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Genre - Horror / Dark Fantasy
Rating - PG13/R
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Several fires burned along the perimeter and
the center of the encampment. Soldiers
and slaves huddled about them more as a ward against the unnatural dark than
for warmth. Indeed, a starless sky is an
ill omen.
I dismounted near the high ground. The beast’s body crumpled and became
liquefied, black like the swamp that birthed it. The ground steamed and hissed as the creature
bubbled and decomposed until all that remained was a scar upon the earth.
The officer's quarters, where the traitor
resided, was near the camp's center. Fur
from a foreign beast covered the entrance for protection against the elements
and a roof of purple signified its regality.
This is where Demaratus, my second charge, dwelled.
The loss of blood slowly crept upon me and left
a sensation of needles pricking my neck and the area around. The dull pain was beginning to disappear into
a numbness that was spreading like frostbite upon my soul.
“I must hurry,” I whispered and steeled
myself.
I made a slow descent to the eastern side of
the encampment. From the shadows I saw
two guards, primitively attired, most likely Medeans. They slept with their backs against a frail
pine barricade that wobbled with their wheezing snores. I moved past them silently; only one death
was necessary. I moved past a cluster of
tents where a small group of men crouched in the darkness. They reeked of horse dung and cheap
wine. I hurried past them and a
makeshift armory and more beasts. I
heard murmurs and snores, heard sighs and whimpers from men that missed their
homes.
I approached the
main tent. I found it strange that no
soldiers guarded the entrance, but drunken soldiers without heart are not so
vigilant. He was here; I could feel it.
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