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Demonic Guardian

Author's note: In more long-winded conversations among more then two people, I will always add who said the written line. This may be annoying, but I found that in my experience, there is not always a clear line who is speaking if we rely on identification of style and context of the dialog to determine whose speaking. No author seems to do this in novels, and there is probably a pretty good reason for this, but I believe that it does make the picture I try to draw with words more clear, an aspect I am sometimes obsessive about. If this annoys some, I again apologize, but this is simply my preference for clarity.

Chapter one: The wonders what high moon brings.

The White Mountain Inn, 675 years after the battle of Ivarech in the 6th day of the Month of the Wolf according to Imperial dating, late night.

The noises of footsteps were heard in the dark night.
The tavern was mostly empty; almost all its residents have retired to rest. It was late, the moon high. The few who remained were the owner and his wife, whom were serving a few gentlemen discussing much and many late into the night. They stopped their chatter at the noises. The gentlemen were a random assortment, although only one of them was remarkable. A man, whom talked little but much noteworthy, dressed in a black cloak with its hood on indoors and weapons on leather straps. More specifically, a long, fang-like sword and a small battleaxe hung off his back; next to his seat was a packed and unstrung bow, a quiver full of arrows and a spear-like weapon, with the bulge of a shorter sword below his cloak.

The door opened. Men entered in a silent pace, wearing brown coats held together by leather straps that bore a random assortment of weapons from man to man, with almost every type of infantry weapon imaginable hanging on them. Most of the men were not young, but none seemed crippled by age. Two of them carried a bag of unknown contents. They all ceremoniously yet slowly reached under their coats to pull out a dagger with a peculiar mark, what they lifted above their bowed heads. Steel flashed off the warm light of the fireplace. The man in the black cape stood up, towering up like a god of shadow as he blocked the light from the fireplace. He repeated the ceremony, showing a blade similar to theirs. He nodded to acknowledge the greeting that needed no words, and the men pulled their daggers back but their heads still stood low. The black clothed man's did not.

The eldest of the group walked forward, his long white hair and wrinkled face giving a worn image, giving the impression of a ghost in haunting if not for the any number of scars and eyes that burned with life despite how much they saw of it. One of the gentlemen that dressed like a soldier of the guard, jumped up with a demanding face and was about to begin a speech to command explanation. Armed men walking in the night were uncommonly the honest kind. A younger man came from the elder's side and walked close to the soldier, their nose nearly touching. Nobody moved to interrupt the youngster in his actions. The youngster looked sternly in the eye of the other, and the soldier recognized that he was not starring into a human eye, but that of a wolf. He sat back with a mouth closed and less blood within his face. The youngster gave a smile and a forgiving bow as an acknowledgement when he stepped back to his place.

The elder reached into his coat and produced a rough wooden rod wrapped in thin clothing. The black-cloaked man took it with a ceremonial nod. It was a container, for the man was able to unscrew its top. He rattled and a leather parchment slid into his hands. The parchment bore a seal with the symbol resembling that of the daggers held. The man studied it for a second and then broke the seal with the edge of his chair, opened it and went towards the side of the fireplace to gain better lighting to read it. The bottom of the letter contained a signature and along with the mark that was on the seal. The handwriting indicated a man with patience and precision, his letters written perfectly and whole, the lines and spacing even. The parchment was long as was the massage. As the stranger began reading it, his face became surprised and shock. With a rather sudden but still not hasty movement, he crouched in front of the fireplace to better read the words, turning his back on to the elder, whom stepped backwards. It was a respectful gesture.

The black cloaked man began reading and gave a suppressed gasp; afterwards he crouched for more light. There was small, faint mumbling, barely audible as the man was reading the massage out to himself aloud or perhaps discussing it with himself. Then he stopped. He gazed into the fireplace, both his hands still clucking the massage, blocking some of the heat and light to the room. He was like that for a time that seemed to be longer then it was.

Time passed silently. The fireplace crackled as the insect musicians of the night played their courting songs. The sitting gentlemen gazed the cloaked man with patient expectation, occasionally glancing at the men in brown coats. One lit a pipe and began playing the game of making smoke circles. Another stretched backwards, sighed tiredly and rested his head in a makeshift pillow of his palms. Yet another signaled the elder that he wishes to go to the bar to refill his mug. The elder nodded and gestured the man to do so freely. The barkeeper refilled it without a word, and the man went back to his seat, gazing the black-cloaked man with patient anticipation. The rest followed his example. Even the soldier slowly calmed, tapping his knees in boredom and contemplating with his drink.

It became clear that the brown coated men were not assassins, so there was no danger. They themselves stood almost like statues, giving slow glances to their surroundings but not moving an inch to show impatience. They showed no signs of hostility, their hands in cloches behind their back. A breeze made the fireplace flicker, giving the smell of the distant forest. It was a peaceful night.

Then the stranger stood up, his shadow danced like the flame behind him. He looked at the men and gazed at the letter, to read it out loud and translated. His voice was deep, with a strange tone to it, yet without clear accent. He was slow, calm, his pace fluid and steady. All in the room listened with anticipation.

"Dear Talon Aflame the Demonblooded, of Thorn.
Greetings from home, Grand Hunter and Blademaster. The council of the Winterwind has decided, with consensus, to lay upon you a duty of guild's honor that you are to fulfill with death if needed be. The council apologizes to not ask consent from you in this matter, but it has been decided that you are the only one capable of fulfilling this duty. It offers to bestow you the title of Elder Blade master as a sign of the council's intentions. May you bare the gem of Wisdom with honor. You shall find it along with this massage.

Your duty is as simple as follows: you are to protect and serve the royal family of Ludivia, King Edmond and his direct family. The king has forbidden the unjust prosecution of guildsmen, and has saved Elder Hunter Whirlwind from corrupt justice, despite great political pressure not to do so, asking nothing in return. Ludivia has become a great hunting ground for the guild because of this.

We have information, from King himself among other sources, that his life is in mysterious and in multitude of perils, and the Winterwind wishes to repay his display of kindness and sense of justice by lending a hand when in need. You are to serve him till he dismisses you or to your failure as his protector. You are expected to obey the code of the guild faithfully.

You have been chosen due to your reputation of excellent manners and honor, proven by your reputation with the Highlander Clan Nordan. Also, by your deeds with Kuriel, the creature of Mundan, the haunter of Kinira and by the recommendation letter of Imperial Liberian Cornerious, Mage Denan, Lord Elhriva and King Melayole. Your skills and unique abilities are of unparallel quality in sum to any of the guild, and best suited for this task.

The King is informed of your arrival, and you are expected to wear your Mark openly. This may sound unreasonable if not outrageous, but the King wishes to see a positive identification of you. He has informed us that his enemies were able to fake the Hunter Knives. He has promised us that his personal guard and most trusted staff are also informed of you, so you need not to be afraid. Carry Titanslayer and use it to pledge your service in the name of our guild.

To further help you, you may use your authority as an Elder. In the capital, we were able to establish a guildhouse, led by Elder Quickfeet. The pack sending you this massage is supposed to provide you with various equipment of which you may freely choose to your fitting to aid you in your task, as well as help you arrive shifty but safely to the capitol.

On a more personal note, Head Councilman Rednose again offers his apologies for not asking your consent and hopes you understand his reasons. He knows that it is within the guild's charter to give you the right to refuse, but reputation is important in such times. Councilman Lunivar wishes to note that if you were not the best choice, he would have voted no. Councilman Kendevar tells you to not get killed, because you still owe him that honour. Councilwoman Nedvena wishes to warn you to not gloat with your newly-gained title just yet. Councilman Autumn Blossom sends his blessings of strength and vigilance. Councilwoman Lenola hopes you that you do not die of boredom and placency. Councilwoman Draka tells you that she has put aside some tea leafs for your return. Councilman Rock offers his "sincere condolences" and, quote: "a sharp throwing knife for ever backstabber you come across, and enough mules to keep them all on".

I myself humbly wish Fortuna's and the Warrior's kindness upon you in the most needed times.
May the wind give the scent of good prey.
-Written on behalf of the Winterwind Council by Sage Gentle Breeze, circa 675 after the battle of Invarech, Month of the Eagle 3,2th dexem, in the Lonely Keep.

PS : The King has informed us that one of his enemies were able to fake our Hunter's Dagger. He is not aware of who. If the opportunity presents itself, destroy all fake daggers and prevent the manufacture of any more. The protection of the King however, enjoys priority and you are to leave this matter to other guildsmen."

The man, whom the letter named Talon, looked at the men with a face that could have been anger, surprise or disappointment alike. Then it wondered all around, gazing questioningly at the gentlemen behind him. One of them began patting him on the back with a wide smile, but stopped his speech of congratulations at Talon's expression. After all, few have the honor of serving a royal family, but the Winterwind does not live for honor. Most of the gentlemen were in either disbelief or awe, justly so, for few outsiders could gain such insight into the workings of the Winterwind Guild. The men in brown coats stood eagerly, the younger (a relative term, for there were no boys among them, only man, even the youngster was old enough to marry) of them displaying impatience for the first time by licking their lips and playing with their thumbs. All eyes strayed to the man in black cloak. They expected a simple word.

But true to his nature, he spoke without words. He nodded. For the gentlemen and almost everyone else in the room, it was confusing or not confident enough. But for the elder man, it was enough. He smiled. But the stranger’s reply was not complete: he shook the container and a small, beautiful azure-blue gem rounded perfectly fallen to his palm. The man named Talon once again drew his dagger and started to meddle with its large handle. Then he showed it to the rest of the room: within the handle lay a half-circle of small gems. Three red, one green, two grey and finally the blue. This time, his answer was clearer. The choices he had was simple: accept the rank and task or be defiant to it altogether and pretend that he never received it. His choice by accepting the gem into his Hunter knife, the badge and signature tool of his guild, he accepted the rank.

The men with brown coats gave a silent cheer, their faces and hands speaking louder then words, victorious for the fact that their task was not for nothing. The two carrying bags stepped forward and put them on the floor, opening them. Talon started to remove his clothing, starting with the leather straps. The youngster of the men in brown coats took them and was awed by them, especially the long-bladed sword.

Then Talon lowered his hood, revealing a black kerchief, also known as a bandana, wrapped around his head which was strange. Men do not wear such clothes. Beyond that, there seemed to be something bulging against the kerchief. As Talon removed it, it became clear that he was not purely that of blood of Man. From the back of his neck, there was a bulging curvature going behind and above his ears, ending at his forehead with a small spike-like feature. Skin covered it, and it seemed to be natural. On the spike-like ending, that made the whole top of the skull resemble a crown, was a symbol.

It was three vertical strokes, the centre being longer then the other two. What instilled fear, that it seemed to give a slight red glow. Those who gazed felt an inexplicable grip on their hearts.

The Elder made a series of gestures of unknown meaning to Talon. Talon gave a long gaze to the gentlemen in the room. He gestured the gentlemen to go.

"The moon is high, and it brings vivid, strange dreams. Tonight, it was not different and that is all you seen. Goodnight."

They all went. Either to their rooms or to their homes, it was clear that they no longer had any business. The last one saw Talon talk with the barkeep, within his hand was the metallic shine of silver coin.

The next day the barkeep told that stranger paid all the gentlemen's tabs as well as his own. The man himself was nowhere to be found, the barkeep telling that the men dressed the stranger in armor, brought some food and drink, then left. The stranger’s last vague words had clear meaning now. None of the gentlemen on that night made mention of what went past. There was no need and none of their business. Some worried of that, most were glad. There is enough chance for trouble in Embrefle, it was needles to search for more.

"I am many, yet I am one.
I have lived before, none
named from whence I come.
I now do nothing but hone
My sick thirst for the bone.
Jackal King, how I morn
Thee's howl and adorn,
That you proudly shown
To the envy of demonic Alorn.
Oh, how far I have gone,
How many have me scorn,
Found new ways to be torn,
Over again. Our blood is worn,
Due to their accursed tone.
We dare not stand alone,
Our weapons mere bronze,
To their steel, and so forth.
But know this, my lord
We still live, for we sworn
To once again make hope
To make thee's kingdom come."
- Author’s name not known, found on an artifact left behind by the horde.

The royal palace of Ludavia, 1,5 Dexems (15 days) after Talon receives the massage in the White Mountain Inn.


They were coming.
None saw them coming. None heard of them coming. None even saw anything like them before. None knew how much of them were. All that mattered is that they came.

They were like savages. They had no style to their fighting, no formation of their attack, no communication, no tactical maneuvers of even the most primitive kind. They just poured in and started mauling and killing everything in reach, except their own kind. They stopped at nothing, pushing their comrades into the enemy's weapons without second though and fought with unending ferocity. They were completely fearless of death or pain. They were without mercy or even intellect, killing women and children alike. They took obvious great pleasure of mutilating, and even seen eating, the remains.

They gave a savage howl of triumph at every kill. The palace was aloud with them and without end, along with their groans and gruels. There was less and less of human shrieks of terror by the minute.

And they were here. Now.

The grand dance hall of elegant beauty was now a bloody battlefield. The royal guard, the remnants of the staff and some nobles now fought from behind their poorly improvised barricade of tables and chairs, desperately trying to hold off the horde of attackers. There was no where to run and there was no end in sight, the enemy coming without end.

The King himself was already injured, in the hands of an exhausted healer trying his best without his medicine and tools. The Queen was killed earlier, her body surrounded somewhere down the halls. The bodies of several charred monsters also lay beside her. There was the poor, old scribe, his head between his knees, pressing against the wall. Two, now orphaned, twins were holding each in the face of terror. The company of the dead was not late here, in the form of the injured that ran out of blood and with it, their life. And amidst it, the young princess Catherina sobbed alone on her knees, none at the ability to care or even take notice.

The Royal Guard proved themselves worthy by not just their loyalty. They fought bravely and well against the onslaught, for longer then what they expected although their defeat was evident. They have already forsaken hope, and now fought on principle. It was all they had left.

It was the princess alone that had the luxury of observing her surrounding, one that she did not live with well at that moment. All her thoughts were now occupied with the vision of her mother's face as she extended her arm to Catherina while monster grabbed and bit her. She cried shamelessly and loud, taught decency now meaningless. Deep down her heart, she wished for the words of a prayer, a song of power, a summoning of protection, even a spell that her mother thought her, anything that could give hope but all that came trough her mouth were incoherent sobbing. Her pretty blue dress was now stained with her tears and the blood of the fallen. Not all the blood was red.

She was in no state to hear the new sounds. How could she? A child hearing the difference between the orchestra of screams hear a new tone of shrieks. This time, the shrieks were not that of human. Not that it mattered much to her or to anyone else at that moment.

Finally, she removed her hands to see them. They were dog-faced humanoids, with random sets of armor and clothing, which they wore carelessly. Their skin was black as night, darker then that of the men from the Northern Deserts, a few whom now fought alongside their lighter-colored comrades. Their eyes reflected a bright yellow in the light of the few still-burning torches and lanterns. They were armed of what the old, and now dead, weaponmaster identified as primitive voulers, which resembled meat cleavers with a pointed edge, and kopis, short swords that more resembled a barely bent letter C then a blade. The monsters hacked and cleaved with either one with great delight, although some fought bare-handed, with stolen weaponry or experimented with whatever was at hand. They had little regard in their choice of weapons.

All of the princess’s thoughts of them were that they were ugly and evil. Ignorant was she of their true nature and history, in this case that was true enough.

She tried again to speak among her sobbing, but all she was able to swallow her tears. All that she loved was gone. Her future was among the claws of what the royal guard held at bay only for a perhaps minutes. She knew not of what to expect from life, but she tried to silently say goodbye to it all. Goodbye to her pets, goodbye to her mother, goodbye to nanny, goodbye wardrobe of pretty clothes, goodbye dolls, goodbye sun and fields of green grass her mother sometimes took her.

*Tudd* A corpse of another fallen guard landed close to her. It was Edrik an elder guard. He was always kind to her, sometimes smuggling small sweets to her. She remembered the smile of the scared and battered man's face. It gave her some surreal echo of peace.

She then, perhaps as a unconscious defense mechanism of her sanity, tried with all her presence of mind to close her eyes and imagine a better place. A place without them, a place where there was sun, music, sweets aplenty and mother. Her wonderful mother, caring and loving, making magical illusions of dragons, Kreken, Steelskin, fairies and other wonderful creatures, singing songs and stories of old, smiling at Catherina's delight. It was a feeble vision. But it was enough. There was no other refuge for the young child.

It was then, as if Fate responded to a child's prayer for life, that the only closed door of the three in the hall was sprung open by a powerful blow. Catherina opened her eyes to see powerful, blinding, white light fill the dark room. Hope did not fill her just yet for she was already halfway to accept her fate, but the seed of doubt of did find soil in her. This was just chaos entering upon chaos, but this was a different chaos. The monsters on the other hand, were momentarily stunned by the light, momentarily stopping their fight.

Men in brown coats swarm in, in teams of four men at a time, armed to the teeth with various bladed weapons, dispatching the monsters with great efficiency. They were decisive and fearless of the monsters, which were caught by surprise by the men that moved to kill without any hesitation. The monsters tried to strike them before they themselves were struck, but the men proved superior in skill at defending themselves from attack. When one was not able to dodge, his comrade moved to intercept. They moved in a formation, making wheels of blades that cut apart as any monster tried to come closer. Only occasionally did the sounds of armor being struck were heard, among the now strong shrieks of death from the monsters that mindlessly charged to their death. It was not like a man giving his last breath, but like a protest of pain and agitation. It felt like a pin striking and twisting in the ear.

Catherina then saw a few large figures leap forward and even above the men, at least one of them rebounding from the walls. They were large creatures the size of a smaller horse, with fur and canine heads. It was unlike the heads of the surrounding monsters, for their head was more properly wolfish and their fangs were larger. They had beautiful fur of various patterns that gleamed in the light, stood bipedal as they punched and clawed nearby enemies. She saw that they occasionally took their enemy's weapons or even the enemy themselves, throwing and waving them about as if they were mere sticks. They did not ever bite. It took a few moments for Catherina to realize that what she saw were werewolves. Real, living werewolves like what her mother spoke off. They were said to be mystical beings, predators of the deep wilds and wastelands.

As her eyes got used to the strong light, Catherina now saw into the doorway. The source of the light was the tip of a strange wooden staff held high. The corpse of countless monsters lay in the way, and there were figures in robes. They walked forward and began chanting and waving their hands. Catherina saw flashes of magic struck the monsters.

The monsters themselves poured more then before, from everywhere Catherina could see, stomping on their dead like mud. The men and the werewolves were forced to halt into a protective half-circle around the entrance. The coated men were leaving gaps for the werewolves while the robbed ones, whom were obviously some sort of mages, threw spells over their heads. The beast became even more ferocious and aggressive at the excitement of the attackers, the first change in their manner Catherinaa could notice.

Then she saw him.

He was unlike everyone else. He was a tall, lean and imposing figure wearing dark clothes that may have been armor. He walked calmly, his eyes giving a strong and foreboding red glow, within his hand was a battered battleaxe dripping with black blood. On his forehead, on a small spike-like growth was a symbol. It was three vertical strikes, the middle longer then the other two. It glowed with a faint red light, akin to the eyes. He wore armor unlike any Catherina saw, leather mixing with unknown materials. She noticed strange gloves, metal ones that had their fingertips in claws that the man seemed to wear with ease. He was armed heavily, a large blade on his back and another at his hips along with a large knife, with throwing knives on a strap that stretched trough his chest. His face resembled an angry drama mask, muscles flexed to show an expression that can only be described as demonic. The men in brown coats formed a gap for him straight to the monsters that took the opportunity to flank.

"KRIAN!" - he shouted with such a strong voice that Catherina thought that the earth shook. She knew not what the words were, nor what it meant, but she knew it was a command.

For the first time in a long while, there was silence. All sides stopped fighting, stepping backwards and glared at the other, if not the man.

The man walked forward, and then Catherina saw what she did not only awe with her childish mind, but gave her true hope in the darkness that was around her.

For the first time, the monsters charged into spears, that were unafraid of both a powerful mage and seasoned soldiers, the monsters that faced death without fear and shown no sign of it of any kind before, stopped in their tracks at his approach.

The man approached without regard of the significance of this. The monsters that faced him, stepped back. He marched on, leaving the protective circle of his comrades and letting himself be surrounded by the monsters whom gazed and sniffed him curiously and with what appeared to be an alien emotion to them, fear.

"I am Talon Aflame of the Winterwind. Flee or be slain. Final warning." - he said with a voice that sounded like fine, flat steel being brushed by steel while sweeping his gaze all over the room.

For the first time now, Catherina gave a faint smile. Not all is lost. She recalled her father speaking of a powerful warrior from a far away land named Talon Aflame, who had a crown-like growth on his head with a symbol of three vertical strikes, who's eyes glowed red with fury. She feared him, yes, but it was the kind of fear a child views It was told after her mother defended her from a crazed assassin, more specifically while her mother complained to her father.

One monster stepped forward, his weapon raised to strike.

One monster had his skull split in two by a battleaxe right after that moment.

The man who named himself Talon drew his sword from his back. It was a large blade resembling a fang that he held with two hands. A monster behind him leaped to maul him from behind, using his comrade's shoulders as a boost. He gave a snarl as he leapt, what was his mistake.

In the next moment, the same monster lay on the floor with his guts laid open and blood flowing freely. Talon once again was behind his attacker, who was now dead. The black blood on his sword and his stance told that he cut the monster open in the mid-air.

Then the battle began anew.

his long white hair giving a ghastly image, giving the impression of a ghost in haunting

As for non-technical stuff, I'm intrigued at the relationship between Talon and the Council, and hope that develops more. I also just like the whole letter in general.

Finally, just know that you're using some language and terms that don't quite make sense in English.

The handwriting shown a man of great patience and precision, the letters complete and the words spaced evenly. The leather stretched long, so was the massage.

Another stretched, gave a sight and rested his head on his palms.

All sides stopped fighting, stepping backwards and glared at the other, if not the man.

She feared him, yes, but it was the kind of fear a child views It was told after her mother defended her from a crazed assassin, more specifically while her mother complained to her father.

The Royal Guard fought with renewed vigor, new-found hope being their fuel. The brown-coated men and werewolves were in half-circle like before; the strange mages throwing deadly spells like angry children do stones. Catherina saw that not all of them were fighting and some were just standing there supported others.

Talon himself stood surrounded by monsters and an increasing amount of their corpse. Catherina did not even see his sword anymore, just a flashing whirlwind of his blade. Most monsters that approached him could not even begin to strike they were cut dead or crippled so fast. Talon himself was like lighting, his strikes furious and lethal. She didn't even see him moving, just his stances between two strikes, accompanied with a roaring, rhythmic battlesong that somehow felt as if it overpowered all the other voices Catherina heard.

It was soon that the room became cleared of the monsters, much to Catherina's amazement. She thought the horde to be endless but none more came, giving the child herself a moment to regain her conscious. Only then did she truly realize the stench that was so thick with blood and death that she could feel it on her tongue. The monsters fled, for the first time. The man holding the light-giving staff dimmed it a little, so that it would blind less. All in the room collapsed to rest, most of them for the first time in hours. But only momentarily could they do so, for Catherina heard the howls of more of them coming.

"Elder Talon, I smell a new scent. More are coming, but there is something else." - Catherina heard one of the coated men speak. His eyes flashed dark yellow.

"I smell it too, barely. Hear them as well. I don't recognize it.” – replied Talon in a much more normal voice then before, although still frighteningly deep and echoing.

"It matters not. They are already here!" – shouted another coated man at the door. Talon ran to him.

It was so. From all entrances at once, the monsters that were seen earlier entered again, but now they were very different. They were not at all like savages in their manner. They had formed proper formation of lines, something vaguely resembling a phalanx, all equipped with their voulers that formed an onslaught of spikes. Between some of their lines, Catherina saw figures that resembled the monsters like the others but she saw that they had glimmers of gold on them and where ghostly white instead of jet-black. All of them were snarling and growling.

"Numar!" - shouted Talon as he saw the oncoming force.

"What?!" - replied one of men in a blue robe that was leaning against the wall, taking the opportunity to rest. He held a wooden staff not unlike that which gave light to the room.

"If you would be so kind!" - Talon pointed at the doorway trough which the monsters came.