News on Horror of Hellgarde

I know it is late in saying this, but to my blog readers, I wish you all a Happy New Year.   I have hired an artist for Horror of Hellgarde.  So hopefully it shall be up soon.  

Here is a sample of Horror of Hellgarde:

I

   “Do not speak lightly such names, Wiccan.”  the old man wagged his finger, “If it were me I should forget going all together.   Arizau was never a wholesome place, and since His death the curse has only made Hellwood worse.”

   The crimson banged, brunette Hultan seemed to mutter half to himself in a matter of factly tone, “That is my road, for good or ill.”

   The old man shook his head, “If you insist on going, Wiccan, at least see sense and hire a carriage or horse and give wide berth to those cursed woods.”

   “You know little of my kind, old man.   No beast of burden will bear my sorcerous weight.”

   The old man grunted and folded his arms across his chest, “Suit yourself.   Remember that I warned you, so don’t come haunting me after some fiend has gnawed out your guts.”

   “And for that you have my sincere thanks old man.  It is more then most would have given one of my kind.”   With that the Hultan known as Mordecai, once of House Lee, again began to traverse the road towards Arizau.  The scowling figure of the old man sitting on the step of the ramshackle inn faded into the distance.  For an ordinary traveler on foot the next village, Rakrow, lay four days ahead, however for the Hultan it had taken little more than a day and a half.   

   The Hultan struck an impressive image as he strode into the silent village of Rakrow.  The setting sunlight had cast an unearthly aura over his dark locks and blood red bangs, his dark blue, weather beaten traveler’s cloak and black body glove armor made him appear like some feared demon out of the ancient legends.  His golden eyes shimmered in the fading sunlight as he surveyed the village.   The dirt streets were completely empty of all human traffic, and nervous eyes peered from shuttered windows.  As he drew closer to the center of the village he could make out four shadowy figures waiting for him.  

   Mordecai stopped before this small force.   Their leader appeared to be a middle aged man in  worn leather pants, a faded blue shirt, with a dusty brown vest covering it.   On that dusty vest rested a faded star, the badge of his constable position within this village.  This constable kept an old saber strapped to his hip. Mordecai smelt fear rolling off of him; but despite that the constable seemed to be putting up a brave front as the wealthy seeming man, no doubt the village’s mayor, flanked him with the town’s doctor at the other flank and some youthful deputy taking the rear guard position, only the mayor and constable bearing swords as the other two held clubs in their hands, but all four seemed filled with superstitious fear.
   
   The constable‘s hand rested uneasily on the pommel of his saber, “We don’t take kindly to strangers, especially ones like you.”  It was at that point that the one the Hultan took to be the village mayor spoke up, “We have never welcomed servants of the Old Boyars.  Best you slink back into whatever hell pit you crawled out from.”

   The doctor and youth muttered, “Yeah.”

   Mordecai had expected such a reaction reaction.   It was how many villagers reacted to the presence of Hultans and other ‘unnatural’ creatures.  He did not hold their distrust against them, after all it was distrust and staying vigilant that kept a village around longer than those that openly let in strangers.  And it was not like some of the constable’s words were untrue.  In the past many Hultans had been the servants of the vampyre, known as the Nobility or in the case of peasants as the Old Boyars.

   Mordecai informed those gathered before him, “I am no servant to the Old Boyars.  I am merely passing through to Arizau.”

   The constable’s warning came swiftly to his lips, “Then keep moving, demon eyes.”

   The mayor at that point spoke up again in a quivering voice, “And never pass through here again.”

   Mordecai felt those hateful, nervous eyes boring into his back as he continued to make his way through the village, and back out onto the road.  The Hultan had decided that he would put some distance between himself and Rakrow before taking his rest for the night.


*********

   He had not slept since he had first entered Hellwood four days ago, and already the Hultan felt the weariness of sleep deprivation beginning to take it’s toll.  There was no other explanation for finding himself in this situation.   Only seconds ago daylight faintly filtered into the foggy gloom of Hellwood, and now an unnatural darkness had settled over his trail.  Cautiously Mordecai stalked these woods with his keen senses alert.  He nearly choked on the noisome presence of the thickly encompassing demonic miasma.   The Hultan’s left hand unsheathed his cheap sword and with a single swift slash, he cut at the dark miasma and returned the blade to it‘s sheath all in one fluid motion.  Green pus and vapor spilled out into the air making the Hultan gag on the foul aroma while along the blade danced a shimmering red light; soon he saw more such tiny dots of light dancing in the near distance.  

   Mordecai observed to himself in mild annoyance, “Faery Lights.”  He knew that no matter what path he took he would have to confront those lights before he could progress further into the woods.