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- Posted: Thu, 08 Mar 2012 21:40:29 +0000
Bam. Click. The door was shut, a hand locked it, and the figure in black garb walked toward the main room. The figure wasn’t old in age, but the color was gone from his skin and bags upon bags hung from his eyes. His once jet black hair was a mesh tasseled and mixed. White and grey strands were already starting to appear. The silver ring with its phoenix crested ruby was the only thing that gleamed in the dim candle light and even that lacked it’s past splendor. The figure wasn’t the only one sitting at the table, there was an entire family, each looking worse than the cloaked man.
“So doctor, what do you make of it? Can you aid our dear?” A voice spoke up from what looked like to be the head of the house - old and withered, paler and weak.
The doctor heard his voice and he shivered. His head turned back to look at the closed wooden door. The things that had come out of the mouth of that child were still plaguing his mind. He was at a loss for words. In all of his years of apprenticeship and even as a mastered physician he had never seen the likes of this. Magic was his specialty, he was used to healing and curing with the spells of druids and clerics, but this was not something one could cure. “I’m afraid there is no cure for what your child possesses.”
“-But surely, there must be something. The neighbors they complain and it’s all I can do to stop them from driving us away. We already moved to the edge of the town, away from the gates. If this continues we’ll be hearing from the king’s own guards they threaten.” He spoke.
The doctor was going to speak, but then it came.
A shrill of a shriek - the pitch that only a child makes when being slaughtered, the volume loud enough to make ears bleed – blasted from the closed door that did little to muffle the sound. It lasted no longer than that of another person’s scream but it repeated. Over and over the sound came and went, only after hours of the torturous scream did it stop and not for long. Afterwards came the soft sound of sobs and sniffles.
Behind the closed doors of the room laid a small child, no older than ten. Her long black hair would touch her mid back. She was covered only with a cotton nightgown and laid not on soft feathery beds but on peasant rolls of sheets. Her bed was stained red from blood, wounds all over her body show the markings of deep gashes and cuts yet no more blood bled out. The inner works of her body could be seen and witnessed, there was no healing but there was no killing happening either. Her flesh did not rot but simply continued to live. Yet this sight of horror was not what ailed the family or the doctor… it was the horrors of the words that came out of her mouth. The ramblings of phrophecy that were in a tongue long forgotten. The only knowledge of what the ramblings could be came from her after she came back from the trance. What had been shrieks of screams were in reality prophetic words in the tongue of the Abyssals. The words they made her say… She repeated over and over again in her sobs and tears. ‘The phoenix will fall… The golden arrow will slay them all… and then the skys will fall… and all will die… all will die… all will die…’