Dryad Eyes #48
1,293.
When I finished this, before I made a couple of little tweaks, it came in at 1,286 words. This is starting to get weird... o_O
I'm setting the date on this to May 4th. It is actually going up today (the 3rd).
Geran sat by himself, next to a solitary table in a large and empty room. It was the mirror image of his old room that had been inadvertently destroyed by Ganatal, but was on the opposite end of the Keep where few people had settled. That suited Geran perfectly. He was not in the most social of moods.
A tall bottle rested on the table beside him. He lifted it and took a drink.
Ganatal was assaulted in the old room by a remarkably powerful demon, which had lead to the damage inflicted. That demon was still at large, still terrorizing the people of Keeper’s Gateway, which it had apparently been at for several days. These were the same people that looked to Geran, in his capacity as the Battle King and the Ruler of the Free Kingdoms, for protection. How had he failed to notice what was happening?
Geran took another drink.
Ytyrra, Eldest Sister of the Dryads and his own mother, had known. The sickening wrongness that emanated from the demon had been obvious to her. She had tasted it on the air. She had felt it in her bones. That was even before that vile thing had gotten to dear, sweet Lauriel and pushed her into committing an act of brutality that none of the Dryads had thought her capable of. Lauriel, who had often treated Geran with kindness and concern when he was young, when the majority of their Sisters were still wary of him and kept their distance.
He reached for another drink.
Treyp, too, had known. Hidden away deep within the Keep, afraid for her life, she had sent Geran word through the young courier named Andrek. Now that boy was dead. His lifeless body had been found broken outside the Keep the evening before. Aorthain, who had accompanied Andrek, was either dead or their prime suspect. This left Geran feeling guilty over the loss of that boy’s life, and with no way to find Treyp. Would she be the next body to turn up?
He drank.
The florist, Vy Miegga, had also become one of the demon’s victims. That shrieking, enraged madwoman that had continually stalked to-and-fro beneath his window, riling anyone who would listen with exotic and exaggerated tales of his depravities? That had in no way been her. It was so completely out of character. Instead of considering that, Geran had selfishly played the victim and assumed that she was lashing out at him for breaking her heart. He should have done better by her. He should have known.
Geran drank.
He sighed, miserable. Even if there existed a world in which he could justify excepting all of that, what then of Charis? The demon had its claws in her as surely as it had Vy, as surely as Andrek was dead, and he had walked away from her. Against his judgment, against his instincts that even told him she was under somebody’s influence, he had walked away from her. Instead of saving her, which is what he became increasingly convinced that the look in her eyes had been pleading for, he had gone to see Eda. He could have, should have saved her. He should have known.
Geran lifted the bottle to his lips one last time.
There was but a single drop of the harsh, burning liquid that reached his tongue. A frustrated sigh escaped his chest, and he leaned back further in his chair, tilting the bottle even higher. When even that effort failed to produce what he wanted, he peered down the neck of the bottle as if he might spy the source of the problem. It slowly dawned on him that he had finished it. That was when, with a long creak and a sharp snap, the legs of the chair gave way and Geran toppled to the floor in a graceless pile of limbs, splinters, and broken glass.
Strange, he thought. He did not remember the bottle breaking. Yet those sparkling shards lay strewn about, and his palm was bleeding, all the same.
Two things, Geran decided. He needed a broom, to deal with the mess, and at least one more bottle of whatever the hell he had been drinking. It was difficult to focus on the words just then. Instead, he put his efforts toward moving. Rolling as carefully clear of the wreckage as he could, he managed to climb to his hands and knees.
Looking across the room at the door that would lead him to the hall, which in turn would lead him to his goals, Geran tried to blink his vision clear. It was a long, long way away. He began crawling toward it. Then an infinitely better idea occurred to him. He stopped. Dropping his gaze to the floor beneath him, between his hands, Geran narrowed his eyes and then vomited on it.
Rasping, raucous laughter filled the room around the mostly oblivious drunken King. Geran was, in that moment, more concerned with his second round of throwing up. He never heard the sound, nor did he see the demon walk into view behind him.
“What of your impenetrable will, Battle King?” Erek mocked the man on the floor as he strode alongside him. Raising one black-clawed foot, Erek stepped on Geran’s back and forced him down into his own filth.
“This is what broke you? Guilt?” The naked demon shook his head, the ends of his loose, blond hair dancing with the motion. “If I had known how easy this would be, I would have started with you.”
Shifting his attention to himself for a moment, Erek balled one fist and raised it so that he could set his black-eyed gaze on the inside of his own forearm. His veins were twisting beneath his skin, writhing and flexing along the lines of power that Alga had carved into him. He was so much stronger than he was, especially now. Geran’s drunken anguish was feeding his powers exponentially.
“It would be so easy… I could kill you right now.” Erek mused. Looking down at his hapless, helpless, faintly squirming victim, he grinned. “I know that I can’t program you like I did your women. You’ll just put yourself back together, and break down any control I place on you… at least until the next time you’re feeling down and decide to let me convince you to get stupid drunk. Heh!”
Stepping off of Geran’s back, Erek dropped himself to the floor in front of him. Arranged as they were, facing each other on their bellies, they looked very much like two children sharing secrets on the carpet. “Whaddya say I try anyway, hmm?”
“Getting you to harm your friends is out. You won’t do that, will you? Your anger belongs to you. You own it. I see remorse, guilt, the usual ‘hero’ things. Oooo… “ Erek gave the top of Geran’s head a sharp toothed grin. “Those abandonment issues are old. They run deep, and are reinforced by life experience. Happened when you were a kid, eh? Well, lets see… “
Erek inched forward on his elbows, stopping just short of placing his limbs in the puddle of vomit that Geran lay in. Leaning close, the demon whispered into the prone man’s right ear. “Because you know the truth of these words, Dryad Filth. You‘ve seen the proof time and again, from the Girl in the Clearing to Cheraldiot’s descent into madness.” Easing away, and around, Erek whispered into Geran’s other ear. “Even Leeanne. In the end, they are all going to turn away from you. Might as well let them, eh?”
“Might… s’well…”
Another round of raucous laughter filled the room, and Erek stood up. Geran, of course, never saw him leave.
When I finished this, before I made a couple of little tweaks, it came in at 1,286 words. This is starting to get weird... o_O
I'm setting the date on this to May 4th. It is actually going up today (the 3rd).
Geran sat by himself, next to a solitary table in a large and empty room. It was the mirror image of his old room that had been inadvertently destroyed by Ganatal, but was on the opposite end of the Keep where few people had settled. That suited Geran perfectly. He was not in the most social of moods.
A tall bottle rested on the table beside him. He lifted it and took a drink.
Ganatal was assaulted in the old room by a remarkably powerful demon, which had lead to the damage inflicted. That demon was still at large, still terrorizing the people of Keeper’s Gateway, which it had apparently been at for several days. These were the same people that looked to Geran, in his capacity as the Battle King and the Ruler of the Free Kingdoms, for protection. How had he failed to notice what was happening?
Geran took another drink.
Ytyrra, Eldest Sister of the Dryads and his own mother, had known. The sickening wrongness that emanated from the demon had been obvious to her. She had tasted it on the air. She had felt it in her bones. That was even before that vile thing had gotten to dear, sweet Lauriel and pushed her into committing an act of brutality that none of the Dryads had thought her capable of. Lauriel, who had often treated Geran with kindness and concern when he was young, when the majority of their Sisters were still wary of him and kept their distance.
He reached for another drink.
Treyp, too, had known. Hidden away deep within the Keep, afraid for her life, she had sent Geran word through the young courier named Andrek. Now that boy was dead. His lifeless body had been found broken outside the Keep the evening before. Aorthain, who had accompanied Andrek, was either dead or their prime suspect. This left Geran feeling guilty over the loss of that boy’s life, and with no way to find Treyp. Would she be the next body to turn up?
He drank.
The florist, Vy Miegga, had also become one of the demon’s victims. That shrieking, enraged madwoman that had continually stalked to-and-fro beneath his window, riling anyone who would listen with exotic and exaggerated tales of his depravities? That had in no way been her. It was so completely out of character. Instead of considering that, Geran had selfishly played the victim and assumed that she was lashing out at him for breaking her heart. He should have done better by her. He should have known.
Geran drank.
He sighed, miserable. Even if there existed a world in which he could justify excepting all of that, what then of Charis? The demon had its claws in her as surely as it had Vy, as surely as Andrek was dead, and he had walked away from her. Against his judgment, against his instincts that even told him she was under somebody’s influence, he had walked away from her. Instead of saving her, which is what he became increasingly convinced that the look in her eyes had been pleading for, he had gone to see Eda. He could have, should have saved her. He should have known.
Geran lifted the bottle to his lips one last time.
There was but a single drop of the harsh, burning liquid that reached his tongue. A frustrated sigh escaped his chest, and he leaned back further in his chair, tilting the bottle even higher. When even that effort failed to produce what he wanted, he peered down the neck of the bottle as if he might spy the source of the problem. It slowly dawned on him that he had finished it. That was when, with a long creak and a sharp snap, the legs of the chair gave way and Geran toppled to the floor in a graceless pile of limbs, splinters, and broken glass.
Strange, he thought. He did not remember the bottle breaking. Yet those sparkling shards lay strewn about, and his palm was bleeding, all the same.
Two things, Geran decided. He needed a broom, to deal with the mess, and at least one more bottle of whatever the hell he had been drinking. It was difficult to focus on the words just then. Instead, he put his efforts toward moving. Rolling as carefully clear of the wreckage as he could, he managed to climb to his hands and knees.
Looking across the room at the door that would lead him to the hall, which in turn would lead him to his goals, Geran tried to blink his vision clear. It was a long, long way away. He began crawling toward it. Then an infinitely better idea occurred to him. He stopped. Dropping his gaze to the floor beneath him, between his hands, Geran narrowed his eyes and then vomited on it.
Rasping, raucous laughter filled the room around the mostly oblivious drunken King. Geran was, in that moment, more concerned with his second round of throwing up. He never heard the sound, nor did he see the demon walk into view behind him.
“What of your impenetrable will, Battle King?” Erek mocked the man on the floor as he strode alongside him. Raising one black-clawed foot, Erek stepped on Geran’s back and forced him down into his own filth.
“This is what broke you? Guilt?” The naked demon shook his head, the ends of his loose, blond hair dancing with the motion. “If I had known how easy this would be, I would have started with you.”
Shifting his attention to himself for a moment, Erek balled one fist and raised it so that he could set his black-eyed gaze on the inside of his own forearm. His veins were twisting beneath his skin, writhing and flexing along the lines of power that Alga had carved into him. He was so much stronger than he was, especially now. Geran’s drunken anguish was feeding his powers exponentially.
“It would be so easy… I could kill you right now.” Erek mused. Looking down at his hapless, helpless, faintly squirming victim, he grinned. “I know that I can’t program you like I did your women. You’ll just put yourself back together, and break down any control I place on you… at least until the next time you’re feeling down and decide to let me convince you to get stupid drunk. Heh!”
Stepping off of Geran’s back, Erek dropped himself to the floor in front of him. Arranged as they were, facing each other on their bellies, they looked very much like two children sharing secrets on the carpet. “Whaddya say I try anyway, hmm?”
“Getting you to harm your friends is out. You won’t do that, will you? Your anger belongs to you. You own it. I see remorse, guilt, the usual ‘hero’ things. Oooo… “ Erek gave the top of Geran’s head a sharp toothed grin. “Those abandonment issues are old. They run deep, and are reinforced by life experience. Happened when you were a kid, eh? Well, lets see… “
Erek inched forward on his elbows, stopping just short of placing his limbs in the puddle of vomit that Geran lay in. Leaning close, the demon whispered into the prone man’s right ear. “Because you know the truth of these words, Dryad Filth. You‘ve seen the proof time and again, from the Girl in the Clearing to Cheraldiot’s descent into madness.” Easing away, and around, Erek whispered into Geran’s other ear. “Even Leeanne. In the end, they are all going to turn away from you. Might as well let them, eh?”
“Might… s’well…”
Another round of raucous laughter filled the room, and Erek stood up. Geran, of course, never saw him leave.