Jackal 2 The Scribe

Then he created lakes that would ensure that the land would never suffer from drought.

So that his future children could feel closer to him, he created the mountains, bridge between earth and sky.

From the rock walls in which he dug caves to the vast plains in which plants would flourish, he shaped the whole world with his hand.

Satisfied with the architecture of the world, he decided to create his children.

He first planted seas of trees for the Elves to flourish in.

On the heights and in the mountains, he built small wooden huts for the Orcs.

He separated the vast plains with rivers full of fish.

To the west of the rivers, the G.o.d of everything deposited eggs, from which six months later the first Venels would emerge.

To the east of the rivers, he released twelve human children whose task would be to propagate their species.

The G.o.d of everything thought it would be a pity to leave the caves he had had so much trouble digging in the rock unoccupied.

After reflection, he decided that a new species would emerge.

Thus the first Moats came to colonize the stone.

Although he considered that his creation was a success, when he saw his first creations die, he understood that plants, like all his creatures, could not live without light.

To remedy this problem, the G.o.d of everything extended his arm.

Three burning stars were placed not far from his newly born world.

Knowing that his creatures needed to rest, he placed two stars farther away who every twelve hours would drive out these three stars that were too bright for his sons to close their eyes.

…

Year 1121, 2nd month, 16th day

Extreme West of the Kingdom of Visgon, beyond the Velezes mountain range.

Dimitry rolls up the old sheepskin scroll. The eighteen-year-old warrior-monk has known this story since he could walk, but as pa.s.sionate as ever about this tale, he can't help contemplate the words on this relic left behind by the elders.

The young man in black toga, now working as a librarian, places the parchment in a small shelf containing thousands of relics similar to the one he has just consulted.

Raised in this abbey located in the heart of a small isolated village, the warrior monks did not only teach him the art of combat.

Reading, writing, counting, thinking serenely, opening his mind... Strong of his multiple knowledge, two years ago, the young scholar, who has always had a pa.s.sion for ancient doc.u.ments, chose to become a Scribe.

Inspired by the smell of ageless sheepskin impregnated with ink sometimes barely visible, he set himself the goal that before his death, he will copy identically each parchment contained in the rich library of his abbey.

The children of tomorrow must know the past. History must be transmitted or the yesterday's mistakes are likely to be repeated.

According to Dimitry who has just taken out his inkwell, words are more powerful than the sword. Preventing a war is better than trying to end it.

The young warrior monk sits in front of his large pine desk. The sheepskin for his work is already prepared. His right hand has just grasped his goose feather and approaches its support.

Just as he is about to begin his work, a smell disturbs his concentration.

This smell so characteristic, he cannot be mistaken. Dimitry puts his quill back in his inkwell. Without wasting a second, he gets up and rushes towards the heavy door separating his favourite room from the corridor.

The doork.n.o.b turns on itself creating only a small breach, but a cloud of smoke is already invading the room.

If he remained confined in this windowless bookcase, it would be no different from calling for death to come and get him.

A scream of pain from afar finally convinced the young warrior monk. Without further hesitation, he rushes into the narrow corridor made of interlocking stones.

His eyes sting, his throat burns, dizziness confuses his mind, he is unable to see more than three feet ahead of him, but he does not give in face of the thickening smoke.

Dimitry finally reaches the stairs that will take him to the ground floor. When he gets there, he will be able to break a window to escape this h.e.l.l, but before that, he must make one last effort.

One step at a time, the young warrior monk crosses the distance that separates him from certain death.

There he is. Here is the last step. His unsteady legs manage to cross the almost impa.s.sable obstacle.

On the ground floor landing, Dimitry smiles. He hasn't given up yet.

Yet the young man, confused by the noxious gases emanating from the smoke, wobbles. His spatial landmarks disappear and he ends up collapsing on the white slabs.

From his new point of view, he can better observe his surroundings. As the smoke is less dense at ground level, despite his eyes threatening to close at any moment, he can distinguish three large beings dressed in animal skins.

These barbarians with b.e.s.t.i.a.l language surround one of the superior monks.

Dimitry is trembling. One of the beings takes out a bone knife and makes a rough incision in the belly of the man of G.o.d, who is still alive.

To the cheers of the two other beings wearing horrifying masks, the one who tortures the monk in prayer, removes the intestines from the man's body.

Faced with this atrocious spectacle of one of his fathers whose blood spurts from his open belly , Dimitry is overcome with nausea.

His condition does not improve when the being dressed in animal skins unrolls the viscera of his superior.

After ten feet of intestines are unrolled, what can only be described as a monster takes a few steps.

The being with the horrifying mask reaches a pillar not far from Dimitry.

He turns to his euphoric fellows, then, certainly encouraged by their cheers, he ties the viscera of the superior monk to the grey stone pillar.

Dimitry prays that the G.o.ds grant peace to his elder who is still breathing. Why those who can everything, don't free this pious man who has undergone the unspeakable torture of those pagans.

Perhaps Dimitry should worry more about himself.

Without strength, his mind slipping away from him every second, it's only a matter of seconds before he rises to the higher world.

Dimitry fears that in the end, it is not the smoke that will take his life.

The being near the pillar stops his cavernous laughter. His head turns to his left and his tall legs lead him to a stone staircase.

Seeing him more closely, the young man notices that this humanoid creature is much larger, wider and has a larger head than that of Human beings.

Dimitry may be resistant to pain, yet he fears the fate that the barbarian who standing motionless in front of him will will inflict him.

The time to accept the wish of the G.o.ds and leave for the higher world has probably come. Maybe it's time for him to stop struggling?

Tired, his complexion whiter than the slabs of the ground floor hall, Dimitry decides that he will close his eyes to begin his journey.

"Aarghh."

It is at this point that a howling of a beast coming from the front pushes him to fight one last time.

His senses are no longer very sharp, but it is enough for that the surprise to bring him back to full consciousness for a moment.

When something extremely fast red propelled towards the barbarian being and seems to defy gravity by jumping to the ceiling to take support on it.

The red thing with undefined contours returns to the ground so quickly that the barbarian has no time to react.

When the red thing is placed in the heathen's back, Dimitry sees the smoke scatter in front of him. He can feel a kind of breeze coming to caress his cheeks and just before his eyes closed, after countless discreet flashes of light have slightly dazzled him, when a hot liquid splashes on his face, he smiles in discovering the many slices of meat that spread out on the slabs of the abbey.