Prologue

Disclaimer

A concept prologue for my new tragedy novel: Culling of Kings. If you are under the age of 13 or are squeamish you should probably not read this or contine to read my future chapters. I am open for all changes and please critique my work cause that is the only way I can improve my writing. The formating is all wrong here so in the future I might upload my markdown documents.

PS: Please correct me on my grammar. I am not a native speaker of english. Enjoy!

Prologue

Thousands of candles burn in the black void tonight, making the ice-cold night a little more bearable. The only source of light in vicinity was a small fire pit; a few logs were still burning and soon the entire party would be draped in the vastness of the cold and harsh night. A small glare flew across their gloomy faces and softly kissed the gleaming blade of a cutthroat’s sword. He brushed the ash off and sighed into the open air. Luckily the sound did not echo further into the tall and enormous mountains were unknown creatures lurked, which were a couple of man miles from their small encampment. A rugged man lifted his chin up. His features detailed, a broken nose had been beaten one too many times. His eyes matte grey. Unlike other men’s eyes they did not emit life nor hope. It may have been an illusion to conceal his hope of life for the murderous bandits. This man had seen a lot of a dark and horrible life, you could tell. The hair thin as a butterfly’s wing and split on all ends; this man had not washed himself for quite some time. One would say he was around thirty five springs old although he did not look like it. He was most likely born in the season of the bear. They were often seen as strong leaders, honest and honourable. Unlike other bears he was not brawny or big, he was rather slim; he had some muscle on his bones even though he had been malnourished for countless sunsets now. This man had been broken down many springs ago and had not seen a single ray of hope in an awfully long time.

Dawn was not coming anytime soon and the fellowship watched the fire as it slowly smouldered down as the logs turned into lifeless black ash. The broken man looked up, the candles burning up the sky. He wondered what soaring with all the lights would feel like. He remembered his sweet and loving housewife and their tiny newborn daughter. The smile on their faces when he first saw them together on the satin bed in their personal sleeping chambers. They would all soar together one day and be happy he thought. Darkness slowly embraced them and soon they all fell into a light and nightmarish sleep. A question floated in the air as the darkness of the night crawled unto the men and embraced them with sharp talons, scratching their minds and sending them on a path not easy journeyed by mere men. Would they wake up to see another day of glorious sunlight?

The unseen sun rose upon the land, a heavy mist had developed over the night and shaded everything within ten feet before them. The fellowship awakened, the broken one did not. One of the fellowers kicked him right in the spine. Jolting up, he went into a defensive stance. At the glimpse of an eye he was guarding his face with bare fists. Sore and bloody from rusty handcuffs which had grinded into his white and brittle bone. Sprinkles of blood were dripping from his fingers, exactly seven drops fell to the ground. He eyed all of them, one after one. They were a total of six men. No fancy armour, just simple torn leather from a local leatherworker. These men were not combat trained. They were savages and scavengers lurking through the country sides for the smallest amount of coin. He overheard one of them a couple of nights ago. He told a tale about how he had sold a tiny girl to a slave trader. Said slave trader took a special interest in defenceless young girls. He despised them all, the one more than the other. Rape, murder and plunder were not uncommon words in their vile mouths; all of them had probably done two out of three dark and twisted sins.

“What is your problem you mongrel?”

He said with a booming voice, piercing his eardrums and rustling the dirt beneath their sore feet.

“Pack your belongings; we are in a hurry! The way to Daermund is long and unforgiving!”

The bandit viciously snarled at him.

He was most likely the leader of the fellowship. The sun had not been kind to his face, the skin was bubbled and looked like a pit of gravel. Green eyes like a viper and his nose was bigger and more crooked than all other of his foul features. On his chest he had a golden seal pinned onto his armour. A stag was carefully engraved into the seal; which was most likely plundered from royalty. These tokens of entitlement often meant a big pay day for outlandish men like him. Daermund was known for inhabiting many fences who could sell goods for a decent price but you would have to pay them a fair share of the deal.

For the last couple of sunsets they had been rushing toward this sinister city: A city filled to the brink with sell swords, cutthroats and dirty, painted women. The city had no true king and no governor but was ruled by the persona known as the Grey Fox. He wore a mask which was supposedly enchanted with dark desdric magic from the Hinterlands. A foul place where all outlandish creatures lurk under a blanket of darkness which voids the land of all light. Allegedly the spell turns anyone who wears the mask into a new man. You can do a crime as yourself, but when you put on the mask the witnesses will not recognise you because you have transformed. These were just rumours but it was still a scary thought to lay on the mind. Most thieves were fond of trinkets. Maybe he was keeping it on his person and we are going to Daermund to present this seal to the rogue king. There were no time for questions now.He dropped his stance, picked up his dirty and ragged things and threw them over his shoulder.

The sky could not be seen through the thick fog. He felt his skin drying up from the lack of water for past few days. He could kill for some drops of water right now.
“Would any of you disease riddled rats spare me a couple drops of water from your filthy pigskins?” He shouted bitterly. His tongue was swollen like a sponge. Visions of ponds and lakes habituating the grasslands was all he saw. Sadly the visions vanished as a voice cut the air.
“What did you say to us, you little piece of horse manure?”
A swift kick sent him pummelling to the ground. The air from his lungs flew out and he gasped for air. Laughter, they all laughed at him. The leader had a grim grin on his face, he gnashed his teeth. He loosened his trouser knots, his pants fell abruptly to the earth. His flaccid phallus hung from his waist looking straight into his voided eyes.
“You want a little water you say? Let me hear you say it again weakling. Just one more time, you worm!” He could feel his evil presence scour through the men. A terrible silence fell over the misty grasslands. Not a single word was muttered. The grass wailed calmly over the hills. The mountains watched the scene unfold beneath them.

Air finally filled his lungs again. Time was scarce. His fingers dug into the sand, he tightened his grip and held a fistful between his fingers. He could not throw far with the handcuffs on, but he could at least try. Using all the energy left in him he raised himself on his knees. He saw the enormous shadow of the man in front of him. It was utterly horrifying. The bandit took a step forward and began to laugh hysterically.
“I will give you some more to suckle on you worthless excuse of a human-being!” The sand was slipping between his fingers. It was impossible to clench onto it any longer. Someone took a hold of his hair and pulled backwards so he could see his violator right in his eyes. The maniacally laugh turned into a dark and sinister grin on the chief’s face. A foul stench snuck inside his nostrils, it was unbearable. All smells were eliminated, the taste stuck in his mouth. He closed his eyes. Preparing for the worst. Warm liquid floated on his dirt-ridden cheek. He opened his mouth. The taste was horrid, he had never tasted another man’s piss before. He struggled to swallow the fluid. Washing every corner of his mouth- he felt his stomach wrench. He finally got himself to swallow. The sensation of hot fluid rushing down his throat unsettled him. The grip loosened and he ate the ground. He closed his eyes as the world closed in on him. Please, no more.