Tragedy on the Front

GIRL ON RIGHT IS SHEERA

Johar loved the forest. Everything he saw teemed with life. The noise of the market and the wagons of the town could not be heard. Out in the forest, everything was tranquil.

From the birds singing to the leaves rustling, the forest was harmonious. For Johar, it was a place of escape. He saw beauty everywhere. The bushes and flowers, the quiet streams, the roaring waterfalls, even the creatures seemed to all be part of an ever-present energy, a force beyond comprehension.

Tough, worn leather rubbed up against his skin. Although he did not like its feel, it was all he had. Besides a small beaten hut and a horridly minute sum of money, these clothes were all that were handed down to him when his parents moved on to the afterlife. Although he had shoes, he chose not to wear them. He loved the feel of the earth on his feet. It had rained recently, so the ground was moist. Whenever the pressure of his foot fell on to the soil, the water was exerted out and wetted the calluses that had formed after years of manual labor.

After a while of walking, he decided to sit down and relax. He found a mossy patch that was conveniently showered upon by the morning sunlight that seeped through the branches of the ancient oak trees. The moss acted as a soft pillow as he slowly sat down. He didn’t care that the moss was still moist from the night’s rain. He didn’t care that his country was at war, and that he would soon be called upon to join the ranks of the army. All he cared about was the current balance of his spirit.

Johar decided to get back up and hike around the woods a little bit more. By now, the morning sun had tilted more towards the center of the sky. He shielded his eyes from the inferno that seemed to stretch its tendrils of heat towards the earth. He continued walking and soon found berries. He ripped the plump fruit from the thorny branches of the plant. The refreshing bite exhilarated him. After harvesting almost the entire bush, he felt content and started walking back home.

Not even a minute after he had started the journey back to the village he heard a soft whisper coming from his left. It was bright enough that he could see through the branches of a nearby tree, yet not bright enough for the bodies on the other side to see him.

The conversation was made up of two men and a woman. One man, a short, plump, fidgety fellow, was rubbing his wristwatch as he whispered into the other man’s ear. He had a small mustache and a single spectacle. He looked out of place wearing a noble’s outfit compared to the others’ hunting cloaks.

“Edgar, what do we do now?” the plump man asked with a whining tone, “The Dark Souls have not yet turned against us, yet it’s emanate.”

Edgar, a much taller fellow who seemed more at home in the forest, brushed the plump man’s question aside as though a pest. The hood of the cloak covered his face and his voice seemed just as shadowed and mysterious.

“We have nothing to worry about. Our forces are much stronger than that strange group of superstitious freaks,” Edgar said, “they are a disease spreading through the land; and for every disease, there’s an antidote. The only problem is finding this cure that will destroy them and bring balance to our fractured world.” He looked with disgust at the plump man, “You merely supply us with the goods for our project Piggle. Other than riches, you know nothing of the world.”

“Lord Balldor,” Piggle whispered under his breath. Edgar whipped around to face Piggle Balldor.

“What was that, Pig?” Edgar sneered, “Do you have something you’d like to tell me? If so, I shall let you know that my plans with Sheera can be brought elsewhere. I’d just have to tell the Major of your delaying our plans.

“The Major is a rebel coward! If he were a true major, like in the times before ours, he would show his face instead of hiding in caves with the soldiers of Death guarding him!” Balldor raised his voice towards Edgar.