1 Chapter 1 of My WIP

…and many a war will be fought, many lives forfeit over the fate of mortal souls.   

Chosen of The Sky; Second Tome Of Prophecy, third leaf. 

Surrounded by pine covered hills, there was a sleepy town, named aptly, but unimaginatively after its location; Pinewood. 

The town boasted no battlements and mighty stone walls, just a small force of lookouts on the hills, under their watchful eyes, lay the roads leading in between the hills. To their arrows, many a brigand met his end in the years before, trying to disturb the sleep of hardworking people. 

Yet, one night a new, terrible menace sought after the dreams of mortal kind, and like a venomous spider, descended upon the town in perfect silence. 

****.      ******.      ******

 A noise, a simple mundane noise startled him awake, banging on the door. Perhaps it was the savage way it went on and on ceaselessly, even after he called out his weary "Go away!" lines, and as he cursed with fervent emotion under his breath breaking the comfortable drowsy mood in the process… Though in truth the persistence of the knocker hadn't caused the swearing, rather the ghastly chill that erupted from seemingly nowhere, at his core. A feeling like midnight wind tearing and shredding through a graveyard, followed by cold sweat in short order.

 He had no intention to open his eyes, let alone get up and see to this mysterious visitor in the dead of night, but the banging wouldn't stop. Soon enough intense rattling of the wooden door followed, intense to the point he now thought that someone actually tried to rip or break the door off. 

 Despite his best effort, he couldn't push off the tugging dread. 

 Cold unfeeling stone met his dreary gaze, gray walls and a faded brown plank ceiling.. Even in the faint moonlight reaching in through the small opening of his window he could see it all clearly… 

 He was in his side room just up a ladder to the right of the main entrance. 

His room, yet somehow it appeared ghastly in the silvery pale glow of moonlight. 

He could clearly hear the rattling and banging, and for a second, he could've sworn.. 

 A dying voice, almost as if struggling for enough breath against collapsing lungs or a ruined windpipe. 

An eerie choking voice calling for help. 

 Before the seriousness of the situation hit him, four much more powerful bangs echoed through the building, each with a gut twisting crunching noise at the end. As suddenly as it all came… The noises vanished to nothingness. 

Mjoln had hoped at least that it had all been a horrible dream, but as he listened on, he had discovered that the noises didn't really fade to nothing, simply quieted somewhat. 

From the window to his right came a different yet all the more frightening noise. 

Heavy and blunt thumps and thuds. Many steps taken by heavy bodies in a hurry. 

He broke out in cold sweat, still hoping against hope. It couldn't be, they couldn't be under attack. It made no sense, why attack a small town that had barely more livelihood to offer than the villages around it? 

  Chill breezes occasionally hinted at the approaching autumn, but even at night most people didn't need any thicker or heavy clothing. Yet, somehow, he had felt the need to wrap his sire's traveling cloak around himself before he'd go out. The black cloak he'd use in town and the surrounding villages, but when he'd leave as he had days before to trade at more distant settlements he'd wear the gray one. 

Mjoln got out of bed, the well-trod planks under him made little noise, even as he paced on toward the entrance of his room, and pulled the horse hide out of the way. 

He scratched at his chin, his first beard just starting to grow itched on occasion. 

The main room below was empty, and just as ghastly as his in the pouring moonlight coming from two windows. The fireplace with the wide and rounded stone outlet cast a long shadow toward the front door, obscuring anyone if they had made it inside. 

Before he would turn away and descend the short ladder, a shadow appeared in the center of the room… 

A long drawn out shadow, no doubt cast by someone standing at one of the windows. 

  Wild and rabid fear rushed through his body, realizing at once that it wasn't one of the town guards, because they always carried torches at night, besides they hadn't any reason to trouble him. 

The shade was humanoid in shape, at least he knew it wasn't a large animal from the surrounding wilderness. Growing up at the eastern edge of Pinewood he often saw the shadows of animals passing by the windows, he had seen the town guards shadows on occasion as well accompanied by orange glow of torches, and the realization that this was neither of those sent waves of chills through his being. 

The shade stretched further as he held his breath and hoped that his savagely pounding heartbeat made no audible noise. 

 In a few seconds the shadow left and he realized at once that he had to move. 

He rushed down the ladder as quietly as he could, and hunched over, snuck by to the closer end of the fireplace. Quietly snatching the cloak, he quickly wrapped himself in it, and pulled on a pair of leather boots he normally wore on treks to the forest. 

Now that he was so close to the entrance, the wiry figure started at the realization. Countless sinister noises echoed in the night, no doubt coming from further in the town. 

And seconds later, from all the chaotic and distant sounds emerged the toll of the alarm bell. It rung once, and moments later once more, and a third time, however the third sound drowned out in between the savage thunder of stones collapsing and timbers breaking. 

The noise of rushing intensified in the distance and came to life just outside of the door. 

Numerous brief shadows trailed along the floor in the main room, though he thought that most of them had no reason to investigate the building, he silently prayed for a quick end to the madness. 

 Hunched over again, he snuck over to the wall with the two windows and snuck under them. 

Facing the last window stood his parents's room, and somewhere in his da's chest he would find the short sword, or so he kept reassuring himself. 

He understood there would be no victory if he stayed and fought, but he wasn't about to just roll over and die for them. 

***

Finally, after long seconds of trepidation that kept him leaned against the chill wall, like an iron grip on his windpipe and two arms pinning him against the wall… Finally came some brief relief, and he dared leave his shelter from view, toward his sire's bedroom. 

Knowing full well he'd be easy to see from the window if anyone peered in, he glanced over his shoulder at every step, almost fearful of his own drawn out shadow.

Having reached the door, he prayed it wouldn't make too loud a noise as he pushed it open. Each strained metallic screech of the protesting hinges, as faint as they were, sent new waves of dread down his spine. 

As soon as he had opened the door enough to slip through into the relative darkness, he did and slowly closed the door. 

He felt out the rough fur underneath, and slowly made his way to his right.. If he could find the bed, it'd be child's play to find the chest even in the blind darkness. 

As his outstretched left hand tugged along in the darkness, he found the cold hardwood lid of the square storage box first, then, with his right, found the endboard of the bed. 

With short and silent breaths, he searched the surface with both hands to find the latch. 

Normally he would not dare to rummage through his father's belongings, but felt it justified now. 

Long stretched out dreadful seconds of searching later, his right index finger caught the indentation, and the metallic tongue of the latch nested within it. 

He tugged on the surprisingly heavy lid, and slowly opened the chest. In contrast to his thus far silent and cautious approach, he now quickly thrust his hands into the chest, searching for the heavy steel weapon. He wouldn't have minded to get cut by it, just as long as he could get the weapon…

Soon enough, between pouches and coin filled purses and various other smaller containers his right hand identified the cross shaped end of the sword, the hilt wrapped in leather strips, and the blade resting in a leather sheath with a belt. 

He silently cursed at something rolling over and making a thumping noise as he pulled the sheathed sword out and stood up to tie the belt around himself, under the cloak. 

Finally securing the weapon, he hunched back down, and followed the end board of the bed back toward the door. Relying again on his left hand, feeling out the rough bear fur underneath to guide him the remaining short distance. 

The door opened slowly at his push, and he peered around it, to first verify nobody was looking in from the outside. 

Satisfied that he was alone, he crept out to the main room, and headed straight to the safe shadow of the fireplace. From there, he had hoped to creep outside unnoticed, and slip away if at all possible. 

 Surprisingly, the front door didn't want to budge even though he pulled the deadbolt open.  He tugged at it stronger each time, until finally, at his fifth try the wooden wing gave way, though it felt as if he had been pushing something large and heavy with it. The cooler air touched his sweat covered forehead first, as his eyes took in the eerie moonlit roughly hewn stone road, just three steps from the doorway. Further beyond some pine trees blocked his view of the hill behind them. Subtle orange glowing shapes danced at the edge of his vision, and as he turned to his right, a shocking sight greeted him, shaking off any remaining doubts that their town had been overrun. 

The first buildings closest to his house, a hundred feet away  on either side of the road, let out massive clouds of smoke through the windows, and huge orange and greenish tongues of fire licked the cool night air from the rooftops. Given the illumination he had expected to see the lookout tower with the alarm bell in it near the town square, but all that remained of it was the lower portion of the round wall, surrounded by a pile of stone and broken timbers. The huge brass bell lay on its side, on top of the pile.

More disturbing still, were the blackish human sized shadows sprawled and strewn across the road, and by the buildings sides, and the large humanoid shapes that still stood and moved about between the burning buildings, carrying torches and tossing them at the still intact houses. 

Some of the shades walked from door to door, carrying some sort of bladed weapons. Those who fled from the flames would meet their doom at the hands of these attackers, and the rest would burn to death. 

Mjoln had hoped to see the town guards rally and drive back the invaders, but somewhere inside, he knew that a lot of the shadowy figures lying dead had to be guards. 

Before he got too caught up in the sights, he quickly snuck around the house, opposite the town's direction, leaving the door open. He scanned the moonlit grove of trees nearby, watching for movement, but apparently the invaders were all in the town by now. Somewhat relieved he glanced back at the door, and blood froze in his veins. Their closest neighbor's wife, Bartha had been nailed to the door by her hands, each having a hilt of a dagger and a portion of their blades sticking out of it. Her sightless glass-like eyes reflected some moonlight, staring blankly, her slightly wrinkled face frozen in time, mid scream with blood painting long streaks down by her mouth and nose. 

"What kind of monster would do such a thing?!" came the outburst from him, though in that instant he had immediately regretted it.