RedRavenPoems

Starting today, a piece of a short story that I’ve been writing will be uploaded every Sunday.

Without further ado, here is the beginning of my story series, Eternal Nightmare

Candles flickered, casting the room in a haze of wavering light. A figure sat at a table, not in the least disturbed by the light, or the lack thereof. An older man, his hair turning silver with age, eyes sunken into his head. He started at the at le top, or more precisely at the cards laid out upon it. He was so absorbed in this, that he failed to realize he had a visitor, until the bolted door shut tightly behind his guest. Or should he say jailer.

“What news for the master old one?” came a hissing sigh. Snake like, the serpentine hiss echoed around the room. The elderly man glanced up then at his guest and sighed. His eyes roamed towards the speaker, milky white streaked with silver. He was blind.

“It is the same as always Infern.” he replied in a grating whisper. Like the echoes of sandpaper rasping across stones. It was so low it nearly was hidden by the sputtering of the candle flames. “Come closer and see for yourself, so you can report back to your master.” 

Ignoring the base insult the old man had thrown at him, Inferns despised being called by their races name, the being stepped closer to observe. The ancient man gathered up all the cards, and tossed them into the air above his head. Instead of raining down upon the table, they floated slowly. Swirling through the air upon an invisible breeze, curling twirling this way and that, until they reached the table in the same order they had left it. The old man touched each in turn and explained them. Patiently, slowly. As if to a child who could not understand.

“The tower. A symbol with no need to explain to you. It is our home. This world. The black sun, a symbol of power, the ruling power. It stands for the Black throne, and he who sits upon it. See here? Lightning and Fire. Unrest,Chaos. Upon the top of them is the Red Sword. A sign of conflict. The meaning is clear. War comes. And it will be here soon.”

The Infern hissed. A jubilant sound that sounded like a chorus of screaming serpents. It quivered with excitement at the news. The old man, though his blind eyes could not see, frowned as if he could. And in his own way perhaps he could very well do so.

“What elsssse?” came the expected query. “Anything else to report to the master?”

“You know the answer to that as well. The battles that will come will be long and bloody. A new ruler must sit upon the Throne. More than that, I cannot tell you. But truly? Who can stand against your master?”

The old man hated to admit it. Even to himself, and especially to this creature. But it was true.

Cackling delightedly. The Infern left to report to his master. Slamming the door behind him with a thunderous crash. The ancient man, shriveled by age, listened long to the footsteps receding. Eyes fixed unseeing at the doorway. Soon it was clear the Infern was gone, and more cards began to float up. There were four of them. They placed themselves upon the others, one solid black with crimson eyes in it, by it’s self. 

The other three set together against the single card. Emblazoned upon them were a pair of gauntlets, etched in silver laced with black. A gamblers cup, dice thrown to the Fates. And a single white star, shining brightly in the darkness. The meaning was clear, and it brought a smile to the old man. The ancient being whispered softly, almost unheard in the darkness. 

“The darkness of war will indeed sweep the land. The Throne must be taken. But by who? The blackest of Powers will rise to seek the Throne, throwing the world into chaos. But the champions. The Three are coming. Force, the mighty beast of battle. Luck, that dreamer of dreams, will walk beside him. And Will. The power to defy even the darkest of powers. All will come, all will fight. And the world will change forever.”