The boy who cried wolf

~Chapter 1~

An ominously dark night befell the town of Hell's Pass, a small but thriving village in the woodland outskirts of Transylvania as an equally dark and majestic steed galloped through its mysterious wood, carrying tales of evil men. The steed stood higher than any other before seen in Hell's Pass, its eyes like the siblings of the moon in the darkness of its coat. Unseen amidst the darkness that surrounded it, all that could be heard was what seemed to be the thundering sound of the heart beats of angels as its mighty hooves met the forest floor and the shine of its armour, like polished platinum, reflecting the icy chill of the moons gaze.

The rider was muscular, his poise confident, his direction true to his mission, true to the image his presence seemed to present as if on a canvas. A painting to inspire one's courage, one's instinct for justice. He wore a black leather cowl, his hood and cape were rough, rough as if made of the scales of giant reptiles. Its surface was darkened like a starless night sky yet glistened in the moonlight as if it were made of black pearls. On his torso he wore a black leather jacket with silver buttons holding it closed, going all the way down its front. On the left side of his chest above his heart he wore the sigil of house Kolte. A black steel dire wolf's head with a shining silver cross between its sapphire stone eyes, encircled by a vine of silver rose thorns. On its sleeves, small rectangular armour plates made of pure silver were sewn into the lining of the jacket's leather, the plates ran from the wrists all the way up his sleeves to his shoulders, where shoulder armour plates made of polished silver and in the form of a wolf's upper jaw, cupped and protected his broad shoulders. Though he was dressed as a battle-ready knight, riding into the gut of battle, he had a rather strange feature on his person. Along with the battle armour of what they call the Silver Knights, the rider also wore a priest's collar, a sure sign of being a priest of the Black Church of Brasov.

His eyes cut through the shadow of his hood, staying true as he rushed through the Lord's Forest towards Kolte Manor, seeming unstoppable to anyone or thing that would wonder into his path. While on route to the manor, he's ears start twitching as he hears a far-off wail, a desperate cry for help from the terrified heart of a young boy. As though made of quicksilver, the rider makes his way to the source of what seemed to be the cries of distress. He raced through the dense wood, ducking under large collapsed trunks and low hanging vines that would brutally separate him from his steed, or knock him off his high horse. As if riding in the day time, he maneuvered through every obstacle the wood had laid forth with ease. Loud, echoing whispers came from the darkness around him, growls of strange beasts rung his ears, the wallows of lost souls chilled his blood. Through all of this he remained true, never wavering from the call of duty that he had sworn to always answer.

The faster he rides, the closer he gets, and ever so louder the cries become. A shiver makes its way up his spine shaking every bone in his body, his breath now visible to the eye, his heartbeat now audible to the ear.

"Death awaits thee." He whispers to himself, with no fear present in his eyes, only determination, focus and righteous rage. His words freeze in the wind.

It is when he reaches a meadow at the end of the tree line that he commands his horse to stop, pulling on the reins as he does. A meadow covered in bright daisies, looking almost green having been touched by the blue moon's light. The horse comes to a stop with a slight skip on the narrow, muddy path. The rider urgently jumps off the horse with his eyes still pointing straight ahead, never wavering, not even as much as a blink, as if he were locked on to a far distant target. They begin to glow a luminous blue from within the darkness of his hood as he scans the vast area ahead of him, a meeting of the meadow and the Lord's Forest in the form of a forked road. On the side of the road there stood an old wooden sign with sharp ends pointing down both the road to the left and to the right. The arrow pointing down the road to the left read, "Blessed Mine," with the arrow pointing down the road to the right reading, "Kolte Manor."

The rider steps forward and looks down both roads not knowing which way to go, the cries for help had stopped completely.

"Could he be?" He asks himself as he puts one hand to the ground and his nose in the air, flaring, sniffing like a wolf on the hunt.

He pauses suddenly, his nostrils stop flaring as he brings them down to the ground as if to breathe in the wet, muddy sand. He snaps his eyes open, now a raging red instead of blue having picked up the scent of rotting flesh lingering in the cold air, the scent of unearthly and evil creatures, surely the cause of the boy's distress and the very source of the screams. The rider then looks forward to find a misty, luminous red trail leading down the road to the left, towards the Blessed Mine. With haste, he flips backwards off the ground and lands perfectly on the saddle of his horse, and races down the left road now following his nose instead of his ears. The luminous trail gets wider as the scent gets stronger.

"I'm almost there. Hold on boy! Please."

He speeds through the meadow almost not visible with a black shadowing trail with glimmers of silver and the red luminous trail of the horse's scarlet eyes being all that could be seen. The flowers on the meadow were ripped from the ground with their roots, and their petals from the stem as he passed them by as if a hurricane raged on his back.

Like an enraged ghost he passed through the meadow now wearing eyes as crimson as rubies, still not blinking, still not wavering. He finally makes his way out of the meadow and onto a wider road for carriages and larger traffic judging by the wheel and horse tracks in the ground. Now closer than ever to the source of the scent, his nose starts flaring as his canine teeth enlarge as if to escape his mouth followed by a short but loud growl which escapes him. The rider continues down the road leading to the Blessed Mine and to his relief and horror, he hears the boy's cries once again.

"Help, me! Please! Somebody, anybody!"

Though he was alive, they were now cries with deep pain in them, a pain that would have made most men cry for death's release than cry for help. He sees a cloud of red mist a few hundred meters ahead on the side of the road next to an old log cabin withered by time. From such a great distance the rider could clearly see movement within the mist, with the cries of the boy along with terrifying screeches and growls coming from within the ominous cloud. The rider had found who or what he was looking for.