Categories > Games > Adventure Quest > The Immoral
The Immoral
0 reviewsA little story that I started today, and will hopefully continue (if sporadically)
0Unrated
Return of Goabri
Dragging his hand across his gore-mantled forehead, Glauk leaned upon the hilt of his sword, digging its point deeper into the broken ground, and surveyed the mangled corpse of a werewolf. The damned thing had attacked him out of nowhere, and all it had for its aggression was a slashed belly and a muddy pool of blood with several bits of bloated intestines. Grimacing in disgust, he wiped the face of his blade in the coarse fur of the monster and sheathed it on his back, planning to give it a proper cleaning afterwards.
The whole reason that he had entered the woods was so that he could get a few moments of peace and find his animal companion, but even the simplest of things may go wrong. Treading carefully around the body, he headed downwind from it, searching for an ideal spot to rest and rid him of the clotted blood that matted his hair and irritated his nose. Sixty paces away from the carcass, he found a small spring of water that bubbled up from beneath the ground and formed a small pool, with mosses growing about its edge. Struggling out of his tunic, he dropped it on the soft ground and knelt before the water, its surface smooth and glassily clear.
Within the font, his reflection stared back at him with its darkling eyes, his entire face coated with gore, and the tattoos of his tribe stained blacker along his cheekbones and jaw. Bracing his hands on the edge, he plunged his head into the water for a moment and resurfaced spluttering, his long hair hanging lank across the top of his head. For several minutes he scrubbed at the mess in the cool spring until none of it remained, his hands smarting from the chilly wash.
Once he had washed himself and rinsed the dirt and stains from his clothes, he lay down on the moss and pillowed his hands beneath his head, not overly keen to dress in sodden tatters or move from the quiet place. His sword lying beside him, he closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to indulge in thoughts that he normally would have to keep in check, so as not to distract from his tasks. Against the blackness of his eyelids he could see in his mind the blazing red sun that hung over the plains he used to frequent, the remembered heat warming his cool skin.
Slowly, the sun faded and shifted to a figure that trembled at his touch and whispered to him, softly tracing the lines of his face with a delicate hand. Each touch, each caress caused him to shiver with delight, while the slender arms encircled him, pulling him closer. Reflexively, the fingers raked across his skin and were no longer fingers, but iron claws that worked their way deep into his back, rending and tearing. The arms that enfolded him constricted until he could not move, while the face that had seemed so enchanting before lowered until they were nearly touched noses, demon eyes boring into his own.
Just as the claws began to tear away strips of flesh, the nightmarish vision came to an end, although a image of that frightening creature remained emblazoned in his mind, the Guardian bolted upright in the graying clearing. At his feet lay his enormous dark wolf, watching him with intelligent and feral eyes while he dressed feverishly and looked about himself with a tense and wary manner. No longer was he safe, and no longer could he hide from the demon, Goabri the Immoral was coming for him once more.
Dragging his hand across his gore-mantled forehead, Glauk leaned upon the hilt of his sword, digging its point deeper into the broken ground, and surveyed the mangled corpse of a werewolf. The damned thing had attacked him out of nowhere, and all it had for its aggression was a slashed belly and a muddy pool of blood with several bits of bloated intestines. Grimacing in disgust, he wiped the face of his blade in the coarse fur of the monster and sheathed it on his back, planning to give it a proper cleaning afterwards.
The whole reason that he had entered the woods was so that he could get a few moments of peace and find his animal companion, but even the simplest of things may go wrong. Treading carefully around the body, he headed downwind from it, searching for an ideal spot to rest and rid him of the clotted blood that matted his hair and irritated his nose. Sixty paces away from the carcass, he found a small spring of water that bubbled up from beneath the ground and formed a small pool, with mosses growing about its edge. Struggling out of his tunic, he dropped it on the soft ground and knelt before the water, its surface smooth and glassily clear.
Within the font, his reflection stared back at him with its darkling eyes, his entire face coated with gore, and the tattoos of his tribe stained blacker along his cheekbones and jaw. Bracing his hands on the edge, he plunged his head into the water for a moment and resurfaced spluttering, his long hair hanging lank across the top of his head. For several minutes he scrubbed at the mess in the cool spring until none of it remained, his hands smarting from the chilly wash.
Once he had washed himself and rinsed the dirt and stains from his clothes, he lay down on the moss and pillowed his hands beneath his head, not overly keen to dress in sodden tatters or move from the quiet place. His sword lying beside him, he closed his eyes for a moment and allowed himself to indulge in thoughts that he normally would have to keep in check, so as not to distract from his tasks. Against the blackness of his eyelids he could see in his mind the blazing red sun that hung over the plains he used to frequent, the remembered heat warming his cool skin.
Slowly, the sun faded and shifted to a figure that trembled at his touch and whispered to him, softly tracing the lines of his face with a delicate hand. Each touch, each caress caused him to shiver with delight, while the slender arms encircled him, pulling him closer. Reflexively, the fingers raked across his skin and were no longer fingers, but iron claws that worked their way deep into his back, rending and tearing. The arms that enfolded him constricted until he could not move, while the face that had seemed so enchanting before lowered until they were nearly touched noses, demon eyes boring into his own.
Just as the claws began to tear away strips of flesh, the nightmarish vision came to an end, although a image of that frightening creature remained emblazoned in his mind, the Guardian bolted upright in the graying clearing. At his feet lay his enormous dark wolf, watching him with intelligent and feral eyes while he dressed feverishly and looked about himself with a tense and wary manner. No longer was he safe, and no longer could he hide from the demon, Goabri the Immoral was coming for him once more.
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