The Haunting (solo)

[Libis]

The Haunting


((Continued virtually straight on from Libis’ history))


Libis emerged from the shared room, shocked by the encounter with the redheaded being. He straightened his magenta parting as he blinked grit from his sleep-ridden emerald eyes. A cool breeze rustled through the hallway of the tavern. His cloak fluttered slightly and he pulled it closer to his body. The grey clouds above the street outside the window lent a sense of foreboding to the air as he walked along the hall. Deep within his soul he could feel the longing that the…angel…had promised he would. It was clawing at him, raking across is heart like a thousand blades. All he could feel when he looked at a female was a pounding lust that rose from within. Although on one level this satisfied him, and he now felt freer, he also yearned for his old self, the one that could sustain a relationship if the desire took him. His tendency to instigate throwaway romances had never really had any consequences before and his entire self-image was shaken by the revelations of the previous night. He exited the tavern and wandered through the streets aimlessly. The rippling shirt on his chest served as a permanent reminder of the pain he had caused. Every time it attracted a glance from the passing crowds in the streets he felt a wrench at his heart. Beyond the city limits he came to the Brokenthorn forest.

Wandering among the trees of the forest, so similar to those of his childhood, he heard the screeching call of a hunting bird far above his head. A damp smell ran through the air around him emanating from the rotting fallen trees of the area. The moss covered floor cracked and shifted even beneath slender frame. Although he could appreciate the beauty of such a lonely place, he enjoyed the solitude far more for the memories of an earlier time that accompanied it. As he caught a fleeting glance of a small mammal – a rabbit, he suspected – bounding through the dew-sodden undergrowth he could almost hear his father’s commands ringing through the forest. A single unbidden tear brought itself to his eye. He ashamedly wiped it away with the back of his hand. As he did so, he noticed the silver ring on his hand. It had belonged to his family for generations and bore no distinguishing feature save for the plaiting of the silver. He twisted it absent-mindedly and lowered his hand, the moment of weakness past. Another creature scampered across his path. The sight of the small creature made Libis feel hungry and he remembered that he had not eaten since the previous night. A cold feeling in his chest immediately caused him to divert his thoughts back to the present. Stringing his bow, Libis drew a single arrow and readied it. Listening, he heard something larger than the rabbits crashing through the greenery. Drawing back the string, he revelled in the feeling of power from his tensed arms. Sighting down the shaft, he closed one eye and waited for the appearance of his quarry. Suddenly, from behind a large bush, a huge stag appeared. It had its head lowered and was charging, a set of magnificent antlers ready to disembowel any intruders.

Releasing the missile, Libis had begun running towards the animal even before it struck. A fountain of ruby liquid shimmered momentarily in the dull morning light as it shot from the creature’s head. Sliding to a stop on the wet leaves beside his quarry, Libis drew his hunting knife. Against all odds, the mighty beast was still alive. Fear abounded in the fallen animal’s eyes and, as he slit the throat of the stag, he watched the life signs drain out of them. He felt a perverse pleasure at the sight and allowed the feeling to fuel his hunger more. Brandishing the knife, he proceeded to hack the meat off of the slain stag. He built a small pile of meat before leaving the half-shredded corpse to rot. Creating a hole in each chunk, he threaded them each onto the rope of his grappling hook. Slinging the lot over his back he began the tramp to find a clearing big enough to lack the wet leaves that made a fire impossible here.

[Libis]

A breeze whistled through the clearing as Libis arrived. The grey cloud cover had gotten thicker and a chill ran down his back. In the middle of the empty space was a patch of grass, mercifully clear of wet and rotting vegetation. The sparkle of dew drops were present but as long as he piled the sticks high enough it shouldn’t be a problem. Slinging the meat of the dead stag onto the floor, and sidestepping the red splash that flew upwards from a leg, he returned to the wooded edge to collect wood. Although most of what he found was sodden from the morning dew, he found much that was raised off the ground. Dragging a few of the larger, wet logs to form a triangle on the ground he built a pyre of twigs on top. He made the core of smaller twigs and built his way out to larger sticks on the outside. By the time he was finished he was breathing heavily – it had been a long time since he had slept rough as a hunter. The small creation resembled some kind of altar or funereal pyre, rising almost three feet from the soil floor. Again, he left the spot, seeking flints among the brush. Scrabbling on his knees he could hear the angel’s voice echoing through his head.

‘You shall be damned to seek an experience such as this for the rest of eternity’

He could still feel the heavenly creature’s curse. It writhed in the pit of his stomach like a burrowing insect, stirring up feelings deep within him. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes again. He quashed the feelings as quickly as possible crushing them into the base of his being. A sharp pain shot through his and he retracted it quickly, opening eyes he hadn’t realized he had shut. A thin cut scored the centre of his thumbprint. He sucked it a moment before looking to its cause. Poking out of the leaves was the stones he’d been looking for. Two large pieces of flint, one a little bloodstained but still serviceable. Pocketing them he rose to his feet. He trudged slowly through the mulch to where his meal was waiting. As he approached the clearing, he heard a squeaking sound. It was faint at first, a mere whisper carried on the wind but as he got nearer to his destination it escalated to a roar of squeals. Rounding a tree, Libis stopped dead in his tracks.

"Rats!"

Scurrying across the clearing, a torrent of fur, teeth and festering vermin. They clawed at the dismembered stag and their high-pitched squeaking was almost tuneful in its composition. The black tide crashed across the grass, ripping it apart and shredding the remnants with a thousand scuttling claws. First tucking his trousers within his boots to save them from the savage teeth of thee rodents, Libis waded into the sea of fur and used the tough leather of his boots to kick the rats free of his meat. Several latched onto his legs and boots and began to swarm him. Drawing his knife, he swung wildly and blindly, slashing until he no longer felt the drag of the tiny claws trying to drown him beneath the waves of verminous feet. He felt his blade contact five, ten, twenty, a hundred times, severing heads and coursing through the bodies of the rats. The beauty of motions came naturally, his bladedancing skills causing the knife to weave through the air, threading between the lifeless bodies, seeking out new flesh. The thrum of snapping skin and sinew hummed a melody behind the smooth, gliding movements and Libis relinquished all inhibitions, throwing himself completely into the fight.

Stopping to catch his breath as the last body dropped too the ground, Libis staggered to a tree to support himself. Sweat dripped from his usually perfectly smooth brow and his breath was laboured as he forced it from weary lungs. He sagged against the rough bark and took comfort from its feel against the base of his skull. Drawing his knife to eye-level he grabbed a fallen leaf to wipe the blood from his knife. Except he couldn’t. Despite the massacre that had gone before the blade was in pristine condition. Not a single drop of blood or chink on the cutting edge had appeared on the hunter’s knife. Libis gaped at the clean knife and hauled himself to his feet. Staring at the myriad corpses sprawled across the copse he noticed that the ground was not blood-soaked as it should be. In fact the creatures appeared to be entirely bloodless and simply had skeletons and organs within their shell-like bodies. Libis looked around frantically, jumping at ever snuffle from the undergrowth. He briefly wondered what the empty creatures were, preternatural as they must be. He did not dwell on it however, and set about removing the bloodless corpses from the clearing, flinging them far and wide in the surrounding forest. He body screamed in protest as the thousands of tiny wounds inflicted by the rats flared as one with every movement. When at last he had finished, he salvaged as much of the meat as he could and then proceeded to light his fire with the flints in his pocket.

Libis sat by the crackling flames, the night having fallen, shadows becoming ethereal dancers at the edge of his vision. He could hear the wind whistling through the trees, but could feel nothing on the skin of his bare arms. He listened and realized a tune could be made out in the howl. It sounded familiar somehow, as if it had been present before without him being quite aware of it. Resolving to stay awake through the night, he sat by the fire. The tune was hypnotic and wormed its way through his consciousness. He could feel his eyes drifting groundwards. The song of the wind lulled him into a drifting sleep. Completely unaware, he pitched forward and landed spread-eagled on the ground at the base of the pyre. Sleep overtook his being and his body relaxed.

[Libis]

Flames crackled behind him, licking at his heels as he ran. He hurtled through the trees. Burning wooden limbs flailed at him as he passed and the trunks ahead seemed to merge. Ahead a curling bramble bush erupted into flames, the blackened branches silhouetted against the orange light. Flaming embers fell around him, peppering his hunched neck and back with burns. His feet pounded along the forest path. Sweat ran down his spine and he could feel the snarling bite of the fire bearing down on his back. Rocks protruded from the hard-baked mud, seemingly appearing specifically to obstruct him. The lithe figure stumbled momentarily as the pointed stones scythed through the soles of his boot and feet. Deep gashes emerged, trailing blood from his running feet. A feverish excitement had welled up within him as he broke away from the raging fire briefly.

Up ahead of him he saw a light. The glow was reflected off of the mossy green, untouched trees ahead casting a diffused glow over the scene. An unforeseen root gripped his ankle and he sprawled to his knees. The flames were suddenly gone, though the way behind was charred. The ash of the burnt trees floated around him, coming to rest on his shoulders and in his hair, prematurely aging his looks. He torn clothing hung from his slender frame as he knelt on the dusty pathway. For many minutes; he could not count how many, he knelt. Many thoughts and images raced through the broken figure mind. Time wore on, myriad emotions coursing around his confused mind and soul. Many hours later, he remembered the light that had caught his attention when he first collapsed. A sound in the undergrowth stirred him from his reverie. He looked jerkily from side-to-side, a look of fearful wariness upon his countenance.

On the right of his position he caught the faintest glimpse of an insectile leg disappearing into the foliage. From above came the sound of a thousand cicadas echoing throughout the forest. Several small insects fell from the overhanging branches and pattered across the alert figure’s back. Three small mantises dropped one after another from the trees to his shoulders and then to the floor. Shivers ran down his spine as the insects collided with his neck and shoulder blades. The first sent a shiver as of ice, running through him, the second as fire. The third sent a feeling much like that when one is being watched. The hairs on the back of his necked stood erect and the uncomfortable sensation lasted for several minutes before he dared look around to determine if anyone had witnessed his fall.

Raising his head, he again saw the brilliant emerald glow that formed a haze beyond the trees. He rose to his feet, and walked towards the glowing light as though entranced. A clearing opened around him, the trees seeming to simply melt away with no effort on his own part. The light had faded slightly, though without diminishing in size, and changed to a reddish hue. Two large feathered wings rose from the glowing orb. Flapping once, they suddenly stiffened and even as he watched the feathers turned black and withered. The wings disintegrated, an unearthly wind blowing the dust of the dead wings towards him. The death-dust ripped across his face, tearing at his eyes and mouth. He felt his throat grow drier, grittier, his eyes and nose stinging. Through it all, the red light pervaded, increasing in brightness till it blinded him as much as the sand. He reached forward, grasping for its soft core…

…He screamed. Withdrawing his hand, he sat bolt upright.

[Libis]

Libis finished wrapping the wet linen around his hand. He had awoken half a candle-mark earlier from his stupor. In some crazed moment of his dream, he had reached out and grasped at the embers of the fire he had built. The, now cold, log lay to his right where he had flung it. A soft hissing still arose from the wood as the smouldering centre warmed the dew-sodden grass beneath it. His body was stiff and cold from the wet ground and his wounds from the previous day. His neck cracked as he looked up.

He remembered long ago in his homeland, he had spent months in the forests. One particular trek, to remove a savage wild boar, stood out in his mind. His father, a dark-eyed and stern figure under normal circumstances, had been consumed by the desire to hunt this rogue beast. Libis had accompanied him and been forced to watch as his father had degenerated from the restrained and disciplined man Libis had known into a wild-eyed man who raged and ranted and would not be deterred from his chosen destiny. Although his father had recovered swiftly once his quarry was dead, the memory had haunted Libis for many a month afterward. The dark desire that rose within himself, mounting with every passing day as if an icy hand gripped his heart, was of a similar vein. As the realisation hit him, tears again pricked his hard exterior image, threatening to escape his control once more.

Floating on the breeze, whispered to his mind without needing to pass his ears, a mournful dirge was echoing again. The tone of the music was the same as it always had been, haunting and whistling of a woodwind quality. The hackles on Libis’ neck stood to attention, prickling to the root of his spine and the base of his skull. He could feel something boring into the back of his head, burning the skin from the bone. Frantically, he whipped round, his knife drawn once again. His eyes flicked from tree to tree, searching, seeking, needing a source for his unnatural fear. A cracking, as of a branch snapping, drew his attention. Resting on a branch, legs hanging perfectly straight below him, was a dark-skinned drow. The source of the melancholic music was immediately obvious as he was playing a set of ornate wooden pipes. It was a beautifully made and intricately inlaid instrument and the sounds the player coaxed from its chambers matched the crafting of the pipes. The dark elf himself looked shorter than Libis though he couldn't’t be sure because of the angle he saw the elf from. A single brassy stud adorned the dark-elf’s ear and his dark skin caused it to glint brightly against his face. His face was pointed, though the peaked tips on his ears were more rounded than most. When he spoke, his voice was rough and reminded Libis of the crunch of gravel underfoot.

‘Libis.’ The solitary syllable was met with disbelief by the hunter. The grating voice continued to confuse him. ‘You look uncomfortable. What’s troubling you?’

The clipped speech was blunt and terse and though before he had not noticed it, Libis realised that the gnawing curse was intensifying as the newcomer spoke.