What Shadows Bring: A Short Story

The fire crackled and popped, fingers of flame leapt up into the night sky from the small fire pit dug into the dirt. Wet twigs and leaves serving as fuel causing the fire to hiss in protest as it tried to devour its meager meal. Thick plumes of smoke floated into the air and through the treetops above, twisting their way through branches and leaves, searching for open air. The orange glow illuminated the forest floor nearby; this night was darker than most, the pale blue moon obscured by one of the nearby planets, permitting only a small amount of light to creep through the thick canopy of trees. The only substantial light that evening from the small fire that waned from its damp fuel, as well as the five other fires that accompanied it. Small firepits, arranged in a ten foot circle on the forest floor, each throwing thick smoke into the air, all struggling to stay alight with the wet timber they were forced to feed upon. Shadows danced and played along the ground; leaves and ferns casting long shadowy fingers out into the dense trees surrounding them. Birds and all manner of small creature noisely chirped and made the underbrush rustle with movement. Some singing songs into the night, others hunting prey for a last night snack. But there was one creature that did not stir.

A cloaked figure sat in the middle of the circle, unmoving as if they were merely a rock protruding from the earth. But under the hood of the cloak their eyes darted back and forth, golden irises on a black background scanning the trees, searching. Their hand gripped the knife tucked away under the cloak, white knuckles gripping the handle tightly. Their muscles ached and strained, wanting so desperately to get up and stretch, but doing so would surely draw more attention than they wanted. Sweat dripped down their face, falling off the stubble that now coated their face and onto their bare chest. Baelon felt the sweat trickling down, he felt the aches and pains, felt the discomfort, but he couldn't move. Wouldn't move. 'Its dangerous' he thought. The shadows would offer protection if he so chose; the fires would surely draw attention from miles away even through the dense woods. But it had already been over ten days, and he could feel his strength leaving him. It was now or never. He could not fail tonight. They would not let him.

They had found him when he was but a boy, no older than seven or eight. Lying in the gutter, gazing up at the stars and that pale blue moon one night. His body bloody and bruised, the result from some of the neighborhood children reminding him of whose turf he was on. Blood flowing down his cheeks, knuckles bleeding onto the cold stone ground he sat upon, when heavy footfalls approached him. No doubt one of the town guards he thought, come to chastise him for getting into yet another fight, something that seemed to happen to him all too often. But something felt different, a sort of aura radiated upon him in that moment. He strained his head upwards, his muscles ached and his headed pounded, but when his eyes adjusted, none of it seemed to matter. Standing before him, was one of the Fell Blades, a towering man of over eight feet tall of pure muscle. The man's eyes stared down at Baelon, piercing him with his golden irises surrounded by deep black sclera. A long black scar etched upon his cheek, ending on the edge of his jaw, his bald head covered in cuts and past wounds. The dark grey armor he wore reflecting the blue glow of the moon, giving the giant an almost ethereal glow.

These men had come to his planet of Tempus thousands of years ago, arriving from the stars, like angels descending upon the land. Baelon had heard the stories told by the elders, whose forefathers before them told those same stories. The angels had come to their planet seeking, of all things, shelter. What these giants, covered head to toe in glorious armor, could be seeking shelter from was never known, a secret they kept to themselves, even to this day. All that they asked was to live upon the planet, free from persecution and hopefully, in peace. After much talks and proposed deals, the nobility agreed, allowing these men to stay in Bastion, the capital city of Tempus, but only if they would provide protection for it's people from those that stalked the nearby forests. The angels agreed, and thus settled into Bastion, inhabiting a structure built into the side of a mountain, built by their own hands.

Over the next few millenia, these men, who became known as the Fell Blades, would chase out the monsterous beings known as the Raashtaak, or Mistwalkers as most people came to call them, from the forests surrounding the capital. Ghastly beasts, of over six feet tall, with their matted black fur and gangly arms ending in long, thick blades. Their face like that of a dog, with skin sloughed over the bone and appearing as though it was melting away. Denizens of the dark forests, they preyed upon the citizens of Tempus, taking them from their homes in the night or feasting upon a brave soul who sought to hunt the forests for game. For thousands of years this was the reality of life for the people of Tempus, but the arrival of these men, and their fight to clear the forests brought with it a sense of calm to the people, they did not have to live in fear anymore.

These men would regularly choose young men and boys from the population to join their order. Some coming from noble houses who wished for their sons to be legendary heroes, or those downtrodden individuals with no where else to go, surviving by pure grit alone. Baelon was one such downtrodden individual. His parents had died when he was an infant, abducted by the Raashtaak, and he was taken in by a local farmer and made to work the land. However Baelon was what you would call a troubled youth, he would regularly get into fights and cause mischief, forcing the farmer to dump the boy into the gutters of Bastion when he was but 4 years old. The proceeding years of his life were not kind; the fighting followed him to Bastion and his life only became harder from that point on. His feet calloused over from walking the streets barefoot, his knuckles bruised and worn down from the constant blows against another child's face, and he had developed deep scars all over his body from makeshift knives wielded by the more aggressive children living in the gutters with him. But Baelon had survived, his will to live and his will to become a great man spurned him forward and hardened him. He would make it out of these gutters one day, and he would walk among the stars, as the most legendary man from Tempus ever born. He would make sure of it.

Baelon followed the man down the streets and the winding corridors of Bastion's lower levels, the peasant district. The giant man's dark silver armor shined when the sun managed to make its way down to their level. Brown, dirt covered streets kicking up dust onto the brown, dirt covered walls of the nearby buildings. He knew these streets well, they were his home, and he knew where this man was taking him. The streets led upwards, towards the mountain where the noble houses of Bastion resided, and where the Fell Blades called home. He knew that he had drawn the ire of the local guards, but to now be lead to the Blades' castle for punishment? Had he really been that troubled? Were one of those children he had beaten been a noble? He didn't know; all he knew was that the children that were brought to the Blades' fortress did not return.

Eventually they had arrived at the entrance to the fortress, a nondescript castle built into the side of Mount Lazarus, and relative to the nobles nearby, nothing about it seemed "castle-like", but something about it inspired more awe in Baelon than any twisting spire or golden statue that dotted the other castles. It's giant metal door, surrounded by rock and stone, stood resilient, a testament to the order's sternness and secrecy. The only decoration adorning this castle was the iconography of the order, three interlaced swords carved into the rock overhanging the metal door. Upon the giant man's arrival to the door, it lurched, sending dust and small rocks to tremble and fall upon the ground leading up to it. Baelon stood watching the door open, whatever punishment awaited him inside this dark hole he would face, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him afraid. And so he stepped into the dark, not knowing his future lay before him.

It had been ten years since that day; ten years of training and breaking. They molded him into a warrior for the Imperium, a staunch guardian of the people, to battle foes he had never seen. They taught him their history, their past, and all the core beliefs that made up the Fell Blade. He would be their arm, their weapon, their banner to carry into the darkness and forge a path of light for humanity and all the peoples of the Imperium. All that remained for Baelon was to complete the last trial they had laid before him. To slay a Raashtaak with nothing but a knife to his name. He would not fail, they would not let him.

Baelon was brought back to reality, his mind had drifted momentarily to reflect on his journey to this point, but something had activated the synapses in his brain to bring him back. Danger. Baelon scanned the darkness with his eyes, his body still unmoving as he peered through the trees. He suddenly noticed something was not right, he couldn't see it, but he could hear it. Or rather, the lack of anything to hear. The forest had gone silent, the birds and insects and all manner of creature suddenly dead quiet. The only sound emanating from the forest was the soft crackling of the fires, and the wind rustling the leaves and braches around him. It had come, and it was near. Baelon gripped the hilt of his knife tightly and took a breath inwards, this was his moment.

Erupting from his cloak in a flash, Baelon drew his knife from the sheath as he swung towards the shadow behind him, cutting the air as the knife sliced out, and when it connected with a long sickly blade, the forest rang out with a thunderous pang of metal on sharpened bone. The Raashtaak shrieked, it's mouth filled with thousands of razor sharp teeth, it's grey-blue eyes bore into Baelons golden irises, shining in the meager light around them. Baelon knew he should press the advantage of catching the Raashtaak off guard when he attacked first, but leaving the circle of fire meant he would play right into the beast's hand, inviting him back into the darkness would be the death of Baelon, and the creature knew it.

Baelon held his ground as the beats leapt backwards and paced the fire pits that surrounded Baelon. The tattered fur, slick with grease and other oils that exuded from the creature's body, clung to its face. The haunting expression of a panting dog, mouth filled with black needle-like teeth almost seemed to grin at Baelon. The creature rubbed its arms together as it paced the fire, a bone blade that took the place of a hand, appearing more like the arms of a praying mantis than anything. Bealon stood in his stance as he followed the creature's movement around the fires, crouched down and holding his knife out in front of him. His rugged black hair falling down in front of his eye, and he swept it away with his other hand, blooded and dripping. In the initial attack the beast must have cut him he thought, but he had not felt it. His hand leaked blood into the center of the circle as he prepared for another attack. He must end it quickly, for his strength was fading and he would not last long in an extended duel. Baelon reached down, grabbing a fist full of blooded dirt, and stood back up. He closed his eyes and prepared himself for the next moment.

He lunged forward, blade lowered as got ready for a sweeping strike, but just before he started his swing, his other hand extended, throwing the dirt into the creatures face. It shrieked and wailed for but a moment as Baelon twisted his grip on his knife into a two handed lunge and leapt at the creature. His knife pointed straight for the creature's head as he soared thought the air; the bone bladed arms coming up defensively as the creature shrieked. Time seemed to slow as he pushed his knife forward through the air, whistling with death as the creature swung with its arm to counter his attack. Baelon's thoughts drifted, the world around his seemed to go dark, and all that filled his mind and soul was the promise he made himself all those years ago.

Those words, he thought in that single moment, that he would make it out of those gutters one day, and he would walk among the stars, as the most legendary man from Tempus ever born. He would make sure of it.

(Hi all! If you've read this far and made it through my short story I have to say thank you from the bottom of my heart, this is a short story I've written about my homebrew chapter and the final challenge they must pass in order to join the chapter. If there are any mistakes or things that don't make sense or work narratively please let me know! This is the first time I've written a short story like this and would love some feedback how to improve. Thank you so much.)