The Breath of Blood
The hushed footsteps of the wizard bounced off the rocks of the dimly lit cavern. Looking closer through the murky mist the person wore a long light blue cape that flowed down across the floor. Under the Blue hood laid two piercing opal black eyes that darted everywhere except the hand in his left pocket, which he had never moved since the journey. In the other hand he gripped a long twisted, dusky branch with an amber crystal fused into its core.
At the end of the cavern stood a huge set of magnificent black iron doors carved with foreign patterns and symbols, weaving in and out from the dense metals. Suddenly the mage dug deeper into his pocket, as if trying to find something, panicked but at that instant the cool gold of the small curved box welcomed his touch. He sighed with relief, but as he looked at the gleaming surface, even if he could, he dare not open it.
He thudded his staff three times against the metal doors and after a few seconds the gentle ticking of clockwork slowly opened the entrance bit by bit.
Just at that moment a howl sounded and echoed throughout every dark corner of the cavern, and the wizard shook with a moment of fear. They’ve caught my scent he thought desperately. The patter of paw steps was only a stones throw away, he couldn’t see them, but he knew they were getting nearer and nearer.
Closer. Closer. Closer. Until he could almost feel the tainted breathe of the foul creature on his neck. It jumped and in a split second the mage made a decision, one which would affect everything that was to come and had come before. In one swift motion he pulled the golden box out and flipped open the lid.
A thousand suns erupted from curved container and flew across the cavern to the nearest creature, who the mage saw in the light was a bloodhound, a human wolf tainted by jealousy hatred and evil.
The bloodhound burned in the unnatural light and tired to flee but was too late and disintegrated into the elaborate stone floor of the murky cavern. The other bloodhounds were nowhere to be seen.
The Mage looked into the box and read the words encrypted on the smooth lid:
A Ring of kin to face the hope and fire
The ring to rouse the dead and infect the wound
To the breaking hearts of mans desire.
The was a small circular object woven in a sea blue linen with golden marks sewn into the corners. He tried to touch is the he gave a gasp as it burnt his hand.
Suddenly the whispers started, the same words said again,
A Ring of kin to face the hope and fire
The ring to rouse the dead and infect the wound
To the breaking hearts of mans desire.
The words echoed through his bones, penetrating his soul and entering his mind
A ring of kin… mans desire
Kin...desire
Kin… desire
“No!” The mage screamed, “MAKE IT STOP! … make it stop”
“WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION THE WORDS OF THE ONE?” The voice boomed. And the mage now sank to his knees, clutching his head.
Kin…desire
Kin…desire
“I know who you are Joseph of the Whitehill, Class three of the council of Mages”
“NO! PLEASE”
Kin...desire. It repeated.
A ring of kin… mans desire. Again.
Kin...desire. Again.
Again. Again. Again. Again
Until it finished with a last sentence;
A Ring of kin to face the hope and fire
Joseph slammed the box shut and lay on his back thanking the almighty heavens that the voice of evil and darkness itself had been banished into the box.
But what he didn’t realise that when he opened the box he broke a barrier, one that could never be rebuilt, and when he touched the blue cloth he awoke the demon, the second ring that had laid dormant for over three hundred generations. The mage thought it had ended, but it had only just begun.
Because the Age of the Kings had ended, and a new age had formed at that very moment the Mage opened the box. The age of hope and fire- and revenge.
Trust me, the ring would get its revenge.
