Scorn

Scorn wasn’t always a creature of mutated flesh. He was once a handsome and proud ridgeback with a brilliant orange light in his eye. Back then his friends called him Wayland. His clan lived in a lush meadow pulsing with life with tall gnarled trees that even rivalled a guardian in size. Far to the north right on the horizon was the very borders of the plague lands. The grass withered to ground that was flesh and sinew always spreading slow like poison. It was there that Wayland and his band of warriors fought for this land against the soldiers of plague. They came like a swarm, much smaller than Wayland’s band but cunning and ruthless, a group of them could take down a ridgeback or a guardian. Wayland and his men would fight long and hard and be victorious but their loses gave them no reason to celebrate. Over the course of a year they fought and each time Wayland’s number of men grew smaller but other side kept growing in number.
The chief of Wayland’s clan was a very old nocturne. His teeth were worn to numbs and his voice creaked as he squinted through thick spectacles. The stress of war with the creatures of plague lay heavy on his heart and worsened his condition. He developed a ragged cough and it pained for him to move. His advisor and his assistant did all she could to make him comfortable. Her name was Eve and she was a beautiful pearlcatcher. Wayland and Eve did have feelings for another. A tender love that neither of them could admit but knew it was there.
One day after Wayland and his warriors came back with bodies covered in wounds the chief said that enough was enough. This war with the horde of plague would end and the clan would leave and go south, deeper into the Windswept Plateau. This greatly angered Wayland.
“The men I’ve lost will have fought in vain if we leave.” he argued with the chieftain. But the chief stood his ground.
“No, not in vain but as a sign to carry on. How many more are you willing to sacrifice to a war we cannot win.” he spoke with a calm and firm voice. The fire in Wayland’s eye blazed brighter.
“I know a way to end this war. They may kill one or two of us but we kill dozens of them and then they retreat and we think victory is at hand. But we need to eradicate them all. Annihilate them so they can’t return larger in number. Me and my men are ready to chase them to the ends of the Sornieth if it were to end this war.”
The chief shook his head, “What you plan to do with surely kill you all. In fives days time our clan with pack our belongings and leave. When the time comes you may stay but I beg you to leave with us if it only meant that no one else should die.”
Wayland stared hard at the chief and then he turned his tail to leave but Eve called to him. He paused and almost as if to look at her he turned his head ever so slightly, but he continued on and left without saying a word. Five days came and went, the clan dwellers and the warriors both met on the threshold of their beloved home ready to part ways.
“My heart is of fire, but this is my home. I will not part with it so easily. When we have killed them all I will look for you in the south and we will reign here once again,” he said with a voice so confident that Eve wanted to believe him. Over the course of the five days she tried her hardest to change his mind but he could not be moved. In one last effort to convince him she came to him and in a tender voice she spoke.
“Wayland, Wayland there is nothing for us here anymore except resentment and grief. Let all of us leave and start anew. Come with us to lands greener and of peace. Come with me.” She said the last part with a whisper and stared deep into Wayland’s blazing eyes. What she had said had almost convinced him, but his lust for battle raged like fire in his heart and it could not be put out so easily.
“I hope to meet you again in lands greener, my dear Eve,” he said in a voice that was not unkind but held a distance to it.
He and his followers left without ever looking back once and Eve, the chief and the rest of the clan watched them grow smaller and smaller till they were nothing but specks on the horizon.

Blood.

All Wayland could smell was blood. His lieutenant lay behind him choking and gasping for air. The last of his warriors were strewn all around them. They had fought valiantly till their very last breath.

“Commander?” his lieutenant gurgled, he lifted his head but his eyes were glassed over from pain. “I...I cannot see. What is happening?”

Wayland eyes burned into the fiends circling them like vultures, snarling, waiting for the right moment to kill. A particularly large one crawled forward, its muscles tensed, ready to pounce.

“Think of the meadow,” he said softly to his lieutenant, “Close your eyes and think of home.”

His lieutenant lowered his head to the ground, his ragged breathing came softer and soon he uttered a last shuddering sigh and he went still.

In Wayland’s last moments he thought of Eve, he tried to picture her face in his mind but all he could see was the creatures surging towards him...(lore in progress)