Measured steps taken with grace, wind blowing through the silk-like mane that they donned, their joy, their instrument, tightly held in hand, as they strummed away, careless, thoughtless, it’s simple harmony filling the vacant vacuum that was their mind, they reveled in this peace, the breeze, the silent nature surrounding them, not a single soul to witness them. They loved the melancholy, however grim the dying figures of the aged oaks could be, despite the dreadful knowledge of the place they called home, the young bard couldn’t help but sense a feeling of safety within the peaceful, silent grove. They had been traversing this forest for years, it was their only safe haven, their only escape from the monotonous humming of prayer that filled their ears back in their “home”, where their lyre couldn’t drown out the endless sermons, where their unwilling voice was dragged out, they hated it, they despised how they were shackled to that never ending ocean of preaching, they reasoned to themselves that whatever pantheon their “brothers'' must be calling upon must be either dead or deafened, noticing that no matter how many rites passed, reality only seemed to get crueler and crueler. And so, with whatever free time they had left, they escaped, taking solace in the dying nature that surrounded them, accepting that the withering plants had more knowledge of them than anyone else could. They kept on composing with their lyre, notes tying together, the melody flooding and filling what was akin to a graveyard, as the teary-eyed musician let the somber feelings that piled in their soul out, the only way they knew how.
And yet, part of them knew that this peace couldn’t last, that same part of them that slowly ate away at their every thought of peace, that same part that constantly nudged them to perform something drastic, to be the maker of their own destiny, to stop begging for something to break them away, and each time they drowned out the mental note, knowing fully well that doing so would be a death sentence. Their playing sped up, the pace of their heartbeat fastening as well, alongside their steps, their mind racing between two voices fighting each other over how they should live their life, desperate for silence. And exactly in that moment of struggle, a deafening screech brought them to clarity, their eyes shrinking in terror, the realization that despite their belief of loneliness, someone- no, something had found them.
Following their instinct, the young bard began sneaking, walking on the tip of their feet in order to make the least noise possible, cold beads of sweat forming on their forehead as the fear of death began to slowly set in. Despite their best attempts to get away, they could hear something breathing, getting closer. In the split second of clarity, detached from panic, the young musician flung themselves inside of a bush, shaking, their breathing still fastened. As they began to force themselves to hold air in their lungs, careful not to make the slightest noise. Looking out from their hiding spot, they could see a massive quadruped being, its flesh a tar black, leaking onto the grass it walked on, as it sniffed the air looking for its prey, the grotesque muscles flexing and pulsating as the beast made its way ever closer to the bard’s location. It lacked eyes, its figure similar to that of a reptile, claws akin to the blade of a guillotine; they had seen beasts of such horror only in books, never could they have imagined to see such a grotesque abomination with their own two eyes. And exactly in those tomes were detailed the gruesome carnages brought by beasts of this kind, the very blood of its victims found carpeting entire trees, due to the force of the attacks, they began to feel ill, the mental image of the cadaver they risked to become, they didn’t handle blood, nor the image of blood, well, and the constant reminder of what their fate could be made it impossible not to focus on the many ways they could have died that day. As the whirlwind of emotions washed over them, they noticed that the beast seemed to stand still, its head pointed in the opposite direction.
This was their one shot at survival, and they had to choose their next steps well; initially they thought about using their lyre as a weapon, bashing the creature where the neck met its head, promptly killing it in a single blow… However, they were held back by multiple things, this creature was completely alien to them, how could they expect it to function like any other living being? for all that they knew it might not have even had a brain, nerves, anything, rather just driven by something deeper, macabre, like an innate desire to consume. They also figured that it wouldn’t take much for the abomination to overpower them, the moment they came out of that bush, it would have known exactly where they were, and at that point the teary-eyed bard would have been nothing more than hunks of ground flesh.
No, they needed to be smart about this, they knew exactly that brute force was outside of their capabilities, they were physically meek afterall, and with that in mind, the bard forced themselves to think about a new plan; grabbing a small rock from the ground, taking a deep breath, and hauling it directly at a tree that stood a good distance away. Immediately, the beast’s head rose up, as it charged towards the oak that had been hit, clawing at it and tearing it down viciously, its blades tearing the wood open with an ease that sent shivers down the bard’s spine, who between the beast’s bellowing roars and agonizing screams, took to running, as fast as they could possibly go, never looking behind despite the screeches that rose following their dash. Their heart beat rapidly, giving no rest to the panicked musician. The forest rushed past them, its rotting and dying woods donning a mystic, yet horrifying aura, never before had they cursed this wish for freedom so much, they had just brushed cheeks with death itself and it was their fault alone, why would they even want to escape the monotony cursing them if the outside world was this much worse? Tears formed in their eyes again, the wind blowing through their accursed silky hair, their deep purple color blending with the darkness surrounding them.
Eventually, the sun’s rays broke through the haunting leaves of the grove, a sign of salvation, as the young bard finally found themselves face to face with the same monastery they had cursed not too long ago, despite their hatred for the place still boiling deep inside them, they fell to their knees, their hands shaking. They stood in this position for minutes, the stream of tears slowly coming to an end on its own, as they began to look above; their golden eyes met with burning orange, the sunset on the sky below blazing like the fire of a hearth. How long had they been there? they had completely lost the sense of time the moment they stepped into the grove, and the encounter that they had… no, they shouldn’t think about that thing again, they had survived, and so there was no other reason to go back. Mustering up the last amount of energy left in their body, the musician sat up, slowly standing on their own two feet, and walking through the door.
A brass bell rang the moment the wooden doors opened, causing most of the residents, who were enthralled in prayer, to turn their heads towards the teary-eyed one. A figure, adorned in heavy white robes, decorated with golden markings, approached the bard, their face showing deep signs of annoyance, of anger. The moment he stood directly in front of them, his imposing stance towering over the young bard, he spoke; -”Brother Utgard.”- he spoke, his tone sharp and full of venom, -”What gives you the right to interrupt our sacred ritual at such an hour?! Have you gone crazy?”- He slapped them, causing the young one to kneel down, grasping at their cheek from the pain. -”Just what has gotten into you!?”- He kept on yelling, as the sermon behind the two continued; -”Never have I had a follower as scatterbrained and insolent as you, young man.”-... They hated him so much, a passion burnt deep within them, they wanted to yell back at him, how they never wished to be part of his poor excuse of a cult… but they couldn’t. Instead, they grunted in pain, their eyes meeting the floor, The reverend sighed, grasping the bard by the arm and dragging them, tugging at their arm with no regards for them. The bard looked around in shame, countless eyes fixed upon them, as the priest threw them on a seat, near the altar.
The sermon picked back up once more, words of a merciful deity whose harmonic voice would bless the land, bringing it back to the long lost splendor that was robbed from it. “The Orchestrator”, the people called it, the divinity that allegedly watched over the ruined land of Hymnfall, the same being that gave people the gift of song and harmony, which followers took to praising as well. At one point, the choir broke into its signature chant, with multiple people standing up and joining in the rite, Utgard was also forced to stand up, albeit standing mute for as long as they could. The longer they went without singing, the more stares they would get from their “brothers and sisters”. Breaking under the pressure, they began to sing along; in the lowest tone they could, as to get the stares off their back… and it hurt, each hum that left their throat would feel like a dozen knives running across the innocent and unspoilt flesh, shredding and slicing at their very soul. They had always been like this, ever since they could remember, they had never been able to usher but a word before being drowned by a sharp, unbearable pain, they were never given a reason, nor would anyone believe them, which lead to an endless cycle of anger and pain, as they remained powerless before this condition.
The hymn came to an end the lingering voices reverberating through the room, as the last graces told before the sermon’s end came to a close. Seeing as night had struck, each individual made for their private quarters, preparing for the last meal of the day, Utgard’s limbs shook, as they rushed directly into their room, closing the door behind themselves and collapsing, coughing up blood and beginning to tear up once more. Just how long did they have to go through with this? was there really no end to all of this suffering? As they completely collapsed onto the floor, sleep slowly taking over, they wished one last time.
For it all to end.
…And yet, days and nights passed, the vicious cycle never ceasing, each day the bard being tested, their tolerance to pain getting ever weaker, countless rites past forcing Utgard to face their own personal hell on a daily basis. Nights later from their encounter with the beast, they began to think, asking themselves whether maybe, getting mauled by that creature would have been a preferable outcome to them, if the situation they were in was truly endless, if they missed their only chance to break the cycle of agony they were in.
This realization caused them to feel a sinking sensation in their heart, were they really that much of a failure? How could they manage failing to die? They looked outside their room’s window, looking at the full moon blazing in the sky, they reasoned that, perhaps, they had a way to make it right. They grabbed a piece of wood, smashing it into the window and grabbing the razor-like shards that broke away from the glass, looking at their reflection one last time, those same golden eyes full of tears, that purple mane, that pearl-like complexion carpeted by scars… they were ready to leave it all behind.
But this plan of theirs was cut short, as they brought the sharp tool to their neck, the entire building shook, screams of terror rising from the centre area. The temperature began to rise, a light becoming visible from outside the room’s window, as Utgard slowly realized that the entire monastery was under attack. Rushing out of their room, their eyes were met with crimson pools of blood, dead bodies carpeting the floor, multiple armed individuals continuing the carnage, as the same people that the bard had despised fell to the floor, motionless, like flies in the winter. Slowly, one of the figures participating in the carnage approached the bard, a creature akin to a reptile, in the shape of a person, their scales gleaming a marble-white, their eyes akin to the lifeblood that covered the spoilt floors of the monastery turned slaughterhouse. As the figure approached the teary-eyed bard, they began to shake, pointing the shard of glass they held at the unknown individual, their mind racing, thoughts overpowering their ability to move. Noticing this, the lizard-like person took the moment at hand, striking the bard with its shield and causing them to drop to the ground, unconscious, vulnerable.
