Unknown Story Chap. 13 part 3

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A man stood at the edge of an open window, gazing out into the open endless plains stretching out before him. He breathed in, sucking in the dead, cold air. Letting it fill his lungs while raising his chest relaxingly.

His crossed arms returned to his side as he gestured to the bleak field before him. “Is this my grand kingdom?” He spoke to himself. His voice was the most pure thing ever heard. Like the ringing of a glass bell, yet not as sweet. Like it was corrupt. The voice’s uniqueness is not what defined this man.

Many would say it was his stature. He stood with the air of command. He stood as if he owned everything. As if he was entirely fearless. Clear that he could not be wavered in any situation.

His eyes were… Piercing. They cut through any lie or deception. One was pure black. It seemed not even reflections of light could touch this cold, dark emptiness. If you gazed into the eye you would feel drained of all emotion.

The other was white. Not the white of snow, or of the rest of his eye. This was simply a pure absence of color. There was a very thin black line that marked the circular retina. But beyond that was an absorbing nothingness.

His skin was pale. Not the paleness of any ordinary man. But like the skin had never seen the sun. Veins could be seen over his entire body if one looked hard enough. He was also thin. Not as if weak. No, perish the thought. He had skin that clutched his bones. But not like and elder. Not fleshy, or hideous, but… beautiful, in a way.

The way the pale, thin skin shone even more brilliantly in the even paler light of the moon made him look even more ghostlike. His hair was black. Not a fleck of another color dared touch this simple, thin black.

It was not greasy, or thick. Or even curly. It was as if you could see every strand grouped together. It was short, and slightly spiky. But naturally so, as if it didn’t even need to attempt a fake imitation.

And this man’s clothes didn’t demean his uniqueness in any way. He wore a black shirt with not a single blemish upon it. The sleeves of his shirt concealed his arms and ended at his knuckles.

His black pants came down and lightly touched his black boots. The boots were spotless and had several white bolts placed on it. They were pointed at the end but did not curve upward.

His cloak was very dark green and slightly reflective. It gleamed with lines of green in the light of the moon. It flowed down and barely swept the floor. It was connected at the man’s chest by a silver brooch in the shape of an elegant intertwining fire. It twisted around itself and connected the two edges of the cloak.

The man quickly turned around, his cloak swirling in the motion. He walked off, down the dark hallway. The entire passageway was suddenly lit up by a short burst of lightning, illuminating the faint, pink scar running from the man’s forehead, into his white eye, and stopping at his mid cheek.

As the man walked down the hallway more and more lightning bolts streaked across the sky. There was no wind, or rain. Merely stillness broken by the clatter of thunder and the second of light brought by the occasionally lightning bolt.

The man finally made it to the door he had wanted to reach in the beginning. He held his hand over the knob and it twisted. He walked in and began to walk up the enormous spiraling staircase.

The staircase was made of stone; as were the walls surrounding it. There were no rails and a large center that lead to the bottom of the tower. The man fearlessly walked up the steps, his cloak billowing around him.

There were several doors he passed, but he had only one in mind. When he eventually reached it he opened the door smoothly. Inside was an empty room except for one thing, a horrible creature.

It had four limbs, barely distinguishable in the poor light. Each limb was pulled out from the body and tied to a leather strap, keeping the creature suspended in the air. The thing had no eyes, only smoke pouring out of the empty eye sockets.

Its body was black and grey, as if burned beyond recognition. Its fingers twitched as if it was in pain and its head swiveled around, rigidly. Its mouth was stitched shut and had only uneven holes where ears were suppose to be.

The man walked right up to the creature and rested a hand on its cheek. The thing looked directly into his eyes and leaned forward. Its mouth opened, peeling the stitched apart. A horrible, blood curling scream flew from its mouth sending a chill down the man’s back.

He straightened and held the things bony cheeks together. He muttered something and the beast instantly fell silent, closing its mouth and, smiling. The black, charred lips curving upward to crudely imitate the feeling of happiness.

The thing was, of course, not happy in any way. It seemed to find joy from the ignorance of this human. The man let go and the thing twitched its head again. The man placed his hands on the things bald, burned head and closed his eyes.

He opened them and removed a hand. The creature began withering and twisting horribly. Its blackness began to slowly turn into a fair, tan color. The burnt skin began to fade, once again being replaced by a fair color.

The thing began to regrow hair, a dark brown color. The thing eventually withered and transformed into a human. It was a man, middle aged with sweat covering his entire body.

He let his head hang and sweat poured onto the ground. The man who had not flinched during this entire process looked at him sternly. “What is your name?”

“Jelish.” The man breathed in a deep breath and coughed hoarsely.

“Please… Let me die.” he begged

“Please. You aren’t half that lucky.” The man continued,

“I believe someone very important came to your city. He even visited your shop. Your weapon shop, his name was Khor. Do you remember?” Jelish began to cry and the man held his head up and repeated the question.

“Yes. Yes… He looked around a lot. Very talkative.”

“Did he happen to say where he was going?” The man tightened his grip.

“No. No… Kill me, please. The pain, its coming back.”

“Tell me!” The man’s voice silenced the man until he began to sob.

“I saw him. Through the eyes of the creature. He went to the Rythrin Forest.”

“Good.” The man let him go and he instantly turned back into the terrifying creature. He quickly stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

There were two men wearin long black robes outside the door. He softly ordered them to finish the man in the room. They both bowed and entered the room quietly.

He quickly ran up the spiral staircase once more. This time going through the last door. When he was at the very top he stepped through the door and into and extremely small room, containing only a ladder leading through the metal trapdoor above.

The man quickly motioned towards the door and floated through the opening. He was at the top of the tower, out looking the endless, barren field. It was a large room. It was completely open aired expect for three thin pillars curving inwards and meeting at the top to make a sharp point.

There was nothing else in the High Room expect for one other man. He stood even taller than the cloaked one and had extremely long, dirty, red hair. His shoulders were slumped and his long, harlequin patterned sleeves gathered on the floor.

His boots were silver but very muddy. He did not move as the other man came up. His hair concealing his face the man stared out into the fields constantly battered by lightning.

The man in the black cloak walked up to the edge next to him and said, “Anything?” The long haired man shook his head silently.

“The Shade?” The man thrust a map into his hands and began to walk back towards the trapdoor.

“Razkoth! Find him.” A hiss came from the man named Razkoth and he disappeared through the trapdoor. The man walked up to the edge again and gazed out at the fields once more. “Things are not going well.”

His voice rang out and seemed to touch the fields themselves. There was silence. The lightning had stopped as had the wind. The man glared at the world, hatred in his gaze. He silently walked away and the lightning returned, lighting up The Unnamed Tower.

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A hand reached down, grasping Khor’s sleeve. The hand pulled up hard and Khor’s body followed. Vathen pulled Khor out of the mud. He wasn’t moving, his eyes closed. There was mud all around him.

“Khor! Dang it, Khor say something!” Khor lay limp in Vathen’s hands, the rain washing the mud on his face away. “No! You can’t die on me!” Vathen held Khor in both his arms and carried him while he ran as fast as he could through the vast mud pit.

As he ran it became thigh high and was even harder to run through. Time was running out and Vathen knew it. While running he rested a hand on Khor’s throat and muttered a spell.

Nothing happened. Khor remained completely limp. “No!” Vathen continued running through the harsh rain. So much farther ahead of him, in the air was a dark splotch, hazy in the rain.

Soon he could see five of them. “Help! Someone help!” He desperately cried as the dark figures drew closer. Hope rising, Vathen ran closer to them. As he drew nearer the dark figures slowed down. They were obviously closer than Vathen had thought.

A massive, majestic figure landed before Vathen and a smaller figure dropped down from it. “Help!” Vathen shouted once again. The thing, probably a man drew closer. It was impossible to tell what he looked like through the dense rain.

The two were only about five feet apart when the dark figure drew a sword and rushed towards Vathen through the mud. Vathen dodged to one side while carrying Khor as the man hit the mud. “He needs help!”

Vathen shouted, but even he didn’t hear his voice over the wind and rain. The man side slashed and Vathen ducked. Before he could come up the man bashed him on the head with the hilt of his sword. Everything went dark as Vathen fell in the mud and rain.