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The Deep Cold - by Azriel Lucius
KrasnayaArmiya
I never knew who brought me into this world. . .perhaps for the best. I remember the cold, the type that could cut into your very essence. I remember two very individuals. . .I remember the barest of essentials. Then I remembered the fire. A jolt of pain shakes me as I recall these painful, sharp memories. I lay awake at night pondering them, trying to familiarize myself with them. . .to gain some semblance of a memory. . .but it is in vain. As I sit here in my Quarters, writing, I can hear the wind cutting through the air of the cold expanse we call the North. It sounds identical to the ghastly moans of the Scourge, the blight on this land, and then I am reminded there are much more pressing matters at hand. The earliest memory I can recall is my life in Alk'Hazar, capital of the Kingdom of Oren. I was but a street urchin, living off of what I could scrounge up. I was not nefarious in my deeds, rather it was necessary for my survival. In my spare time, I would engross myself in whatever literature came my way. Be it through the news postings, discarded novels. . . I was soon quite the orator. However, the City Guard soon became wary of me and I was forced to relocate. A Northerner, I made my way to the North. I managed to carve out my own dwelling in the landscape before the harsh cold claimed me. . . I also managed to fashion my own armaments out of the elements of the Wilds. I managed to secure myself a stable, albeit isolated living. I would hunt only when necessary, and take from nature only what I needed. However, the calm was shattered with the arrival of the Undead. One cold night, I awoke in a cold sweat to images of hellfire and brimstone. Distorted, sharp images of painful torment racked my brain and pierced the back of my eyes, remnants of my dream. The atmosphere was unsettling, and I realized that something was amiss. I quickly gathered my vestments and weaponry and made my way to the biting cold, only to encounter what I had just envisioned. Fire, shooting high up into the heavens was visible from a distance. Screams and cries of agony were ever present. The settlements nearby were clearly under siege by some machination of evil. Suddenly, the air nearby was unsettled by some force of manevolence. I quickly ducked as a sword was driven through the entryway I was just positioned in front of and turned to face my assailant. I came face to face with glowing red eyes, sunken into a rotten face mostly shrouded by a black hood, complimented by a black robe. I could not make out his features, but could vaguely make up a cruel sneer. The years of hunting experience coming to fruition, I quickly side-stepped his next thrust and buried my sword deep into the unholy assailant. He let out what could only be described as an unworldly wail, and vanished in a plume of dark, singed smoke. I knew from that moment that my life would never be the same again. . . read 1  -read 2 read -3 \