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More from SirGallade
It has been a while since I have written anything. Writing is something I do for fun, but also something I do when I am feeling down or need to vent. This is something I wrote when I was feeling a little down. And, as such, it is not a particularly uplifting short story. Keep that in mind if you are not in the mood for something kinda sad. (Also, apologies if there are any errors, kind of wrote this all in one burst in a single sitting)
And as the knight kicked at the door, the hinges gave a violent creak followed by an unnerving snap. The fixation of the structure gave way as the door flew forward, gliding in the air for a few seconds before sliding and coming to a rest on the stone floor, several meters away. This resulted in a bit of dust rising into the air that, in combination with the poorly lit ritual room, made it quite difficult to see. Galvin did not seem worried about this as he stepped into the room, his vision not like that of others. His eyes closed for a moment, opening with a faint glow as he saw clearly through the darkness. He immediately wished he couldn't. Against the far side of the room was a creature as contorted as it was revolting. The Brood Mother, created just moments ago, convulsed in front of him - seemingly unaware of the knight's presence. A terrifying number of flabs and masses protruded out of the creature as it lay in a pile of gross fluids, likely the remnants of the last offerings made to it - the final part of the transformation. It looked like something straight out of a nightmare.
Sir Galvin found his gaze fixed on the creature, wanting to look away but unable to do so. He felt every erection he had ever achieved, and every one he would ever have, fade away into nothingness. That part of his brain responsible for sexual desire killing itself in the embers that the horrifying being left in his mind. The Brood Mother’s shaking seemed to slow a bit, the monstrosity finally realizing she was no longer alone as she gazed at the knight. She lifted her head up and let out an unsettling shriek, calling to her followers to come to her aid. The dreadful creature had no way of knowing that, outside of this room, her temple was decorated with the motionless bodies of her hooded subjects. At any other time, she would have been surrounded by a group of them for protection. But, during the ritual in which she would be born anew, only the head priest was allowed in the ceremonial chamber. And once the ritual came to an end, he too left the room upon hearing some yelling and conflict outside. The head priest soon found himself cut down just inches away from that door, slain by the knight along with all the other followers. Without her servants, she was mostly defenseless, left there to screech and cry out without anyone to answer her call. She was not the strongest creature that Sir Galvin had ever faced, not by a long shot. But the knight still found himself on his knees, breaking out into a cold sweat as his whole body trembled. It was in a Brood Mother’s nature to elicit such terror in all who gazed upon her. But that should not have been enough to produce such a crippling reaction from a knight such as Galvin. Many considered his heart to be made of stone, his dedication to knighthood unwavering. He had so much to fight for: his king, his village, and – most of all – his bride-to-be.
She was beautiful. That was the first word that always came into Galvin’s mind when he thought about her. Her eyes were the color of a clear morning sky. That hair of hers, a flawless gold color, always hung low and reached the small of her back. She could have braided or curled that hair, but instead it was left in its natural shape; she did not feel as though she had any obligation to change her appearance to suit others. That so like Alice. As the revered knight in the kingdom, Sir Galvin was in no short supply of women who would have taken his hand in marriage. Some desired him so deeply that they would be willing to, and sometimes actually did, fight one another for him. But Alice was different. She laughed at the idea of ever ending up with someone she saw as a prideful fool. The way she did not fall for him immediately like all the others was what initially captured Galvin’s interest. For years, he made efforts to court her, being turned down by her each time. But, as time passed, Sir Galvin’s courtship techniques were not the only things that changed. Sir Galvin himself underwent a transformation, taking Alice’s words to heart. He began to take on smaller jobs in between his larger quests – tasks like helping to build houses or clean up around the village. They were not the praiseworthy adventures he was used to, and many of these everyday tasks involved him getting down and dirty, but it helped him connect with the people more. And when part of the village was damaged in any of the raids he defended against, he offered to pay for the reconstruction himself instead of letting the public pool together funds like he used to. Alice was not blind to these changes. And eventually, when Sir Galvin proposed to her again, she was unable to say no. In this village, it was customary to propose not with a ring, but with a necklace holding a carved symbol – made by hand. From the necklace that Sir Galvin gave Alice, a wooden carving of a butterfly dangled; it referenced the fluttering he felt in his heart whenever he saw her. She looked even more stunning while wearing it.
That same necklace could be seen on the stone floor, peaking out from beneath the mass of the Brood Mother.
It was not the Brood Mother’s hideous appearance that had brought Sir Galvin down to his knees, it was the contrast to the beautiful fiancé he had known before. His breathing wild and uncontrolled like a storm, Galvin searched for something to cling onto. Anything for him to tether himself in the tempest of emotion he felt. He finally found such an object in a pouch fixed to his side: a single folded-up note. He had read that note over and over again the past few days during his journey to the temple, and had been able to commit the contents to his memory. But at this very moment, with his world seemingly turned on its head, he had to see it for himself.
“I am sorry. I wish I was never born like this… with this mark on my body. This mark which designates me as a candidate for that unholy ritual. I have not told anyone about it, Galvin included. If he knew, all he would do is worry needlessly. That man… we are set to be wed in a few weeks. My biggest regret is that I will likely not live to see that day, at least not in any recognizable form. There have been rumors of women disappearing in nearby villages. I know that they are looking for the next Brood Mother. They will be coming for me soon. I don’t think I will be able to hide any longer.
My dearest Galvin, I pray that you never have to find this note. For if you do, it means that my fears are correct. I’m sorry for thinking of you as a knight driven only by pride. I’m sorry I made you hunt for my heart for years. I’m sorry I could not give you the children we both wanted. I’m sorry that we could not spend more time together. I’m sorry…”
Galvin crumpled that paper in his fist, even before he had gotten to read those final few words. They rang out clearly to him in his mind. Legs still shaking, the knight finally pulled himself back into standing. The Brood Mother seemed to shake in distress as the knight made his way towards her, one slow step after the next. Wanting to keep herself safe, she resorted to spraying out some sort of corrosive liquid from her mouth, some kind of artifact from the recent ritual and subsequent transformation. But Sir Galvin had dealt with much trickier and faster foes; it only required a slight change in direction for him to dodge each of those sprays. But as the distance between him and her decreased, Galvin found it increasingly more difficult to move. He felt as though he had the weight of an entire ship pressed onto his back, as if the ground beneath him would give way with each step he took. By some miracle, he finally made it right up to the creature. All those fatty creases, nauseating movements, and obnoxious smells became unknown to him at that very moment. All his attention was directed at that face of hers, the only part of the Brood Mother that still seemed even remotely human. Those once blue eyes, now a sickly pale green, gazed back at him. That lifeless gray hair atop of her head was the only remnant of those golden locks that he could never stop running his fingers through. Despite the point-blank range, the monster did not spew another attack at the knight, simply looking at him before her with the same stillness that he gave her.
That stillness was, at last, interrupted by Galvin as he drew the broadsword sheathed at his side. Those same hands which had mastered that blade over many years were now shaking in a hesitant tremor. His face, often joked to never be without a smile, was now host to a pair of small rivers with his eyes serving as the source of each. The Brood Mother let out one final cry as she saw that blade descending towards her.
“I’m sorry…” muttered Galvin, in the silence that followed.
“I’m sorry… for what I know you will have to do. But do it for me, my beloved Galvin, so you won’t have to blame yourself.”
- Your Alice
At the end of that note, Alice asked only two things of her knight. Sir Galvin hung his head low as he walked, leaving the temple further and further behind him.
He was only able to succeed in one of those things.
And as the knight kicked at the door, the hinges gave a violent creak followed by an unnerving snap. The fixation of the structure gave way as the door flew forward, gliding in the air for a few seconds before sliding and coming to a rest on the stone floor, several meters away. This resulted in a bit of dust rising into the air that, in combination with the poorly lit ritual room, made it quite difficult to see. Galvin did not seem worried about this as he stepped into the room, his vision not like that of others. His eyes closed for a moment, opening with a faint glow as he saw clearly through the darkness. He immediately wished he couldn't. Against the far side of the room was a creature as contorted as it was revolting. The Brood Mother, created just moments ago, convulsed in front of him - seemingly unaware of the knight's presence. A terrifying number of flabs and masses protruded out of the creature as it lay in a pile of gross fluids, likely the remnants of the last offerings made to it - the final part of the transformation. It looked like something straight out of a nightmare.
Sir Galvin found his gaze fixed on the creature, wanting to look away but unable to do so. He felt every erection he had ever achieved, and every one he would ever have, fade away into nothingness. That part of his brain responsible for sexual desire killing itself in the embers that the horrifying being left in his mind. The Brood Mother’s shaking seemed to slow a bit, the monstrosity finally realizing she was no longer alone as she gazed at the knight. She lifted her head up and let out an unsettling shriek, calling to her followers to come to her aid. The dreadful creature had no way of knowing that, outside of this room, her temple was decorated with the motionless bodies of her hooded subjects. At any other time, she would have been surrounded by a group of them for protection. But, during the ritual in which she would be born anew, only the head priest was allowed in the ceremonial chamber. And once the ritual came to an end, he too left the room upon hearing some yelling and conflict outside. The head priest soon found himself cut down just inches away from that door, slain by the knight along with all the other followers. Without her servants, she was mostly defenseless, left there to screech and cry out without anyone to answer her call. She was not the strongest creature that Sir Galvin had ever faced, not by a long shot. But the knight still found himself on his knees, breaking out into a cold sweat as his whole body trembled. It was in a Brood Mother’s nature to elicit such terror in all who gazed upon her. But that should not have been enough to produce such a crippling reaction from a knight such as Galvin. Many considered his heart to be made of stone, his dedication to knighthood unwavering. He had so much to fight for: his king, his village, and – most of all – his bride-to-be.
She was beautiful. That was the first word that always came into Galvin’s mind when he thought about her. Her eyes were the color of a clear morning sky. That hair of hers, a flawless gold color, always hung low and reached the small of her back. She could have braided or curled that hair, but instead it was left in its natural shape; she did not feel as though she had any obligation to change her appearance to suit others. That so like Alice. As the revered knight in the kingdom, Sir Galvin was in no short supply of women who would have taken his hand in marriage. Some desired him so deeply that they would be willing to, and sometimes actually did, fight one another for him. But Alice was different. She laughed at the idea of ever ending up with someone she saw as a prideful fool. The way she did not fall for him immediately like all the others was what initially captured Galvin’s interest. For years, he made efforts to court her, being turned down by her each time. But, as time passed, Sir Galvin’s courtship techniques were not the only things that changed. Sir Galvin himself underwent a transformation, taking Alice’s words to heart. He began to take on smaller jobs in between his larger quests – tasks like helping to build houses or clean up around the village. They were not the praiseworthy adventures he was used to, and many of these everyday tasks involved him getting down and dirty, but it helped him connect with the people more. And when part of the village was damaged in any of the raids he defended against, he offered to pay for the reconstruction himself instead of letting the public pool together funds like he used to. Alice was not blind to these changes. And eventually, when Sir Galvin proposed to her again, she was unable to say no. In this village, it was customary to propose not with a ring, but with a necklace holding a carved symbol – made by hand. From the necklace that Sir Galvin gave Alice, a wooden carving of a butterfly dangled; it referenced the fluttering he felt in his heart whenever he saw her. She looked even more stunning while wearing it.
That same necklace could be seen on the stone floor, peaking out from beneath the mass of the Brood Mother.
It was not the Brood Mother’s hideous appearance that had brought Sir Galvin down to his knees, it was the contrast to the beautiful fiancé he had known before. His breathing wild and uncontrolled like a storm, Galvin searched for something to cling onto. Anything for him to tether himself in the tempest of emotion he felt. He finally found such an object in a pouch fixed to his side: a single folded-up note. He had read that note over and over again the past few days during his journey to the temple, and had been able to commit the contents to his memory. But at this very moment, with his world seemingly turned on its head, he had to see it for himself.
“I am sorry. I wish I was never born like this… with this mark on my body. This mark which designates me as a candidate for that unholy ritual. I have not told anyone about it, Galvin included. If he knew, all he would do is worry needlessly. That man… we are set to be wed in a few weeks. My biggest regret is that I will likely not live to see that day, at least not in any recognizable form. There have been rumors of women disappearing in nearby villages. I know that they are looking for the next Brood Mother. They will be coming for me soon. I don’t think I will be able to hide any longer.
My dearest Galvin, I pray that you never have to find this note. For if you do, it means that my fears are correct. I’m sorry for thinking of you as a knight driven only by pride. I’m sorry I made you hunt for my heart for years. I’m sorry I could not give you the children we both wanted. I’m sorry that we could not spend more time together. I’m sorry…”
Galvin crumpled that paper in his fist, even before he had gotten to read those final few words. They rang out clearly to him in his mind. Legs still shaking, the knight finally pulled himself back into standing. The Brood Mother seemed to shake in distress as the knight made his way towards her, one slow step after the next. Wanting to keep herself safe, she resorted to spraying out some sort of corrosive liquid from her mouth, some kind of artifact from the recent ritual and subsequent transformation. But Sir Galvin had dealt with much trickier and faster foes; it only required a slight change in direction for him to dodge each of those sprays. But as the distance between him and her decreased, Galvin found it increasingly more difficult to move. He felt as though he had the weight of an entire ship pressed onto his back, as if the ground beneath him would give way with each step he took. By some miracle, he finally made it right up to the creature. All those fatty creases, nauseating movements, and obnoxious smells became unknown to him at that very moment. All his attention was directed at that face of hers, the only part of the Brood Mother that still seemed even remotely human. Those once blue eyes, now a sickly pale green, gazed back at him. That lifeless gray hair atop of her head was the only remnant of those golden locks that he could never stop running his fingers through. Despite the point-blank range, the monster did not spew another attack at the knight, simply looking at him before her with the same stillness that he gave her.
That stillness was, at last, interrupted by Galvin as he drew the broadsword sheathed at his side. Those same hands which had mastered that blade over many years were now shaking in a hesitant tremor. His face, often joked to never be without a smile, was now host to a pair of small rivers with his eyes serving as the source of each. The Brood Mother let out one final cry as she saw that blade descending towards her.
“I’m sorry…” muttered Galvin, in the silence that followed.
“I’m sorry… for what I know you will have to do. But do it for me, my beloved Galvin, so you won’t have to blame yourself.”
- Your Alice
At the end of that note, Alice asked only two things of her knight. Sir Galvin hung his head low as he walked, leaving the temple further and further behind him.
He was only able to succeed in one of those things.
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 57 x 120px
File Size 17.9 kB
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