writing process – three good words

Trigger Warning: Violence, Sexual Content
Please Do Not Proceed unless you are in the right place mentally.

The skies had held. The night was clear and bright with stars, the moons probably high above the crests Gav had seen on their way to this town, long forest ridges pointing to the High Hills. It was said the Last King was there, rightful heir to the Three Kingdoms. It was rumoured he had delved deep into the Art and spirited himself and his entire court away, right out of the clutches of the Demon Horde. It was said that, once joined, one was granted amnesty and could rightfully return to one’s own. Gav wanted that amnesty. Not for himself, but what might befall him and those of his blood once he took sail to Ghón and searched his own.

He could not return a deserter, he knew that much. The Beast may rage on, but the Law still held, even in the remotest parts, which was a strange surprise, and had often served him well. Yet, after his escape, he knew to take the Law for what it was. To return a deserter would put too many in jeopardy, and now that Imarius II had retreated beyond the passes, there was a possibility for clemency. There was little hope in it, Gav knew. He was certainly not the only one who fled the legions without due leave, but many rumours held true, and that of clemency was whispered all across the Fields, in taverns, and even along the high roads, if one knew what to listen for. It was the one hope Gav still had left. All others had been burnt on too many funeral pyres and entirely sunk in the Bogmarshes of Jirigan.

Now he was here, in an unknown town so far West it knew little of the battles fought at the coasts, for the Demon Horde knew its sails far too well, and once landed, travelled swiftly across the Plains of Inan on horses faster than the wind. They were, last Gav knew, only stalled at Jirigan, where demons from the Nine Hells erupted and laid waste to all mortal flesh. He still did not know if what was unleashed was meant to repulse the Demon Horde, or if the Horde had finally revealed its allegiance to their hellish gods. Either way, what was let loose turned Jirigan into a hellscape no man should have to face.

Gav had seen many a stout heart fail at the sight of something ungodly from the Nether Realms. Many-tailed monstrosities of uncountable teeth, claws the size of half a man, writhed in the marshes, exploding out of murky waters, gorging themselves on friend and foe alike, flinging limbs and blood and entrails everywhere, until it was wise to cover one’s sight for fear of being blinded by a sudden splatter. Gav had seen bodies ripped apart by creatures he still could not name, he had seen the enemy torn apart in ways none of the mortal realms had ever known possible. There was no time to sleep, no sanity to rest, and even now Gav could not say how many days he spent in Jirigan, nor how many days it took him to retreat beyond the marshlands and escape. What was clear in his mind, was the singular demand to leave, to flee, to save himself and be done with whatever Madness allowed such abominations to be let loose on all things living.

That was then. Gav had found a means of escape and now had to see to future things. And part of that was moving further to the High Hills in hopes of reaching the passes before the first snows fell. He had time yet, though with the weather unpredictable, all was yet possible.

The innkeeper was generous and allowed them use of his wash house, a simple cavernous room, with a large bathing tub that seated two, and soap and scrubbing stones for use. Since the innkeeper thought them bound, Gav took the girl with him, who surprisingly did not protest. They washed and scrubbed in silence, passing the pails of warm water to each other while standing side by side. The girl rinsed herself with a quick splash of her last water and climbed into the hot tub right after, sinking below the warm wet until all was covered to her neck. Gav followed suit soon after and they sat together in the hot water, the girl curled up against the wood, while Gav leaned back, closed his eyes and allowed the liquid heat to do its work. It maybe was not wise, they could be easily ambushed here, but he had so far seen nothing to worry him.

Thus, they spent at least an hour by the clock, soaking in the clean hot water until it turned lukewarm. It was a melancholy moment when Gav had to leave the easy comfort, the Gods knew when he would have the luxury of a real bath again. There were robes waiting for them, and, surprisingly, simple footwear as well, allowing them an easy return to their room. Once returned, Gav found the fire was still bright and warm, his weapons untouched, and his saddlebags undisturbed, which showed a steady hand ruled the house. The last of Gav’s concerns melted away. He would not have to worry about intrusion here. It was what he needed to ease his mind to rest.

Gav required little encouragement to strip down and climb into the wide bed, spacious enough for two bodies without one disturbing the other. Lying as he was, Gav thought of this unexpected stroke of good fortune. The town so far was quiet. The innkeeper knew his business, the food was of good making, the wine of decent stock. The bath had been deeply pleasant and would allow a kind of rest Gav had not known in a half-sun at least. There was little he would need to worry about here. There was little carousing in the streets, the tavern moderately loud for a place of drink and song, except a few drunkards bellowing through the floorboards. A particularly rowdy group seemed to be rousing each other during a game of cards. The garbled shouts, however, did not disturb the sight Gav was seeing.

The girl had undressed completely before joining him in the bed. Gav had watched her as she removed her robe, thinking she would don her underskirt at least. He had done her the courtesy of donning his second pair of breeches, rumpled but still fairly clean, for sleeping completely unclothed seemed unwise. She remained undressed, however, slid under the covers to him and began as before, her pecking kisses on his neck and chest. She undid the bands of his breeches, quicker this time, and used her mouth again. With the light from the fire Gav could see her clearly. He could not leave her to herself this time, but pulled her up to him, turning her onto her back. Her eyes were so wide they seemed to fill her whole face. He watched her as he parted her legs, waiting for her to fight him, or at least speak, but she remained as she was, her eyes wide as saucers.

He eased himself between her legs and waited for her to stop him. She didn’t, though she was clutching the pillows tightly. He bent down and kissed her carefully. She jumped underneath him.

‘Just a kiss,’ he said, her eyes were as wide as ever.

Her reaction was timid as if she didn’t know what to do with her tongue and lips, but she did not stop him. He made sure she was completely distracted by the kissing before he entered her. She still gasped with fright.

‘I’ll be careful,’ he said, her eyes were as wide as saucers again.

He did as he promised only to see what that did to her. He stopped. Her eyes were filled with tears, sliding down the side of her face. It could not be her first time.

‘I’ll stop,’ he said but she shook her head. ‘What is the matter then?’ She just shook her head again. ‘Should I stop?’ She shook her head again. He let his head fall into the pillows. It was killing him, sheathed within her as he was. It was too much. ‘I’ll be quick,’ he said against her ear. She nodded, her hands clutching the pillows tightly.

She was crying openly by the time he was done. Her sobs were so loud he had to close her mouth with his hand. He knew how it would look if anyone rushed in. She was crying so hard she could hardly breathe. He felt nothing except the release of tension as he gave his seed. Gav did not know if he should feel relief. She did not stop crying for some time. He was still on top of her, if he moved it just got worse. Gav finally found the strength to speak.

‘When?’ She did not answer. He turned her to him. ‘When?’ She swallowed and turned her eyes away.

‘I don’t know,’ she finally said, her voice so quiet he hardly heard.

‘How many?’ She shuddered. ‘How many?’ She shook her head. ‘You don’t know?’

‘No,’ she whispered.

‘How long?’

She did not answer, but he felt her hand on his arm. One finger, two, three, four, five.

‘Days?’ She shook her head. ‘Weeks?’ She shook her head. ‘Moons?’ She nodded.

Gav closed his eyes. Ye Gods. Five. Five hellish moons.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ She started crying again, silently, tears filling her eyes and pouring down the side of her face.

Gav left her and pulled her against him, holding her close. Five moons. And yet she let him. No, after a full meal, not to mention an entire bath, she probably saw its as payment still. And there was the room of course, adequately clean, the bed dry, the covers without stains. She would expect it. With nothing else to call her own save her chipped clay cup, many would see it as worthy payment. Gav wanted more than ever to know what happened in Lainhaven. Instead of asking, however, he held the girl close until she fell asleep, watching her in the firelight.

Even in her sleep he could see the marks of her terror. She shuddered and flinched every now and then. He stroked her gently. Five moons. And she still let him. Or rather, paid what she felt needed paying. And the worst was, there were many more like her. Many, far too many. Sanctuaries that were torched, Temples raided, and all within if not cut down, then abducted and enslaved. For it was known the Sanctuaries were only women and their guards, oathed to their protection from a young age. He himself had seen some of the worst. The Sacking of the Alathan Coast, where the High Temple of Asroha, Lady of the Light, stood in all its glory, the blue of the shrine’s fire-tile walls visible for leagues on end.

The signal fires were lit too late that day, it was still not known why. There were dark rumours of deep betrayal, but the fact remained: the signal fires were lit too late. Docked in Port Gaisan, they saw the signal fires showing Attack and manned the tré-masts in that hour. They had sailed down the coasts to Alathan’s rescue, rejoicing at the fortunate winds, but it was all for nought. The spell-cast walls had already been blasted by the Demon Horde, and all was already torn down, the baileys broken open liked cracked shells. It was, Gav felt, worse seeing the aftermath. Walking through the streets and seeing the carnage left in the Horde’s blood-drenched wake, understanding what must have happened. Alathan had known over one hundred thousand, living both among its spell-cast walls and along the palm-lined coast. All had been servants to the High Temple, either in mundane duty or sacred sacrifice. After the Sacking of Alathan, only three thousand remained of those who once called the High Temple their home, the Bay of Bethména crimson with blood, lifeless bodies floating on the dark waves.

The funeral pyres burnt for eight days. There had been children, though Gav did not see the very young. One of his captains lost his mind that day, cast down his shield, undid his mantle, and unbuckled his blade, threw all to the ground and walked away, never to be seen again. Gav had stayed for another sun, vowing to avenge Alathan, and he had done his worst, until the Bogmarshes of Jirigan. That was when he knew there was no hope save what he could call his own. Whatever hellbound raksh the Demon Horde worshipped, they had true power against the Gods, for what else could unleash such utter Darkness on everything and all? Gav could not imagine the legions tying themselves to such Terror. There was ruthlessness, necessary in strategy and war, and there was the Maw of Hell opened wide in Jirigan.

Unlike his former captain, however, Gav took what was his with him, for he was not of such standing as to waste what he owned. Not that he didn’t understand his former captain’s refusal to take the tools of his warcraft with him. Gav himself still hated the sight of his spell-cast blade, too aware of what it could do, of what he would do, once he wielded it. He kept it sheathed and hidden in his saddlebags, a mere longish bundle that many confused for a shortbow unwound, which was exactly as Gav intended. He only used his koba now, a good blade to keep both plunderers and greymerchants at bay. All else would be a needless provocation.

Holding the girl against him, aware of her fits and starts in her sleep, Gav could not close himself from what he knew. The Beast devoured everything, raging on the Plains of Inan, burning the cities, destroying the ports, reducing the Alathan Coast, a place of peace and beauty, to blood and ashes and utter despair. And there was Jirigan of course, and what unspeakable forces ruled there. What did it matter now, that the Sacking of Alathan cost such outrage, the two great realms, Tísor Pá and Efera, redoubled their efforts to stop the Demon Horde from rampaging from coast to coast, pouring yet more oil into a fire that would not be doused, let alone stamped out, for the Empire was in full understanding with the Demon Horde as it cut a blood-drenched swathe through all the peaceful realms at the imperial borders. And thus, the Beast raged on, feeding on bodies and souls, on cities and realms, and nothing could stop it. There was nothing Gav hated more than the Beast, and what Madness was committed in its name, but he had managed to forget his seething hatred until now.

The war raged for cycles now. So long even, few hardly remembered how it started, a mild dispute about port taxes that dropped a spark into a tinderbox that blazed into a firestorm and raged across all the realms ever since, from the Tiyr in the High North, to the Jewelled Sea in the Diamond South. There were too many powers in play, though the Empire, Tísor Pá, and Efera were greatest and most destructive in their machinations. Or at least most well-known. What was left of the Three Kingdoms was still to be contended with, for the Last King could still stand on his feet in Efera’s High Seat at Abn Nes, which made both Tísor Pá and the Empire listen. And yet, none would concede, and none were powerful enough to enforce a concession. Thus, moon after sun after moon the battles were fought, come heat or frost, drought or storm, turning rivers red, soaking the lands and seas with blood without end, and that was just the dead. The tortured, the maimed, all the enslaved, for the Empire was ever-hungry for more bonded flesh, there were countless numbers.

Gav had seen those who had lost everything and all, their broken minds, the rage in their eyes, the madness that led to more insanity, and that was before Jirigan. After, he knew of the haunted whose faces had lost all comprehension, their souls benighted with Misery and the unmentionable Suffering they had seen. Gav knew he had witnessed more than a man should bear, but he still had all his limbs with his sanity was somewhat intact, and for that he was truly grateful. He put it to the decision he made on that fateful morning after a night of utter Hell. He remembered looking across the marshes, knowing what unspeakable treachery to all things good and right lay hiding between the tall grasses, waiting cunningly under murky waters, more than ready and willing to tear every mortal form to bloody shreds, relishing the destruction. For that was the worst of it, being hunted like animals, herded like sheep, and slaughtered in similar kind. And it did not matter whether legion or Horde, all that mattered was one’s mortal form. That alone made one prey, which made for unexpected alliances. Rather to die standing by the Horde’s hand than be ripped to shreds and eaten alive like a savaged hare. And thus, more than once, Gav ended up fighting with his sworn enemy against hellish monsters, side by side. He had seen one of the Horde mourn one of the legion and witnessed equal mourning in reverse, upending all he had known to be right and true until then. And yet, the monsters persisted and prevailed, for there seemed no subduing them. Where one was destroyed another erupted as if newly created from every man’s darkest imaginings.

It was that morning where Gav knew, he could not face that horror again. He would leave by nightfall latest. He would turn and do as so many others had and find his own peace. Once he made that decision it was hardly a day’s preparation to leave the Fields, slip away once night fell, swallow his pride and hide like an unbred urchin among barrels in a cart meant for supplies, and never return again. If he had any luck, then it was the fact that he actually succeeded.

Jirigan still haunted him, true, but the Bogmarshes would haunt anyone. As for the rest. It took many weeks until Gav managed to no longer think about what he saw every minute of every hour of every day. The nightmares grew less. And by the Midsun following his escape, Gav could sleep through a night without waking more than once. Until now. It was all back now. He remembered everything he left behind, what he knew and saw staining his memory dark with blood, the sight repeating itself over and over before his inner eye. There was no sleep to be had whenever that happened.

He had seen things no man should see and wondered if he would ever be free from this awful knowing. There were no answers, for what could anyone holy tell him, if the Gods had forsaken them, for who of those On High would let Jirigan happen? Who of the those On High would have let Alathan fall? And so completely, with such devastation, Gav began to wonder if there was such a thing as Gods at all. Alathan was, he knew, the first time his faith was broken. For how could They abandon those who worshipped them so? Alathan had stood in complete devotion to the Gods. Not Asroha alone, but the entire High Court that made their truth and existence, their world. And yet, it was crushed, destroyed, and what help was sent for came far too late, almost as if they had been prevented to do their duty unto those who served the Gods.

Alathan haunted all the known realms, Gav knew, but there were no answers, at least none Gav could formulate. What answers could there be, if after Alathan fell Jirigan was made possible? There were probably no answers, and Gav was slowly making peace with that. He could only hold the girl against him while she slept and hope for an end of memories, for a time when what had come to pass was little more than fate and story.