made by humans and fully loaded Oxen and carts hulling large shipments on grains,meats, and trinkets into the grander central kingdom to be sold for a higher price. these passages he had found instead were narrow and tretcherious. Mainly cliff side drops made by the skiddish and wide variety of mountain dwelling goast,cats, and Follk.
“Now what kind of a price do ya think the monster of the wood might fetch boyyo’s?” the warrior grinned, jabbing the blunt end of his long sword into Petterinth’s gut. Petterinth remained slack in his restraints. the possy of what he assumed were the Magrathor mountains “finest” chimed in with grizzly passion.
“I think the kings patronage would be a start!”
“‘ere ‘ere, the king would have to be giving more than his good name to be taken this catch ‘ere!” another spat
the group cheered “Yeah!”
Petterinth eyed the men as they continued. They all had long hair pulled up away from their faces in large braids or curling tails slicked and neatly kept. However their armor, if not rusted with wear and rain, was limp and ripped at the fastenings. Even some of their greave’s and gauntlets had been replaced with scrap from wooden carts. he first took notice of their clothing after the blow to his stomach. these people were plunderers. The high warrior’s sword was unmistakably that of the kingdoms royal guard. Petterinth could tell they could fight and weren’t all talk like the last group of bandits that had looted him, or had attempted to. Meaning this group fought dirty, and he would just have fight dirtier. he just needed an opening.
“what is that? Is he laughing?” the smallest of the possy grunted. he was a short gingered, leaden staff wielder. Next to him was a gangly older man, hair thinning and peppered, with a thick beard and a large gold detailed wooden bow. lastly Was the youngest of the group. his beard long but deep brown, his hair in two braids twisted together in the back. He wore the most armor in the worse repair, carried all of the packs which he fumbled over a bit, revealing his only weapon. It was hidden at the small of his back. a short, thin blade too ornate to be much for fighting but deadly enough. And of course there was the loudest, lether skinned, rat tailed, fearless leader with the long sword. Petterinth knew him the best.
“You think hes off his nut?” The loud warrior said, chuckling hesitantly as Petterinth’s laughter became dark and deep.
“Oi! Boyy’o!” he snarled leaning in close to petterinths face. “You think this funny do ya?” The small circle of men shifted away from the two of them. Petterinth’s laughter became hysterical, reverberating off the mountain peaks leaving at it heels an eery silence all around them.
“SHUT UP!” the portly staff wielder shouted bringing his staff down to meet Petterinth across his exposed shoulders.
‘opening found…’
Chapter One "Tick" Cont...
There was the satisfying sound of breaking bone as the staff came down square, and hard against Petterinths' back. The gingered man puffed and smirked at his successful blow, watching as the darkened skin turned purple and red as the blood coursed beneath his flesh.
"Not so funny eh, ya moor beast!!?" He spat, turning to the rest of the men with a wicked grin. However the uproar of approval from the men, more so the captain, he'd hoped to hear was not forthcoming. Replaced instead with a growing worry and narrowed eyes, that looked not to him but past him. At the thing growing beside him. It engulfed his staff before he even made a move to pull it away from the mass of flesh that was once their prisoner. And it made quick work of the portly man when he finally did try, to no avail, to retrieve it.
Petterinth lashed out with otherworldly strength, catching the man in the gut and hurtling him towards the rest of the group. They scattered like flies and dove for cover behind rock and shrub.
'that makes one' He grinned, bearing a mouth full of sharp spine like teeth. He was no longer the frail skinny little nothing some lucky bounty hunters had caught, unaware, the night before. He was very much the poster-child of nightmares they had been warned of. And They knew with grim certainty, there was no chance of escape. His form was none they had ever seen before. His body contorted and hardened into sharp blades where his hands once existed, Legs strong and clawed, and his mouth a gaping red and white horror of teeth, and slithering tongue.
"now," Petterinth chuckled as his voice hissed between razor sharp mandibles. "i wonder if you know what limits of power a 'moor beast' like me, has over such folly ridden, no brain, wary and cocky meat bags like you?" Each word was like a knife cutting through the air, snapping at the rocks and brush.whimpers and snarls of protest slapped back until all that remained was a sharp silence. Air so tense it hurt to breath and each breath shallow and shaking.
