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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
The story of the Night-Walkers, as told to the Priest Anslem by one of the creatures.

Submitted: October 26, 2015

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Submitted: October 26, 2015



Being the True and Faithful Account of Friar Anslem, of the Holy Order of Sankta Marta, as Set Down by Instruction of the Night Walker in the Year of Light 2564 (Year of Christ the Saviour 1357)

It was the time of the Harvest and our brethren where often in the fields until the light would leave us. We would oft go straight from the fields to our evening prayers and reflections; being so busy during the day that there was great need among us to commune with the Lord through meditation at this time. I remember it was the second week of Harvest, so that we had become accustomed to our routine and took little notice of each other after coming back to the monastery, our thoughts and prayers being so bent to the Lord and His cause, that by the time I noticed our numbers dwindling, there seemed to be few avenues left to us but to continue to pray for guidance.

Yet, I felt a responsibility to our missing brothers. Was their disappearance not the act of some Unholy creature of the North? It is true our lives are dedicated to our Lord and Masters however, after some deliberation, I felt it necessary to delve into the matter myself. I obtained the blessing of our Most Reverend Father, the Holy and Learned High Brother Malan, and set out to find answers in the night.

My first night of watching was fruitless, and I admit I even found solace in sleep during the later hours of the night. My second night, however, revealed a creature of myth and mist, and of the most Unholy and Dangerous precedence. I was sitting upon the centre rock of the fields, where we would gather for midday prayers, when I heard a whisper behind me. I turned, and there was the creature.

He looked like any man, but I knew him to be a creature by the way his steps failed to make a noise among the wheat. The blue glow in his eyes confirmed his origin as a Creature of the North, yet his stance-like that of a predator- shewed him to be no friend of man. I blinked and he was before me, so close I could smell him. I muttered a blessing to our Lord and our Lady Sankta Marta, and the creature laughed.

“Your God cannot save you now, priest.” The creature’s voice was like the very mist that had brought him forth.

“If you will reunite me with my brothers, then I will pray for our salvation and gladly be sacrificed. It is the Lord’s will.”
The creature laughed. Then was quiet, as if considering. The silence was so absolute, not even the crickets and usual night creatures were about. They sensed the evil before me, and were well hid from it. I had reached for my Rosary, and had counted off three beads by the time the Creature spoke again. In his voice, I detected an ancient sadness, which was reflected in his tale.

“I will spare your life, priest. If only so you tell my story: my people are the Night-Walkers. We are an ancient people, come from the North. We followed the Dragons into this World, but we were judged to be corrupt. We followed, not in the interest of the protection of the human race, but in the interest of enslaving all of you; of taking everything from you, of taking pleasure in your suffering.

‘The Dragons learned of our intentions, and sentenced us to the worst punishment of all: near Immortality. Our life is spent only when we grow so weary, so tired, that we turn to dust and nothing, doomed to be forgotten. During our lives, we are also cursed. For our greed we are forever hungry, for our attempt on the lives of humans, we are doomed to eternally feed on them. As a final punishment, the Dragons left us our conscience, so that every human we take, every one we drain, we can do nothing but remember their pain, their terror, and be haunted by them.

‘You look on me with doubt. Believe me, the Dragons you worship so close to your God are capable of this, and much worse. The misery of a few humans, their death, is an acceptable price to pay for our eternal suffering and condemnation. I take no pleasure in feeding on your brothers. They tear my soul apart, only to have hunger and a void put it back together in the darkest pit of my being. I hate myself, and I hate my kind.

‘There is a legend among my People: for every life we take, a sliver of our Soul is left in the bodies of the dead. These slivers will one day find each other and when they do, they will bring life to the most terrifying creature in all of existence. This new Terror will be the end of all life: it will shrivel and destroy all living souls, leaving nothing but shells to live meaningless lives behind. This creature will reach the very North itself, and consume all the Light and all the Dark. In the end, it will consume itself for eternity, a dark pool of despair, death and hunger.

‘And this, priest, is why I will spare your life. Keep your prayers, set this down for the Dragons to read and remember: your glorious creatures of the Light are also the creators of the End of All.”

The creature, being done with his tale, placed his hand upon my forehead and I knew, by I know not what power, that he was truthful. His pain became my pain, and I closed my eyes for fear of falling any deeper into the abyss that was his soul. I recited a prayer to Sankta Marta and, by the time I was done and I opened my eyes, the creature was gone.

I have set this down according to his instructions, so that we may understand these Night Walkers, so we may pity them, and pray that their damned souls find peace by the grace of the Lord. They are creatures of terror, and we must all take care to avoid them, lest our souls be lost forever; however, let us remember: they are damned creatures, so it falls to Us, those few enlightened by the true Lord and Saviour, to beg for the mercy of God to fall upon their people.

This I set down truthfully as I am a man of faith and a true servant to my Lord and Masters, in the Harvest of the Year of Light of 2564, Year of Our Holy Saviour 1357.

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