Monarchs

Journey

Zachariah was readying himself. He had completed the studies he could, and got to a point in his swordsmanship where he was considered a master.

Time was growing short. As spring came closer, so did the yearly mass sacrifice. The gods demanded blood, they wished to gorge themselves on flesh. Zachariah felt no one deserved that fate, not even the most ruthless criminals

He set out. The gods inhabited a tall and wide mountain range, with steep cliffs and sharp crags. The rivers that ran through those mountains were dank and putrid. The forest below had been poisoned long ago. The ground was moist and spongy, the trees covered in moss. Remnants of ancient civilizations were scattered about, ruins of settlements and temples. 

These mountains bordered all civilization, as the gods liked to remain close.

Zachariah felt fear, like icy tendrils crawling up his back. As he entered the forest, he became paranoid. He began questioning his quest, his motives. He began thinking he should turn back.

"Really, what's the point?" he mused aloud. "The point? The point is hundreds of people being sacrificed to gluttonous, shapeless blobs yearly!" Zachariah snapped, to himself. "This place is making me nuts."

He trudged on through the filth, getting closer and closer to the mountain. He began to hear whispers.

"Who's this? Another one?"

"Turn back now, human, this will not go well for you."

Zachariah turned swiftly, shouting, "Who's there? Show yourself, fiend!"

The wind picked up, swirling around Zachariah.

"You will not leave alive, boy."

"Noble little knight thinks he can kill gods.."

"Leave me alone! You'll be sorry when I find you!" Zachariah shouted to the winds, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

He pressed on, as the air grew colder and the sky grew darker. As he reached the base of the mountain, he sat down. Considering his situation carefully, he knew this was his last chance to turn back. He also knew that if he turned back, he would never return again. Clenching his teeth and ducking his head against the wind, he started his trek up the mountain. Moving slowly and deliberately, carefully and quietly.

As the sunlight waned and night came upon him, Zachariah decided to rest. Laying out his sleeping mat and conjuring up a fire, he layed back, close to the flame. Little did he know, he was being watched. Shadowy figures surrounded him. Gibbering and slobbering, dripping, waiting.

As Zachariah fell asleep, they closed in.