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tamingthemuseTitle: Untitled
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Decay
Warnings: rewrite of the prelude to my story
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Dark Lord returns home after two years away at war.
It was dark when they made their way up the old path around the sheer cliff side of the mountain. Thunderous clouds had hidden the setting sun from sight, turning the evening into night far quicker than expected, but the Lord of the Castle had requested to be in his own bed this night, and the troops were willing to give that extra push at the promise of their own beds.
They had passed the first body at the base of the mountain, a spy from the neighboring kingdom that had made the mistake of being caught. He had been killed promptly and his body set upon a stake to warn others. While the men of his army all knew the lord well enough, the sight still made them all turn their eyes away in pity for the man.
Once, they all knew that the lord had been a shy youth that feared shadows just as much as the next five year old. He had been alone most of his life, only the servants and retainers close enough to care for him. His mother died only a few short years after his birth, and his father soon after.
The little boy couldn’t understand how is mother’s health would decay with every day until finally she was gone, but his father’s love for his mother was obvious even to the toddler at the time, and it really wasn’t a surprise when the lord turned morose with mourning.
After his father died, the young master had to learn very quickly that the world was out to get him. The servants that had been close to the Lady tried to protect the boy, but their effort were never enough. Quickly enough, the boy learned to hide his emotions and thoughts behind a mask of indifference. He learned to fight and he took up his father’s mantle.
Before his majority he had already earned the title Dark Lord of the Black Mountains.
Now, two years into a war that the mountain people had no need of, the Dark Lord was finally returning to his old castle. Rumor had it that the hermit magician from mists had emerged and made his way to the Dark Lord’s holdings, and tensions were high as they marched through the thick forests toward the castle hidden from the road.
As they drew closer to the castle’s holdings, more bodies on stakes emerged from the fog. Some bodies were new, blood still red on their limbs, while others were so old that their skulls were showing through bits of skin where birds had plucked away at the flesh. The smell of rotting meat was heavy in the air.
The horses were skittish, but the men well used to making this trip. They resolutely ignored the bodies hanging on the roadside and urged their horses faster. They could make it home before the rains started.
A crack of lightning startled a horse, jostling a wagon. The wheel slipped off the road and snapped. Men rushed to stop the wagon from going over and to calm the horse.
Cursing, the Dark Lord turned in his saddle. “We’ll have to stop here.”
“Sire, we can send the others on ahead.”
“Do it. Tell them to bring the wheel smith.”
The man saluted and began ordering men about. Soon enough the wagon was pulled away from the cliff and the horses soothed.
Damian, Dark Lord of Black Mountains, dismounted and patted his mare on the nose as she snorted angrily. The wind had begun to pick up and the clouds thickened over the horizon, finally blocking out the last rays of daylight.
His page had come already and selected a place to set up his tent for the night, and was busy settling in for the night. The soldiers that had remained behind were all busily creating a camp. Damian had a moment to himself. He patted his mare on the nose again and drifted off.
The forest here was naught but pine trees, and the pines crunched loudly underfoot. Frost had crept over the ground, turning the dark, dank brown into a glittering white. Stretched out before him was an untouched wilderness that once may have left him breathless in awe. Now, he stared at it with empty eyes, wishing that perhaps he could have his innocence back.
The wars had not been kind to him. He had to learn to be strong on his own, for there was nobody to help protect him. Greedy noblemen with far too much power were hungry for his lands and wealth, and he had to learn to watch his back far quicker than any child should have.
Just past his twenty-fifth year, he had fairly and justly earned his reputation as Dark Lord of Black Mountains.
Fandom: Original
Prompt: Decay
Warnings: rewrite of the prelude to my story
Rating: PG-13
Summary: The Dark Lord returns home after two years away at war.
It was dark when they made their way up the old path around the sheer cliff side of the mountain. Thunderous clouds had hidden the setting sun from sight, turning the evening into night far quicker than expected, but the Lord of the Castle had requested to be in his own bed this night, and the troops were willing to give that extra push at the promise of their own beds.
They had passed the first body at the base of the mountain, a spy from the neighboring kingdom that had made the mistake of being caught. He had been killed promptly and his body set upon a stake to warn others. While the men of his army all knew the lord well enough, the sight still made them all turn their eyes away in pity for the man.
Once, they all knew that the lord had been a shy youth that feared shadows just as much as the next five year old. He had been alone most of his life, only the servants and retainers close enough to care for him. His mother died only a few short years after his birth, and his father soon after.
The little boy couldn’t understand how is mother’s health would decay with every day until finally she was gone, but his father’s love for his mother was obvious even to the toddler at the time, and it really wasn’t a surprise when the lord turned morose with mourning.
After his father died, the young master had to learn very quickly that the world was out to get him. The servants that had been close to the Lady tried to protect the boy, but their effort were never enough. Quickly enough, the boy learned to hide his emotions and thoughts behind a mask of indifference. He learned to fight and he took up his father’s mantle.
Before his majority he had already earned the title Dark Lord of the Black Mountains.
Now, two years into a war that the mountain people had no need of, the Dark Lord was finally returning to his old castle. Rumor had it that the hermit magician from mists had emerged and made his way to the Dark Lord’s holdings, and tensions were high as they marched through the thick forests toward the castle hidden from the road.
As they drew closer to the castle’s holdings, more bodies on stakes emerged from the fog. Some bodies were new, blood still red on their limbs, while others were so old that their skulls were showing through bits of skin where birds had plucked away at the flesh. The smell of rotting meat was heavy in the air.
The horses were skittish, but the men well used to making this trip. They resolutely ignored the bodies hanging on the roadside and urged their horses faster. They could make it home before the rains started.
A crack of lightning startled a horse, jostling a wagon. The wheel slipped off the road and snapped. Men rushed to stop the wagon from going over and to calm the horse.
Cursing, the Dark Lord turned in his saddle. “We’ll have to stop here.”
“Sire, we can send the others on ahead.”
“Do it. Tell them to bring the wheel smith.”
The man saluted and began ordering men about. Soon enough the wagon was pulled away from the cliff and the horses soothed.
Damian, Dark Lord of Black Mountains, dismounted and patted his mare on the nose as she snorted angrily. The wind had begun to pick up and the clouds thickened over the horizon, finally blocking out the last rays of daylight.
His page had come already and selected a place to set up his tent for the night, and was busy settling in for the night. The soldiers that had remained behind were all busily creating a camp. Damian had a moment to himself. He patted his mare on the nose again and drifted off.
The forest here was naught but pine trees, and the pines crunched loudly underfoot. Frost had crept over the ground, turning the dark, dank brown into a glittering white. Stretched out before him was an untouched wilderness that once may have left him breathless in awe. Now, he stared at it with empty eyes, wishing that perhaps he could have his innocence back.
The wars had not been kind to him. He had to learn to be strong on his own, for there was nobody to help protect him. Greedy noblemen with far too much power were hungry for his lands and wealth, and he had to learn to watch his back far quicker than any child should have.
Just past his twenty-fifth year, he had fairly and justly earned his reputation as Dark Lord of Black Mountains.
