Category : Stories

Sub Category : Fantasy

Roder swayed a sluggish hand to his pounding chest, each heavy du-dub, du-dub, du-dub a testament to the reality that he was still alive. The ambush had been just that, sudden and brutal. Roder’s two travelling companions he had met at the last town were only blood stains on his clothes now. Their deaths allowed Roder the time and sense of mind to move, and move fast! He’d run for what seemed like hours, long past the point of the bandits shouts and steps fading behind him, he hadn’t stopped running even when he realised that urine was mixed into the hot sweat that hugged his clothes to his body.

	The fear that drove Roder was blinding. As his breath began to ease and his chest’s movements became more and more stable Roder contemplated his actions. He hated it, the fear that held him on such a short leash in all his travels. “Roder, you did it again you coward.” He spat at himself as he began to move his aching legs once more. Once more, Roder found himself directionless, low on supplies and covered in piss.

	Hours would pass before a sign would grace Roder’s sight once more, it read the names ‘Northern Plains’ and ‘Greyshire’ with arrows pointing down a left and right path respectively. The desired course was obvious to Roder, the Northern Plains were brutal and primitive with splintered territories constantly expanding and receding due to vicious tribal wars. Although Greyshire hadn’t rung a bell within Roder, anywhere would be better than the Northern Plains he reasoned. The weary and exhausted traveller began his march down the path to Greyshire.

	The sun was four fingers from the horizon when the first signs of civilization made their way into his view. The buildings appeared to be of fine masonry, a good sign to the weary Roder as fine buildings often produce fine supplies. The mere sight of the grey silhouettes invigorated Roder with a second wind as he pushed a more stable and average walking pace despite his wailing body.

	It wasn’t long before his hopes began to sink once more, like it had when he’d seen the bandit’s blades sink into his former companions. Each step drew a clearer and grimmer picture to the unfortunate Roder. Dried blood and days old corpses flourishing with maggots and other insect spawn, painting images in Roder’s mind so vivid that the mere buzzing of flies would invoke their grisly scene.

	Things only got worse as Roder began to enter the town proper, blood smeared on the walls and roads told a violent and torturous story. The swaying of limp bodies in the wind plunged Roder into a deep depression. This very town he had gazed at with an eager hand in his coin pouch had been the source of someone else’s malicious gaze.

	As the scenes grew worse Roder wanted to abandon the idea of looking for shelter and supplies, fear and anxiety clawed at his intestines trying to crawl out and send Roder into another pissy run. But his body was too tired to protest the scenes around him.

	After much searching Roder found that he was the only soul still living in this place. Scrounging some food, water and provisions, Roder tucked himself away in an empty hut and began to rest his weary body. He reflected on the events of the day, on the blades that cut down his companions, on the stench of rotting bodies, on the buzzing of flourishing insect populations playing tenant to the bodies of those who used to walk the streets just on the other side of the wall that now supported Roder’s aching back. “So, here you are again, Roder. Once again relived to be smelling of piss instead of blood and rot. Another desolate night in a town of death.” Roder muttered to himself.