Lessons From the Dark

This is the Prologue of a story I’ve been working on for some time. Most of it does not take place in Felarya, but here it is.

Lessons from the Dark

Prologue: Shadow on the Roof

Fear.

The city smelt of it so strongly that the original scent was buried in it all. It was thick, like the fog that was flowing through the streets from the old river that ran through the market district, but the fear did not settle in a heavy blanket as the fog did. It rose in slow swells, powerful anxiety that seeped out of the doubled chimneys that coughed up clouds of wispy smoke and ash as well. The large brick houses stank of it, the stone shingles gave it off in waves.

A deeper blackness opened up to suck in this nourishing mist.

The shadow was vaguely human-shaped, a crouched bit of midnight that was sitting up on a rooftop. Red pinpricks in the ‘face’ swept over the area, searching for the source of this fear. Again that darker void opened up where a mouth might be, teeth like obsidian knives barely visible. A deep breath pulled in a draught of the fear-filled air, the sustenance making the shadow sigh with disappointment. This was low-quality fear, barely above anxiety. Practically tasteless, diluted by distance, the source situated elsewhere. Another pull of air brought in more nervousness, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The shade needed to feed off of someone directly.

In a moment the shadow was moving, flowing across the roof in a rush of darkness and swirling black mist. It reached the edge of the roof and flew to the next house in a long arc of night, leaping the ten-foot gap with no effort and the fluidity of water. The new electric streetlamps dotting the paved streets flickered fitfully as the demon went by like a gale, the flames of the older oil lights dancing at its passing. The added dimness and shifting shadows were to its advantage; light made its powers weaken. The waning moon was the only exception; moonlight simply made it hungrier.

It bounded over the rooftops, almost flying, searching, searching. It flitted by windows, jetty claws scraping on glass for a quarter second of screaming auditory pain before leaving off to find another place. Doorknobs rattled, the occasional silver one passed up, nails scratching at the wood instead. Children woke and cried, adults shivered and huddled down in their covers. Just the wind? They wondered, or not? Surely nothing would dare come into the city? There was the occasional disappearance, but those were rare and usually proven to be the work of kidnappers or thugs. They wondered, though, and doubted. Oh, yes they did.

The shadow could feel it.

Even through brick walls, glass, wood, shutters and drapes, it could feel the doubt and fear radiating off of them. It could pick it up like a serpent picking up the body heat of a mouse. It could hear their shuddering heartbeats, their shallow breathing. It stared in bedroom windows at forms both asleep and awake, the dark no obstruction to its sight. Those of the latter persuasion looked to their windows only to glimpse a black silhouette with two red stars for eyes before cowering away as it vanished like a shadow. It bounced between houses, hovering at balconies until it dismissed the latched windows and locked doors before flickering to the next abode.

It was some time before it found an open window.

* * * * *

Anne just couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

Her wall-mounted overhead lamp was on, electric bulb glowing gently, and it cast a shadow on the velvet curtain surrounding her canopy bed, a doppelganger of her prone form. She stared at that shadow, hoping it might mesmerize her into dreamland, but no matter how she tried she couldn’t get her eyes to shut. She turned her head, looking over at the empty place beside her in the large, cushy bed. She slid her hand over to the spot, rubbing it slowly.

Why couldn’t she find a husband?

She had money, she wasn’t ugly, and she was in all ways a proper woman of upper class Ginore gentility. She went to the chapel of Asere on Third Street every five days, she attended dinner parties, she was polite and did her best to present herself well. Anne sighed, breath ruffling her sheets when it caught between the three layers. If she didn’t find someone soon she would become an old maid, and then no one would want her. Goodness, she was nearly thirty! This big house did get very lonely with only her two maids for company. She was actually almost asleep, drifting off on these thoughts, when she saw the briefest of movements out of the corner of her nearly closed eyes, her lamp flickering for a second as it happened.

Instinctively she knew it was not a movement of her own and she turned her head, heart pounding as glimpses of half-seen movements sometimes had a habit of making it. She sat up as she twisted to face the source of the alarm, pulling her blankets up as she did so to preserve her modesty. She was clad in only her nightgown, and she did not think it was one of her maids.

It was her shadow.

She let out a slow breath, waiting for her heart, stubbornly refusing to calm, to ease up. She laid back down . . .

And froze.

Her shadow was still sitting up.

Suddenly the shadow became darker, then darker still, blackening to a midnight hue as glowing red dots appeared where eyes should have been. Suddenly her lamp shorted out again, jittering on and off as the shade peeled itself off of her bed curtains and crawled across her bed to lean over her. Dark mist swirled off of it, the black dissipating as it took a more definite shape. It turned into a man, tall and thin and deathly pale, gleaming ruby eyes and nightmare teeth like knives. Dressed in a long black coat and black gentleman’s clothes, he exuded an aura of terror strong enough to choke off her scream. Anne could only manage a hoarse whisper.

“V-v-vampi-“

The alabaster face turned into a hideous snarl, the pointed fangs that filled his mouth glinting savagely.

“I am not a vampire. Those filthy, wasteful swine. I am a Demon.”

The demon took her hand from under the covers, holding it in a grip so strong it was like being held by a vice. There was no escape offered her as he brought her fingers close to his ripping teeth. He bit down, eliciting a faint cry of pain from the woman, and began to draw in blood. Panic flowed in with the scarlet liquid, paralyzing fear, not the best, but good enough. Slow swallows followed the draining, blood and terror ingested, fueling the greater powers of the demon. It had to give up some of its raw physical strength, tainting itself with human blood, but the trade-off was worth the added power for its other abilities. It would gain its strength back as it grew hungry again, and the cycle would start again.

The woman was unconscious now, passed out from the combination of horror and blood loss. The demon stopped drinking, and withdrew its vicious fangs from her hand, leaving a row of ragged punctures where it had bitten down. The sound of a lock turning, accompanied by, “Miss Levene? I heard a noise. Are you alright?” made the demon look up. The maid . . . it could hear her tremulous pulse announcing that she was nervous, the feeling of anxiety pulsing around her in a halo. Maddening. It was tempting to simply flicker over to her and rip her apart, eat her while she was still screaming, but that would be a waste. Instead he rolled aside, dropped to the floor, and sank into the dark at the foot of the bed as if it were water.

The maid found the room empty but for her employer, the woman in a faint and her right hand bloodied.

* * * * *
Rithel stepped out of an alley, emerging from a patch of darkness between buildings.

Now it was time to find out what was making everyone so unnerved. His features melted, shadows swirling around him until he was a black wraith as before. Rithel looked up at the sky, checking on it. There was a sliver of dull red far to the east, the barest hint of dawn. The demon hissed at this; sunlight was its bane. It would have to sink back into the shadows and continue its search again tomorrow evening.

Rithel slid back into the dark once more, fading away instantly.



Prologue, set in a Victorian-era styled world. The country is called Ginore. Criticism is most welcome.

Felarya is Karbo’s

Named characters are mine unless otherwise stated.

Oh, yes, I can't wait to see this story o: The demon certainly sounds frightening, and I can't wait to see it make its move O:

Very well written and quite gripping in its atmosphere, as always!

I will defeat it. Piledriver!

Still, quite interesting.

Here is the first chapter of Lessons from the Dark. It is a bit slow, but introduces more characters and gives some explanations. No vore or gore here.

Chapter 1: Plans and Pursuits

The Grand Hallway was quiet, the only noise the echo of boots tapping firmly against the perfectly polished glass floors. You could see straight through them, down to the electric lights inside. The walls were the same, a thin sheet of stone beneath that for privacy, the ceilings as well. The lights embedded in them were on, and there was not one shadow of any substantiality in a single place in the palace. The light glinted off of every polished surface, silver doorknobs and opulent vases. Even the silver armor of the knight approaching the dais glinted in that endless light.

The dais was a half circle, four steps up to the throne. The chair itself was worthy of its authoritative position, the back easily eight feet tall, lion-clawed feet and velvet cushion, ornate carving etching intricate patters of lines and circles into the pale wood. The buffed curves gleamed in the pervasive light, the gold sun set high in the back a bright disk hovering over the ruler of Ginore.

The knight knelt before his Queen, careful not to mar the floor with the silver kneepads of his armor as he went down, blond hair falling in a curtain that hid his face.

“Sir Veris, rise.”

The knight did so, looking up. The Queen nodded to him, indicating that he should go on with his report.

“I had my squad keep a close eye on assaults and violent deaths as you ordered. We’ve discovered some disturbing events. Seven non-lethal assaults in the last three nights, one the first night, then three for each of the next two. In each case, a person who was asleep was bitten in the middle of the night, usually on the arm or leg, and a large amount of blood drained from them. Most never woke up during this, only finding the wounds in the morning. One woman did see her assailant. She said he peeled himself off her curtains and bit her hand, but she was somewhat hysterical during the interrogation.”

“We’ve also noted that the attacks are approaching closer to the palace each night, and take place fairly far apart. The three assaults last night took place at the edge of the market district, then at the edge of the park, then again only a quarter mile from the palace. We think that the criminal may be an escaped maniac, with these bites, and using a carriage to move around fast enough to attack so many in one night, so far apart. It is . . . well, worrying. I’ve alerted the palace guard, and increased the rounds.”

The Queen held up a hand, and the knight instantly stopped his report.

“I do not believe this is a cause for concern. Have the guard reduced to normal again. Also, please inform my clerk that she is to begin work on invitations immediately.”

Sir Veris placed his fist against his breastplate. He wondered at the Queen’s request for invitations, but she was the Queen, and he was sure she had a reason. She did nothing without reason, though what the motive was might not be clear in immediacy. He left, boots tapping as he exited the hall just as they had when he had entered. He pulled open one of the heavy, silver-handled doors, bowed once more, and shut the portal behind him.

“Sir Orves?”

The Queen’s call brought a man out from a small side-door behind the throne. Tall and dusky-skinned, he was in gold-plated bronze armor rather than silver. The reason why was evident right away. Luminous yellow eyes, slitted in a serpentine manner, gleamed in his face, and pointed ears were exposed with his pale mink hair pulled back in a short queue. His gloves hid that his fingers were tipped with blunt, heavy nails that didn’t quite match a human’s, and ivory fangs glinted from between his dark lips as he spoke.

“Yes, I did hear. I will have Sir Amand and Prince Blackman informed.”

“Excellent. Make sure Eva is not told. My heir would go charging in and die, which is not something I wish.”

“The Princess will not be alerted.”

“Very good. Now it’s time to prepare for the dinner party. Make sure there is an extra seat, and steak tartar available. Set that extra place with pewter, not silver. Expect there to be a power outage, and as soon as this happens make sure to get a man down to the electrical basement when I indicate to do so.”

“Of course.”

“And, Sir Orves?”

“Yes?”

“Make sure everyone involved knows that under no circumstances save outright killing of guests are they to fight or even so much as draw while at the table. We will maintain civility until the party is over, or the special guest leaves table.”

“Yes.”

With that, the demon knight slipped back through the side door and left.

The Queen sat farther back in her throne, sinking into the soft velvet slightly. A slim, delicate hand moved to adjust the silver brooch that hung from her neck. The hand settled back down on its armrest as the Queen prepared her chessboard. Her pieces were in place and ready. The other side had only a single piece, a king, but that king could change into any piece it liked and move as it pleased. The game was about to begin.

“Now then, Demon of the Riddle. Let us see if you will accept my invitation.”

* * * * *

The last sliver of sunlight was clawing at the horizon desperately, trying to stave off the night, at the end of the day.

Dusk painted the tall, ivy wrapped houses of the gentry district dull orange and red, shadows growing to enormous size, twining together to form jungles of darkness. Time seemed to run faster, ticking by rapidly as the dark lines of the lampposts rotated around the lights. The people of the capitol walked to their houses, speeding up as the dark grew and the sun’s grip on the horizon weakened. No one wanted to be out at night, not with the rumors of some blood-drinking maniac (or, for the more uneasy, vampire) floating around. Even the few thugs in the city went to their hideaways, not willing to risk tangling with someone so crazy. By the time the sun was all but gone, everyone but the city watch was indoors. Locks clicked into place, shutters were closed, drapes drawn, and latches secured as the last bit of sun disappeared.

Rithel was watching the sliver of sunlight as it slid below the edge of the world. To see the sun die was one of its favorite things. That blazing, hateful disk was the demon’s worst enemy. Sitting in its light would drastically reduce its powers, and more than a few hours in it would result in a slow, excruciating immolation. Nothing but ash would be left after a day in the sun. Rithel let out a shuddering breath of laughter as the last ray withered away. A howl of excitement echoed through the streets, reverberating against the walls and making the entire capitol quiver.

A black wave came flying down Main Street, a spinning missile of darkness that ate up all the light from the streetlamps as it came. It left the lamps bent and twisted out of shape, shorted and sparking or blown out entirely, in its wake. It was almost to the palace when it went to ground, vanishing down a manhole and hurling the steel cover aside hard enough to embed it in a nearby wall. Brief, terrified screams echoed from hole, cut off before they could even be properly started. Another scream, that of metal being torn apart, came up from the tunnel.

Suddenly, all the lights in the palace went out.

* * * * *

“No need to be alarmed. We’ll have oil lamps brought in momentarily.”

It was pitch black in the dining hall, none of the fifty or so guests able to see a thing. There was some muttering after the initial round of surprised outcries, but the people settled as the lamps were brought in. Though dim, they were enough to see by. They left huge patches of darkness in the corners of the room, under the incredibly long table, but they were sufficient to eat by, and the light played rather well on the silverware.

It also let the guests see that two new persons had arrived while the lights were out.

Both were women, the first slim and rather fragile-looking, like a porcelain doll. Her skin was a pale northerner’s shade, hair silvery though her face was unlined and her form that of a young woman. Indeed, nearly everything about her was pale and delicate, her ruffled dress with a square neck cut that had fallen out of style several years ago a light blue, the silver rings that adorned her first two fingers of each hand thin and having the appearance that they would shatter like ice if touched. Only her eyes, a steely gray, were strong.

The second woman was tall, taller than most of the men, with more curve to her figure and skin that was not quite so pale as the other’s. Her eyes were a curious color, something between blue and gray, like the oceans of the northern reaches, hair a shade of raven that matched her dress perfectly. The dress’ design was almost identical to the other woman’s, but there was also a ruffled cloth band around her neck that had lost favor several decades ago. Two more encircled her wrists, all the same hue of black.

Aldin Merani, a young nobleman, stood up first, followed by the rest of the guests. The lord addressed the dark-clad woman, bowing to her.

“Y-your Majesty.” he stuttered, amazed that he was actually meeting the Queen.

The woman gave a slight smile, a lace fan opening to hide the lower half of her face. She tilted her head, indicating the paler woman beside her. The man instantly flushed with shame and embarrassment, as did many other nobles. Only the knights and a few others did not show that they had made the same mistake.

“I-I must apologize, Your Highness, for this rudeness! I did not realize-“

“Understandable. Not many have seen my face.” the Queen accepted, nodding for everyone to take a seat again.

The Princess, seated next to the stranger and on her mother’s right, looked over the newcomer openly. She couldn’t recall seeing any person like that before, and so she raised a pale eyebrow.

“Who are you?”

The question was rather straightforward, practically rude by societal standards, but that was the Princess’ way. Everyone knew it, and so let it go besides a few disapproving looks. The new woman didn’t seem to mind at all, however, and smiled behind her fan.

“Myself? I am a guest come to visit my friend.”

“Your name.”

That stepped over the border of rudeness, drawing outright mutterings now, but the stranger still did not take offense. Her smile grew some more, though no teeth were shown as of yet.

“My, my, so very direct. Times are certainly changing. Don’t you think, Amana?”

The Queen simply smiled and picked up her silverware, the other guests doing the same and the dinner beginning as the first course was brought in.

“Blood sausage. How delightful.” chuckled the nameless woman.

Prince Blackman, on the Queen’s left, grimaced. An average-sized man in gold-trimmed finery, he was not actually related to the Queen by blood. His dark hair and dusky skin said as much, but he had been accepted into the Royal family because of his late father’s marriage to the Queen. The point was something of a sore spot, but his stepsister and stepmother both took him as family.

Sir Amand, who sat opposite of the new woman, gave a gruff ‘Humph’. A bulky bear of a man with grizzled grey hair and a massive beard, he filled up his chair to the limit, and every move he made caused the furniture to creak and groan under his weight. A veteran, scars were evident on his hands, and old claw wounds from some beast ran along the underside of his jaw, hidden by his beard. The knight shook his heavy head at the Prince.

“Heh. You would have never survived in the old days, campaigning against monsters back when people had to actually do things.”

“Ah, yes. When people had to fight seriously, and monsters were everywhere. Nothing like a visceral fight to get one’s heart pumping, wouldn’t you say, Dervur?”

The older knight gave a hard, toothy grin.

“Indeed. I remember getting a great big scar across the gut from a particularly blood-crazed demon. Nearly eviscerated me.”

“A demon?” asked the Princess, gaining an interested look; she had always wondered if demons were as powerful as they said.

She had always wanted to fight one, seriously, and Sir Orves had never accepted any of her challenges. Battling one was a personal dream of hers, even though she knew it probably would never happen. Demons and monsters kept to the forests and mountains these days, not like a century or two ago when they had roamed and sometimes waged war. Occasionally they would cause chaos in a small village or town, but the knights dealt with those cases, and her mother rarely let her go out on such missions.

“Aye. A demon. Wipe that asinine smile off your face. Demons, at least the old ones, are nothing to grin at.”

“Sir Orves is a demon.” Eva pressed, indicating the man, sitting next to Sir Amand.

“I am not a proper demon. I am a third-rate one, with only unusually strong magic and a different appearance to indicate I am not a human. A Radash, is my breed. Quite far from the Original.”

Sir Amand spoke again.

“Aye. Different breeds of demon have different appearances and powers. Radash are middling. Vampyres are upper-level, old vampires and a breed of demon in and of themselves. They’re upper-level, with more powers.”

“What was the breed you fought?”

“Not a clan, or a breed. Just one. A true, pureblooded demon. One of the old ones.”

“Why were you dueling a demon alone?”

“Fifty.”

“What?”

“I had fifty men with me. It ripped right through them. That is what a true Demon is. A killing machine with no remorse and their own twisted logic. Old World powerhouses. That one was the only one of its kind I ever encountered. Even a vampyre lord would get slaughtered in a fight with one. Humans are paper to one of the old, individual Demons.”

“I want to fight one.” Eva announced, excited.

“You’re young and sure of yourself, so I won’t hold that against you. You don’t fight a Demon. You run and hope it doesn’t decide to chase you. Rithel would tear you to bits.” the old veteran snorted, and for a moment he met the stranger’s eye.

“Demons, demons, let us move on, yes?” suggested the Prince.

The conversation turned to lighter subjects as the second course came in, thick stew with boiled ham and venison in it. A few commented on the large amount of meat in the meal thus far, and these comments strengthened as the third course was set before the guests. Platters of steak tartar, slightly warm, were put down.

* * * * *

Rithelle finally let her teeth show at this.

With a female form, Rithel had become the feminine Rithelle, and now it was sitting at table with a herd of clueless humans. The Queen knew, Sir Amand and Sir Orves knew, but the rest were blissfully unaware that a wolf was among the poor, helpless, mindlessly bleating sheep. The demon smiled all the harder at the pewter fork, spoon and knife, the steel plate. The Queen was being a courteous hostess, yes she was. Inviting a demon to the palace with a secret code written into the daily news. Rithelle had been delighted on picking up a discarded tabloid and finding the offering.

Not to say, however, that the demon had forgotten her goal.

That smile started to rip at the edges, dark mist fluttering off from the tearing, human-looking teeth becoming decidedly less so. It expanded to split her face nearly in half, eyes turning to blazing scarlet as the teeth turned to razors. The majority of the humans didn’t even notice, the fan hiding the smile and the eyes never noted as the little, ignorant canaries continued to chatter and remain oblivious to the cat in their midst. Rithelle stood, nodding to the three who had recognized her. They nodded back as she left, drawing no attention despite leaving before anyone else.

The demon noted that the Queen twitched one finger slightly, and Sir Orves responded with a tiny change in his emotion, changing from anxious to steadfast. It had an idea of what the Queen meant by this, and the creature laughed inside. It headed towards a darkened hallway, grinning like mad, as a messenger bent over to the Queen and whispered something in her ear. Her eyes flickered over to where the demon had been, but the monster had already sank into the shadows and disappeared.

* * * * *

In the dark hole that had been invaded by Rithelle, blood slicked the floor. There was little enough left of those the liquid had belonged to, scraps of flesh and clothes littering the stone walls. The heavy electrical generator for the palace had been ripped right off of its base, the bolts that had previously held it down twisted and broken. The generator itself had been hurled around the room, torn in half, and utterly destroyed, wires pulled from its belly like entrails.

The Queen, hearing this news from the messenger, indicated with a sharp nod for Sir Orves to go after the other demon. She knew, to a degree, that there was little chance of stopping the beast with the lights all out like this, but Orves could at least slow the creature down if he caught her. Unlikely, but necessary. She turned to Sir Amand, indicating for him to get up and lean in for her to whisper orders to.

“Yes, ma’am?”

“Rithelle destroyed the generator beyond repair. We need the replacement put in as soon as possible.”

“That will take much more time than sending a man down to fix minor damage, as you expected. At least an hour.”

“I did not expect Rithelle to act like this. She’s excited about something . . . Head to the dungeons, take some men with you. Stall for as long as you possibly can. Sir Orves will probably not catch her, but if you can get rid of as many shadows as you can, you may be able to block her off.”

“The dungeons, ma’am?”

“Yes.”

“Right. I’ll do my best, and give my life for Her Majesty.”

“I hope you won’t need to. Go. Take all the lamps you can find on short notice.”

“I’ll do so.”

The knight rushed to the door, not caring about the surprised stares shot at his back. Let the gossips mutter. There was a demon running around freely in the palace, and one of the old ones, at that. The massive, knotted scar that ran from his navel up to his chest ached at the memories of a massacre. It seemed like it was time to have a rerun of that bloodbath, and damned if he wouldn’t do it for his Queen.

* * * * *

Sir Orves ran through the hallways, searching for the demon. It was a futile search, he knew, but the Queen had ordered it, and he would look no matter how futile it was. He could find no trace of the creature, nothing, and even feeling the ground and trying to pick up the old footsteps of those who had gone by yielded only human prints.

He thought for a moment, trying to work out what Rithelle might be after. Perhaps . . . the dungeons!

The knight got up from keeling and feeling the ground, turning to dash for another door. His boots clacked against the glass floor as he flew down the stairs to the basement in a rush. Another door led to a second stairway, a spiral of stone steps that led to the prison. He grabbed a torch from one of the holders as he descended into the dark halls, ruddy light casting a thick shadow beside him on the walls.

* * * * *

Rithel returned to its darker form, sliding into the shadows and melding with them, ghosting through the darkened halls and rooms like a wraith, unseen and unheard by the servants and guards that were moving about with oil lamps. It was tempting, as the demon passed them, feeling their fear of the dark pulsing in a quick rhythm, to simply go on a warpath as it had with the generator. That, though, was not worth doing. Humans were so fragile it could barely get started before they were in pieces, and there were not enough of them in one place to give it a good rampage. It ignored them. It descended to the lower areas, sliding around the cooler basement before heading to the dungeon.

Now to find its goal.


First chapter of the story. Dinner party with the demon, and plans. Critiques are appreciated.

Felarya is Karbo’s

Named characters are mine unless otherwise stated.

This story is really starting nicely ! Superb job on posing that dark, eerie and mysterious atmosphere and your descriptions were excellent. Very nice job here ^_^
I can't wait to see what will happens next