Cries of the Azerath

Cries of the Azerath

A Story by Pretty_as_a_Poet
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The last cry of anguish had echoed over the vast plain, crumpled corpses were strewn left and right, pieces partially submerged in vibrant pools of red-wet earth. Her boots sank a little in the red mud, bones cracking underfoot as she wiped the sweat from her brow. Her hair, once white as snow, was now stained with the fallen.  Arcana Sylphlust’s once innocent, purple eyes now hardened as she bent to pick up a severed head at her feet, the look on its face was so pathetic in death, eyes wide, frozen in terror. She tossed it over her shoulder in disgust and a slow smile spread across her face. It was all over now.

 

It would seem that a bloody beginning, brought to such a horrible end. Images of a town, being raised as the living residents bled out on crosses, their organs used to fasten them to their final resting place as prayers echoed among the moans. Prayers begging the powerful one that they might succumb to the smoke or the blood loss before the birds arrived or the fire came too close. Arcana's mother violated and soaked with sweat and blood squirmed helplessly while she still had the fight. A basket, her only saviour as she clutched her kitty Sheol, her little body shaking as she peered through the holes in the wicker, unable to tear her eyes away from the carnage. A miew from the frightened beast in her arms, she snuggled it closer; the familiar purr brought temporary comfort before a shadow loomed over. She wept silently, her fear of death far more than her current anguish. She bit her tongue to stop any sound; enough she could feel a warm, thick liquid gush. It tasted of metal, the sharp sensation in her gums was unpleasant and uncomfortable. Her eyes stung, her heart thudded in her ears as she realized the screams had stopped. The silence was a scarier sound than she could ever imagine. The scent of death rose in the smoky air; it burned as it filled her lungs.  She lifted the lid cautiously, clutching Sheol she bolted, into the black smoke stealing away. From there, She headed east, into the dark.

Don’t venture outside the walls, her mother always said, it's dangerous out there. But now danger had come inside in the form of the Bloodied Azarath, once only a figment of legend, a scary story and nothing more, come alive in a hellish nightmare. They seemed to be Karnals: survivors gifted with high strength after the end of civilization, as the world knew it. It wasn’t uncommon for similar classmen to band together, safety in numbers. She was a Succlus, a fairer class known for their silver tongues and skills in seduction and manipulation. All known of the past was what the elders had inscribed and passed down. Whatever had happened, the result was catastrophic, and almost all history disintegrated in an atomic battle royal. Now it was class against class, mutant against mutant, unfathomable hate just because of difference. Arcana had often wondered if the world before hers had been different.

 

Fourteen and always talking, Arcana knew to be silent now in the dark, her bare feet shuffling in the sand. A few weeks in the desert, little food, little water, just enough for survival, and it was taking its toll on her. She missed the smell of her grandmother's bread, and her mother's biscuits, firm and brittle as they were they reminded her of home. She thought back the cold pitcher of buttermilk that would be on the table, resting on the linen her mother wove, perfect as always. And the Jam her grandmother made fresh, it was always so sweet and delicious. Her Memories were sliced open by an ominous growl. Arcana blinked, as the sand shifted underfoot. Sheol growled darting away, and she chased after him. Just in time, as something immerged from the sand. It's three beady red eyes shifted as the creature hissed, a huge spike rose up behind it, prepared to strike. Arcana dove, grabbing Sheol and bolting. The beast snarled as it sprinted after her, Dodging strike after strike, Arcana mewled with fear, crawling into a nest of swirling thorned plants for protection. The creature eyed her coldly, hissing in victory as it prepared to take its prey.

"That's enough, Scaley One." A firm voice called out.

Arcana opened one eye shakily, then the other to see the creature standing down, docile as a lamb under the delicate touch of a beautiful, willowy woman.

"My brother, go back to your nest," She cooed, feeding the beast.

Surprisingly it followed her command, and she approached Arcana.

"You're a little young to be on your own, How are you called, Child?"

"I am Arcana S-Slyphlust, I'm a Succlus, almost of age..."

She nodded, looking at her thoughtfully "I take it, you have nowhere left to go?"

Arcana could feel the tears stinging her eyes "The Azerath... " She found her lip quivering "m-my home..."

"I see." The woman stepped into the moonlight; her mint skin clad in vines, a mass of black hair fell around her head down to her waist. Her Grey eyes were sombre, and she held a hand out to the child. "I am Niamph of the Briarskin, come with me young one, I'm afraid our brother nature won't be so charitable, but my home is open to you if you wish. "

Arcana followed Niamph, into a new world of colour and vibrancy. The Briarskins had one hell of a green thumb, outside the world was barren, but Niamph's home was a beautiful grove of flourishing trees, tangled together in serendipity with vines and other whimsical flora. Arcana knew at once she had to stay here until she was strong enough to go out on her own once more, and she hoped to learn from these people and their ways. When she came of age, she allowed her new family to mark her as custom; the tribal rose proudly tattooed her pale wrist. Arcana's blood still boiled for her murdered family, every night she'd wake with the same wretched memory of death, and her subsequent hatred grew more and more. Niamph saw this and came to the realization that the young woman wouldn't be happy here until her vengeance was realized and justice was done. So Arcana left the grove, accompanied by a few friends eager to see the world outside.

 

The girls stumbled upon a large city lacking the whimsy of Niamph's kingdom but had a certain elegance to it. Large posts illuminated the cobbled streets like fireflies, and the buildings stretched higher than Arcana had ever seen before, some even had three floors with large windows made of coloured glass. These people were of the Iioth, the fourth and final class, known for their prowess of the mind. It was rumoured that their intellect was so sharp they could slice a man in half just by thinking of it. Arcana's musing was interrupted by a crash.

"Bloody Hell! What's a Karnal doing in here!?"

"His presence makes me just want to... I mean, Oh god look at him."

"So these are the tough b******s raising innocent farming towns? Pathetic."

"Karnal Scum..."

She turned to see four sharply dressed men cornering a boy, not much older than herself.

"Don't you have something better to do, a*****e? I'm just pass'n through," the boy spat.

"Well then I suggest you hurry, Any Azerath who shows their face here is bound for trouble."

 One of them spat on him, and he threw a punch, a crack echoed as his fist collided with the man's jaw. "I'm not a f*****g Azerath!" Instantly he was lifted off the ground, pinned to the wall behind him with an invisible force.

"Of course not, you're too weak. Even the Azerath are inferior to the Iioth's Brainpower. That's why they're too, chicken to pick a fight.."

The boy grinned wickedly, his orange eyes glinting with sadistic humour, "well I hope that s**t eating grin looks good on a severed head, cause those 'Chickens' are headed your way."

 

The three standing men's faces drained.

"You're bluffing."

"Am I?"

 

Arcana pushed through the group of men, their focus faltered, dropping the Karnal.

"How long do we have?" She asked soberly.

"Not long, why the f**k do you think I'm just pass'n through?"

"Oh no, you're not, it'll take every capable hand in this town to fight those b******s off."

He laughed.

"Fight them? There is no fighting the Bloody f*****g Azarath babe. It's gonna be a bloodbath. If these snobs were as smart as they say they were they'd run with their silver spoon up their a*s and their tail between their legs. The Azarath leave no survivors."

Arcana Smirked "No survivors huh? Where do the stories come from then?"

He stared at her.

"Listen, Lady, I dunno who you are but this hero s**t is gonna get you an' every sorry soul in this town killed."

"Yeah well I'll take my chances, they missed me last time.."

"Last...time?" one of the Iioth men looked up at her quizzingly.

" Alright Listen!" She pulled herself to her full height, her chest filled with air, "I'm Arcana Slyphlust, The last of the Northern Succlus, and the only living survivor of the Azarath's reign of terror. Now one thing about us silver tounges is we know how to talk, so you are all going to listen to me and listen well."

She turned to her Briarskin comrades, "Sisters, we need a thicket around the city, no one's coming in here until we're ready."

 

The women floated off diligently as she returned her gaze to the crowd that was now forming, be it the seriousness of the situation, or her succlus power shining through, every Iioth in the square had come out to listen. "I'm going to need all of you to help me today, so spread what I tell you to your brethren." She took a deep breath and then met the eyes of the Karnal standing beside her.

"I promise they won't know what hit them."

 

 

 


© 2017 Pretty_as_a_Poet



Author's Note

Pretty_as_a_Poet
https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/cries-of-the-azarath/id1185683767?ls=1&mt=11
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Added on August 3, 2017
Last Updated on August 3, 2017
Tags: Sylph, Dryad, Fantasy, War, Rebellion

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Pretty_as_a_Poet
Pretty_as_a_Poet

Langley, B.C, Canada



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http://eabulmanbooks.wixsite.com/books Website!! Hey I'm Pretty_as_a_poet, but you can call me Emily. I'm a poet, poetry is my passion and possibly the reason why I have been put on this earth.... more..

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