The morning sun hid amongst the gray fog and the clouds made it near impossible for any light beams to peer through. Winthorp awoke, hair askew and dark circles slapped onto his face. An unfamiliar cry had startled him awake; there the baby was, crawling on the chipped wooden floor. Winthorp looked around and realized he was not in his home and that could only mean one thing.
“Gabus?” Winthorp croaked in a fatigued voice.
“Ah, so you’re awake! It’s about time!” Gabus said cheerfully.
Winthorp looked at the elven baby that seemed content and familiar with its surroundings. Not a single tear, shout, or even a tantrum. Winthorp ran a hand through his thick hay-like beard as he watched the baby crawl.
“Aye, the lad seems to be comfy with us. I need to come up with a plan for ’tis wee lad though.”
Gabusmead’s mood suddenly shifted and he picked up the tiny being off the floor. He gazed at the child’s innocent gleaming blue eyes and the elven baby giggled with glee at Gabusmead. Gabusmead’s face soon crinkled into a smile at the small infant and he held the small child close into his pudgy hairy arms. He looked at Winthorp gravely and began to speak in a melancholy tone.
“Look Winthorp, I…at first was with yer family about this wee child. Elves and Dwarves ya know, never got along as yee know.”
Winthorp suddenly seemed to have fire in his eyes which intimidated Gabusmead a bit.
“Look Gabus, no matter thee stance, I can’t kill a wee lad or anyone fer that matter. We need to change our ways.”
Gabusmead continued to choose his next few words carefully to not upset his friend further.
“Winthorp, I agree with yee. Things do need to change, but are yee willing to go against everyone in this village?”
Winthorp snorted with husky laughter which caused Gabusmead to stagger a bit with surprise. Winthorp leapt off the bed he was resting in and snatched the elven baby from his friend. The baby giggled and Winthorp smiled back making goofy faces at the baby to continue to hear those joyous noises. Gabusmead watched the two, it was as if his friend matured over night. A glimmer in Gabusmead’s eyes and a smile slowly forming, he felt he was watching a father seeing his son for the very first time. It was delightful to see, but at the same time, frightening of what might become of the two. An elven baby in their midst and risking losing everything that they once knew. With a deep exhale, Gabusmead walked over to his friend and placed his hand on Winthorp’s shoulder.
“Go talk to yer dad. I will watch over this wee lad while you do so.”
Winthorp looked at his friend and delicately passed the child over. Winthorp grinned at his friend and there was a silent approval amongst them. With this, Winthorp gathered himself together and slowly climbed down Gabusmead’s wooden ladder. As Winthorp was climbing down, a strange sensation filled within him and this caused him to pause for a brief moment. This wasn’t the sensation one experiences after a night of drinking; it was a feeling of an ominous aura which pierced Winthorp through the chest.
Winthorp proceeds to go down the ladder, but at a slowed pace and as he reaches the bottom, he looks over to see that no one is out. There were boisterous sounds of laughter, no clinks of arrows or axes for practicing for war; just a barren land of shrouded greenery. This disturbed Winthorp, but he knew it had to do with yesterday’s incident. As Winthorp took his last step off the ladder, he felt something he had never felt before; an overwhelming feeling of heavy apprehension. The land that was once so hospitable to Winthorp, felt unfamiliar and filled with dejection. Each step Winthorp took on the grassy ground became heavier and heavier as he headed toward his home. Once again chilled by not hearing the loud stomps of children or even the wives complaining of their husbands tomfoolery; nothing.
Winthrop felt by the time he arrived at the door to his home, that the heaviness he felt sunk him into the deepest soils of the Earth. Winthrop couldn’t even bring himself to open the door, he felt as though he had forgotten what it was like to move. He inhaled as if to loosen his joints and with this, he could hear footsteps sweeping across their floor.
“Son? Yee finally came to face yee father.” Bilgard moved aside for his son to enter. Winthrop trudged inside and decided to no longer make this matter perplexing any longer.
“Listen father, I know I have caused some…troubling matters. But yee must understand, that thar baby knows nothin’ about thee world yet. I think-”
Winthrop was interrupted by his father’s muscular hand being raised in the air.
“My boy, yee don’t know what yee speak of. That baby bein’ here is enough trouble! Yee do not have a say about what we do with that thing.”
“Father…yee can’t mean…”
Bilgard’s eyes, once a warm hazel color, quickly turned to something emotionless and dark. Winthorp, taken aback by his father’s gaze was met with a deep formidable voice. Bilgard began to move slowly toward his son and kept his terrifying gaze.
“I have both kept yee safe from thee horror’s of elves. Need I remind you son, of what thee elves took from us? Or need I remind yee?”
Before Winthorp could answer, his dad bellowed.
“THEY TOOK YEE MOTHER WINTHORP! KILLED HER IN COLD BLOOD! AND YOU WANT TO SAVE THESE SAVAGES CHILD?”
“Father…I did not forget what they did to our mother. But-”
“BUT NOTHIN’! We have something they cherish and now, they will pay for what they did.”
Winthorp, taken aback by his father’s attitude, was unsure of what to say further. As their silent tension ensued, something else was happening in the shadows. A plot that no one would expect and a tragedy that would never be forgotten.
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Cobble was deep within the forest of Green Archer Wood, plotting and devising. Elyce was by his side, hovering over his shoulder. Cobble scrawled with a pointed wooden stick in dried out soil. The dirt was full of lines, crossed out marks and circles of places of where to start and end.
“Cobble, I grow bored of your planning, can we just start the plan a bit early? I know we said nightfall, but everyone is vulnerable now.” Elyce whined.
Cobble ignored the dark elves’ pleas for chaos and continued to scrawl on the ground. Cobble pushes his hands through his raven colored hair and ponders his thoughts on how to begin the termination of his own village.
“I was wondering what would be better.” Cobble points to a shape in the soil that resembles Elyce; a circle with what looked like two pointed ears. Elyce looked at his dirt portrait with some disappointment.
“Cobbles, you couldn’t at least make my face more slender? It’s insulting enough you drew me in the dirt, but this big fat circle of my face? How distasteful.”
Cobble ignored Elyce’s silly banter and continued to stroke his beard. Plotting a scheme proved difficult due to so many ideas Cobble had come up with. Should a spell be cast by Elyce that poisons the air for a short period of time? What about upsetting the Ragan to set the village ablaze? Simply giving the village a choice to either fight to the death or join Cobble by force? What would leave an impressionable mark as the end of his village. After a few moments, Cobble snapped his fingertips and malice pooled into cold, black eyes.
“I have it. I know what we should do and I think yee will like this plan, Elyce. I need you to cast a dark spell that drives one person in particular mad…yee can cast it on one person right?”
Elyce giggled with enjoyment at the idea. With that, a book appeared before Elyce and he flipped through the pages with glee.
“Of course you silly, I’m a dark elf after all! I do have a spell for just one person to be affected or a crowd of people. “The Insania Temporalis’ ′ spell allows those to be insane for a temporary amount of time. While that someone is riddled with madness is when you can set the village into true turmoil. How delightful Cobbles.``
Cobble grinned at the mere thought of this power he possessed and how he will soon be able to taste victory.
“Yee know Elyce, maybe we can start this plan early, I know we set this plan fer night fall, but who thee time?”
Elyce’s face twisted into a wicked grin.
“I like your twisted mind Cobbles. Most dwarves are so…typical and simple minded. You are at least cunning.”
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Cobble tossed the stick to the ground and began to walk back toward the village. Elyce followed suit with Cobble. They made their way to the village with a silent giddiness at their devised plan. Craving power had overcome Cobble and at this point there was no turning point. The two were soon going to make a name for themselves; the flames of bloodlust were ignited this day.
_______________________________________________________________
Winthorp and Bilgard didn’t know what to say to one another. Clashing ideals that were at war and neither one was ready to retreat. New age and traditional ways of thinking; can there be any sort of compromise?
“Father…I don’t think yee can solve anything by ending a wee lad’s life. We are just going to cause more bloodshed.”
“Yee have lost yer values boy. I am going to find that child now!”
Bilgard pushes past Winthorp and Winthorp follows his father out of their woodland home. Bilgard removes his ax and slams the handle of it into the Earth. Bilgard roared with his husky and low voice.
“Wake up yee lot! We are settlin’ this now!”
Winthorp is shocked by his father’s irrational thinking, in a huff he goes into his father’s face and begins to raise his voice a bit. Villagers slowly poured into a crowd around the father and son.
“No disrespect father, but yee are not right in the mind right now. THIS IS A CHILD! THEY DESERVE MORE IN THIS LIFE JUST LIKE WE ALL DID.”
Winthorp soon feels a grip around his throat, his windpipe slowly being crushed and his breaths becoming shortened. Struggling to breath, Winthorp realizes he is off the ground and flailing his body wanting to break free.
“Know yee place boy.”
Winthorp is tossed to the ground and Bilgard continues his speech. Villagers freightended by Bildgard’s tone and how he easily brought harm to his son. Even the warriors in the village remained quiet and didn’t dare interfere.
“Everyone, we are goin’ to storm the tree where me son’s comrade sleeps. We are ridding ourselves of this misfortune or curse that has befell our village. This will be our revolution. ONWARD YEE WARRIORS!”
Bilgard begins to stomp toward where Gabusmead resides and the warriors follow with a confused silence. This is something the villagers are not used to, instead of drinking mead and fighting playfully, fear struck like a plague. Winthorp mustered up the strength to stand after his father’s aggressive toss. Winthorp looked around at the sullen faces and even the children hiding behind their mother’s skirts. Winthorp knew his father went too far and he began to spit back with fury.
“FATHER! Look around yee! Yee want more of this? More death? More of us scared? Yee are scared, I know it well. Mother died because of these elvish fiends. That is true. But, yee cannot stoop to thar low!”
As the argument heightened, Cobble and Elyce were hiding in some nearby brushwood. Watching the battle of pride and morality commence had Cobble silently giggling to himself. Elyce merely grinned and was waiting for the chance to strike. Cobble whispered to Elyce more so about the plan.
“Alright, yee will get your chance soon enough. I just want to watch my very brother’s pride fall and he can truly taste the dirt that’s been shoved in my mouth for years.”
Elyce was puzzled at Cobble’s comment.
“I thought you wanted everyone in your village slain? You want to keep your moronic brother alive?”
“I want me brother alive and to suffer for the rest of his days. That will be his demise. Once yee cast yer spell, make sure my brother stands alive…but everyone else shall be slain.”
Elyce had a glimmer of sick pleasure in his crimson eyes.
“You are of a different breed Cobble. It tingles me with such delight.”
Cobble rolled his eyes at Elyce’s questionable comments and proceeded to watch his father stomp toward Winthorp in the center of the village.
“Listen to me boy, as far as yer concerned, yee have no pride. You are not a warrior, yee are a coward. I had more faith in yee to run this village. You just showed me you can not handle this responsibility. You disappointed me.”
These words stung worse than any sort of poison. Winthorp felt nothing, but his heart beat was pounding in his ears. For the first time in his life; panic had struck him down. He was at a loss of words and he felt truly powerless. With this, suddenly, in a very short instance, a blood curdling scream could be heard. A head of a loyal warrior and blood spurting from where the warrior’s head once was, rolled toward Winthorp. The woman who was screaming, covered in the warrior’s blood. An ax was stained with fresh blood and Winthorp’s vision began to double.
Elyce began chanting silently from afar his spell in elvish and cast it upon someone that the villagers were least expected to commit such a gruesome murder against their own kind; Bilgard Cvorkin. Cobble had no emotions or any sort of read on his face as this began. He just quietly observed the massacre that was about to ensue.
The dwarf males all stood in bewilderment at the sight; the beheaded warrior had a face of confusion, but also filled with sorrow. Children began to squeal and several women screamed into the skies. Soon, another beheading occurred and this time, it was a woman who lost her head. Several villagers began to run back into their homes in hopes to hide from the mad dwarven leader. The dwarven warriors without second thought began to charge toward Bilgard in an attempt to stop him. They soon met their fate when one after another fell; blood began to paint the once luscious green grass.
Whether they were sliced by the throat or they were beheaded, they were no match for the mad Bilgard. Blood splattered onto Winthorp’s clothing and added more color to his already ginger beard. Winthorp pondered, why is this happening? Why was his father, a man filled with dwarven pride, slaughtering everyone who he has sworn to protect? Bilgard, without any words, began to unclip some potion bottles he had in his belt. Bilgard threw three potion bottles with a bright orange glow at three different homes. These potion bottles caused these homes to set ablaze within seconds and all that could be heard were screams of those pleading for their lives. The cries of children could be heard, frightened villagers attempt to escape, but are met with a violent demise.
Winthorp, shaking to his core, is unsure of what to do next. The village is slowly lit up with an autumn blaze and the smoke starts to become overbearing. Villagers running into flames in an attempt to flee instead just look like dancing candlelights from head to toe. Winthorp then began to smell burning flesh from bodies that were running past him, the crackling of skin and the disfigured appearances of different limbs. As Winthorp looked around, he noticed some dwarves had given up and died together as a couple or a family. They agreed to their fate instead of fighting it and Winthorp debated for a moment if he should also. Winthrop’s entire life flashed before him to a simpler time, not that long ago even this village was brimming with laughter and songs. Now, it was like they were transported to another world. A world filled with despair, hopelessness, and horror.
Winthorp’s mind was racing as the sights and sounds became overwhelming. Suddenly, two figures appeared from the shadows; unharmed. Winthorp recognized one of the figures, it was none other than his brother, Cobble Cvorkin. Cobble strode in confidently with his unknown accomplice. The accomplice looked like a dark elf, but Winthorp was unsure due to some of his vision still being clouded. With nearly most of the village gone due to the fire and those being hunted down by Bilgard, Winthorp once again had this ominous feeling steep into his body once more.
“Cobble, brother, is that yee?” Winthorp said, hoarse from coughing due to the smoke of the flames.
Cobble did not respond to his brother, but instead was walking toward their father who was driven to madness. Winthorp then heard what he thought was elvish, but was still debating if he was just merely hallucinating. Winthorp slowly began to stand with the small ounce of strength he had and rubbed his eyes once more. Once his eyesight was adjusted, he saw his brother wielding a small dagger he must have had hidden amongst his armor. Cobble then swiftly put the dagger by his father’s throat grinning at his father’s state. Winthorp was no longer in the proper state of mind, his legs starting pelting the red beneath him and started charging forward.
“BROTHER??? WHAT ARE YEE DOIN? STOP TIS’ AT-”
Winthorp stopped in his tracks and noticed a familiar signal from his father. His hand raised in the air to wave Winthorp away.
“My son, I’m not sure what I have done or why this even happened. But please, do me one favor…”
Winthorp nodded and waited for his father to continue. Winthorp then witnessed something he had never seen before; his father’s tears. The last time his father cried was when his mother died and that was several years ago. Bilgard struggled to get his last final words out.
“Survive. Don’t succumb to darkness…stay stron-”
Without being able to finish his final words, Bilgard began gurgling and choking on his own blood. Cobble had sliced his throat open, the cut poured out of his neck and sprayed in all different directions. Winthorp is taken aback by his own brother’s doing. Cobble threw his father’s corpse not as delicately as he should have been. Cobble wiped his dagger disgustedly and the dark elf maniacally laughed over the corpse of Bilgard.
“Where did pride get ya in the end? What a pitiful sight.” The dark elf kicked dirt over the corpse of Bilgard.
“Don’t disrespect the dead.” Winthorp muttered in a sullen voice.
“I beg your pardon?” the dark elf said, almost taunting Winthorp.
“Brother…how could yee. I know yee had somethin’ to do with this…”
Cobble watched his brother and noticed that tears dribbled into his beard. Cobble slowly began to walk toward his brother.
“I need yee to know Winthorp. I needed to strike down our father, look at all the trouble he caused. Why, this village is basically a barren wasteland now. If you just followed our father’s orders, this curse would not have fallen on our village. You are to bla-”
Winthorp looked at his brother, tears flowed down his face like a river and some liquid poured from his nose. The dark elf tried not to laugh at the face Winthorp presented to Cobble.
“I AM NOT TO BLAME! DO NOT PUT TIS’ ON ME BROTHER!!! YOU ARE THE ONE THAT DI-”
Cobble interrupted his brother mid-sentence.
“Grow up Winthorp. Father said that this was a curse…a misfortune. You had to ignore our father and look at what happened. The curse that this elven baby possessed, took over him and made him mad.”
Winthorp continued to shed tears and with this, he felt defeated. He lowered to the ground and pounded the ground with all he had left. His knuckles soon became bloodied, but Winthorp didn’t realize this. While in a weakened state, the dark elf bent down to Winthorp’s level and watched a once prideful man fall apart with each punch.
“Cobble, can I please kill him? I mean just look at him…he’s so sad and pathetic. Daddy died, now I have to be just as lame. Boo-hoo.”
Winthorp paid no mind to the dark and placed his palms on the ground to stop himself from giving himself further injuries. His elbows bent and he melted into the dirt pile he was punching.
“Do it quickly, would you?” Cobble said so blankly.
The dark elf grinned and had taken out his daggers he had in his belt. He licked the blades with sick pleasure and positioned them perfectly to stab Winthorp’s exposed neck. Suddenly though, an unexpected ally swooped in with Bilgard’s Ragan which distracted both Cobble and the dark elf.
“WINTHOOOOOORP!!!”
This was none other than Winthorp’s trusted ally; Gabusmead. The Ragan swooped down and grabbed Winthorp with its fluffy paws. With this, The Ragan flew high enough away that the village just looked like a sea of red and gray and nothing else. Gabusmead also managed to place the elven baby into his large knapsack. The elven baby poked out of the bag to also view the skies as the Ragan violently beat its wings as far away from their village as fast as it could. Gabusmead knew it was not his place to talk yet and remained silent for the majority of their flight. Winthorp still had salty tears pouring down his eyes and wished not to speak on what he witnessed yet. The Ragan soon slowed its pace and started to slowly fly toward a familiar direction. The three just decided to trust the Ragan, in silence, they rode further into the mist of gray clouds that soon camouflaged them.