Tales of the Exile: Hollow Knight Ch1
Tales of the Exile: Book one
Hollow Knight
Chapter one
Sunlight broke though the canopy of the woodlands, a single ray shining on the closed right eye of the traveler who lay dozing under the great spreading tree. Ever so slowly did the traveler open his eye, holding a paw up to block the light long enough to come awake. The highland ram was little over six feet tall, of a strong build, clad in a broad legged pants and tight, brown leather vest. Crossing his chest diagonally over the right shoulder was a broad belt, buckled in front of him above his right pectoral. A sturdy quarter staff was tucked into the back of it, metal tipped, with reliefs of goat heads on the ends. He'd been traveling all night and the welcome rest of a few hours before dawn had been something of a relief to him. Now, the sunlight and calling of birds had awoken him, leaving the dark cat somewhat cross, but knowing full well he should be on the move. He raised a glove covered paw to blot out the sun for a moment that he might get his bearings once more. It was about that time he noticed the number of shadows hovering around him. Inwardly, he gave a slight groan. 'Well, so much for a good morning.' Sighing, he let his paw slowly fall back to his side as the shadows came into sharper focus, becoming a group of roughly seven rough looking beasts, mostly ragged looking canines. With a roll of his eyes, the feline looked about before speaking.
"Well, what might I do for ye, braw boys?"
The feline found he was now looking at the business end of a spear pointed between his eyes. Again, giving an inward vent to his frustrations, and then looking to his would-be captors. Yes, seven scruffy looking wolves who had clearly seen better days and only a few looked to be armed with anything serious. With only one spear and a couple knives between them, the big cat just smiles a bit and slowly stands up.
"Hold it, goat! Who said you could move," came the voice of the one menacing him with the spear.
"And who told ye that ye were free to menace travelers passing though these parts, eh," the ram asked flatly. There was something in his smile that actually made all but the 'alpha' wolf back off. Something about the aura the panther gave that made one feel it was not wise to be too close.
"Heh," scoffed the canine with the spear, prodding the tip menacingly at the highland rams' chest. "We do what we want, see? No strange sheep gona tell us otherwise. Right, lads?"
Though a little hesitant, the voices of agreement came from the other canines in the group.
"Heh, you tell em', boss."
"Yeah! Posh sheep!"
"We makes the rules!"
The dark feline could not help but shake his head. Such foolhardy attitudes, such brass...how it all made him laugh inside. Of course, it was to be expected. It's not like there was anyone like him around these parts.
"Boys, I give ye fair warning. I'm in no mood to scrap, seen as how I dine' get me breakfast yet. So, if'n ye don't mind, stand ye aside afore I clout the lot of ye."
The look he gave the scruffy looking canines made them all back off a few paces. Those eyes; they looked as if they held...no fear...no soul, behind them.
Shaken, but driven by greed and the idea of superior numbers, the leader menaced the ram with his spear once more.
"I'm warning you, mangy sheep. Hand over your valuables. Starting with that fancy pole you ca-AHHHH!"
The canine got no further. In one deft move, the ram swung with his staff, cracking the lead canine's wrists with the metal end of his staff. A sickening crunch cum crack sound told all there was to tell. The canine had been robbed of the use of his paws, possibly for life.
The others were stunned. The ram had been standing all but perfectly still as their boss had taunted him. Now, he stood staff in paw, and having delivered a crippling blow to their leader.
The stricken wolf howled in pain, falling to his knees looking dumbfounded at his broken wrists, his paws hanging limp as overcooked asparagus. Sadly, he was never to rise again. Another firm blow from the opposite end of the rams staff broke the fallen wolfs neck. He fell with a thud, casualty of his own foolishness and the ram's impatience with him.
The ram in question rose from the strike slowly. He looked about; those eyes still holding a fearsome gaze within as he scanned the remaining six canines for signs of who would try their luck next. But that thought seemed to have left the majority of them. They fled in different directions, away from the ram, away from the fallen body of their former leader. Only one remained, an an equally scruffy mutt of no real breeding or consequence, clutching an old gardening knife. He seemed frozen in place, the site of such a swift death anchoring him to the ground. His eyes were locked on his fallen leader, seeing the still open eyes rolled up in death, the crazy angle his head now lay in conjunction with the rest of his body.
The ram looked to this last remnant, his look fading to one of neutral indifference.
"Unless ye want tee end up like ye friend, I suggest ye follow ye friend's example, an' get ye far from here." His voice was flat, emotionless. He even gave a callus kick to the fallen wolf, rolling his eyes. "Fools like that'n dene deserve the consideration o' a burial. Let the crows sort em' out."
"You...k-killed him..."
The ram looked up to the mutt. "Eh?"
The canine was shaking. Was it fear? Maybe...but perhaps it was more born of rage. The canine glared at the ram, a howl of anger tearing from his throat as he charged full bore at the ram, knife raised. It was a blind charge, total rage driven desperation. And as close as he was, the canine could hardly miss. A hard thrust with his blade, a thud. He glared at the ram; teeth clenched as he saw the knife had gotten the ram right though the heart... Yet, why were there no screams of pain, no sudden cry of anguish, and no sudden fountain of crimson to issue fourth from the place where blade met flesh. Just the ram looking back at him, a smile creeping over his face.
The ram struck the paw that held the knife, knocking it away. He stared down at the knife for a moment, just grinning as he took hold of it and shoved it deeper before pulling it out and tossing it away. Blood stained the metal...but barely a dribble fell from the wound that had been inflicted. Just looking at the canine before him, the ram had seen the look all too many times in the past. That look of confusion, fear...no, more than fear. Horror.
The smile the ram gave could easily have frozen flame in place, his voice a piercing whisper that felt like a needle of ice being shoved slowly into ones heart. "If ye gona run, run..."
Needing no further bidding than that, the canine took to running, his footpaws kicking up dirt as he sprinted away in a raw, unbridled panic. Any distance, any he could put between himself and the ram would be a blessing at this point. His mind raced as he ran. What had just happened? Had not his blade stabbed into the ram's heart? Why had there not been a mad gush of blood? Why hadn't the beast fallen where he stood? Why hadn't he died...? ...Why was the world suddenly turning over and over...? Why...wasn't he drawing panic driven breath anymore...?
The answers to this seemed to come in slow motion. As again his vision fell to the path he saw something that did not make sense. There stood a figure in armor, heavy full plate steel with blackened trim, easily seven foot tall from helm to boot, an wielding a claymore as long as the being was tall. There was...red...crimson...blood on the blade. A being, a dog of some sort, half-walked away from the wide, arcing cut of the blade...staggered and fell...headless. Then it stopped...the dizzying spinning stopped, with a hard thud to the ground. He still heard, he still saw...blood began to pour from the headless neck of the mutt...from HIS neck. He watched as the figure in armor walked closer, looking down at him from the dark visor that obscured the face. Everything began to dim...his vision going...sound fading. But as it did, he heard a voice...the one in armor? Yes...it was speaking; the voice was male, deep...heavy. Just though the eye-slit of the visor...he saw...no, they were not eyes...not the eyes of anything living. Cold, faded white-ish blue...cold. Thought faded along with sound...vision following suit, the words of this dark, unearthly thing echoing in his fading mind as everything became darkness and silence.
"...no skill, no honor...and no, no life..."
The ram walked up, staff stowed on his back once more. He looked to the armored figure and shook his head slightly. "Ye dene have to kill him. Take a limb or a cut to the face. Just some'at te give him flight."
The armored figure swung once more, his blade sweeping slowly though the dense bushes he had just emerged from. Leaves took the blood away bit by bit, only a little tainting the glimmering steel once the swing was done. "And let the alarm be raised about us, considering what he saw?"
Again the ram shook his head. "Time will be us soon enough, the whole kingdom wide'll know we're here. Dene mean we have te start by leaven a trail o' blood that leads straight to us."
The armor clad figure stows his blade and shrugs, looking to the fallen beast, both head and beheaded body. "Suppose you may be right... Still, what's done is done. Oh, found you these while I was out." The armored one produced a large apple and some hearty looking wild carrots from a satchel at his side, handing them to the ram, who accepts with a nod. The ram takes a healthy bite from the apple, looking to the fallen mutt and shaking his head. "Pity ye dene have the sense o' friends, lad. Then maybe ye'd still have a head, an' a life." He heaves a sigh and gives his metal clad companion a tap with his paw. "Aye. Let's be on ah way."
The two strode off down the forest path, silent for the most part save for the ram taking his belated breakfast, unaffected by the grizzly scene they were leaving behind. The crows would gather soon, come to take their prize of one broken wolf and one beheaded mutt. Not long after the two killers had left, a rustling would come, the sound of the returning bandits to see what fate had befallen the one that had not run. They would see it; they would all be dumbfounded in horror. Yet, they'd know only what their eyes told them. They would never know the truth about those two...
This is how the Hollow Knight and his contractor came to the lands of Vengray.
All characters are intelectual property of Windclaw.