Esprit Abbey

Chapter 1

A dark man, known throughout the land as the Marquis of Death stood at the top of a hill, watching who he considered to be his subordinate brothers lay siege to the village below. The air surrounding the former sleepy hamlet had become alive with the sound of screams and death. Despite his distance from the town, he felt pressure from the heat of flames that appeared to lick the moon. He found the tortured howls of the villagers to be calming, acting as a form of nourishment for his perfidious soul.

The Marquis stood six feet and seven inches tall; his face hidden inside a hooded cloak made of black metal. As he walked, the small individual metal blades hissed as they slid over each other in a movement that caused the illusion of fabric. Despite his face being shrouded in darkness, his gaze was unmistakable. His hooded darkness was mesmerizing and yet toxic, peering into the very soul of anyone unfortunate enough to look upon him.

His lips parted as he walked down the hill, tasting the delectable miasma that now engulfed the village; his mouth watered as the succulent satisfaction sent unrestrained shivers up his spine, causing his toes to curl and shoulders to twitch. Slowly he drew his jagged sword from its sheath, savoring every moment of its release. Stepping over fallen villagers he watched for any remaining signs of life that he could pluck from their bodies, as easily as though they were apples in an orchard.

He was approached by a man wearing horned black armor that announced a level of authority coinciding with the rank of a General. He was second in command and answered directly to the Marquis. His position was precarious as the Marquis held him personally responsible for the outcome of any battle or task. Failure was not accepted, and second chances were never given. Needless to say, men typically did not hold this status very long. Lower level soldiers feared success as much as failure for they knew if they were chosen for this position it would eventually cost them their lives; however, declining the position held the same price.

"Have all the lives been taken from this village?" The Marquis asked, his deep voice echoing from within his hood.

"All but a few who linger in hiding. We are continuing our search," the General responded. "They will be found."

"This is taking too long General; we are making an example of this village. Send in the hounds."

"Sir, the hounds will leave no survivors. Should someone not be left merely on the verge of death, to speak of what they've seen? A woman or child perhaps?"

"Fear inspired rumors will take care of that. No survivors."

The General nodded and turned from the Marquis. Walking away he pulled a dark stone from the satchel that hung at his hip. As he held it in his hand a deep purple aura began to emanate from the depths of the stone. With one smooth motion he tossed the stone high in the air. It moved upward almost as though it were weightless. Light exploded from the stone along with a high-pitched whistle that could barely be heard by human ears. Purple sigils began to glow on the soldier's black armor, signifying their exemption from the ferocity of the coming beasts.

Shadows in the surrounding forest began to tremble and grow, gaining in strength and moving independently of the trees that cast them. Piercing green eyes began to awaken and glow from within the dense foliage. Despite being the summoner, the General experienced a strong sense of unease as he heard the first snarls and howls surge from the now living forest. Trees bent and trunks snapped as the first of the Void Hounds emerged. Their name was inspired by the dizzying blackness of the shaggy fur that covered their muscular canine frame. Looking into the Void Hounds fur was not unlike peering into the infinite vastness of space, causing vertigo and the sensation that one could actually fall into the dense pelt as easily as it swallows light.