A dread tale

(( I started this and never finished (posted on AoC forums)..but i did enjoy writing and am interested in finishing

btw I am not a skilled writer so please bear that in mind..thanks))

Chapter 1

The light rain pattered on the glass of the curtained windows of the small room. The old man sat back in the divan, expectant and wanting, unconcerned of the weather outside. The dim lighting in the room only heightened his senses and his appetite. His intent was focused on the shadows before him. He sat up as the woman moved forward from the shadows. She was dressed only in a gossamer skirt, her supple naked torso exposed, carrying a small clothed covered bundle before her. Her eyes danced, toying with the old mans gaze. She moved towards him slowly and playfully. He unconsciously licked his lips. Upon reaching him she slowly bent over to place the bundle on the small table in front of the divan and continued the motion toward him. When her face was next to his, she whispered into his ear with a sweet sultry tone, her bosom slightly brushing against his arm and chest.

“I know what you want old man. Prepare for a feast that will tantalize your senses.” She paused, “This shall truly make your mouth water.” She stood up and with a quick and focused motion, she pulled a long knife out from were it was tucked between the waste of her skirt and the small of her back. The filtered strobe of lightning briefly lit the room, followed shortly by a small boom of distant thunder.

“Prepare yourself old man,” she said with a cunning grin.
The old man, carefully watched the slow downward motion of the knife; he let out a small gasp before her quick and deliberate intent was complete. She pulled the cloth from around the bundle to reveal a large fruit pie and sunk the knife into its flesh. A luscious aroma filled the old mans nostrils, he was drunk with its scent, his mouth uncontrollably salivating. Excitedly he watched her graceful motions as she cut out a large slice.

Quite unexpectedly, there was a fervent knocking on the door.

“Knock Knock Knock”

He looked into her eyes questioningly. She returned a slight unknowing shrug and then, with her eyes, lured him to look at the slice of pie she now held out for him. The dripping juices of the fruit filling were coating her fingers in a slick tasty glaze.
The knocking, became louder, more insistent. A loud crack of thunder rumbled the room.
His rapture was to be compromised? He thought in a panic.

Bam Bam Bam

The knocking had turned into pounding.

Bam Bam Bam

He shook his head, “No No, not now, by Crom!”

Bam Bam Bam

“DAMN IT, GO AWAY!”

BAM BAM BAM


With alarm the old man woke up from his dream.

Chapter 2

Pulling the wool blanket over his head, the old man tried to return to his dream. The sweet sound of light rain enticed him back into unconsciousness.

Bam Bam Bam
“Hello, old hermit are you home?” a strange voiced sounded from beyond the old mans sanctuary.

The old man tuned over and groaned. He thought yelling “NO” would probably not fool the pest.
Bam Bam Bam
“Go away stranger, the time is late” yelled back the old man.

“This is an emergency, I would not wish to bother anyone at this hour were it not.” The voice beyond the door replied.

The old man was not happy in the least. He thought “what the hell good is it being a hermit, making sure everyone for miles knows you to be a hermit, if fools are gonna traipse up here and bother me!” “Bah! You would think the painted bear skull on the door would be a little daunting.” He groaned. Sitting up he carefully raised the wick in his lantern to provide a little oily light to the room of his hovel.

“Hold on Hold on,” the old man yelled as he got to his feet and shuffled over to the door.
He unbolted the door and cracked it. A fancy looking fellow stood staring back at him in earnest.
“There is a town not a mile from here” he pointed in a noncommittal direction,” go bother someone there.” Sneering, he quickly slammed the door shut.

The stranger knocked again. “Old man, are you not the healer hermit known by some as Felkethar?” The old man stopped, growled and opened the door.
“Damn fool, do you have a clue what HERMIT means? Go into town, ask someone, maybe the can give you a clue!”

The stranger put his foot in the doorway before the old man could slam it shut.

“Yes, I do, and there is a man draped over that horse,” the stranger hitched his thumb back over his shoulder, “who may die within the hour if he is not taken care of. You are a healer are you not?”

“An hour huh?” the old man scowled “Well you have time to make it to the cemetery in town .Have the grave digger start working on burying him. The burden you shoulder will be no more.” The old man made a quick few religious looking gestures towards the limp form draped over the horse while muttering “inco domma flecto, klatu narrata nicto”The stranger missed his slight sardonic grin. “Now for the last time, GO AWAY!”

The old man tried to kick the man’s foot out of way to slam the door. The stranger had other designs. With a quick shouldering, he slammed the door into the old man knocking him back sprawling on the floor of the house.
“By the Gods, do you have any graces?” moving within, his hand on his rapier and towering over the old man.
“The person who is currently bleeding on the horse named YOU; HE implored me to seek YOU out, just before passing into an unconscious maze. HE goes by the name of Dreadwolf, I know not his real name. But HE knows YOU….”

“Yes yes, I know the fool.” Felkethar interrupted waving his hand in a pleading manner.
Lightning and its thunderous clap seemed to boom a few feet from the house. The stranger turned, quickly looked out at the two mounts, startled and snorting neither did bolt. He quickly returned his glare to the old man.

The old man sitting him self right wagged his finger at the man. “This makes me all so very inhospitable, the busting the door in and knocking me on the ground, all that chest puffing and glaring, the yelling, the over emphasis on the pronouns, in my house of all places, in my house. Are you going to run me through if I tell you to go away? How ‘bout I pronounce that there is nothing that can be done, will you leave me be then? Try to be a successful hermit, and for what, strangers banging on your door some 5 hours before dawn, interrupting your sweet dreams…..” The old man began to mutter curses under his breath.


“Well?” The intruder inquired with forcefulness and authority, “Are you to let him die or shall I bring him in?”

“Fine” the old man said irritated, “don’t expect any miracles, but do expect to fork over something of value for this intrusion.”

At that moment he thought of his dream and sighed.

Chapter 3


Felkathar drew him self upright with one eye on the stranger striding out to the horses. The stranger seemed to him peculiar. The stranger began to unlash Dreadwolf from what appeared to be a Cimmerian Plains Mustang. The bay colored horse suited that scoundrel he thought. The other mount most assuredly was an Aquilonian Walker, possibly with some quarter horse mixed in, typical for men of station or knighthood.

Felkethar turned around with a “hrumpf”. “Knight? Bah most likely a disfavored noble,” he thought. Scratching mindlessly at his beard, the old man turned his attention more to the matters at hand. With a small gesture and an ancient word, that he himself knew not the origin, the rest of the lamps in the home lit. He turned towards the hearth and repeated the process. The hearth sprang to life, spreading its glow and warmth rapidly through the room. A simple room of three as was such design for the simple home for the simple man.

He briskly went over to his expansive dinner table and chuckled. The table was solid oak measuring a good six foot in length; however in this home, it never saw more than one seated at it in usage, evident by the lone chair along its side. “Looks like tonight, your full span will be used in serious purpose” he whispered.
Unwashed plates, bowls and utensils were scattered about its top. With a scowl the old man began to remove this debris, placing the items in a wood box he had under the table. Hearing the approaching stranger laboring behind him, the old man hurried. With a quick final shove of his forearm, the old man cleared the table and turned motioning for the stranger to bring the injured to the table.

“Quick, lay the man here.”
With help from Felk, he stranger placed the limp form down on the table on his back with his arm at his sides. Finished the stranger backed away to allow the old man room.

Felkethar began to inspect the injured man; instantly drawn to the blood which seemed to be staining the table from a wound above the left hip. He pushed his fingers into the slash hole in the leather jacket, through the vest and shirt, and began to probe the wound.

“If assistance you still require, I can wait to see to the mounts,” the stranger asked.

“Go see to the horses, bring your gear inside as well…IF you wish. The storm is almost upon us and best to keep your things near should the mounts bolt.”

The stranger gave a dismissive grunt, “I will be right back,” and walked back out of the homes.

The boom of thunder rolled ominously through the hills, and the rain began to pick up intensity.

Removing his fingers from the wound, the Old man began to move about the form, cataloguing the injuries intent on discovery before proceeding.

He examined the head, noting a broken nose, a black eye, and what looked like a part of the left ear bitten away. Feeling about the skull he found a large knot on the backside above the base, the bone felt unbroken.

Continuing his survey, he found a hole in the jacket above the breast and in the center of the shoulder. Sticking his fingers in, he felt what was assuredly to be the severed end of a crossbow bolt protruding from the skin. The head was still buried beneath the skin apparently.

Pulling the front of the leather jacket open, urgently ripping the open the vest and shirt, he inspected the torso closely. He confirmed his suspicions of the two major bleeding wounds and finding, as well, evidence of bruised or broken ribs a few days old.

He finished his assessments, by checking the limbs. Two broken fingers on the left hand had been poorly wrapped and the dirty torn cloth had become loosened. Satisfied no more injured were the arms he inspected the legs finding them in relatively good shape. He removed both boots. A long knife toppled out to the floor upon removing the right. It hit point down, planting its self in the floor upright. The right ankle was swollen, apparently a hard twisting suffered a few days before.


…to be continued

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