darker elements Under the Autumn Moon

[FenFen]

Quick preface for this before getting into it. This is some creative writing I worked on last year during a rough time. It includes some darker elements with fantasy violence with what was intended as a horrific undead monster. I am unsure how extreme I would call my detail as this was sort of an exploration of my writing skills. I feel the detail more leans to add weight to the combat, than to try and be overtly gross, but I wanted to give fair warning. That being said rereading this last night, I was rather proud of it and wanted to share.

 

 

The shorter elven woman braced herself in her traveling cloak against the cold wind that bit at her. The forest was becoming denser around the path she was taking. The shadows of branches seemed like sinister claws reaching to grab her in the fading sunlight. She hugged the cloak tighter around her shapely frame and pushed forward. With luck, she would find the lodge before long.

How she wished her cloak was lined with warm fur or a feathery down. That would have certainly kept her warmer. She remembered the innkeeper in Willowdale suggesting she procure colder weather gear before continuing into the shadow of the mountains. That would have taken too long to order custom clothing to fit her generous figure. The sun sunk lower, threatening to disappear behind the peaks at a moment's notice.

This research trip of hers felt cursed. The woman was a student of a high elven college, a place of scholars and sorcery. She had yearned for many long years to study the magic practiced across the land; however certain studies were forbidden by the college, information hoarded to keep it safe. She had no interest in the practice of dark or forbidden magic, only to study. To understand the origins. If her stuffy professors couldn't understand that, she did not need them. Over fifty years pouring over dusty tomes, but out here, she could see it. Experience it.

The wind whipped her chestnut hair into her round face repeatedly, tangling the locks to her dismay. The forest was all around her, and the path ahead looked more untraveled and overgrown by the minute. This did not surprise her. The townsfolk in the dale had warned her of the dangerous woods, of werewolves and specters, giant forest beasts, vampires who roamed the mountain territory, and shaman folk who practiced dark powers. That was what she was here to find—the ruins of the shaman tribe who had once lived here and had disappeared in the last half-century. The only person this far out was a man who lived in a lodge, offering shelter to those passing through. The people of Willowdale seemed wary of him and spoke rumors that he might be some sort of druid, but admit that he is always honest and hard working. His home was a day's journey by foot from the town, which he only visited for supplies.

It had been a long day's travel, and while that was not unfamiliar to her, her feet had grown sore, and the cold made her shiver. A warm fire, hot meal, and a night's rest would be more than welcome. She looked up and saw the waxing gibbous moon rising into the darkening autumn sky. Hopefully, she could still reach the ruins before the equinox, but that seemed to become more unlikely.

Her eyes scanned the treeline around her, alert for danger when she noticed the break in the road. A second path split away and led into a clearing to the left where she could make out the not-so-distant glow of light spilling from a window. She smiled at the sight of the lodge and hurried towards it.

The path was like the forest road, overgrown and not well-traveled. This did not surprise the traveler. She was told the owner only went to town by horse a few times a moon. It was not a very large cabin and looked more like a home than a place for guests. Smoke rose steadily from the stone chimney on the left side of the A-frame roof. What looked to be a barn turned stables sat out behind the property, with a fenced-in pasture stretching out into the back of the clearing. A horse cart peaked out from behind a large pile of firewood by the right wall of the lodge. The sound of a stream beyond the clearing was broken by a stamping hoof, followed by impatient neighing.

“Yes, I'm bringing your water around now, fresh from the stream.” A gruff voice called back to it, and she turned to see the man walking around from behind the barn carrying two buckets. He noticed her, placing a bucket down; he waved before opening the barn door and going inside.

She stepped up to the front door, taking note of the wooden hanging sign of the lodge, a large sleeping wolf with the name The Lazy Wolf carved above it. Pulling open the heavy solid door, she was met with a cozy and warm interior, a welcoming space despite the dangerous woods all around it. She smiled as she looked around. The stone fireplace glowed with life in a sitting room to the left, framed by a carved dark wooden mantle. A counter had been added as a bar in front of the open doorway to a kitchen. A hallway led further inside straight ahead, and a staircase climbed up the right wall to a second floor.

The porch creaked as the owner's footsteps approached the door. The elven woman stepped out of his way as he came carrying in the second bucket of water. He was tall and well built, his raven black hair pulled back into a messy knot, and dark scruff framed his chin where a recently shaved beard was growing back. The color was faded from his simple tunic and well-worn clothes, with edges frayed from years of humble work. He looked down at her, his green eyes bright as they caught the light from the fire. Given her stature and the round plumpness of her body, the elven woman was used to being looked down at, doubted for her ability, but his eyes simply showed a sincere gentleness behind them.

“Welcome, ma'am. Wasn't expecting anyone this time of year, but I can have a hot meal and bed ready for you within the hour. I can also offer you a warm bath, but that will take a bit longer.”

“Those would be wonderful.” She said, pulling off her cloak, hanging it near the fire, and placing her things down by a chair. She approached the counter as he wandered into the poorly lit kitchen. Hanging around from the walls and ceiling were different baskets of herbs being cultivated and grown. Perhaps he was a druid after all. “Can you brew a pot of tea?”

“I can brew a herbal tea if you like. Tastes bitter, though.” He replied as he lit a small fire and placed the water over it to boil. “I have meat I can cook. Some fresh fruits or bread if you like.” He offered as he washed off his hands with the water from the stream. “How hungry are you?”

“Famished.”

“Alright then.” The man's face curled into a smile as he nodded and set about collecting the ingredients to make a meal for the night.

The elven woman observed his work, noticing the tattooed designs that decorated his upper arms. Almost runic marks that invoked a sense of magic. She was curious to see them in full. Study the shape and design and what purpose they served.

“I heard rumors that a druid lives here.”

“Townsfolk love to talk. I just know my herbs, ma'am. Lived in these woods most of my life. I know what's bad for you and what's good for you.”

The pot began to boil, and he started to prepare her tea as the meat sizzled over the cooking fire. Shortly he brought out a cup of steaming tea and a wooden plate of bread and cheese with a knife to cut them. Leaving him to cook, she sat down in the glowing warmth of the hearth and pulled out her journal. He looked to be in his thirties, not even half her age. If he had lived here most of his life, had he known of the shamans who once practiced here? There was always a chance he knew. That could be why he lived out here. The tea was strong, the herbs slightly bitter, but it warmed her as she drank it.

She was soon presented with a plate of well-cooked meat and warmed slices of fresh apple. Digging in eagerly, she was impressed with the flavor. The man certainly knew his way around food. He smiled gently and went upstairs for a short while, preparing a room.

She was studying her notes on druidic magic and symbology as he returned. “Room's ready, first on the right upstairs. I'll get the water for your bath.” He reported bluntly before heading out with an empty bucket in each hand.

“Thank you.” Her eyes glanced at his tattoos, trying to gauge the similarity from her chair. She wanted a closer look, to be confident. Waiting, minding her notes and thinking of what she might find within the ruins, he returned periodically carrying two buckets that sloshed with water. When he reentered the fourth time, he finally spoke up.

“Alright, this should do nicely.”

The elven woman sprung to her feet and followed him closely behind down the hallway, past what she assumed was his sleeping quarters and into a small room with a wide wooden basin filled with fresh water. He leaned over to place the buckets down; the hem of his shirt rose along his back where she could see more of the curious design. Unable to quell her curiosity, she let her hands reach out, tracing the marks and pushing the shirt up further, making the man stumble and spill some of the water.

“E-Excuse me, ma'am - !”

The elven woman was already lifting his shirt, her fingers tracing the delicately engraved markings, recognizing a tingle of magic in them.

“These are runes! Are you a Druid? Did you know the shamans of these woods? Where are the ruins where they practiced? What happened to them?” She excitedly examined what she could reach of his back despite his protests. He tried to pull his shirt back down defensively but was too late to stop her fingers from finding it. “Is it true that some of the shamans were -” Her fingers found a distinct scar on his back just as she managed to lift his shirt enough to see—the place where long canine fangs dug into him years ago. “...lycanthropes.” The end of her question came out as a whisper as his face turned pale.

Pushing away from him, purple light swirled off her fingertips before sweeping through his legs; she quickly darted out of the room as she heard him stumble to the floor. He shouted something from the back, but she grabbed her belongings, throwing her cloak over her shoulders as she made a run back out the lodge door and into the woods.

She thought she heard his voice shout out as the lodge disappeared into the trees behind her, but she dared not turn back.

A werewolf this close to the full moon was dangerous. Maybe the man meant no harm. She thought of the gentleness behind his green eyes. But she'd heard tale of good men turned to beasts who ripped out their own friend's throats before. The werewolf was a savage beast, and she had never encountered one that could channel magic as she felt he could. The forest was not safe, but neither was him.

Her heart pounded beneath her breasts; the beat of her boots running through the dirt, roots, and underbrush almost matching it. She tried to clear the loose chestnut locks from her face, but they only got worse as branches tugged at them persistently. She was not on the trail, only knowing that the lodge was behind her and she was going deeper. Perhaps somewhere she could find suitable shelter and hold out through the night. It would be safer to travel with the dawn.

An upturned tree whose trunk rose at an angle and roots sat half pulled from the ground like a maw into the earth, marked where she paused for a moment's respite. Steadying her breath, she leaned against a branch of the tree. It creaked against her weight but didn't give way. As she inspected her surroundings, the elf found that the ground and trees looked dark and blighted in places—patches of black that looked to drip with dark ichor.

Cursewood. A magical blight brought by nature tainted by horrible spells.

The creaking groan of wood filled the air, turning to a snarling growl. An immense hulking shape rose out of the brush, breaking through branches and knocking away rotted trees. Staring at the small elven woman with one red eye dripping with malice was a huge thing that she gathered was once a boar. Now its body rotted, kept together by black twisting roots and gnarled wood that formed to it like armor, clawing branches growing out of it like horns. It snorted once before charging at her.

Leaping out of the path, she heard the crunch of the tree splintering behind where she just was. Tumbling through the undergrowth, she landed, steadying herself and ready for the fight. Energy flowed through her body, and glowing runes encircled her hands, giving off a purple glow. Scattered patches of moonlight and the luminescence of her magic illuminated the scene.

It picked itself back up and charged, swiping at her with its large head covered in splintered black wood. A barrier of purple light erupted from her hand just in time, deflecting the blow as it pushed her back. She spun towards its exposed head with her other hand, the runes circling it quivered before a spell of piercing light shot into the trunk-like shell that covered its head. The impact of her attack caused a crunching sound as it chipped away the blighted plant life—a mixture of wood and bone splintering.

She had done damage, but not nearly enough. The creature seemed unfazed, turning that sickening mad eye towards her again. She'd hit with more. Something stronger. Try and expose a weak point.

Distancing herself a few feet further back, she began to concentrate. The runes around her hands shifted and joined into one ring of pulsing violet light that glinted against her silver eyes. The boar rose on its hind legs, threatening to crush her under its dreadful weight. Nearly on top of her, she threw her arms forward, the building spell bursting out like a wave. Thrown backward through the air, the beast fell and crashed to the dirt. Trees snapped, and plants uprooted as its broken form plowed through.

The foul stench stung her senses as she took a breath. There. In what was once the creature's rib-cage, half ribs, and half roots, her eyes caught the faint sickly glow of pulsing light—the heart.

The monster was lifting itself back to its feet, stumbling as it readied its battered body to charge again, but before she could prepare another attack, her eyes went wide at the piercing howl that carried on the wind.

A wolf's howl.

She was caught between a rush of sound—one creature bursting through the underbrush and the boar stamping its hoofs to rush again. The elven woman turned, hand raising to cast another protective spell as she saw the shape of the large werewolf leaping towards her. Sharp claws extended from the matted black fur, bearing long deadly fangs glinting with the moonlight. A barrier of light sprung from her hand, but the snarling beast passed right over her. Her eyes darted to see it land into the boar's side, knocking it out of its run—the two predators crashing loudly to the ground.

Was it him? Was it here to help? No, just a predator competing for its prey, undoubtedly.

The giant boar tried to throw off the wolf creature that was tearing and ripping at its armor and disgusting flesh. Ichor and splintered wood fell around them.

Roaring with fury, the mad cursed abomination thrashed, kicking the aggressor away with a sharp hoof. The mass of dark fur and claws tumbled and rolled through the muck. Its attention distracted, the elf aimed her hand at the thing's chest, another purple spear of light careening into it. The spell arced off the black wood and shattered a nearby tree. Its glowing eye spun back in her direction before barreling at her again.

She went to move, but her boot caught on an upturned root, and she stumbled—stupid mistake.

A flash of green caught her eyes as the boar was dragged to a halt. The werewolf had dug its claws into the monster and stopped it in its run by force. From under the thick black fur, bright green glowing sigils burned in the shape of druidic runes, like tattoos against the wolf's body. Wrenching the abomination back, claws grabbed at the rotting chest cavity and began to tear.

Was it bones or wood snapping apart that made that sharp sickening sound?

Within the chest, she could see it now. A withered organ, once a heart, tangled with black roots that grew out of it. Beating furiously and seeping with that horrible ichor, it glowed faintly with the same red as the hate-filled eye.

Yelling out, she threw her hand forward, and the last blast of purple light pierced straight through its target. Striking true. Wood spraying like shrapnel from the force of the spell. Falling limp, the monster crumpled to the ground, its one eye still staring forward now dull and vacant.

This wasn't done, however. The small woman clambered to her feet, heart pounding, trying to steady her breath.

The werewolf backed away from the now-dead boar, wincing as it pulled a serrated chunk of bark from its side. It was caught in the damage of the elf's spell as well. Blood, dirt, and ichor clung to its fur.

She could see the shape of the glowing runes on the beast's back clearly as it stood up straight. It turned its long snout towards her. Her silver eyes met the gaze of the werewolf.

Bright green eyes, that behind their strained look was the gentle kindness of the lodgekeeper.

 

 

Going through it again there are definitely things I would revise, but the only adjustments I made last night were a few minor grammar points. The intention of this story was to be a DnD inspired adventure centered on the growing romantic/sexual relationship between the characters as they got to know each other more. This was my second draft of the initial idea and written as a first chapter... but I only have about a half a page of chapter two written. I did enjoy looking into this again and may return to the idea.