In the Dark of the Night

In the dark of the night the beast awoke. Hungering for flesh, the monster lifted its head, sniffing the air. Somewhere deep in the recesses of its mind there was a flicker of recognition - the scent that it detected was not entirely new. More importantly, the beast understood the simplicity of his night's mission. He must track that scent, find its source, and destroy it; all other activities were secondary to that primal urge.

Arising from its lair, the beast stretched its long, lanky frame. It sniffed the air again, confirming the direction that its travels must go. He began his journey, northward through the forest, slowly at first. As his limbs loosened - how long had I slept? - he increased his speed, until he was nothing more than a blur racing between trees and over streams.

As the cool wind whipped his face, the monster started to remember things. Small bits of information; things learned ages ago in a world so different than the one in which he currently dwelled. I am Yaz-gael. It comforted him to know that he had a name. His pace quickened. The miles flew by.

He remembered being born. The fire searing his flesh. The cruel marks being cut into his legs. The commands written into the very fabric of his being. Hunt. Find. Destroy. Was he still controlled by those beings? The Mahl-grok. He remembered their name, as well. Names are important; it is unwise to kill something without knowing its name.

Yaz-gael slowed and came to a stop. He was in a wooded valley, with mountains rising high above him to the east and west. Before him a rock jutted out of the ground, cracked and marked, looking almost like a hooded man, covered with a great cloak. He remembered this place. Great evil was done here. He could not remember who had performed the vile acts, but he knew he was involved. The blood spoiled the earth. Indeed, nothing grew within a yard of the rock.

Turning aside, he headed north, and began to run again.

The beast sniffed the air again, and quickly stopped. The scent had changed. He knows I am coming for him. He is not alone. It did not matter to Yaz-gael. Once started, a hunt could not be stopped. He continued on, but more slowly this time. He is close.

"Call off your hunt."

A cloaked figure stepped out from behind a tree. "I can not allow you to pass. You must call off your hunt. I am a warden of Dim-al-garong, and you are forbidden here." The figure slowly drew his sword from the scabbard at his side.

Yaz-gael examined the warden. One of the Loren-folk. He lifted his grotesque head and spoke for the first time in years, "Your name." The sound of his voice was unwelcome in the forest; it seemed to come from fetid pools deep within the recesses of the earth. The trees appeared to recoil from the sound.

The warden took a step back and responded slowly, unwillingly, "I am Dal Hond."

"Dal Hond."

As the beast spoke the warden's name, he became a blur. Before the man was able to raise his sword his arm was cut from his body. Claws sharp as knives ripped through his throat, silencing him before he screamed.

Yaz-gael licked the blood from one of his claws. It is not time to feed yet. Soon. He advanced slowly through the woods, the scent of his prey becoming more pronounced. A light flickered ahead. He continued on, and approached the source of the light, a fire burning just inside the entrance to a cave. As he stepped into the clearing in front of the cave he sensed a disturbance in the air.

Quickly reaching up, he snatched the arrow before it struck his head. He once again became a blur, racing to his left, around a tree, coming up behind the warden who had loosed the arrow.

"Your name."

The warden tried to run, but his legs would not work. He fell to the ground, helplessly. He whimpered, "I am Nash Tole."

"Nash Tole."

Nash looked up and saw the firelight reflected in Yaz-gael's hideous eyes. He began to scream, but no sound ever came out of his mouth.

The beast walked over the warden's body and came to the cave entrance. Sitting beside the fire, facing the entrance, was a young boy, perhaps ten or eleven years old. The boy looked at Yaz-gael with clear blue eyes. "I told them to let me wait for you alone, but they thought they could protect me. They have not met your kind before."

"Your name."

The beast's voice seemed to fill the cave with a foul stench. The fire flickered and dimmed. The boy looked at Yaz-gael and laughed; a clear sparkling sound that chased the beast's stench out of the cave. "You have no power over me, monster. But it matters not, you already know my name."

The beast looked at the boy. Memories flickered in his head. Images of ages long past - fire, pain, laughter? He shook his head. The hunt was on, and it had to be finished. He had a single purpose. Yes, he knew the boy's name, and he spoke it to him, "Kahl Brin."

"Yes, that is my name," the boy answered, rising, "and now our game begins in earnest."

And he vanished.