The Blood Moon - Whispers on the Wind

[Manifestation 85]

The hour was late; Jackal hung low in the sky. A thin red slit, like a knife wound to the black expanse of night, was all that showed of the moon at this time of year. Idly, I wondered where the other two moons were; usually the three were often seen close to each other, but tonight only Jackal was present. A shiver went down my spine at the thought.

I pulled my jacket closer to me.

"Don't be silly," I whispered to myself. "It's just an old superstition."

The old ways that we'd long left behind still lingered in every corner of our lives; proverbs and predictions regarding the moons and their placement came flooding back to me. One particular line stood out from the rest.

"When blood stands clear, gods will play."

I sighed and moved away from the window, looking for something to occupy my obviously over-active imagination.

I lit my forge and set myself the task of whittling some handles for a new batch of knives I was making. Even with the quality forge I had purchased from a local mason, it took some time for the iron to get hot enough to work with. As I worked, I let my mind drift where it pleased; I pondered the recent highway project we had started, running numbers about in my head. Suddenly a nearby dog let out a sorrowful howl. Startled, I slipped with my carving knife. A sharp pang of pain shot up my arm as I felt cold steel slide through the palm of my hand. I looked down to watch the fresh wound begin to well with my blood.

"Damn! That's going to scar." Yet another addition to my myriad of work-related injuries. Life on the frontier was harder than most of us had expected. A farm boy born and bred, I was slightly more prepared than most of the settlers, but was still challenged on a daily basis by even the most seemingly simple of tasks.

A trail of blood made its way down my thumb, and I watched as it formed a drop and made the flight to the paving on my floor. The fresh crescent-shaped wound reminded me of Jackal, and the dark omen I had remembered from my youth.

Shaking my head slightly, I moved over to my chest that contained an assortment of remedies and bandages: a necessity in this harsh landscape. Gingerly, I put a cover over my wound and bandaged it with some leftover rags from my many unsuccessful attempts at tailoring. Recently my clothes had begun to show signs of serious wear and tear, and I had been trying for days to mend the damage of a lifetime of hard work.

Satisfied with the bandage, I resigned myself to the less strenuous task of refilling the villagers’ water barrels. I would have to walk up to the workshop where the water cart was stored, but decided the walk might do me some good. Besides, I thought it might be difficult to continue any form of hard work with my hand as it was.

I took my time, enjoying the cool, crisp night air. I breathed deeply, and reminded myself that after all was said and done, this was an undeniably beautiful place. I checked the oil levels on the lanterns as I passed, and made a quick prayer to my god. I asked for nothing, simply thanked him for showing us the true path to enlightenment. Finishing my prayer, I turned my attention back to my task, and continued the long climb to the workshop. As I reached the top of the ramp, some movement in the distance caught my eye. I strained myself to try and make out what it was. The night was dark, and there was a light fog. Eventually I shrugged and continued on. Probably just the dog I had heard earlier. I opened the door, letting myself in. It was dark and damp, the forges and ovens having long gone cold. Light from the lanterns outside danced and weaved on the walls, making a puppet show of the otherwise inanimate trees lining the path outside.

Even with a natural spring near our village, there was still quite a demand for water as most of our villagers had forges of their own, and required barrels of it for tempering their tools. Drinking water was also still considered a commodity, and we required someone to regularly cart it back and forth from the spring to various barrels and tubs around the homestead. I didn't mind the work - it wasn't particularly difficult, it took some patience and that was it - tonight I carried it in buckets.

I smiled as I realised the irony.

Again the lonely dog howled into the night, and again something just out of my line of sight caught my attention.

"That's odd." I said to no one in particular, as I realised the sound of the dog had come from the wrong direction.

Instinctively, I reached for my sword

"Damn!" It was down the ramp, stored neatly in another chest.

Wielding my carving knife, I felt even more ridiculous when I imagined how I looked. Bloodied, bulging rags on one hand, small and practically useless carving knife in the other, and slinking through the night like a scared pup. I quietly made my way to the edge of the window, being careful to keep out of sight of whoever, or whatever, might be waiting outside. I took a deep breath and quickly jumped in front of the window, attempting to catch my adversary off guard.

Nothing but the night. A cool whisp of fog reached through the window and tentatively stroked my cheek.

I shivered.

"Jumping at bloody shadows," I whispered to myself, heart still beating strong in my chest. "You'd run from a butterfly given the chance." Still clutching my carving knife, I turned toward where I'd left the water cart.

It had moved. I was sure of it. I'd left it snug in the corner, out of the way. Now it was sitting right in the centre of the room.

The hair on the nape of my neck instantly stood on end, a cold breeze swept through the workshop, and I could have sworn I heard a whisper on the wind. I slowly backed away, groping in the dim light, seeking the handle to the door. I quietly unlatched it and gently pushed it open, all the while keeping my eyes fixed on the cart. I turned swiftly to run out the door to the relative safety of my house, anticipating the feeling of security my sword and shield gave me.

Eyes. Hollow eyes, staring deep into my soul. I was face to face with something from my nightmares. I literally felt my heart skip a beat.

It had dark, deep-set eyes. Nothing but a small opening for a nose, and a wide, maniacally grinning mouth. Its skin was a deep orange, covered in pock marks and scars like an old battered piece of leather.

I tried to scream, my lips moved uselessly like a fish being dragged from the ocean. My mind told me to run, my body wouldn’t obey. Frozen in place, I stared into the demon’s empty sockets, convinced that at any moment it would step through the doorway and end my meagre existence.

Finally my legs began to move, I took an awkward and frantic step backward, tripping on something as I attempted to flee.

I lost my balance and toppled. Blinding pain splintered my skull as the floor made a pillow of my head. Darkness crept from the corners of my eyes, threatening to force me into unconsciousness. I crawled and kicked away from the door, now a frame for my fears coalesced, darkness pushing ever closer around me. I looked for something, anything. Clumsily I stretched my hand towards a shovel we kept stored as a spare; maybe this demon could be hurt. I snatched the shovel up, dragged myself to my knees and slowly turned to face my enemy.

The doorway was empty. Nothing but the dark of the night, and off in the distance a thin crescent of blood red moon. I could have sworn it winked at me.

Holding my head together with my hands, I staggered toward my house, shovel tucked under my arm. It is not a long walk from the workshop to my home; however, it seemed to take forever this night. Constantly looking over my shoulder, stopping to fight back spells of dizziness, I agonisingly dragged myself down the ramp to my door step. I flung open the door, the crash as it hit the wall sending fresh shards of pain across my scalp. Flashes of light swimming across my vision warned me of the injury I had done myself. I carefully took my sword from its resting place and knelt before my bed to ask Fo for forgiveness and protection, then slowly inched my aching body underneath my blankets, keeping my sword close to my heart. The warmth of its enchantments reminding me that nothing, not even a demon, could harm me now.

I slept.

[Guest Ephemeral]

Absolutely amazing.

There is really nothing more to be said. This is the pinnacle of Wurm fanfiction - it does not get any better.

[Manifestation 85]

...

thank you thank you thank you thank you

[Looroll 0]

Absolutely amazing.

There is really nothing more to be said. This is the pinnacle of Wurm fanfiction - it does not get any better.

Praise indeed. And guess what? I agree =)

[Tosti 1]

I liked it.

[EliasTheCrimson 348]

Really nice

[Leve Dara 11]

[me=Leve`Dara]holds out her dish[/me]

Please sir, can I have some-more?

[Emoo 4,357]

Wow that was truly amazing, i orgianlly was gunna read the first paragraph to see if it was any good. But i found myself unable to stop reading. It was great!

[Klaa 4,872]

Awww I was expecting him to get eaten...  ;D

[Manifestation 85]

woooow thank you so much everyone, it really means alot to me to receive praise like this.

I have to admit i do feel a little guilty, i did horribly at English at school and  I actually didn't even finish my final yearl...so i wasn't really expecting any kind of positive response.

I want to point out that my work was edited, by a very good friend of mine named Caitlin Sharp. most of the praise should probably go to her hehehehe.

Anyways thanks again, i'm posting the second edit now, and because of your gracious comments, am working on the next chapter which i should hopefully post this week.

[MadWallaby 1]

I demand more.

MOAR!

Come on, spit-spot.  Get scribblin'!