Short Stories

The Peace among the Blades

“There was once a powerful evil monster and its kin’ reigning over the South of this continent, Kroana. According to the history, they appear with a build of a human with only its unique sharp horns out, from its forehead, and visible, thus, distinguish its kind from us feeble humans. Unlike the race of our kind, their body reside a paramount strength which surpass the gaps of the human person, creating a wide margin that sunk the hierarchy of our species below far their place, subduing us throughout centuries. Albeit, their mind might not be superior, in this world above were strength is of an advantage, humans had little hope for freedom. These monsters had a ruler; she was a cruel queen, often mentioned as Yoana (from the ancient text obtained from the remnants of the past) that did not even spare a glance of mercy to us, humans. Unlike its kin, she was someone powerful enough to have the mind resembling that of human and even gifted enough to live a life longer that we cannot imagine. However, she did not have the capability to feel the emotion of mercy. She killed millions of civilians regardless of age, a bloodthirsty monster, a cold-blooded one. It was said that she likes how blood spread in every corners of the continent, even in her own built castle.”

“It was even recorded that she had many prisoners, as well. After the war, half of them were found rotting in jails, some; almost reaching their deathbed, and only a few hundred was found alive in a terrible condition,” the story teller opened his mouth with mastery. It can be seen through the naked eye that the storyteller had been telling this story countless of times.

This storyteller, unlike his title written, is a drunkard. With heavy moustache and long messy hair of dark hue of brown. His appearance unkempt, despite with clean clothes but wrinkled, and vivid symbols of age and probably, experience. Amid his brutish body is a belly bloated from whatever mixture of edible periodic elements the guy had drunk and eat. Contrary to his appearance is a clear eyes that seems to be interested by everything, keen and observant.

“C’mon, Al’red. Y’ve in’ repeat’n thus far f’rever (forever). How’d ya’ perhaps done tha’ with’ot weary?” An old woman, tall, lean yet white-haired, who appears to be a server passed by and interjected. Her hands busy from balancing trays, with full-glass beer and food, both with each hand.  She bypassed the people with expertise.

“None of yo’ business, Ol’ Lia,” Al’red – Alfred, without the particular accent, snorted and continued his own world. The woman shook her head with a knew-it sneer and continued her business, leaving the man on the table. He was always been that weird, telling the story all over again even without the people’s ears interests.

The people inside the inn, few, who could hear the storyteller from their table, listened with ears closed. The inn was noisy as ever; the clanking of the glasses, the loud conversations and even their roaring laughter’s, the hollering of the servers, and even the snores of the stinky drunken slumber of the customers. Thus, the voice could only be heard by a number of people.

The storyteller, Alfred, saw a new traveller, somewhere from who-knows part of the continent, that was listening on his story, across the table, alone, near the storyteller. The lad was a young man of average built, with clean clothes of white shirt and brown pants, pale complexion, curly red hair, sharp long ears, and dreamy curious eyes. It was evident that the man has, at least, a bit of genes from the elves of the South. The traveller keeps glancing at him, silent, as he, the storyteller, was telling the story.

Alfred chunked a full glass of beer before staring at the unknown traveller, across the table, with a toothy grin. A healthy and complete set of yellowish teeth were bare to the naked eyes. While nobles of that world may look down upon these teeth from their standard of aesthetic, only the peasants knows how solid and sound it contains in comparison to that of noble’s white and sick brittle teeth they desire. He had been living here, in this impoverished, noisy and hectic City of Illira, a few kilometres away from the actual castle of History, for his whole life of 60 years or so. He was long ago familiar with the people around that foreign people always became an attraction to his eyes – more so for one who are interested, at that.