Space project so far jpg

Upsidownpenguin

United States

Self taught freelancer. probably 17.
“Why . . . would a penguin be in a piss pot?
"Wait, seriously, what's a piss pot?”
― Pat Shand, Destiny, NY, Volume One: Who I Used to Be
Write Free

Message to Readers

I spent way more time on this than I thought I would. Willem's character is primarily inspired by a character a friend of mine made for a D&D game. Hopefully I did the character justice.

The Song of Avernon

July 10, 2019

FREE WRITING

2
The inn was quiet. It was nearly midnight, and most patrons were asleep or leaving for future adventures.
    One group stayed awake during the dark. Made of a human, devule, orc and a gnome, the party calling themselves ‘ratsnappers’ had no such need for sleep as of now. They were waiting for someone; something.
    The human, a man named Willem, stood leaning against the wall, his left boot pressed against the wood. He fiddled with a dull knife as his companions quietly spoke.
    Yarda, the orc, was a strongwoman. She carried a heavy lute on her back as well as a two-handed battle-axe. She yawned as the devvule, a devil man named Borbon, drank from a giant tankard. “Must you drink so gluttonously?” Yarda asked.
    The gnome stayed quiet. He was rifling through his satchel that carried more than was possible. Out from the purse was pulled a five-foot long metal pole, then a large tapestry.
    Borbon belched and slammed the tankard on the table. “What?” He asked drunkenly. “You know I need it.”
    “Hardly,” Yarda said.
    “Oh right,” The devil man said. “I forgot. You’s orcs don’t got the same problems we humans and devule do.”
    Yarda slammed her fist on the table, causing the wood to crack. “Do you want to keep your horns?”
    The drunken adventurer gulped. “Yes, ma’am.”
    Yarda smiled. “Thank you.”
    The barkeep dropped a wine glass on the floor, causing it to shatter. “Shite.” She said. “No one step over here, and I mean that!”
    The group nodded and paid no mind.
    A long while of silence passed. It was a quiet that the party much enjoyed. A quiet well deserved. A quiet that would not last.
    “Oh dark gods!” The barkeep suddenly shouted. She licked her finger and stuck it in her mouth.
    She had peaked the party’s interest. “What is wrong?” The gnome, Zarkananorthontax, asked.
    “Y’all need to go to your rooms. FAST.” She said. She coughed a bit and a red coin came out of her mouth, to the floor.
    It was raining. As soon as the coin hit the floor, lightning struck almost immediately out the door.
    “He is coming. You must hide!” The barkeep angrily whispered.
    “Who is coming--?” Willem stammered.
    The doors swung open. Standing outside was a figure cloaked in a dark violet cloth. The figure had an axe, with a design like that of a glorious tapestry on the blade. At his hip was a sword, one with an edge of writhing teeth and of which had a flat of gums. Human teeth and gums. Drool slobbered down from the sword like a starving wolf staring at newly dead prey.
    “May I come in?” The man asked, his face cloaked by the shadows of his rain-drenched hood.
    “Why must you bring business now?” The barkeep said. “It was only a prick.”
    “Your blood is all the same to me, my darling.” The face, Willem could tell, was black as charcoal, and as smooth as marble stone. Pure white fangs hung out from the top of the figure’s mouth as a cloud of black dust swirled around and from his slightly agape mouth.
    “Y--” The barkeep looked down at the floor. “You may come in.”
    “Ah, thank you, darling.” The man stepped inside, a veil of blue energy passing over his cloak. He pulled his hood down, now out of the rain, to reveal his face. A face of a dark elf, a vampire, a demon. His eyes were red, and as his body swayed back and forth as he stepped, the glowing eyes left a trail of energy, bobbing back and forth, streaking like wet paint across the sides of his head and fading away into an unseeable void. His hair was long and black, his ears pointed and keen.
    The party watched as the elf picked up the coin from the ground and stuffed it underneath his cloak. He walked to the barkeep and kissed her right hand. “Thank you once again.”
    Willem stepped away from the wall and drew a wicker wand. He pointed it at the elf and spoke quietly in a language the others could not comprehend. A language like a viola and cello harmonizing together.
    The elf, hearing the song, turned to face the human leader. A sound similar to a violin tuning to the right note filled the room, above the sound of Willem’s own tune. It was high in pitch, and ear-splitting.
    Willem, with great struggle, put the wand down and into his pocket.
    The others could only watch.
    “I know who you are,” Willem said, his muscles straining. “I know what you are. Scourge.”
    The Scourge smiled at Willem. A genuine smile. “There was a time when someone like you would intimidate me, human.” A puff of black dust covered the elf’s bright eyes for a second. It was like looking at the setting sun through a curtain.
    “Benthrivax is your name, is it not?” Willem asked. “When last you were on this world, you were just Ben.”
    The dark god didn’t stop smiling. “I assure you that the name you just spoke means nothing anymore. What are names to a fiend?”
    Yarda looked at Willem with pleading eyes.
    “I am vaguely aware of your efforts to cleanse the dreamscape of other demons, dark one.” Willem said, trying to grab the wand out of his pocket again. “I am also aware of what you did to the elves of Jurindel.”
    “Ah yes, I remember that.” The Scourge said. “Scarabs, that was a long time ago. Before I had either of these weapons. My vampirism. My godhood.”
    The tune the elf made still filled the room while he spoke. The violin was tuned now, and it played a note similar to a high E.
    Yarda stood and drew her lute in one hand. “What is your business here, anyhow?” She tried desperately to keep the shakiness out of her voice. A failed attempt.
    Willem looked at his companion with a deep sorrow. “This fiend collects the blood of his consorts and warlocks.”
    Benthrivax forced a smile. A charismatic smile that in other circumstances would have been flirtatious. “I do what I must.”
    Willem nearly broke his wand by making a fist. “You have no such need to claim such riches from your allies! You have no need for your godhood in immortality. All your mantle does is sow seeds of evil and disdain.” The wand burned a bright orange, sparking intensely. “God of Pain, leave this place. As the lawmage of the celestial court I rebuke your darkness!”
    Benthrivax’s eyes went wide. “So you have grown.” The elf vanished in an instant, leaving the coin of blood on the floor where he once stood. His song still lingered, his darkness not truly gone.
    Willem collapsed to one knee, blood coming from his nose and sweat drenching his curly blonde hair. He breathed heavily as the powers he used drained him of vitality. Yarda came to his side and helped him back up.
    “He won’t be gone for long. I give it a month tops.” Willem said, gaining his footing again. He looked at the barkeep. “Until then his song will linger.”
    The ringing intensified.
    “This is the song of Avernon. If this demon stays then all will be subject to its will.”

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