Crowning of the Good King (Excerpt)

Date: June 10, 155 R.E.
Place: Village of Life, Rogard

Edgar, with eyes full of tears, ran towards his home village. As he swiftly moved, his mud covered boots kicked up dirt from the road. The sun had nearly completed its circle, but the sky was not yet dark. His once white tunic was gray and soaking wet. His face was caked with dirt that flew from his soiled boots. The scarce large oak trees of the Water Plains stood blackened by the smoke from the town fire. The land had an aura of flames and death.

When Edgar reached the Village of Life, it was filled with people bleeding, half eaten, and dead. They were his once happy neighbors and friends. A few of the wood huts were still on fire, but most were already burnt to the ground. The griffins that had destroyed the village were nowhere to be seen.

As Edgar approached his hut, he caught sight of his grandfather. Richard’s face was bleeding. He was crying beside a fallen body.

Edgar recognized the body as his grandmother.

Out of the shadows of a neighboring hut, a sole griffin emerged. Its red eyes glared at Richard. Steam blew out of its nose. Edgar’s grandfather saw the monster and grabbed a garden rake.

“Come on, buddy,” said the elderly man. “You killed my wife! Figured you’d finish me off, too? Have at you, now.”

Edgar ran forward to the griffin. On his way there he discovered a long dagger, covered in blood, on a fallen body. He paused to retrieve the dagger, then continued his charge at the beast. He jumped upon the griffin’s back, and sent the blade into the animal’s furry neck.

“Edgar!” His grandfather’s voice contained a mix of delight and horror.

The griffin went berserk and thrashed about. Eventually it threw Edgar off its back. It started shrieking and stomping.

Grandfather Winefellow saw his opportunity. He skewered the monster’s side with his garden rake. The griffin gave out one final shriek of pain, then fell on the earth dead.

Edgar’s grandfather helped the younger Winefellow to his feet and they embraced. “It’s all over now,” said the older man. “It’s all over.”

“Grandma.” Edgar spoke the word as if it was a fragile gossamer strand. He went to her twisted body. “Nana.” His voice fell with his tears

“I-I couldn’t save her.” The elder Winefellow hid his face from his grandson.

Edgar, filled with tears, turned over the slain body. Her chest was torn open, her ribs and vital organs exposed. Blood stained her brilliant blue housedress. She had a smile on her face, a symbol that she was truly at peace. Edgar, stooping over the body, wept and mumbled curses at the perpetrators.

Edgar hugged his grandmother’s corpse. This calls for revenge. I will get vengeance.

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