The Roar of a Lost Lord

[Levicourpos 465]

 

The Roars of a Lost Lord

 

An alleviating sense of calmness flustered through the city of Presa de Medera, Santegia, the sky deserted from clouds and the birds flying about, whispering pretty nothings. Looking down upon the ground however, were the colossal walls of the city, stretching higher than perhaps god himself could reach: its strength undeniable, no ballista, no bombs, nothing could penetrate it. In contrast to the extensive size of the walls were the simple citizens minding their own business inside of the city, smiling merrily and moving out with their own, private, daily doings. The smell of freshly baked bread wavered through the long avenue leading up to the palace, most likely conceived by the local baker or perhaps it was a mother’s blessed home cooking; the sirens of piano’s short tunes could also have been heard, emitting loudly in unpatterned tunes from the tavern, beating through the loud sounds of a bustling hall.

 

Though, as suddenly as a clock striking midnight, an ear splitting roar shattered across the Kingdom. Soon after a gust of wind frolocked through the vast fields of wheat and potatoes.

The many heads in Santegia turned at the sound, halting their most usual daily business; the children had stopped playing with their toys and the parents had stopped noticing their children for all that seemed to matter was the loud cry that had just dawned across the realm.

 

“What was that?!” Bellowed a man: a tall, strong man named Johnathan de Cantwell. His hair fluttering as he ran across the bridge connecting the city. “I.. I don’t kn-” And again, interrupting the common peasant was another cry, though this time astonishingly close.

All hell broke loose.

Babies were crying, adults were fleeing, children standing about impatiently with nervous faces frozen upon them. Then, after about twenty more minutes of anarchy a last, final distant cry was heard which demanded the pause of everyone still in or near the city.

It had arrived.

 

Silence

 

And then the sound of a thousand screams and blistering cries shot from the menacing skies. A grimacing dragon roared over the clouds, a shadow falling through the white puffs over the city of Presa de Medera and again all of the eyes remained stiff still with fear.

 

“Run!” A woman screamed, away to the centre of the streets along with many others, then into the tavern like rats hiding from water. Only a few remained in the square: Vanderlise van Rothchild, Johnathan de Cantwell, Jacob Bolivar and a few other soldiers. The rest , however, had ran up the city’s walls, manning the ballistas and beginning to load them with whatever they could muster up.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, the beast finally showed itself, flying down from the serene clouds like an array of the devil’s light. By this time however many had already armed the ballistas - a few fired. Each missed. Flying horizontally around, the dragon-like monster craned itself so that it flew with such vast speed towards one of the wall’s towers.

 

And then, as though from the void itself a blast of fire shot like a hose towards the sturdy tower, an eruption of screams could be heard, a few jumps and splashes from the moat beneath. Matthew de Cantwell landing on the lower platform to the left of the beast and Vanderlise van Rothchild landing on the platform to the right. Crumbling now, the top of the tower that had once been so undeniably strong fell, piece by piece into the moat until there was nothing left but the foundation.

 

For a short moment the dragon seemed to have vanished again, up into the now darkening clouds. “Is it over?” Some naive children muttered, though overshadowed by the weeping of mothers, scared for their children. Shortly after the drake’s ascent there was a silence in the realm, though unfortunately for many this did not last long; the drake shot down like an arrow from the heavens, aiming now where most of the people had gathered, aiming for Johnathan de Cantwell who was standing near a balcony next to Vanderlise van Rothchild.

 

Again another blaze slashed out of the beast’s mouth, banishing a large group of people from the balcony, into the murky canal waters beneath them. “Johnathan, Jacob!” Vanderlise belted out, having managed to secure her landing on the balcony while the others were thumped off. She looked down upon the people floating in the water, though this was cut short; the dragon again came soaring down, landing furiously on top of the bridge so that it’s menacing frame towered over everyone.

 

“Johnathan!” Screamed, as loud as he could, Jacob Bolivar. He reached out his hand from the water, as if it was going to do something to stop the dragon; the dragon that had swooped down and clasped Johnathan in its mouth, swinging him around like a rag doll so that blood spilt like water from the man’s body.

 

And a cry from all emitted as the body was flung to a platform only slightly lifted from the canal, and on of which was a body, drenched in red liquid: Lord Johnathan de Cantwell, Baron of Blackwater. By the time anyone could retrieve themselves from their thoughts the Drake had shot away into the sky, away from the city, away from a lost lord.

 

Quickly, Vanderlise and Jacob crawled down to the platform the dying man was coughing at, pushing away any impediments and gasping when the finally reached him; his face was mangled, his armour torn and his eyes shot with blood: he was to die.

With no more words to be whispered, Johnathan clutched onto Jacob’s arm breathing fruitly and with a painful lisp, before he could speak the harrowing feeling of death tumbled over him. He was dead.

Lord Johnathan de Cantwell was dead.

[Vaynth 3005]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

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