Mitchell Lecoultre's Blog - Posts Tagged "high-fantasy-books"
Dire Portents
This is a fictional short story, designed for entertainment purposes only. Any political, religious, or ideological insights gleaned from this work are just that—fictional. With that being said, enjoy!
Travelling Alchemist Captimeo, Letter to the Alchemical Conclave regarding the dangers of the roads.
To the general assembly of my esteemed alchemists. I come to you now with a warning, an augury of disaster for those of us who still sully themselves with the dirt of the road. Or, if you are like me, yearn for those dirt-filled journeys! After all, there is only one way to get out in the field.
However, this is not the time to ponder over the intricacies of whose alchemical workflow is most efficient. No, I have something more serious to discuss. So, please bear with me, because I am going to write this in such a way that you will take my meaning seriously. Yes, I know I have been called long-winded, repetitive, and even tautological, but what’s the point of learning the beauty of writing if we don’t get to use it?
What’s the point of writing, if I can’t warn others of danger? So, if you can get over my attempts at prose, please harken my words. Within lies a lesson; a warning; a dire portent…
At times I have found myself wondering about what comes next. No, I don’t mean what task or what goal comes next; I mean what comes after this … this existence. Are we some sort of construct of another’s intent, sentenced to an eternity in whatever ‘paradise’ they have designed? Or, are we just lost amalgams of nature, cursed to know of our own fate?
At risk of being considered a heretic by the more zealous of our compatriots, I must mention that I do not deny your right to spirituality. No, in fact at times, I envy it, but please understand that I have been fortunate enough in my choice of employer that my religious scruples have never been an issue. If that ruffles your feathers, well, consider them ruffled. Maybe that will serve to help me by making you pay more attention.
But I digress, even with that damnable curse lingering overhead, I still never believed in a higher power. Never trusted some benevolent ruler to take me body and soul in the next life—whatever that may be. No jeweled paradise awaiting me on the far side. Just the eternity of the void. But that’s only if we behave.
After what I witnessed last night, I fear that, although there may not be a paradise, there might be its antithesis. A pit of perdition; a realm of suffering; a playground for our more malign gods. How come I drew upon this conclusion? Simple! For upon our fair roads last night, I witnessed something that made me wonder if sinister forces lurked on the periphery of mortality. Boogeymen ready to snatch up our soul and feed it to whatever diabolical realm they have cooked up.
That fateful night, I found myself sensing something at the edge of my perception. I quickly stowed away my weekly bounty of goblin’s finger and chamomile and recognized that I had been out far too long. The sun was setting; the light dimmed even more by the trees along the road. Shadows crept out from between the boughs as night approached. I tried to hasten my return journey, but, unfortunately, with a couple of miles ahead of me, it would be long dark before I reached the safety of my homestead.
It was then, as I lengthened my stride—more than I felt comfortable with, that I felt a fear so palpable that I could taste it. Bile and blood mixed with anxiety. I remember nervously glancing about, when it caught my attention. Eyes in the dark; cerulean orbs carved in the same fashion as that temperamental god of the sea, Melleas.
They bobbed up and down; just past the tree line. Falling in and out of existence as they passed bush and branch in their quest to keep up with me. They were close to the ground; like a hound on the hunt, and their loping stride had no issue keeping pace with my ever-quickening gait. That was when the panic set in.
My breath was hard and heavy, and I abandoned all sense of decorum. My legs had started to ache after the first half mile—I am not one to run, so the exercise was much beyond me. Yet, it was in vain, because the blue orbs danced merrily alongside me as if my efforts were only small annoyance. Just inside the trees; just out of reach. The last glimmer of sunlight rippled red across the dirt road. My legs could only sprint so fast.
I lost my bundle of herbs, so carefully plucked and preened upon. I trampled them underfoot as I tried to escape. The goblin’s fingers bursting like a simulacrum of their namesake. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t get away from the forest fast enough. Darkness claimed the land, and I still had a quarter mile to go before I would be in open country. By now, my breath was like that of the mechanical marvels of the dwarves, hissing and clanging—about to explode. Truly, we must introduce an exercise regimen for all novices after this.
That beacon of inefficient breathing lured the creature to me. Its cerulean orbs now just in my imagination, for I dared not turn round to look at them. But, I could hear it now … the faint patter of something slowly gaining upon me, no matter how hard I strained my muscles. Then I was clear; free of the trees; free of the fear.
As soon as I had cleared the forest and gave myself another hundred meters from those damned trees, I stopped to catch my breath. That was when I learned how poor of a choice that was. For when the animal panic faded, and my mind—reborn in logic—took hold once more, I heard it. Someone else’s breath, not the wheezing out-of-shape misery that was mine, but, instead, the slow—animal—inhalations of something massive. Something that needed to fill capacious lungs; yet with a ragged sickness in every breath. I froze in terror, paralyzed as the breathing became rapid … excited … close.
With all the courage I could muster, I forced my protesting neck to turn; to face the fear. My fellow alchemists, I tell you now that what I saw does not belong. It was an ABOMINATION. Legs built like tree trunks held up a massive frame, its construction similar to that of a dog—or a wolf. Fur, coarse and rugged, appeared sickly, like a rotten mat of leaves and fungi. An elongated snout, slathered in saliva, held sharp jagged teeth that defied biology. Eyes … eyes as blue as the sea and as dead as those unfortunate souls who are touched by Mosyneta’s stone when their light has already gone. This … this monstrosity had approached me, and now it was only a few centimeters away.
I prepared for the end, wondering how painful it would be to be eaten alive. Not a fond last thought my friends. Yet, it did not come. Death did not claim me; instead, the beast only stared back. Its breaths now fast, spittle spattering my face with hot—unpleasant—regularity. Then, quite suddenly, it howled to the moon, but not just an animalistic braying. No, this held a name upon its cursed oath. A singular word, that amongst the Keepers, those ancient wardens of the godstones, bears the weight of damnation. In polite company, we may refer to him as The Crimson King. But my animal companion did not call him by that. No, he spoke the god of blood’s true name, Magdris…
With its missive delivered and my heart nearly spent, the canine fiend loped back to the trees. I was left speechless. Why? Why would this creature need to do this? Why would it need to terrify me in such a way without even having the courtesy of ending my suffering?
Well, my esteemed colleagues, I can think of no other explanation than this. I have been marked. I have been told that I am now watched by that cursed god of blood and death. So, please hear my warning. Fear the cerulean orbs in the dark; fear the roads at night, for in the darkness lies your doom. The only question for me is … when will he come—no, when will Magdris come to claim his due?
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed this short story, why don’t you leave me a like, or, if you are so inclined subscribe to my newsletter. As an FYI, elements of this story originate from my own series of high fantasy novels entitled, Gods Adrift. If you really liked this story, why don’t you check it out on the Amazon bookstore? You might just find your next fantasy escape!
You can also find me doing a book signing for local authors in Edmond, Oklahoma at a little store called Best of Books on June 7th from 12-2 PM. I would love to see you there!
Travelling Alchemist Captimeo, Letter to the Alchemical Conclave regarding the dangers of the roads.
To the general assembly of my esteemed alchemists. I come to you now with a warning, an augury of disaster for those of us who still sully themselves with the dirt of the road. Or, if you are like me, yearn for those dirt-filled journeys! After all, there is only one way to get out in the field.
However, this is not the time to ponder over the intricacies of whose alchemical workflow is most efficient. No, I have something more serious to discuss. So, please bear with me, because I am going to write this in such a way that you will take my meaning seriously. Yes, I know I have been called long-winded, repetitive, and even tautological, but what’s the point of learning the beauty of writing if we don’t get to use it?
What’s the point of writing, if I can’t warn others of danger? So, if you can get over my attempts at prose, please harken my words. Within lies a lesson; a warning; a dire portent…
At times I have found myself wondering about what comes next. No, I don’t mean what task or what goal comes next; I mean what comes after this … this existence. Are we some sort of construct of another’s intent, sentenced to an eternity in whatever ‘paradise’ they have designed? Or, are we just lost amalgams of nature, cursed to know of our own fate?
At risk of being considered a heretic by the more zealous of our compatriots, I must mention that I do not deny your right to spirituality. No, in fact at times, I envy it, but please understand that I have been fortunate enough in my choice of employer that my religious scruples have never been an issue. If that ruffles your feathers, well, consider them ruffled. Maybe that will serve to help me by making you pay more attention.
But I digress, even with that damnable curse lingering overhead, I still never believed in a higher power. Never trusted some benevolent ruler to take me body and soul in the next life—whatever that may be. No jeweled paradise awaiting me on the far side. Just the eternity of the void. But that’s only if we behave.
After what I witnessed last night, I fear that, although there may not be a paradise, there might be its antithesis. A pit of perdition; a realm of suffering; a playground for our more malign gods. How come I drew upon this conclusion? Simple! For upon our fair roads last night, I witnessed something that made me wonder if sinister forces lurked on the periphery of mortality. Boogeymen ready to snatch up our soul and feed it to whatever diabolical realm they have cooked up.
That fateful night, I found myself sensing something at the edge of my perception. I quickly stowed away my weekly bounty of goblin’s finger and chamomile and recognized that I had been out far too long. The sun was setting; the light dimmed even more by the trees along the road. Shadows crept out from between the boughs as night approached. I tried to hasten my return journey, but, unfortunately, with a couple of miles ahead of me, it would be long dark before I reached the safety of my homestead.
It was then, as I lengthened my stride—more than I felt comfortable with, that I felt a fear so palpable that I could taste it. Bile and blood mixed with anxiety. I remember nervously glancing about, when it caught my attention. Eyes in the dark; cerulean orbs carved in the same fashion as that temperamental god of the sea, Melleas.
They bobbed up and down; just past the tree line. Falling in and out of existence as they passed bush and branch in their quest to keep up with me. They were close to the ground; like a hound on the hunt, and their loping stride had no issue keeping pace with my ever-quickening gait. That was when the panic set in.
My breath was hard and heavy, and I abandoned all sense of decorum. My legs had started to ache after the first half mile—I am not one to run, so the exercise was much beyond me. Yet, it was in vain, because the blue orbs danced merrily alongside me as if my efforts were only small annoyance. Just inside the trees; just out of reach. The last glimmer of sunlight rippled red across the dirt road. My legs could only sprint so fast.
I lost my bundle of herbs, so carefully plucked and preened upon. I trampled them underfoot as I tried to escape. The goblin’s fingers bursting like a simulacrum of their namesake. It didn’t matter; I couldn’t get away from the forest fast enough. Darkness claimed the land, and I still had a quarter mile to go before I would be in open country. By now, my breath was like that of the mechanical marvels of the dwarves, hissing and clanging—about to explode. Truly, we must introduce an exercise regimen for all novices after this.
That beacon of inefficient breathing lured the creature to me. Its cerulean orbs now just in my imagination, for I dared not turn round to look at them. But, I could hear it now … the faint patter of something slowly gaining upon me, no matter how hard I strained my muscles. Then I was clear; free of the trees; free of the fear.
As soon as I had cleared the forest and gave myself another hundred meters from those damned trees, I stopped to catch my breath. That was when I learned how poor of a choice that was. For when the animal panic faded, and my mind—reborn in logic—took hold once more, I heard it. Someone else’s breath, not the wheezing out-of-shape misery that was mine, but, instead, the slow—animal—inhalations of something massive. Something that needed to fill capacious lungs; yet with a ragged sickness in every breath. I froze in terror, paralyzed as the breathing became rapid … excited … close.
With all the courage I could muster, I forced my protesting neck to turn; to face the fear. My fellow alchemists, I tell you now that what I saw does not belong. It was an ABOMINATION. Legs built like tree trunks held up a massive frame, its construction similar to that of a dog—or a wolf. Fur, coarse and rugged, appeared sickly, like a rotten mat of leaves and fungi. An elongated snout, slathered in saliva, held sharp jagged teeth that defied biology. Eyes … eyes as blue as the sea and as dead as those unfortunate souls who are touched by Mosyneta’s stone when their light has already gone. This … this monstrosity had approached me, and now it was only a few centimeters away.
I prepared for the end, wondering how painful it would be to be eaten alive. Not a fond last thought my friends. Yet, it did not come. Death did not claim me; instead, the beast only stared back. Its breaths now fast, spittle spattering my face with hot—unpleasant—regularity. Then, quite suddenly, it howled to the moon, but not just an animalistic braying. No, this held a name upon its cursed oath. A singular word, that amongst the Keepers, those ancient wardens of the godstones, bears the weight of damnation. In polite company, we may refer to him as The Crimson King. But my animal companion did not call him by that. No, he spoke the god of blood’s true name, Magdris…
With its missive delivered and my heart nearly spent, the canine fiend loped back to the trees. I was left speechless. Why? Why would this creature need to do this? Why would it need to terrify me in such a way without even having the courtesy of ending my suffering?
Well, my esteemed colleagues, I can think of no other explanation than this. I have been marked. I have been told that I am now watched by that cursed god of blood and death. So, please hear my warning. Fear the cerulean orbs in the dark; fear the roads at night, for in the darkness lies your doom. The only question for me is … when will he come—no, when will Magdris come to claim his due?
Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed this short story, why don’t you leave me a like, or, if you are so inclined subscribe to my newsletter. As an FYI, elements of this story originate from my own series of high fantasy novels entitled, Gods Adrift. If you really liked this story, why don’t you check it out on the Amazon bookstore? You might just find your next fantasy escape!
You can also find me doing a book signing for local authors in Edmond, Oklahoma at a little store called Best of Books on June 7th from 12-2 PM. I would love to see you there!
