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...and then, there was darkness.

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...and then, there was darkness.

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Searching4Something on Tue Feb 18, 2020 10:50 pm

There were three…

It was dark, save for a lone fluorescent flame which danced as though in a trance, and flickered vibrantly in the centre of the desolate cave. The flame was tainted; red with the blood and flesh of countless sacrifices; the smell putrid, like mounds of rotting meat and unattended to bodily fluids; sweat, blood, semen. Three cloaked and cowled figures stood before the flame; women they seemed to be in appearance. They wore nothing save for black cloaks which loosely hugged their cadavers; exposing their bare chests and making visible their tender, lightly bushed, lady regions; their eyes were as neon crimson in the glow of the flame, though the rest of their faces remained obscured in shadow.

A lone chair sat between the three partially exposed women and the flame. Perhaps the chair was more akin to a throne, made of granite and ornate in design and architecture. In it sat a man, adorning a fully bearded face, hazel coloured eyes and golden, unkempt hair. He was fully undressed in the chair, sweating profusely, his chest heaving, visibly rising and falling with his heavy breaths as he respired through his open mouth. His eyes contained intense lust and were fully agape to capture every fragment of light he could, so as to better lay eyes on his prizes; taking off what little they had on. He sat in the chair, eagerly awaiting the carnal pleasures to be had with the three wenches; entranced by their bodies, and engulfed by blinding lust. How could this have happened to him? Surely, he was undeserving; a stable hand by day, a staunch drunkard by night.

He had cursed the gods when the horse it was his duty to tend to had fled the stables, consumed by an inexplicable, gripping fear. He had never seen the beast behave this way before; its eyes were wild and frantic, as though desperately in avoidance of death’s frigid vice grip. And, surely, his wages would be severely docked were the masters of the mansion, surrounded by dense forest, to find out about his indiscretion.

“Stupid mare!” he had said to himself as he gave chase to the beast, berating himself for not properly tethering the thing. He ran, as the beast ran, though the beast was leagues ahead of him, and lengthening the distance between them as it galloped, frantically braying and thrashing as it ran. The man ran with all the might he could muster, at once becoming winded and discouraged from giving chase to the beast. He ran across the open fields of the mansion, shielding his face from the tall grass which had grown on the outskirts of the mansion which remained unattended to. The flora of the fields stung like whips against his arms and body as he burrowed through the thickness in hopes of catching up to the mare. Beyond the tall grass, he entered the dense forest and could notice the disparity in temperature in this new biome. The forest was cool in contrast to the intense heat of a mansion and its surrounding fields in the radiating sunlight, and he could feel drops of water on his body as he brushed past dew-covered shrubs and plants.

His view of the mare he gave chase to was fading as the vision of the horse was quickly being replaced by huge trees, shrubs and various flowers and plants until he could no longer see the horse, but he could hear it, thrashing frantically through the forest as it ran. And then, he could no longer hear it; silence.

He believed he had finally lost the horse and stopped to catch his breath. He hunkered over, placing his hands akimbo as he swallowed huge clumps of air. And then, he saw something. A luminescent light, that seemed not to have a natural source. It was a faint red, almost pink, and a stark contrast to the forest greens. He investigated.

As he came closer to what he believed to be the source of the light it seemed to fade and merge with the surrounding colours of the forest until he entered a clearing. There, he saw the horse, and his mouth dropped open in surprise. The horse lay before him on its side with laboured breathing. There was a wound in the horse’s stomach and crimson liquid gleefully flowed from the orifice as though elated at the thought of liberation from the depths of the beast's gut. The horse was not alone; before the horse stood a hooded and cowled figure. He squinted in the dim forest light at the figure, which stood facing the horse, looking down on it, with its back turned to the man.

“Hey!” he shouted with confused apprehension. The figure did not respond but slowly turned its head to face the man. It was a woman, naked, save for the cloak which surrounded her. He could not see her face, but immediately, and without his intention, succumbed to his base male nature. The woman looked down to his bulging pantaloons, and a menacing smirk tore across her face. She said nothing, and brushed the cloak over her right shoulder, completely exposing one half of her body. In her hand, she held a chalice, and slowly approached the man. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as she approached. His gut instinct screamed at him that something was awry, but he could not turn away from the exposed woman. She outstretched the arm holding the chalice to him, and though he was confused, he instinctively drank it all, as she raised the cup to his head ensuring he devoured it all. He wretched when he had finished drinking the concoction; it was blood, the horse's blood! He looked again at the woman unsure of his own emotions; fear, confusion, anger, lust. He opened his mouth to speak again, “You…”

When he awoke, it was dark. His eyes adjusted slowly to the darkness. He was naked, and behind him, a light source flickered against the darkness. He looked before him to see the woman he had seen in the forest. There were also two others with her; two more women. He could not see their cowled faces, but he could faintly see the flesh under their cloaks. He considered himself lucky.

His mind raced and could not settle on a single thought to ask the women. He thought against it anyway, for fear that he may break the mood of the atmosphere. The woman he had seen in the forest earlier, the one which stood at the front of the three women, approached him. His nature still rose with her approach amidst his crippling confusion. She came to stand directly over him, so he could see everything except her face. She brushed back her cloak over both shoulders, fully exposing herself, and, above her head, she raised a crooked dagger with an ornate handle. It was at that moment that the man realised something; his hands were shackled to the throne; he could not move. ‘Why?’ the thought had come to the man to say, but before he could, the dagger was plunged into his left chest. He could feel the cold steel penetrate his flesh, and his own body temperature rapidly fell to meet the icy dagger which took up residence in his heart. His eyes transmuted to black, and black bile spewed out of his mouth. He gasped for his last draws of breath as the lone fluorescent flame behind him, which danced as though in a trance, flickering vibrantly in the centre of the desolate cave faded to nothing.


“Hmmph,” said the man on his steed, as it slowly made its way through the forest. “You think they got to him, Ornstein?” he continued, as he rubbed his beard looking at the picture of the recently disappeared man. Ornstein, his horse, brayed in response. “Yeah, I thought so too, and it’s getting harder to keep track of their movements,” He replied to the horse, “But I’ll get those witches if it’s the last thing I do.”

He had finally reached the forest’s end. It opened up to the grand city of St. Lardon; a massive city of commerce and trade. In this city, he would replenish his supplies and perhaps find an aid to vanquish the witches of Saultheron once and for all.

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