From One To Another

Daddy's Girl

Day had become night, not through the passage of time, but the burning of wood and life. Dark clouds blocked the warm glow of the sun and rained ash upon the desolated town. The fires cackled at Uthgard as he shambled past in a daze, his eyes locked on the horrors in front of him. One weak step after another he brought himself closer to the Crucifix he so desperately tried to tear his gaze from. At its base lay his neighbors, his friends... his daughter and son. Draped across its charred wood was his light, one of her beautiful horns broken from her head. Hanging from her neck was a sign.

Written in blood, it read, "DEATH TO DEMON SCUM AND THEIR SPAWN"

. . .

In a cold sweat, Uthgard bolted upright from his sleep. The fire had gone cold, but the morning had not yet come. His grief had not yet left his face when he started sharpening his glaive. The whetstone glided along its edge, the sound was slow, methodical, and repetitive. To the normal warrior, it would be the perfect time to clear one's mind and calm the nerves. To Uthgard, as he sharpened his blade, he contemplated how easily it would be able to pierce his own heart.

He was only pulled out of his own head when, over the sound of the whetstone, he heard a stirring from the basket by his side. His only remaining trace of family, not even a year old, just woke up. Uthgard put down the blade, making sure it was out of view as he began feeding his daughter. He would sometimes talk to her, not about anything in particular, just words to fill the silence. Hours passed like this, as he packed camp, as he put his daughter on his back and her basket onto the horse. His armour, which normally had a brilliant shine, had been painted over with soot and was covered in layers of ragged cloth. Attached to the back of the armour was a series of wrappings used to hold his daughter and was insulated with fur.

Uthgard and his mighty steed Ried were a formidable sight. Both were far larger than average, Uthgard being a full head taller than most, and his horse equally imposing. There were not many creatures, even in such a cursed forest, that would pose a threat. This meant he could take the faster, yet more vulnerable, main road to get through the forest. Even with that said, the thing to be cautious about, is those forest dwellers with intelligence. For the most part, the powerful ones, like dryads and spriggans,let you pass undisturbed, as long as you don't pose a threat. But the small ones, sprites, and fairies can be very malicious if they feel so inclined, with magic they can influence your mind, among other tricks.

As usual, the forest was just slightly too dark, with an uneasy quietness that hung in the air at all times. The smell of copper hung behind the smell of the earth and the leaves. The road was unkempt and unused, but it was the easiest way to Kitlesh, a city known for its import and trade.

Uthgard filled the silence by telling stories of adventure to his daughter, she might not have understood the words, but she listened to his voice. He talked for hours, sometimes in a hushed voice as they passed places where monsters were common. Only when he started hearing voices not his own did he fall dead silent.

They whispered to him, spoke vile words into his ears.

"Kill the girl."

"Its sssooo eeeaaasssyyy"

"She's a monster. Demon spawn need to be purged"

"She's a threat. To the forest. To the whole world."

"Demon! Demon!" The voices chanted, dozens of voices echoing into his ears.

Not for a second did Uthgard listen to a single word. Not knowing what to do to get rid of them he simply tuned them out. Or at least, he thought he did, until they appeared in front of him. It was pixies, they gnashed their sharp fangs and laughed in his face. One of them latched onto him and tried biting, only managing to take some of the soot off of his armour. Uthgard swatted them away with great efficiency, they were gone in seconds. It was only when they were no longer knocking around in the back of his head did he realize that he had long lost the path. Not because he was distracted, but because the road he was just following disappeared into thin air.