The Wood

Rough thick tree trunks covered the forest floor. Their connecting branches, numerous in number, and nearly as thick were filled with large emerald leaves. So dense and plentiful were these leaves that not a single beam of light had ever been able to penetrate the lush green barrier. Thus, within The Wood existed a forever night, an ever-present darkness that stirs the nightmares of mortal men. Thusly, creatures who thrive best within the light of the sun seldom venture into The Wood. Opting instead, when need be, to take the month-long trek round The Wood then risk their lives and enter it.

Yet other beasts think of The Wood neither as dark nor evil, but instead have made it their home. Creatures of displeasing appearance, that were deemed monsters by sun dwellers, that were expelled from the world covered in sunlight and instead sought shelter in the forever night. Now, not all beasts that dwelled within The Wood possessed an ill-nature, despite their grotesqueness. Yet enough of these creatures posed a threat that the few who didn't were treated ill as well. Thusly carnivorous creatures or not, all fled to the safety of The Wood. Though how safe The Wood truly is purely subjective. Even before said "monsters" were banished to The Wood, there were already beings that not only lived in the darkness but thrived. Indeed it was commonly known that to survive within The Wood one required a certain set of skills and abilities.

Physical strength was indeed a must. Strong arms that could climb the large tree trunks with ease often were the difference between surviving within The Wood or being some other creature's next meal. Arms that could lift you up, but also defend you when necessary. Climbing away from enemies alone wouldn't keep you alive in The Wood. For no matter how fast you climb, there will always be another who can climb faster. And thus big strong arms that can squeeze the very life out of your enemies are indeed useful. Indeed, one needs to be able to fight.

Strong legs were also of crucial importance. But they need not only be strong; but quick and nimble. Such legs that would allow one to move quickly and efficiently amongst the large protruding roots that covered the forest floor. Legs that could move without tire for hours on end. Strong legs that could outrun any and all foe, be the land or sky dwellers. Such strong and nimble legs that could if need be get any endanger creature to safety were, indeed, crucial to surviving in The Wood.

To survive in The Wood keen ears that possessed the ability to heed an enemy's approach, no matter how far or how high they may be, are indeed useful. Ears that could hear every movement, every snapping branch, yes, such ears would assist you when your eyes failed. For even if your eyes can see through the ever-night, beasts could still approach you from behind, from above, or from an angle unseen. And in those moments such diligent ears would greatly assist you.

To not only survive within The Wood but to thrive one must possess large sharp teeth and claws. Teeth that can tear into even the toughest of skin. Claws that can rip through anything or anyone that stands in your way. Indeed, it was always those whose weapons are part of their own being that thrive best within The Wood. For where swords may rust and bows may break, strong claws and teeth will withstand. Being able to defend one's self is the pinnacle of being able to make it within The Wood.

Yet on one particular humid midsummer's night a common man, who possessed none these traits, had fled deep into the darkness of The Wood. He wasn't a young man, though only those in the prime of their youth would have described him as elderly. Not a quick man, nor strong, nor I'm forced to admit very clever was he. A criminal was what most would call him, though at best he was a petty one. A poor man with no job, no skill. He turned to robbery as a source of income. So why was a petty thief running as quickly as his legs would allow into the depths of the wood?

It was all due to a misfortune, a misfortune of his own making. Late one night, at the hour where the only people out, were the ones stumbling home from a night of drink, the petty criminal laid in wait. Crouched in an alley next to a swanky lounge. Not his usual hunting ground, but he was feeling oddly confident that night. He watched as a particularly well-dressed man stumbled out from the lounge. Clearly inebriated he thought he would be an easy target.

So he followed behind him, careful to stay out of sight. Until he was sure they were alone. Till no one would see. It was supposed to be simple. Easy. Just a drunken rich bastard. He hadn't expected him to fight back. To struggle. He had thought that cane had just been for show. He didn't for a moment think there would be a blade hidden within it. They thrashed about, the drink rich man tried through his inebriated haze to strike true. But the drunken fool hadn't stood a chance.

The criminal had stood there, holding the dagger, covered in blood, frozen. The horror of what he had done had put him in a state disbelief that he wasn't able to move from till he was happened upon by a drunken couple who let out screams of terror at the bloody sight. They had seen his face; he knew he was done for. Despite his current situation he wasn't some cold-blooded murderer, and though he knew to let them live was signing his own death sentence, he could do nothing but run.

Within the week there were wanted posters with his face plastered on them throughout every village in the kingdom. The man he killed hadn't only been rich; his father was, in fact, a Duke. And as such had much influence over the kingdom. The Criminal knew that his death was inevitable. So instead of a public death, hanged in front of men, woman, children, all booing and cursing his name, he choose instead a more private death. A death within the inky darkness of The Wood. A frightful death, but still, he thought it better than facing the humiliation of a public hanging.

Not to mention, from all the rumors he had heard, he would have thought he would be dead moments upon entering the wood. But this was, sadly not the case. Nearly an hour had past and he had yet to cross paths with any creature, fearsome or otherwise. Growing weary, and without any sense of imitate danger, he allowed himself to slow in pace. The little light that his lantern provided was not powerful enough to illuminate his path, but it was enough to allow him to move amongst the broad tree roots. He looked among the roots, expecting that perhaps hidden underneath their many coils would be a pair of blood-red eyes watching him. Yet no such threat was to be seen. He had begun to speculate if all the legends he had heard of The Wood were just that. Legends, which held no truth whatsoever. Besides his better judgment, he had begun to feel some relief. Fear had not left him, but hope began to fill his breast. On the other end of The Wood was another kingdom entirely, a kingdom who wouldn't spare a thought for a simple criminal like him. If he could make it there, he could start over.

He took in a heavy gulp of moist air. Dare he hope? Dare he dream? Steadily he moved forward. He listened but was only greeted by silence. An eerie silence; almost as thick as the night. He gripped his cloak close to his breast, despite the thick hot air; he had begun to feel a bit of a chill. It t'was almost as if the darkness itself carried within it an omnipresent cold. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as if calling his attention to an unseen foe. He froze, his eyes pressed against the darkness, searching for some other sign of life.

Only then had he realized how truly peculiar it was that not a sound could be heard within The Wood. He had been in many a forest throughout his short life and had always found an abundance of life. At the very least should not the sound of humble birds or chirping insects have greeted his ear? He looked about him, once fearing any sign of life, now desperate for one. Though no hope had he, for he lacked eyes that could see, ears that could hear, legs that could run, arms that could climb, or sharp claws or teeth that could defend him from the danger that lurked a few feet above his head.

He had not realized, hadn't even suspected, that even before he had entered The Wood, a creature more fearsome than any that laid before him trailed softly after him. Watching and waiting for the moment to strike. An assassin for hire, a cold-blooded devil, which even the "monsters" of The Wood, knew to stay clear of. Indeed it was the assassin's arrival that had driven all creatures, even the bugs, and the birds away from the man's path. The Wood was not often such a quiet place, it was in fact often full of wild animal cries and shrieks of dying things, yet the presence of the assassin had caused all to grow still. For they all knew that their presence was known in any way, only a swift yet painful death would await them.

Yet the criminal knew none of this. Though a life of crime he had lived, never before had he been faced with a foe such as this. The assassin watched him, her amber eyes needed no light to watch its prey. She lowered itself, hanging off a large branch for a moment than dropping down to the ground without a single sound. Her movements were quick, yet they did not rustle even a single leaf. Her eyes never left the man. She could smell his stench, his fear. A weak prey this was, but nether a less the assassin intended to have her fun. After all, she could have killed him long before he had even entered The Wood. Yet the assassin could not resist the draw of The Wood or the excitement that came with stalking her prey.

As he looked behind him, she moved around, watching the quivering man between the small gaps between the massive trees. She kept low to the ground; she could hear the ever-growing speed of her victim's heartbeat. The blood raced through his veins. She stood upright once she stood in his path; still, she kept some distance between them. From her black leather sling, she drew her axe, even with the little light that came from the man's lantern, the cool metal of her blade shimmered. The light caught the man's eyes, he turned slowly forward. Within the shadows, he could see the mighty axe's blade and the outline of the hooded figure that wielded it. He stumbled backward, falling amongst the tangled roots. The assassin moved forward slowly, steadily. The man's legs lost all feeling, his mouth ajar, awaiting a scream to afraid to be realized.

She stood above him, her blood-red cloak shrouded her face, but he could make out her eyes, they were cold, hungry, like a wolf. He knew then who she was, the red hooded assassin, the bringer of death that haunted the dreams of man. No one had ever been able to escape her snare. It was as if she was death herself. She moved closer to him, her cloak seemed to engulf him. The smell of metal and rust filled his nostrils. Her large hand gripped the color of his shirt, lifting him from the ground. His lantern fell, shattered on the ground scattering embers bellow her feet. He could do nothing but tremble as he swung from her powerful arm.

"You have committed a crime most foul," her voice boomed, "You murdered the firstborn son of duke Gregory of Pavenor. For this crime, you have been sentenced to death by the kingdom. And I am here, now, to carry out your sentence."

She paused as if waiting for him to speak. Maybe she excepted him to beg for his life. To claim his innocence. But he wouldn't. All hope he had of surviving had gone, and all that remained was fear. Hot tears fell from his eyes, his voice heavy within his weary throat. She lowered his frail body, allowing his feet to touch the earth.

"Do you accept your fate criminal?" his voice was not cruel, though it did not possess any kindness or compassion either. The embers from his fallen light had dimmed to nothing, in the dark, he could no longer see her, yet he knew she could see him. He closed his eyes; ignoring the beating of his heart he lowered his head.

"Yes," his voice was soft, but it had not trembled. Without hesitation, her blade met his neck. Not another sound came from the criminal save for the thud of his body as it crumbled to the ground.