Fantasy Hybrid (Closed with TheCreator)

[Seahomie]

furo

The screams that had erupted had easily drowned out the natural crackling of ignited wood near the outskirts of their kingdom’s border. Terror, pain, apprehension, all eliciting a pained expression from the commoners as well as the guards who sat poised, prepared for the worst outcome that may come about. The cadmium shades hadn’t been the cause of the distress, flames were occupational hazards, bound to spontaneously combust during the heated months of the year. It wasn’t the engulfing golden hues brightening the previously setting sun, causing the dusk shades a darkened blood-red, it was the towering beast whose mouth erupted the danger near the barricade protecting their community.

Hell had sprung loose from the underworld to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians inhabiting a relatively peaceful village. The commoners rushed to their version of safety, some promptly ushering their children below the cobble flooring of the various houses or shops, desperately hoping the rock could sustain the growing fiery wrath. Others attempting to fetch pails of water from the neighboring springs and rivers to douse any imminent threat that could uncontrollably spread. Dozens of brave people rushed back and forth, traveling as fast as shaky, petrified legs could muster.

Evelyn’s father had been one of those noblemen defending his kingdom with his life which had almost been ripped from him the moment a tree’s stability dramatically reduced and snapped in two from the center. It crashed down on the man, rendering the middle-aged member unconscious, trapped between charred grasses and roaring flames overhead. Luckily, Christopher kept a positive, generous reputation that most everyone instinctively knew. He’d been the man who’d offered charity when he himself lived amongst the poverty-stricken folk, the man who’d graciously mended swords and weapons at any hour of the night without a serious complaint, the man who would honourably die for a cause he deemed appropriate. This reputation made it possible for accessible men to drag the limp body out from the snare which held him, risking severe burns to save an elders life.

As soon as the ardent redhead heard rumor of her father’s critical state, she’d rushed out of the palace doors in obvious fury. She pushed off those attempting to restrict her entrance into the room which her father laid, threatened medicine men with blades dipping into the flesh covering their neck until she was able to kneel beside the lifeless body. She wasn’t one to depend on an un-earthly being to grant her wishes, but in those moments she’d been desperate enough to call out to invisible mythologies for assistance. She’d been amidst her mind when King Vicar ordered her attention. Reluctantly she stood astute awaiting the words he’d pass to her, whether that be of condolences or another order she’d obey unquestioningly as a servant of her kingdom. However, his suggestion had sparked a temper and she quickly prepared for the journey that would bring her father justice.

It’s what Evelyn was currently attempting to do as she tracked the ashes, the smell of death and eradication surrounding the olfactory sense. The grim stained her polished armour but she was not one to complain about appearance, although it was a requirement to maintain the luster upon the suited protection weighing down her agile movements. She suspected the beast to blame for the destruction may be residing in the area, but a haunting idea plagued her certainty. It could’ve expanded its wings and flown miles away, abandoning the wreckage it fabricated and leaving the citizens to wallow in the loss of land and lovers. Creatures such as those paid no attention to trivial matters such as human existence, their only instinct was survival; no matter the expense.

Evelyn’s sword was crammed taut between her plated fingers, crouching and ready to spring to life at the slightest indication of another presence in the area. She’d return with a trophy by the time she finished her quest, her merciless attitude radiating prominently as she pondered over the sickly-pale tinge of her father’s skin, as images of the nurturing parent reminded her that she’d accomplished more for a lot less. Slaughtering the monster who’d wounded her kin and put her people at risk wouldn’t take a toll on her psyche any. In fact, this is what she’d been training to do all her life. To protect and serve the men and women who depended on her consistently. To appease the royals whose crest branded her servitude with a beautiful emblem across her shield which was positioned delicately against her back.

As Evelyn trekked further into the ruins of the foliage, the demolished lessened as the bright colors of the trees began filling her vision. She was either nearing the take-off point or the domain of the brute in question. Her jaw set with determination, she slowed her steps and considered her surroundings carefully. Her multitude of stratagem all required the element of surprise and she could not afford risks. The creature was large enough to be seen with the naked eye, but if it was tracking her already, it would conceal it’s self among the shadows, hiding away and awaiting the precise moment to pounce on their prey. Only, she wouldn’t allow it to get that far. Evelyn wouldn’t grant the beast the pleasure of taking her down. Nobody possessed the right. If she were to die, it would be because of her own choices, not by someone, or something else’s hands. Tonight wouldn’t bring her demise, she’d be sure of it.

 

[furo]

On the streets of the humble village a mere two miles from the city where the kingdom’s castle resided, word had it that local hunters and merchants had been grumbling the past week over a drastic shortage of animals profitable to their meat and fur trades. Shreds of vole, badger, mink, boar, bat, osprey and wolverine remains had been found scattered across the moorland past the outskirts of the village, near the pond that lay in vicinity of Redroot Forest. It did not seem plausible that any pounce of wildcats, skulk of foxes, or mother bear could have gone in a voracious rampage to prey in such large quantities and variety. It also would not explain why the corpses had nearly always been discovered adjacent to strips of ash or patches of burnt grass. Tribal people being the culprits as a possibility had also been ruled out, for tribes had been shooed or exterminated years in the past, and they would have typically left behind further traces of their whereabouts.

Either the populations of the species that had been targeted had become more cautious in their hiding after the attacks, or had formed a symbiotic relationship of sorts in which they alerted one another of the predator’s approach. Whichever the case, they had been appearing significantly less, and sections of fur and meat market stands had been left lacking as a result.

None of that mattered now. Not when screams of anguish blended amidst the smoldering air with the crackling of fierce flames, as fierce as the beast lashing calamity upon innocent villagers. ‘Serpent!’ screamed some, ‘A basilisk!’ running wanton. It was deadlier.

Most residents of the houses razed by the vivid fire could escape in time, owing to the warning from the shopkeepers who were closing up shop for the evening, and saw the humongous monster approaching from the skies. The villagers dashed uphill, westbound, towards the path leading to the city. Less than a mile away was located an ancient underground passageway, suitable for times of war, where they hid during the havoc. Some, however, had not been so fortunate. Elders and children died and were gravely injured.

Even from afar and under the ground, the lashing of the beast’s tail to the ground, claws crashing down upon wood and stone, beating everything to smithereens.

The behemoth swallowed not a single one. It left nearly half the village reduced to ruin and rubble, but fed upon zero victims.

Dawn was a silent wave. Daylight soothingly washed over the townstead, beckoning a message of safety. The last embers were starting to flicker out when the first villagers braved to return.

No birds sang that morning.

The beast could be found elsewhere, thrashing about in a dazed frenzy, pulling trees down to pieces onto the earth with whips of its strong tail, before its mighty wings took it deep into the mountains, where the sun does not shine, and the echoes of its booming roar eventually died down.

Hours later, long past noon, a girl awoke in a distant cavern. Battered and confused, she rose from where she was sprawled on the crisp rock, at the mouth of the hollow on the mountainside. A mild breeze was sweeping in and she felt it a pleasant relief for the burning on all of her skin. As she stood, she dusted off the dirt on her stomach and gently fluttered her aching wings. The scales on her hands, feet and patches across her body felt as though they were jutting out, although upon closer inspection, they were not.

She wandered down the descending slope of the cave, past raw skeletons belonging to various rodents and birds that appeared they had been kicked off towards the jagged wall, but sparked no light of recognition in her mind. Further into the cavern, where less sunlight made it in, the rockbound floor ended into a mossy cavity in which the ground became dark sand, with sharp stalagmites pointing to the ceiling right by the wall. No more than two steps ahead of the sand lay a clear pool of water, surrounded by large stones of varying sizes.

Something within her—perhaps instinct—told her not to touch the water, so she abstained, however tempting to cool off the distressing sensation on her skin. Thus, the girl retreated closer to the entrance of the cave, settled herself in what bore resemblance to a shallow den (brought together by a collection of wheat, broad leaves and mounds of soft dirt), wrapping her tail around her small form, and proceeded to fall soundly dormant.

 

[Seahomie]

Ridding her kingdom of a hazardous threat was a minor summit to ascend compared to ridicule, scorn, and intimidation that caused incessant conflict in Evelyn’s life. A woman originally placed in the lowest of classes in the hierarchy of her home, she deviated from becoming a welder by training for combat on the rare occasions in which she procured spare time. Her skill level was below basic, her posture comical, her tactics ridiculous, but for a child, she’d held ambition and an aggressive passion that inevitably isolated her from the children her father suggested she interact with. Luckily those positive aspects brought onto her fortune as a routine patrol observed her imaginative mind at work, envisioning trees as risks, the branch twisted in her fingers being her sword as her stationary opponent struggled for its life. It was when David Gaumond, the chosen knight to protect both the royals and ensure that all danger was obliterated upon identification, had pressed the tip of his rapier against her exposed neck, pseudo-threatening words spilling from his mouth as if he were the foe she was currently battling.

“This, my dear, is my kingdom. What rights do you possess to commit such heinous acts upon our flora?” Initially, Evelyn perceived this as a severe confrontation by a man who could simply seize her childish frame and lock her away under the palace, between dank walls with three variations of mold growing in the niches between the stonework, but as soon as she regarded the man, the glint in his eye explained is disposition. He was challenging her, gauging her determination and skill. Even with a sword in hand opposed to her stick, she began fighting with a practiced “talent” that a child at the age of 11 should not possess. She lost that battle, and countless more after that one, but she proved she was willing to learn and learn she did. From that date on, she’d been mentored by an expert. He’d take her on field assignments so to gain experience, challenged her when she least expected a fight, and taught her commands and strategies to use her slender frame as an advantage. She’d gained the title as a squire at the age of 15.

However, once Evelyn turned 16 she competed with the boys so to properly gain her title as a knight. They mocked her until she’d put the metal of her dagger against their throats hard enough to draw blood and left numerous bruises and scars into their flesh. She’d wanted nothing more than to be approved by the king so to join his league of militiamen; a trial no female dared to attempt. His approval never came until he personally observed her brawl against Sir Gaumond himself, and coming out successful. She’d been assigned as an under-marshal, foregoing the lesser ranks and became respected by many, at least on the surface. She wasn’t deaf to the murmurs circulating throughout her kingdom, the whispers that haunted her secretly before she gave in to sleep, but outwardly she wouldn’t allow those rumors to dictate how she lived. She held support where it mattered, the others whose status was beneath hers held little significance to her.

Evelyn crouched down to feel the earth under her feet, flinching at the sting of heat instantly burning the skin on her fingers before her trained eye located a cavern devoid of all light. Retracting her hand and pulling the sword from the dirt she’d plunged it into momentarily, she lightened her steps and began to approach the mouth of the shelter. If the beast lay inside the dungeon, the best way to attack would be by luring it outside into her territory. Peering in was rather useless as her vision didn’t surpass the shadows obscuring the formation and the decision was made to trek up the side and cower down between two exceptionally large boulders. The sun would reflect off her metal plates otherwise, so she ensured her safety by wedging into a darkened location. The rest of the forest remained fixated, not another life present in the nearby proximity; everything set at a standstill as breaths slowly passed from her lips. Her eyes momentarily closed, before she began calling out to provoke the potential villain residing in the tunnels.

“Face me you Hellish atrocity! You have rendered my father unconscious and it is my duty to slay the monster responsible for this. I, Evelyn Goodwin, will dominate your being and bring your head as a trophy to the King!”

 

[furo]

A haze, for a while. Fast learner.

Blurred images flared in an out of focus, three foggy figures surrounding her in a blend of black and gray and brown. It felt real, as if it had happened, but not in the present time. They were fuzzy scrapes hidden away in the farthest nooks of her mind, hardly distinguishable from fact or fabric of her imagination. She did not understand why it felt as though she were experiencing the world somehow despite being fast asleep.

The figures had started making noises—organized, in a way—which, unbeknownst to her, she could comprehend, though barely making out when one ended and the next began. A language. Words? Perhaps. A pattern did not break: she was stationary, seated on a crisp, rough surface, legs dangling idly, two gazes fixed steadfast on her, while the third was softer—empathetic in a way. Flaming red cascaded before her, flanked by a peacock blue on the right and on the left she couldn’t quite tell. A palm slid under hers and held it gingerly. Even in her comatose state, the mental reconstruction of feeling the hand beneath hers deeply resemble it in texture evoked a warm pit in her stomach, and the tip of her tail to curl around.

All of a sudden, all too soon, before she could even hope to begin making light of what it all was—or where it came from—the colorful silhouettes started fluctuating, jittering and flaring in and out back into an empty black. She was lacking enough control in this enigmatic plane of existence to do as much as reach out and bring them back, thus she herself faded into nothing, and was tore back into a world where the light hurt against her eyelids and chilly, dank air washed over her lungs.

A shrill intricacy of noises echoed against the rugged walls of the cavern and ripped through her sensitive ears, which perked up immediately once she picked up the stimulation and interrupted her slumber. It sounded no similar to any animal she had encountered in the wilderness thus far. The girl rose from her den and nimbly snuck up to the mouth of the cave, where she had to narrow her eyes because of the stronger beams of sunlight that hit.

Poised on her muscular tail, perching her clawed feet on its steady curves, she leaned over the edge of the rocks skirting the mouth of the cave, and peered down the ravine below lining the mountainside. There was scarce greenery up there amongst the gravel, where only rams and birds of prey dared roam, and she was well acquainted with the fact that their calls were nothing compared to the complexity of the sounds she had previously heard.

She knew they had a specific meaning, but couldn’t quite figure it out yet, though they struck a chord. The intonation gave the impression of it carrying a threat of some sort.

A hiss rolled off her throat, then rattling louder into a snarl and a hoarse, ominous growl, loud enough to alert any approaching creature, and possibly dissuade any intentions of striking. Her sharp sense of smell picked up a scent which at the moment seemed unfamiliar, but would be clearly recognized soon enough.