Snippet #1643819

"The Earthbreaker", Giadon
The Northern Pass, the Road to Bellanuva
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There was a fell wind in the chill air. The cold was unnatural, chilling Giadon to the core even though it was midday. It felt as if an evil presence had blanketed the land. Evil incarnate was at work in this land. The light frost that permeated the ground crunched slightly underneath Giadon's mighty boot. The worn, cobbled road ran directly through a narrow canyon; it was one of the very few ways to reach Bellanuva from the Northlands. The path was severely unkempt, but that was understandable. There wasn't very many people who actually wanted to undergo the harsh trek into the icy wastes of the North. The walls of the canyon gave the road an oppressive feeling, as if you were about to be swallowed by the Earth itself. A lone crow swooped into the trench from the open sky and glided overhead of Giadon. The bird let out a single caw, the harsh sound echoing what seemed the entire length of the trench, as if a murder of crows flew by instead of one. Giadon quickly extended his arm towards the crow, his hand a fist with his forefinger and little finger pointing forwards towards the bird: the Ward against the Evil Eye. Giadon lowered his arm and crossed quickly himself. Even after being away from home for all these years, his mother's mannerisms still stuck strong with him.

The bird quickly flew out of the trench, with the sound of it's blood-curling caw still echoing about the trench, although faintly. Whatever suspicions of malevolence Giadon had were now confirmed. Crows had always been hailed as bringers of bad news, spies for Azazel, and even a sort of Demyan. To see one in such a lifeless surrounding, and only one of the cursed birds, was surely a sign. There was something sinister further along the road... but what, Giadon could not say.

Night fell, and still the trench stretched out in front of Giadon, with no end in sight. Although it went against his intuition, Giadon settled to the side of the path and began to prepare camp. A small, yet hearty, fire was quickly lit, and the last of Giadon's food stores were cooking over and near it: a few strips of deer meat, a small loaf of bread, and two handfuls of beans stewing in some water with some basic seasonings. Nearby, a flask filled with a drink the Northlanders called Hraun, a strong, spicy liquor that warmed the joints and heated the blood. Giadon had removed his armor, now garbed in a thick coat, fur leggings and boots, and a large fur hat. The night was black, and it bore down on Giadon's campsite. Even though the opposite wall of the trench was no more than ten feet away, it was completely hidden from view. It seemed as if there was nothing outside of the fire's light, only swirling darkness. A sense of unease had settled in Giadon's heart, and had since began to grow. It sounded as if there were things slithering in the dark; giant, unspeakable things that should never see the light of day, that no man should ever witness for fear of losing his sanity. Giadon was braver than most men, but even so, he could not deny the sensation rising up through him: Fear. He was able to contain it, but it was still there none the less: waiting for the perfect moment to come bursting out.

Giadon settled in for what he knew was going to be one of the longest nights of his life.
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Giadon's eyes snapped awake, completely aware of his surroundings. The fire was now barely more than coals, casting a dim glow on the campsite. The Darkness was even more oppressive, as if it were a living wall of malice. Giadon quickly sprang to his feet, his hammer Kivi gripped tightly in his hand. Just outside of the range of the fire, cloaked in the darkness, was a single set of eyes. The pure white pupils rimmed blood-red irises. The eyes were terrible and beautiful, causing a sense of ultimate despair and yet, they were irresistible. No matter how hard he fought it, Gideon could not look away. A single word floated through the air, cutting the silence as easily was a heated knife through butter. The word was in a language not known to any mortal, and for the rest of his days, Giadon could never repeat it, no matter how hard he tried. Even though he couldn't understand the word, it's intent was all to clear. The word instantly brought images of death, destruction, and ultimate suffering. The word personified Evil itself.

As soon as the word had been spoken, the eyes vanished and the darkness lifted. Giadon was left standing alone, with his hammer in a death-grip, his hands refusing to let go. He stayed this way until sunlight began to awaken the rest of the sleeping world around him.