Ashram

So, I continue to lack actual “fresh” content, here is another creative writing short story. Unfortunately, I only have one more of these so I’ll have to do something real pretty quick.

Shrieking air gives way as jagged shards of timber burst in every direction. Far in the distance, the ear splintering blast forces fauna from their niches. Wedging deep within the cedar’s flesh the solid blade becomes dormant.

“Drat! I’ve done it again!” the harsh tones of Ashram surge forth.

He stood hunched, his sword driven into the tree. Clothed in fine robes of crimson and coal, covered in finely crafted golden armor never to be further ameliorated. The midday sun transforms him into a beacon of light and purity. His hair charred and faintly cerulean does frame his solid face. The ashen eyes are his portals to the world.

“You need to be more agile, at this rate you’ll clear the forest by sun down,” says Talon, Ashram’s sage and father.

Standing with his sword point to the ground, staring with azure eyes, Talon wears solid midnight grab covered deep with silver armor tarnished by age, his hair ashen and firm. Marred by age and scares his face shows the test of battle.

“Yes father,” Ashram utters as he smears the sweat from his brow.

Pollen and dust hang thick in the air the pungent aromas of plant matter are prevalent in every breath. The thick air heaving with gaseous water slows every motion. Compounded by the brutal beating of the blazing sun. Each breath is a struggle, a literal fight for life.

Grunting Ashram forces loose his blade. Concentrating and focusing his energy he tears against the tree reeling back he is thrown by his own power. Staggering he once again regains poise.

“You look tired Ashram,” Talon states as he raise his sword to strike down his son.

The adroit swing of Talon’s blade slices the thick air in twain. Instantly Ashram whirls to meet the sword, sprawling back to one knee he with all his might strikes a mighty counter blow, forcing an abrupt stalemate. Their blades met mere fractions of inch from Ashram’s face. The brilliant clangs of steel on steel rings into the distance.

“Good, at least you have learned something today,” Talon vociferates, as a smile appears his face.

“Indeed,” Ashram wearily answers. In exasperation he tumbles backwards onto the ground, his armor clunking and rattling.

“We’ll call it a day,” Talon declares as he towers above his son.

“Yes father, an excellent suggestion,” Ashram replies through a guise of exhaustion, staring at his father’s aura created by the rich navy tones of the heavens.

“Let us return to the village to hear of any news of Tremme,” Talons states as he begins traversing down the trail.

“Tremme? Is he the one we now seek to destroy?” Ashram asks.

“Yes, he is the next in this heinous trail of thaumaturgy,” Talon says, stating his concern.

“Greim, Shalman, Nyneave, Tremme, and the list goes on and on, why must so many pursue such evil?” Ashram continues his questioning.

“There are secret workings of the world my son, it is not our mission to understand the evil, more so to destroy it,” declares Talon.

“We seek out the evil rooted within those strayed from the light, to liberate the world, to free from terror and discontent, we are the slayers,” Ashram inaudibly utters their credo.

“These creatures, these magicians, thaumatugrist, and wizards, have stalked the night for millennia. They have murdered, manipulated, and disgraced humanity without conscience or reprisal. Now, the wind of fate has changed, now, the scales have fallen from our eyes. We have seen them, we have touched them, and we have known them. We are their antithesis. The time of reckoning is at hand, we are that reckoning!” The fiery speech of the slayers springs forth from Talon.

“Ah yes, so they say,” Ashram says, smiling as his laughter rises.

From ahead, deep within the shadows, leaves begin to fall.

“Wait. Quiet now. There is something ahead in the trees,” Talon cautions Ashram as he unsheathes his sword.

“An Earth elemental!” Talon shouts as the beast of magic drops from the canopy.

The calorific auburn color of the creature’s stone base is shrouded in a veritable plethora of flora. Intense crimson eyes shine from within a casing of snarled, and barbed vines. Varying opacity gives a semitransparent appearance to the creature, enhanced by the air writhing against its swell of power.

“Tremme knows of our presents. Be alert Ashram,” Talon warns his son as they prepare for battle.

Traditional wisdom would dictate two warriors, no matter what their skill could never combat such magic. For a warrior is the steel of battle, poised for steel verse steel, magic has always been there bane. Now the tides have turned in favor of these two, the warriors Talon and Ashram. Since their discovery of a new dark metal capable of cleaving magic, literally destroying its foundation. Talon and Ashram have roamed the lands devastating the evil that is witchery. Every battle with the phantasmagoric increases the power of their blades forged of this metal.

The creature, created by sorcery, summons upon its power from within the Earth. Grass dirt and leaves arise from the ground. Slowly they begin to swirl around the monster. With a burst of energy from the creature’s body ragged, and serrated vines explode out with great speed and force. Absolute adroitness is present as Talon weaves and slashes through the whips. Again, with yet another swell the ground twists and bucks. However, Talon is undaunted. Moving with balance and poise he jumps. Beckoning his true strength, slashing downward, cutting the creature in half vertically.

From each severed section of the body brilliant light cascades forth in a stream of power, shooting into the heavens. Dropping to his knees Talon stares, facing the crescent ash created by the feral discharge of energy.

“I am getting to old for this,” Talon states as he removes the blood from the corner of his mouth with his thumb.

“Yes but you have many years left in those archaic bones,” Ashram says with a bit of laughter.

“We do things humans were never intended to do,” Talon says as he looks in the distance.

“Only to strike a balance, humanity was not meant to touch magic either. Quickly now, we must continue on before Tremme tries any more tricks,” Ashram declares to his father.

“Is this our fate as well? We strive to develop great power to battle this evil. Are we destined to be corrupted?” Talon utters, continuing his quandary.

“Father this is not the time from self examination, and questioning the fabric of our being!” Ashram shouts as he attempts to prod his father.

“How are we to judge the difference between corruption and purity?” a malevolent voice asserts.

“Where are you? Show yourself Tremme!” Talon begins to shout as he turns look into the dense forest around him.

“Am I truly here? Are you here? Or is this all just an elaborate dram in which we all perceive to be reality?” the voice says in open-ended fashion to induce a state of confusion.

“I am not a fool demon. Show yourself so that I may send you to your dark lord!” Talon threatens completely unaffected by the creature spells.

“Oh that would be most unpleasant, I would much rather send you. Then you could truly see the wonders of our ways,” Tremme continues in his low toned chants.

From in front of Talon a form emerges, swirling air slightly offsetting the trail behind it.

“So that is your game, I see you have never before met with a slayer. No simple invisibility spell will protect you,” Talon shouts as he charges towards the mass.

Swinging with certain might and power, Talon is knocked off balance by the absence of any resistance of the creature.

“You must be joking this will be no more pressing than a hand of cards. I shall call your bluff human fodder!” Tremme scolds Talon, as the form slowly takes color and materializes into a vessel.

Clad in robes that absorb the light, offset by streams of fiery red the creature’s pale face is pulled and taut, marred by runes chalked in coal and blood. Midnight hair enhanced the aura of evil. Its thin lips cobalt and tight, are deprived of blood.

“Such a frail form for such power? Interesting why the arch-demon chooses such weaklings,” Talon taunts the creature of a man.

“I am no more different than you Talon. I know you don’t believe it, but you are no different than us. Why must you resist it? Join us, become whole,” Tremme extends his hand as he offers Talon this invitation.

With a surge of hate and fury Talon dashes on, sword drawn in striking position. Immediately runes upon the face of the creature begin to glow ominously, towards its eyes. Brilliant scarlet cascading against a sea of blackness flashes around Tremme and Talon.

As if perfectly suspended in time Talon’s ferocity shows in full force on his face. The creature, face more pale than ever, turns towards Ashram.

“Look now Ashram, you are still young, barely a man. You could serve the master long and well. Join us. This man, this statue, is no longer man, flesh or mind, forget him. Join us,” Tremme vociferates attempting to persuade Ashram.

Behind the creature Talon’s shoulders drop slightly, his sword still held in striking position. With only a fraction of a glimpse Ashram realizes that Talon has broken the spell!

“Never fiend!” Ashram spits at the foul demon.

Suddenly Talon shoots forward with his sword aimed directly at the creatures back.

“No!” Tremme shouts as he spins back, his runes spontaneously lighting up.

Seizing this opportunity Ashram hurls his dagger with deft accuracy into the creature back. Tremme undisturbed continues his attack upon Talon.

Stopping moments before impact Talon drops his swords from his hands. His veins through his flesh turn black and cold. Darkness envelops his flesh closing around his eyes. Exploding from every orifice a solid black liquid of power disperse into the air. Shriveling and crumpling into a heap in the ground Talon’s body lies stiff and lifeless.

“There now you will see the master!” Tremme shouts at the hollowed body of Talon. Laughing will all his might Tremme turns once again towards Ashram. Staring with blood shot eyes Tremme says through a slur created by the blood streaming from his mouth, “You are next.”

Looking down Tremme sees with instant terror, Ashram’s dagger protruding from his chest, penetrating his heart rune.

“No,” Tremme utters completely awestruck as his hands surround the wound.

“Yes,” Ashram declares as he shoves his sword deep into the creature’s chest. Twisting it, completely destroy the heart of Tremme.

“Prepare for your punishment: the throes of torment. Your master awaits,” Stepping back Ashram watches as the body of Tremme contorts and writhes as his soul gradually drains from his body. Though Tremme’s body is dead, his soul is still partially present. That, that is on the other side is receiving such torture it reaches back and devastates the carcass.

Ashram, drawing his sword from the cadaver causes the vile body of Tremme to explode into minuscule chunks of gore.

“Father,” Ashram says, once again returning, in a surge of emotion, back to reality.

“Your death shall not be in vain, I shall carry on and find another, and your death shall not end our journey. Live on within me father,” Ashram speaks as he reaches down retrieving the amulet—depicting a man kneeling before his God—from his father’s lifeless body.

“From your cup, not one drop has spilled,” Ashram, utters and he clutches the amulet in his hand forcefully, piercing his callus skin. Blood running down surrounding the amulet, drips silently towards the soil as tears stream from the young warrior Ashram.