A History Through Blood

The usually busy streets, once filled with loud trade and other indications of civilization, were now devoid of the charismatic merchants and their customers. Only the decrepit street urchins, lecherous drunks and the other common miscreants populated the barren streets underneath the moonlit night. Perhaps it was the time of year, but it seemed especially quiet on this rather gaunt night. Even with the reduced number of patrolling Duukunasi due to whatever events were occurring at the mine, the town was completely subdued.

As Kwasi, one of many Duukunasi assigned to maintain order, patrolled the baron streets with his partner Ijeoma, he could not help but grow cautious with every slight movement in the shadows. On more than one occasion the usually fearless guard heard whispers from his partner, only to see him in a different location than where he heard his voice. His wooden spear kept him anchored as he moved throughout the streets, resisting the growing instinctual thoughts of desertion.

The pair had been monitoring the roads and alleyways for hours now, fatigue slowly building as the moon's influence took over. Most of the regular drunks and beggars had moved to the northern reaches, unconsciously sensing some degree of safety from the area. Any remaining stragglers huddled together, twitching in response to whatever moved within their eyesight. Even the loud and aggressive drunks were acting strange, confronting invisible men or yelling abuse into empty shadows.

Ijeoma stopped as they passed an exposed doorway of an important elder, currently inhabited by a disheveled and sleeping man. Instead of the usual reserved, yet peaceful, expression that most of the homeless held when resting, a look of sheer terror was left on his resting face. “Hey! Wake up ya warthog!” demanded his fellow guard, attempting to rouse him with a solid kick to the mid-section. In spite of the violent blows to stir him, man refused to wake and remaining trapped with-in his nightmare.

Kwasi soon abandoned waking the vagrant after several violent attempts to rouse him failed to get so much as a wince in response. Ijeoma placed a comforting hand on the should of his fellow Duukunasi. “Leave him, something is not right tonight. Let's head back and get a hot meal.” They simply left the man asleep and bleeding as the pair returned to their lodgings. “You are right, something isn't right about the town tonight. We should make an offering to the gods at the barracks, their protection should count for something.”

-

Under the instruction of Victoria, Leo remained behind at what could be considered the equivalent of a merchant guild, while she helped resolved whatever issue at the mines, she had found herself entangled in. The horses were being cared for by the local stable hands, so he only had to look after the crates of merchandise being stored in their room. He spent much of his time tending to his equipment, either adjusting straps or sharpening the various blades he kept on his person. He had been granted permission to grab one of the last bottles of liquor remaining from their homeland, which he was drinking sparingly as it would surely be a long night.

Victoria's precautionary measures regarding many potential obstacles usually turned out to be correct, whether it be over-purchasing certain goods or avoiding food in the local area. When Julianna and Rose had initially been remotely instructed to gather supplies to bring to the mine, he had been told to stay behind to watch their supplies while the mercenaries assisted onsite. They both understood the language barrier and recognized how his presence would slow down her tasks.

As they left the former nun prepared a herbal bag as a preventative measure. “Keep this close,” he remembered her saying as she placed a small palm-sized satchel in his hand. “There is a chance that the smoke has corrupting or hallucinatory properties. According to Victoria, inhaling this blend of herbs should fortify you against most minor intrusions.” The oncoming darkness soon proved her prudent measures to be correct, as the strong smell from the small parcel dispelled the slowing growing sense of dread.

Through the worn stone walls, he could hear panicked screams from some of the other patrons, which in turn gathered the attention of the other inhabitants of the inn. Though unable to understand their words, Leo surmised their concerned intent. His role was simply to protect their assets and not get caught up in any supernaturally fueled pandemonium. The local hired muscle could protect Victoria well enough dealing with whatever problem she had been drafted into, so he could avoid the worst of the magical dealings.

Left to his own devices, Leo opted to partially barricade himself within their shared room. Although some of the merchant laborers had attempted to check up on him, the language barrier between them only caused frustration. The few phrases drilled into him by their translator were enough to leave him alone, albeit with semi-regular check-ins in case he had succumb to whatever affliction had been unleashed upon the town.

-

Lying awake in his bed, accompanied by his three wives, was Alhaji. None of those present could remain asleep for any stretch of time, lest they be tormented by their horrific and recurring nightmares. His middle wife, Chidi, re-lit the sacred incense purchased from their mosque which appeared seemed to soothe their minds after their traumatic dreams. It did not take long for the smell of burning frankincense to fill his spacious bedroom. The various signs of luxury and wealth he had amassed from his decades of trading suddenly felt hollow and meaningless when confronted with visions of his own mortality. Leaving all but his gentle wives to be his sole comfort in his darkest hours, they too likely felt the same as they embraced to feel some sense of security.

When he tried to recall any of the vivid dreams he had experienced, only flashes of abject terror manifested. Momentary visions of wastelands, unfathomably sized predators, hundreds of deformed mercenaries and other means of discomfort filled his mind. His wives too described similar themes in their nightmares, each night terror seeming to cater and exploit their most intimate fears.

It did not take long for their children to join them, groggily complaining of terrible nightmares rendering them unable to sleep. They too joined him on his bed, embracing their mothers for some semblance of security. Under the candlelight Alhaji began to read from the blessed Surahs, using the sacred words of the Prophet to quell their growing uncertainty. As he read the children soon drifted to sleep, although plagued by discomforting dreams they were able to get some rest. Alhaji continued to read the sacred texts so that his children could rest easy, silently praying for the night to end.

-

Within the confines of a small farm, a stone's throw away from the mines, slept Obi. Unlike his children, who had quickly shirked their duties to sate their curiosity and gawk at the commotion at the mines, he had to tend to their many crops and livestock. The fire which the oafish miners started only served to startle their stupid beasts, driving them to the furthest reaches of their lands. It had taken many hours to regain control of the herd, with the few farmhands he had remaining. Obi had taken many mental notes on the situation, so as to complain to the elders next time he was in town.

Now able to finally rest with his wife in his arms, Obi found himself unable to. His dreams, if he could even call them that, denied him of his sleep. To him it felt like he was still awake, standing alone in his fields. Everything from the feel of the soft and dusty soil to the rich earthen smell told him that he was standing in the fields tended to by his family for who knows how long. What would normally bring pride and calm only brought a sense of existential dread.

In his uncertain panic, Obi bent down to feel what should've been the comforting feel of the earth. Instead of the smooth soil, his dark hands felt only the cold skin of his wife's face buried just beneath his fields. Her contorted face stared at him, twisted and unmoving. Obi found himself unable to scream, only managing to fall to the ground to embrace the severed head of his wife. All he could manage to do was embrace what was left of his wife, holding on to whatever sanity he had left.

At some point his foot brushed upon something solid, just beneath the surface. With one cautious hand, Obi brushed aside the loose-fitting soil to reveal the equally maimed face of his eldest son. The seasoned farmer continued to remove the dirt to reveal: his family, friends, acquaintances and soldiers all beheaded and scattered across his field. He did not know how he held onto what little sanity he did, but all he could manage was depressing sobs as only death surrounded him.

Above him circled countless vultures in the blood red sky, only marred by the constant plumes of smoke which rose from some far distant horizon. They too were content to watch on, soaring ominously around him. Obi tried in vain to wake up from this nightmare, however he was unable to. He could only remain trapped with the aimless stares of everyone he had known, as the constant cries of the vultures harassed him to the point of madness.