Tags
age, castle, dragons, europe, fantasy, fortress, imaginarium, imagination, massacre, medieval, Rebellion, ruined, war, warrior
A Rebirth in the Massacre of Qrenidriim’s Bravery
The following is from my Novel The Traversers’ Memoirs, the book number of which I wouldn’t mention at the moment. I’d like you to read it as a short story for it is a tale of bravery in itself.
“Behold! Behold this Spectacle of Warnings and Gore! Breathe in! Take in this Lesson you are going to be taught through this example, not of sacrifice but of paying the price of putting up a fight, mocking us by flaunting a rebellious pride, by choosing to die beside those who’ve lied to the Empire in stead of being Wise and preferring wailing cries rising from our lashes! Do you not prefer lashes over piles of ashes? Huh?! Today! Revel in our dismay, the dismay we cause to you for nay, unless you disobey we do not slay and throw your carcasses in the stacks of rotten hay! Your Graveyard shall be the one that is of your fathers and not the dump-yard these scoundrels who’ve been born out of lowly filth have to be tossed in, where peace loves to say, ‘being better is actually when I’m being farther!’ You stand up against the Dajereon (j = h), you stand up against the Thirteen Brothers Mornaje (j = y), you stand up against your Lord Serratimuss Defales and You shall fall with pieces of your single frame multiplied into morsels enough to feed the birds of Game! You are to be tamed or to be slain! Choose wisely; your children, your parents, your beloved, your friends, or Death! It is Obey Us or be united with dust! To save your core you will lose your crust! Stay frozen by our behavior harsh and cold or melt, melt under the blazing wrath of our Ire! Behold! Behold the Death of the Infidels!”
Dreigrhes SlukemGrench, the Seventh Lord of the Thirteen Brothers Mornaje buried his giant right foot, clothed in metal of the South Eastern Iron Hills of Grehndir and Leather of the Nosorgas, deep into the upper back of Kremstral Dlabfrum which was bare yet tattooed with deep cuts of countless lashes. From between the two bony humps that protruded out of his skinny body and torn skin; the weight of his might and the power of his pride’s height transmitted to his courageous heart the evils of pain, emotions, power, a depressing feeling of self disdain, of newer and vague notions about his actual position in the presence of Lord SlukemGrench, these made his soul cower in fear of losing his long standing struggle against the demons who negated all that he propagated, demons of Serratimuss‘ Legions’ mind tricks, his tears now wet the granite to the point of softening it like newly molded bricks.
A boy of sixteen was he, a toy about to be smolten was he. Above him, in this Fortress of defeat and shame, stood Dreigrhes, below him lay his shivering and trembling friends ready to be slain, on the ruined towers and curtains perched the Dracilien Dragons and around him stood Skirmishers and Swordsmen of his once free Kingdom of Qrenidriim, a Kingdom of brave hearts working towards lofty dreams of raising higher beams of humility, but now their bravery was found in paucity for the capacity of the hearts of the peoples of Qrenidriim for withholding atrocity had vanished after the siege of their purity gave away and open doors had welcomed evil into their hearts, in his ruined kingdom justice through love had been vanquished entirely. Now fear was the new religion of this Kingdom, and he was paying the price to commence a rebellion against the self proclaimed Gods of this troublous world, a price they ensured he would have to pay in death.
His Mother and his father had already been gripped by the illness of the plague of rebellion he had spread, they wanted to stay away from it but he was their blood, they were his blood, and they were dragged to the courtyard along with the guardians of his comrades where they were charred to death by a circling horde of dark, death bearing Dracilien Dragons, by arrows of a fire which cannot be doused by a hundred thousand flagons of wine found in the pools of Misanye. Every living tissue of fair skin on his body demanded for it to burn if he were to seek salvation from his guilt enslaving conscience. He saw in those roaring dark flames an escape, sad was this boy’s tale for he had found redemption in these self proclaimed Gods’ definition of damnation! The dereliction of courage by the peoples of Qrenidriim was the Massacre which was about to physically manifest in the execution of these righteous teens! Along with them would die all that was left of hope for this kingdom. After them there would float no candle of scope in the river of time of this crumbling home of wretchedly dull willed souls.
Kremstral dragged his knees forward on the graveled and jagged granite floor, brought strength to his thighs, asked support of his feet to stand at least for one last time, rose his chest up high, swung his head like a back falling kite, pushed Dreigrhes’ boot off his back and stood up not to fight but instead he shook his fair face and tangled brown hair and sent from his tongueless throat a haunting low pitched cry of pain accumulated from all the ill workings of war which had burdened the earth of his homeland, a shrilling cry, a cry so loud that it breached all heights and dwarfed the accomplishments of Dreindir who had covered leagues of the Far West’s endless void! And as Dreigrhes moved back to his troops’ safety, the Dracilien Dragons unfurled their mighty wings, lifted their clubbed tails, blew away dust and bones off the Outer Curtain’s walls, and began their ritual of death; round and round they went around the roof of the ruined tower on which Kremstral stood, chanting verses, bellowing curses and then they completed their aerial ballad and exhaled flames which had taken lives of his kindred, these flames embalmed him in scarlet suffering, his cries now tore the clouds in the darkened skies and as the people of Qrenidriim watched their own Massacre, something took rebirth in the kingdom; bravery entered their hope forsaken hearts and within that terrible moment was born a movement of what would go on to become one of the most earth trembling rebellions ever faced by the damned Legion of Dreigrhes and by the Traitor Defales himself.
~ Rafi Mr.Green.