Anago (Unfinished)

[Agano]

Needless to say, this is both unfinished and untitled. Hopefully both of those statuses (Statusii? XD) will take care of themselves in time. Brevity is my kryptonite, as I find that I overlook describing certain details in my mental picture onto the paper. Feedback on what could be expanded/needed to fully fill in your own mental picture would be greatly appreciated.

If possible, please restrict comments to a separate thread - just so I can post subsequent chapters without breaks.

Expect Chapters to be short. two pages typed will be the average, except for the prologue.

This is going to be my own attempt at a dark fantasy novel. Enjoy.

EDIT: Does anyone know how to indent the first line on proboards? it's nothing more than irratating to have to add the line between paragraphs, since I dunno how to indent. No bigge.
DOUBLE EDIT: Working title is now "Anago" due to its Swahili meaning and the relevance it has to the future plot. As it is only a working title, I will expect it to change later.

[Agano]

Prolouge: Winds of change.

The forest pines shook violently in the cold, hard wind. It was the wind that preceded the first snow of the winter season every year. It was a violent and harsh wind. It was the kind of wind that puts out lanterns in spite, the kind of wind that carries dust into the eyes of travelers while at the same time freezing them right to the bone. The kind of wind that whispers death and starvation into the ears of those who feel its delicate kiss. Whispers of famine and sickness. Whispers of madness.

It is often winds like this that make men finger the edge of their blades, idly wondering how easily it would cut the flesh of the man next to them, or make women contemplate spicing their dinners with a liberal amount of rat poison. The hateful wind raged through the Chaka Forest, howling in anger of its inability to uproot the trees entirely, settling begrudgingly to breaking off old weaker branches and sending them crashing loudly to the ground.

The wind, about to disperse for the night, was renewed when it found a new victim: an unconscious man, propped against one of the tall pines. The man's blood soaked winter jacket was torn to shreds, barely concealing the half healed cuts that crisscrossed his chest. The wind caressed him gently at first, like a lover, soothing his black eye, his broken nose, his still bleeding knee, and his half hearted bandage on his left bicep. It mussed his short cropped brown hair like an older sibling, rough but loving. But the wind was not one of soothing comfort. It was of nasty and dark origins, bent only on misery. With a sudden burst of strength, it blew through him, pushing over his nearly lifeless body, reopening the wounds on his back and stomach.

Seeing it's work done, it sped on its way, following the man's trail of blood to the scene of the battle he had crawled from, a small clearing littered with bodies of men and the many armed monstrosities that were the Kucha. Delighting in the scene of death before it, it blew violently towards the town of Taltreth in the south, revitalized to complete it's night's work. It was to be a harsh winter that year, and that prospect only delighted the wind more.

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[Agano]

Chapter 1 : The survivor awakens.

Tredin's eyes opened slowly as he returned to consciousness. His left eye, blue in contrast to his right's green; opened halfway before burning pain seared through his head. His vision swam from a mix of the pain and the loss of blood, but when they returned to normal, he took stock of his surroundings. He was laying on his side, on the pine needle littered ground of some forest.

Chaka Forest, boy.

“What?” Tredin's voice cracked and his throat felt dry. His tongue tasted dry blood.

I said this is Chaka forest, boy.

“Who are..?” Tredin stopped talking there; the act of making the sounds for 'are' caused his broken nose to shift ever so slightly, sending a new wave of vision-spinning pain.

Ah, well, now that nose looks nasty. Had a bit of a bad spot with a Kuchan club, now did we? Better set that before it heals that way.

Tredin tried to push himself off the ground, attempting to return to a sitting position. His arms felt like lead. Like painful, heavy lead. His muscles burned and his legs were cramped. His shaking arms slowly lifted him off the ground, and returned him to his resting place from the night before, wincing as his raw back touched the rough, bloodstained bark of the pine tree that was his only friend the night before.

Come now, boy. Take care of that nose. Unless, of course, you want to become some showman's new freak.

Tredin's hands slowly made their long voyage from the ground to his face, gingerly touching the area that used to be his nose, trying to access the damage. His nose had once stood perpendicular to his face, though now it decided that after its twenty years of service at standing guard for his face, it deserved a nap, and was laying comfortably on Tredin's cheek.

Oh come on now, boy.

Tredin's hand moved of it own volition, crudely grabbing his smashed nose and jerking it back into place. Tredin screamed at the sudden influx of pain, his eyes watering.

There. All fixed.

Tredin's eyes searched frantically for the owner of the voice through their thick veil of tears.The forest looked empty from the tree where he had pulled himself. His tongue tasted new blood, probably from the violent resetting of his nose. The metallic taste made him vomit. The bile was tinted the dark red of blood.

You're worrying about the wrong things, boy. For now, don't think about who I am, but instead of what I'm saying. You were ambushed. The Kucha laid quite the cunning trap. I'm surprised anyone survived at all.

“Kucha?” Tredin mumbled, trying to spit out more of the blood in his mouth.

An image formed in his mind. A large, black, leathery skinned octopus, walking on four of its legs much like a spider, while using the other four to wield an assortment of weapons. On each leg was a long, independently moving eye stalk.

Kuchan Berserkers to be specific. But you are getting sidetracked. What you need to know is that you are hurt. Very badly. You will not survive very long in the state you are in. I find myself in the very same dilemma. So I will offer you a proposal. I will help you, but you in turn must help me.

“What choice do I have?” Tredin asked. The loss of blood was getting to him; his vision was going gray.

To put it bluntly, none. But I need your answer. We are both running out of time.

Tredin's head swam. He was having a hard time keeping his eyes open. His head was sinking slowly towards his lap, despite his best efforts.

Hurry, boy. Now isn't the time for deliberating!

Yes. That's Tredin tried to force out through lips that wouldn't open. His mind focused for a single moment, dispelling the pain and blood-loss induced semi-coma that gripped it momentarily to concentrate on that single word. Yes. But his lips wouldn't open. His vocal cords wouldn't work. His lungs had already decided they were done with breathing for the day. His resolve dissolved, his mind went dark.

His body slumped against the tree, and his breathing stopped. The wind from the night before sensed it, and swirled back to the forest from half the world away, to revile in Tredin's death. It stirred the needles from the ground, plunging them into his hands like small swords, howling cruelly as it pushed his body away from the tree to the ground for the second time.

It happened in no more than a second. Even in the sunlight of midday, the flash was bright. Blinding. The wind howled in fear and sped away. The flash concentrated into a small orb, burning brighter than the largest of suns, and settled on Tredin's right hand. Another blinding flash, and the glowing orb was gone. In it's place was a white mark, engraved into the very skin of Tredin's right hand.

It is done, boy.

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