Graham Blackwell bolted up from his bed, his breathing heavy and labored. Instinctively, he felt at his body: arms, face, chest. As he searched, he saw no sign of burns or broken bones. He held a hand to his chest, feeling his heart race and sweat coating his body.
There's nothing. I'm fine. It was just...a dream.
Another cursed dream.
Graham held his head in his hands, his knees pulled closer to him to provide support. He'd begun to take slow, full breaths in an effort to calm the beating of his heart. The exercise had become routine at this point.
As he breathed, he attempted to gather his thoughts. Need to write this one down, he thought. Before I forget it. One final breath and his pulse was calm.
With his heartrate returned to normal, Graham became aware of his surroundings. It appeared to be just before dawn. The sky that could be seen outside of his window colored a mix of blue and pink just before the sun rise, the moon still somewhat visible. He was in his room, somewhat obscured with shadow. A humble space, it contained only his bed, a small desk and a cabinet for his clothing. The floor was made of a medley of various stones found throughout the village, most gray but with a shard of brown or black scattered out amongst it.
Graham stood and set his feet on the floor, cautious not to rise up too quickly. One step at a time. Don't want to faint. Not today.
Graham took slow, deliberate steps to his wooden desk and began searching through the drawers for a piece of parchment. With a piece in hand, he picked up his steel quill pen and checked the dispenser within to ensure he had enough ink.
He began to write:
Journal Entry of Graham Blackwell,
21 Marte, Month 3 of 12, Year of the Crescent Sun, 191
Another dream. Nightmare. Same as the other nightmares, I was in the body of someone else. I could feel both myself and the self of this other person. I was in some odd room, as a crowd of people screamed and howled at me in hate. Then, some odd device began to burn me away from within. A ritual, maybe?
If my older journal entries are correct, the nightmares are coming more and more. Before, the nightmares came once every month or so. Then, they started to come every few weeks. Now they seem to come every other night.
I wish someone in the village could help me understand these nightmares. Why they feel more intense, more real than the other dreams I have. And why they're so violent.
No two nightmares are ever the same scene, but all of them are so full of horror and pain. So much cruelty and death. Hate I didn't know was possible. Why do I dream of these things? I'd never hurt a soul. Not on purpose and certainly not like this.
I've gathered my older journal entries together and I plan to give them to Paul to take with him for today. Maybe there is someone in the Capital that can help me understand the cause of these horrifying visions.
Light, I pray that they can.
As he finished writing, Graham couldn't help but feel a bit ashamed of himself. 20 years old, a grown man, and still these nightmares have me shaking. By Abbadon's Eye, I should be so embarrassed.
Graham laid the parchment aside and brought out the bound-together journal entries. The entries were contained within a small leather folder, almost resembling a short book. Bit of a grim book, Graham thought to himself. Graham opened the folder to check on the note
he'd left on top of the pages:
Please send any possible solutions or inquiries to Graham Blackwell, woodcutter of the village Brightshade, north of the Nightpeak Mountains.
Graham closed the folder, satisfied that it would (hopefully) be enough for some possible answer to reach him. With the folder put away and his mind cleared of the dream, he began to realize he'd been ignoring something. The sweat he'd woken up with had dried upon his skin, leaving an sticky viscous coating all across his body. The sweat had also brought a rather sour smell to Graham's body, his nose wrinkling as he inhaled his own scent.
Can't go to Paul's big goodbye smelling like this, Graham thought. Still a few hours left before the ceremony. S'pose it's enough time for a bath.
----
Graham sat in the tub, relishing in the satisfaction of a nice hot bath. His shoulders resting against the edge of the tub with his head leaned back, staring up at his white ceiling. For this brief moment, his mind felt clear.
The wash room wasn't much. The wooden bathtub itself took up about 1/3 of the room and the only other thing in the room was a reflective glass, currently coated in steam from the heat of the bath. More of a big closet if anything.
As he laid in the bath, for fear of remembering the horrific visions of the nightmare, Graham let his mind wander. How long has it been since I've just enjoyed a nice calm morning bath?
Traditionally, Graham would spend his mornings rising before the sun itself did and heading straight to the lumber mill. He'd spend most of the day there, aside from a brief break for lunch when he'd head into the village and enjoy a fresh piece of bread from the local bakers. Then he'd head back to the mill and work until sunset. Then head home and try to put a decent meal together before exhaustion came and he'd go out like a light.
No need to worry about that today. Mayor's given everyone the day off to say goodbye to Paul. Graham rose from the tub, stretching his body upwards to get some blood flowing back into his arms and legs. He headed off to the glass, clearing away some of the fog to get a good look at himself.
He couldn't help but notice his skin, the brownish hue of wheat, appeared to be getting darker, a sure sign that spring had once again brought with it more sunlight throughout the day. His black hair, normally straight, had begun to curl somewhat at the ends from the heat and moisture. Probably straighten out once I dry it. He began to dry himself off and felt some odd grooves and bumps along his rather wide frame. Have I got a bit more muscle?
Graham looked into the mirror once more and saw that, indeed, he did appear to have a more defined physique. Nothing too astounding. He certainly wouldn't be posing as reference for any recruitment posters anytime soon. His rather plump belly and round face would make sure of that. But his arms did look a fair bit larger than they had at the start of winter and he appeared to be about half a head taller than before. Guess there's some benefits to swinging an axe and hauling logs all day. But enough of this. Can't spend my whole morning off gawking at myself.
Graham, now dry, stepped into his room and began searching for an outfit for Paul's goodbye ceremony. Still can't believe it. My little brother being summoned to the Capital by the Emperor himself. He must've made one hell of a name for himself out on his adventures.
Graham's brother, Paul Blackwell, was well known across the local villages. An adventurer by trade, Paul was usually called upon when a daemon was sighted near the village. The kingdom had knights to protect the villagers, but they were mostly trained for combat against human enemies such as bandits or madmen (although talk around a few neighboring villages is that the knights were none too good at dealing with them either).
As such, the public usually depended upon the help of local adventurers and mercenaries to deal with monsters and daemons and the like. Paul had only been at it for two years or so, starting at the age of 15. It was rare that anyone would hire an adventurer younger than 18 years, for fear their lack of experience could lead to their deaths (as well as the loss of the village's coin). In that time, Paul had managed to take down various daemons. Goblins, orcs, undead. He even joined a band of knights and mercenaries to take down a troll that had been giving the eastern village, Starbend, a rather harsh time.
All those heroics appeared to have brought quite a shine to Paul's name, as just a few weeks ago, word had come to Brightshade's mayor that the Emperor was to send a Herald to the village to take Paul to the capital city, Lux Sancta, for a matter of some great importance.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Wonder what it could be, Graham thought to himself. Must really need Paul if they're coming all the way out here. The village Brightshade resided upon the outer edges of the Solis Empire, high above the seaside, along the cliffs on the land. Travel from here to the Capital would take Paul a good two months, assuming he spent every waking moment walking.
While he wondered, Graham assembled his outfit for the big ceremony. It was not an impressive outfit, him wearing a simple white tunic, a pair of black trousers and his leather work boots polished and wiped of any dirt or splintered wood. But it was a clean outfit, composed of the few pieces of clothing that fit him properly. 's like Mom always said. "People of our size and shape can't afford to dress fashionably." Besides, this is Paul's big day, not mine. As long as I don't make a joke of myself, I've done my part.
With that, Graham was ready to step out into the village.
The village normally was abuzz with the various local villagers getting up for the day, as well as the sound of the local children playing in the dirt streets, some running away from the schoolteachers trying to bring them back for their lessons. But, today the streets were silent. Everyone's probably over in the town square, setting up for Paul's goodbye. Wish they'd thought to ask me for help.
The ceremony would be somewhat soon, but not so soon that Graham couldn't enjoy a nice short stroll through the empty village. It was bizarre to see the streets so bare. If he didn't know about the big to-do today, he might've assumed something was wrong. The single dirt road connecting to the Golden Road was lined with homes built out of brick and mortar, with a few shacks and shops in between some of the homes, usually belonging to the owner of the house beside it. As he walked along the road, Graham could see the lumber mill in the distance, empty as all the others. The mill itself was a good distance away from the village, the cut down stumps of the nearby trees surroundingit. The larger, newly green trees of the forest surrounded the village, which resided closer to the cliffside edge overseeing the sea front. A fence was built alongside the edge to keep any children or wildlife from wandering over it. Although, on occasion, the children were known to hop over the fence and challenge one another to dive off of the edge. Thankfully, the children would spend most of the day talking up a big fuss only to find a convenient excuse for why it would simply have to wait until tomorrow.
Graham continued to walk along the road to the town square, the village houses now fully behind him, when he heard a CLANK!!! echo throughout the empty town. In a panic, he quickly spun around, finding himself face to face with...nothing. The village homes remained bare and locked up. No sign of anything knocked over or broken. Where could that noise have come from? Graham took one last look through the village, only to notice a rather long shadow being cast from behind him.
There was now someone else on the road, about twenty or so steps away from Graham. Their long shadow cast down the center of the road seemed out of place. The sun, barely hanging over the horizon, was to Graham's left. No other light source existed behind the stranger to create this shadow and yet, there it was.
The stranger themselves appeared to be covered head to toe in purple, tattered rags. It almost resembled an old robe itself having come to life. Never seen them before. Could they be the one from the Capital, the Herald?
Graham opened his mouth to speak, but before he let out a word--
ZZWWOONN!!
An odd noise left Graham's ears ringing and now the stranger stood right in front of him. No steps were taken. It simply appeared. From up close, Graham could now see that the Stranger's skin was coal black and stretched tight against bone beneath. Their mouth was wide and cylindrical, with a flat row of protruding teeth circling it. And their eyes. Their eyes were small and hollow, resembling stars in the night alongside the stranger's dark skin. And the color, blood red with no pupils. This stranger resembled a creature Graham only knew by reputation. A daemon.
"H-HEL--" Graham began to scream. A black tendril shot out from under the daemon's filthy robe, wrapping around Graham's neck, trapping his words within. The cold, wetness oozing from it crawling along Graham's skin. "I've come as requested," the daemon said. "Hast thou felt the Awakening?"
Graham grasped at the tendril tightening around his neck. His nails scrapped against the beast's rotted skin. He wheezed and gasped, desperate for air. "We've no time," said the daemon. "Even now, our enemies gain."
The black tendril began to lift Graham into the air. He began to kick and thrash in hopes of escaping. "Whether or not thou art the Awaken'd, I must complete my mission." As the daemon spoke, another, thicker tendril rose from beneath its robe. At the tendril's end, a round, sphincter-like gap began to expand. Within it, another row of crooked, protruding teeth were attached to a purple membrane. The toothy membrane then began to stretch outwards towards Graham. He felt the gooey flesh crawl atop his head and begin to wrap its way down. Soon, he felt the membrane's teeth digging into his face as light began to be visible only through the almost transparent flesh.
As Graham struggled for breath, he heard the daemon speak once more, but its words were muffled by the membrane's tight grip upon his head. Breath now shallow, his vision began to blur and his thrashing and struggling ceased. The world began to turn dark as his senses went numb.
"RRRREAAAAARRRWWRRR!!"
DEOOOWOPPP!!
Two sounds fighting for supremacy, the first being the sound of the membrane creasing and folding as it released him and the second being a screech from very nearby.
Graham gasped for air as his senses rushed back to him. Light returned, blinding for a moment, then gradually balanced. He could feel his body shake with every breath he took, the very act agonizing against his now tender throat. Instinctively, he reached a hand to massage at the muscles now marked red.
As he tried to pick himself up from the floor, he heard the sound of the daemon once again.
The beast now ran away from Graham, the rags along its body spreading outwards. With one final step, the daemon leapt into the air and its back spread to reveal a massive pair of black, webbed wings. The wings flapped harshly against the air, propelling the beast into the air and leaving a thick cloud of dust in its wake. The daemon looked back to Graham as it flew away and let out a loud, ear piercing screech before fading into the distance.
Graham, now standing on unsteady feet, looked for his saviour, curious what could have stopped a daemon. He looked around the village, still empty of any people. In fact, the only other creature in the village now was...
A pig.
A sole pig now stood a few steps away from Graham. It was a rather large pig, appeared fully grown to his eyes. He'd seen quite a few pigs before when he'd visited the neighboring farm for a work delivery, but those pigs scuttled about, oinking and making quite a racket. This pig was different. It stood stoic and confident in complete silence, almost staring right at Graham. Or right through him. It was disturbing. C'mon, now. It's just a pig. No need to be frightened. Graham began to call out to the pig, but before he could get a single word out--
"RRRREAAAAARRRWWRRR!!"
The pig loudly screeched, clearly the same sound as before. Shocked, Graham took a quick step back and found that his footing was even more unsteady than he'd realized. With a loud THUMP, Graham fell to the floor once more.
The soreness of his throat was now accompanied by the throbbing pain of his backside. Graham found himself staring to the bare sky, now shifting from dark to baby blue. For a moment, he considered simply lying there. Then, he felt the ground scrape against his back.
Graham pressed his chin to his chest, looking up to see that the pig had the sleeve of his trousers trapped within its jaw. It was, at most, one third the size of Graham and yet, the pig pulled him across the road. Quite easily, in fact. Perhaps it was that Graham found this act so impressive that he momentarily failed to recognize that the animal was taking him away.
His sense of self returned when he began to feel the dirt road slicing at his now exposed back. He writhed upon the ground as pain shot throughout him. The pig showed no sign of acknowledging his pain. Or perhaps no sign of caring.
Then, the pig released Graham. The sound of its hooves thumping along the dirt road merged with the mutterings of pain that left Graham's lips. Once he'd realized that he was free, Graham quickly stood once more, seeing now that the pig had managed to drag him all the way back to the front of his home.
"You should count yourself lucky I happened to be coming by, young man."
A voice spoke to Graham. Still somewhat stunned, he looked around to see that someone was now standing in front of his home.
The voice belonged to a rather tall woman, almost as tall as Graham. She had strikingly silver hair, that shone in the morning sun. It wasn't white like some of the older villagers' hair and lacked any sign of the peppering that befell some of the villagers who were getting on in years. It appeared that her hair was naturally this exotic color. It came down to her shoulders and rested there curled. On her shoulders was a crimson red cloak that descended down to her knees. The cloak was lined with golden stitching that seemed to display some event on it. A battle, maybe? Her skin was clean, cleaner than anyone in the village for sure and pale as well.
She wore a tanned robe cinched at the waist with a thin belt. On the top left side of the robe, a red and gold crest appeared to be stitched on, appearing to resemble the outline of a deer head. Her frame was somewhat wide, worn well with her height. In her hand was a golden staff, crowned with a circular ring that carried a bright red stone within it, held there by small bars formed in the shape of a star.
Her face was round, with accentuated cheekbones and pointed ears. Fae, maybe? He could see that she was speaking, but he found himself focused solely on her eyes. Her pupils crimson, with a bright unnatural shine along the iris. He found them hypnotic. It was in looking at her eyes that he saw their gaze change from the warm look of before to a sharp look that he felt some odd nostalgia to.
*CCCCLLLUUUNNNNKKKK!!*
The woman brought the head of her staff down atop Graham's head, a brief but harsh tap that broke him out of his stupor. He grabbed at his head, the now familiar sense of pain returning to him.
"Apologies for that, dear," the woman said. "But didn't your mother ever teach you not to STARE at a lady like that?"
The shock of the morning's events began to fade as Graham became overwhelmed with the realization of what a lecher he must have seemed. He tried to open his mouth to apologize, but the shame of his actions towards the woman who apparently saved him kept him tight lipped.
"Alright, let's start again," she said, somewhat impatiently. "I am Lady Luna Rucervus. And you are...?"
Graham's mind filled with what to say first.
I am Graham Blackwell.
Sorry for staring and all, ma'am.
Thank you for saving my life.
With all these thoughts fighting in his head, he finally opened his mouth to speak.
"Uhm....huh?"
"Well, Mr. Huh, " said the Lady Luna, "You should take more care to keep a weapon nearby."