The Undead; Chapter 1

[mouikkai]

Moderator's note: Moved to Non-Avatar Literary Works, where it belongs.

Ok, so this isn't your usual fanfic. it's not following any one thing, or anything at all really. it's just a fantasy story I'm writing. but it's a fanfic, because I'm a fan, and this is my fiction! XD ok, so here is the first bit. it's not the complete first chapter, but I'll post the rest further down the road. enjoy! and any pointers or comments are welcome. oh, one final note, any word or name that is bracketed with * (like, *gangsta!!!*) is a temporary name, one that I want to change, but can't come up with a good one to replace it. now, on with the fiction:


Quick list (words to be changed in the future):
1: *James* (Name)
2: *Storm* (Name)

Prologue:
As he held her close to him, with her head resting on his chest, he could hear her breath. His head resting on hers, his senses were overwhelmed by the pleasant sent of her hair. They sat together, leaning back deep into the leather hides, and into each other. His right arm curled around her body, holding her in a loving embrace, while his left gently caressed her forearm. Her weight against him was like nothing he had ever felt before. He breathed in the smell of her hair, memorized every moment of their time together, precious as it was. They may have been running for far to long, afraid of their own lives and the lives of others, and even now in this quiet moment neither could shake the thought of what lay outside, but as he sat there, pressed against her body, he felt that if the world were to burn and he should be left alone with her, left to sit and hold her for all of eternity, it would be a fate he would happily accept.

She must have sensed he was thinking about her, for at the moment he thought the words, “for all eternity” she began to shift. She turned her beautiful face towards him, so close he could feel her breath on his skin now, so close he breathed the air after she had had it first. Their noses brushed, a simple gesture, really, but never the less it gave him a thrill to be so close and he wouldn’t trade this moment with her for anything in the world. Not only was she exactly the sort of person he’d always wanted to marry, but she was gorgeous. If all the stars in the heavens were to be compared to her they would hide from our sights forever, too outshone by her beauty to remain in the sky any longer. In his eyes she had no equal, there was no being on earth that could compare to her; she was perfect. Every little detail, even the small flaws, such as a mole here or a scar there, worked together to carve out a stunningly beautiful young woman, and he would do anything to keep her from the harm he knew waited for them in the morning. There was no way he would let them have her, even if it cost him his life he would stop them, he would protect her; of this he was sure.

Chapter one, a rising threat:

*James* woke early that morning; the smell of the salt air suffused his small cabin. The trip had been long and eventful, in fact he had come to almost enjoy the life at sea, but he would be very glad to be in his own bed tonight, to return to the town he loved.

He moved swiftly and easily across the rocking old trader, confident on the sea legs he had developed over the past 6 months. He climbed up to the lookout atop the mast, over ropes and rigging, so he could get a better view of his homeland. The captain had been right; they would arrive there before the noon meal was served. From where he was even his human eye could clearly make out the individual ships in the harbor, and with his glass he could even tell which house belonged to him. As he looked on his house a wave of nostalgia hit him, he missed being home. Although his six months at sea had been good ones, and indeed he believed he was the better for them, he would be glad to move back into the life of a small town smith worker. And besides that, he had to say he missed his family.

Having been adopted into an elven family he had always been slower, weaker, and overall less able then his siblings, but not a one of them thought of each other as anything but brother and sister. Though at times he wished for the strength, site, or speed of an elf, he never begrudged his family nor complained about his shortcomings, he was happy with his life and that was what mattered.

His father, Cha’el, was the town’s smith for 40 years before they adopted *James*, and he taught the boy everything he knew. As powerful as elves were, they too had physical problems like human. Cha’el lost the use of his legs to a genetic spinal deformity when *James* was 13 and he has worked the forge ever since. *James*’ two brothers would have taken on the role themselves, but he was there, and they preferred the life of a hunter. The two would go out hunting for days and return with a smile on their faces when they lay a great beral bear in front of Cha’el. The two had often taken *James* with them on these hunting trips and he had grown quite skilled with the bow through them, but his true passion was the blade. The blade was a skill he learned from his sister. He had only one sister, and she had determined from an early age to enter the military and serve her country. She had great skill with the blade and the two would spare regularly in the village square. Emily had left for the military academy a year ago, and Michal, the older brother, had moved in with his wife a month later, so now it was just him, his father and mother, and Urthril.

But both Michal and Emily were returning in two days time for a reunion of three days, and as soon as *James* got home he knew he would be put to work, either to help prepare or to deal with any overdue work that his apprentice, young Benjamin, had failed to complete. Benjamin was a skilled blacksmith, but he was slow at his work and was often distracted by his experiments. Of course, *James* couldn’t begrudge him his experiments, for on one occasion he found a way to create a metal far stronger then steal, and this had made it so that the smithy’s swords were always in high demand, only being matched by the swords of the dwarves.

By the time he climbed down they were preparing to doc, so he rushed below to gather his things before leaving. As he moved to put his jacket on *James* felt something bump against his chest. Opening the well used leather jacket and reaching inside its internal pocket he removed a small parcel, wrapped in a coin purse and bound tightly with thread. He unwrapped the round object carefully, knowing that whatever it was he had not brought it with him, and it wasn’t there when he woke that morning. Extracting the object he saw that it was an amulet, a curious stone with many odd carvings on it. Holding it gently with one hand he peered into the bag in search of an explanation, and a glint caught his eye. Reaching in he could feel nothing new hidden in the black canvas, but upon turning the bag inside-out he saw gold lettering that read “*James*, you are a skilled sailor. Wear this amulet to ward against the affects of the Claig’s rage”. The Claig, *James* knew, was a mythical beast of the sea that would attack a ship with its immense mental power, causing all the crew to go insane before it devoured every last one of them. Che, stupid superstition he thought. But I have to admit, this does look nice, perhaps I’ll keep it. He donned the amulet before ascending the stairs and stepping once again into the sunlight. The ship was docked securely already, the dock workers busily unloading the cargo hold. Grateful that he was finally home *James* said farewell to the captain and stepped ashore.

Stepping onto the landing zone *James* nearly fell over, his legs still accustomed to the rocking motion of the giant ship so that the unmoving land felt unnatural and strange. He felt a pair of strong arms catch him before his unsteadiness got the better of him and he turned to see Ben’s face, seemingly alight with laughter as was usual with the boy. Ben was only three years younger then *James* at 15, but his face would have one wonder that he was to go through the right of passage in 2 months time. Despite his youthful appearance and his tendency to find humor in everything, he had strong arms and chest hair, though he had yet to have a single sprout upon his face.

“Steady now *James*, looks like you still have your sea legs under you!” he laughed a loud, boisterous laugh, amused to no end at how unstable his friend was now that he had hit land. It was impossible to be angry around Ben, if he was in a good mood the whole room was.

“Aye, that it would seem. It’s good to see you Ben.” He said, regaining his footing and straightening his attire. “How have things been?”

“Ah, nothing much to report, I seem to find myself a slight behind on the work once again…. Sorry boss.”

*James* chuckled softly. “You need any help catching up?”

“Nah, I’ve got things handled for a little while longer, at least through the end of your reunion, provided we don’t get swamped with orders. Enjoy the party and then worry about taking out pent up aggression on helpless pieces of steal. I just wanted to come down and see you as you hit solid, unmoving land; I knew that would be good. Anyway, as I dais I am falling behind, just wanted to say hey. Well, I’m off, ciao!” and he was off.

*James* ambled through town with no hurry, although he was glad to be home he was also tired, and as Ben had said, still a bit dizzy from the sudden lack of movement. He did his best to avoid notice by the townsfolk as he made his way towards his home, as he did not want to deal with any lengthy hellos, but he was of course caught by a few friends. Being of an elf family *James* was neither accustomed to nor comfortable with long hellos, goodbyes, or more then necessary pleasantries, so he did his best to politely extract himself from any greetings and avoided certain parts of town and their long-winded occupants entirely.

At the far end of the village he came upon a familiar site, his home. It was an elf home and so, of course, was grown out of a living tree. It was two levels high and was very wide. To try and follow with logic the way the tree twisted and spun would be impossible, and being as it were that the house was grown out of 15 separate trees that had been planted for this express purpose it was no surprise one was confused to look at it. The trunks, a purple so dark it was almost black, were strong and healthy, each tree having a full compliment of azure leaves upon its branches. The only time one could truly see that the house was made up of 15 trees was at the top, where each trunk separated from the masses to form a tower sprouting from the roof of the house. Each tower contained a circle stair and a single room at the top, either a study, bedroom, or other such utility. As was every elf home it was needlessly flamboyant, but it was definitely his home.

[mouikkai]

ok, second install:

Their sparring match was in full swing now, both he and Emily were starting to unleash every bit of their skill, passion, and speed into this clashing of blades. Despite being human he was every bit her match, and if he was judging the path of the fight correctly, he might finally be able to best her today. But then something happened.

The fog that rolled in wouldn’t have been suspect, considering that they lived on the coast, if not for that it came from the east, from the forest, from inland. It rolled in heavy, thick, and fast, and it carried with it an odd odor, on that was weak, but not so weak that *James* couldn’t detect it. He smelled it, and it smelled of death. Everything about this fog was wrong, and they knew it. Before it had hit him he had been apprehensive about this wall of mist coming towards him, but once he was inside it he felt terror cloud his mind. The smell, the taste of death became more and more apparent until all he could think about was that smell, that feeling, that’s taste. All he knew anymore was the morbid smell of death, like so many bodies on a battle field. His whole body urged him to think about how it smelled, every fiber within him was terrified of the fog, yet fascinated by this smell, and he couldn’t help but lose himself in this strange feeling.

Then he heard it. It was all he needed to wake from his revere. It was a sound that should never have been made by anyone, let alone the voice he heard make it now. It was a scream of utter agony, completely enveloped in pain and suffering. It was a screech of fear and loss. And it came from Emily.

There she was, right were she had been a moment before, but now she was on her knees, and the practice blade that had been held at the ready for *James*’ next attack was no longer lifted, but in a much more revolting pose. She had sheathed he blade, but her stomach cavity had served the purpose that the leather and wood cover on her hip usually served. Her face spoke of unimaginable pain and fear, but it was now unmoving, like a lifeless statue, and her breath had stopped completely. A rotten looking form was bent over her, its grotesque head connected to her neck.

The abomination rose from its victim to stare at him with empty eye sockets. It did not breathe, it did not move, and its exposed heart did not beat so much as once the whole time it stared at him. The smell of death he knew came from this thing, for it was rotting from head to toe, muscles, lips, and everything that had once been flesh and blood was now rotten and falling off. To look at this thing, this thing that now moved towards him was literally to look into the face of death. And *James* felt the terror start coming back. It froze him, stuck him in place as surely as chains. And the monster crept closer, moving slowly, fully enjoying his fear, almost like it was breathing it in. they both knew how this was to end, *James* would stand there like a terror struck rabbit and wait for the beast to bring upon him the same pain it did to Emily.

But it made a mistake. It shifted to the left just a touch. But that touch was just what he needed, because it aloud him to gaze on her face, her terror stricken, pain ridden face again. In a second his fear was replaced by hate, his doubt by rage and he broke the hold. A blood-thirsty cry escaped his lips and with one fluid motion he swung the practice sword from its resting point, tip down on the ground, around in a wide arch that brought it right through the zombie’s neck. With as close to a surprised expression as a creature with little flesh could manage the abominations head flew apart from its re-animated body, and the creature was sent to the netherworld once more.

He ran to her, upset beyond reason at the fate of his sister. She was stiff as a board when he got to her, every feature frozen exactly as it had been in her last second of life. Unmoving, her eyes gazed without seeing into the mist. She was now a perfectly horrible statue, rigamortis having seemingly set in before she could blink, freezing even her eye lids so that he could not even do her the decency of closing them. Her flesh had begun to rot, no doubt an effect of whatever poison had caused her the excruciating agony. He stared at her for a time, to overridden with agony to move, to think clearly, to even think for one second that the one he had killed was not the only one there.

Eventually though he did move, as all men must. He turned around, not so much to asses the situation as to seek some comfort from the others that he loved, to glean some solace from the comforting words of another. As he turned he saw the mist still hung heavily in the air, as heavily as when it first rolled in, but something was different now. As he walked around, headed in the general direction of his house, he thought the town felt, dead. Like all the life in it had gone and would never return. The loss of his sister had played heavily on him; he needed someone else now, someone else to take over, to lean on, to pull him out of the depth of despair.

He gazed into the mist ahead, not caring much what the dark forms were, hardly even noticing when he nearly collided with a shop sign. It wasn’t until he tripped over a lump on the ground that he saw what had happened. The lump had, in fact, been Anthony, the owner of the town’s pub. He was curled into a fetal position with what appeared to be a bite mark in his neck. His face, like Emily’s, showed unbearable amounts of pain, but he had not used a sword to finish the job himself, like because none was available, but had rather let the poison take him, dying in slow agony upon the ground. As *James* raised his head from the ground, as he tore his gaze from the man, he saw something far worse. All over the street there were human shaped lumps lying on the ground, all having been taken by the beasts. Every where he looked he saw more carnage, more death. Now he knew why the town felt so dead, because he was now the only human left alive, the only one still moving. Still feeling.