Shrin of the Twisted Oak Clan

Shrin Crowstalker of the Twisted Oak Clan

The prospect of being left to die in the twisted lands had never occurred to Shrin Al Rad. Despite the harsh reality that his bones would soon be picked clean by the ravenous animals of the woods, he had to admit it was a mercy. A withering death is not a clean or honourable, a punishment fit only for the maggots that crawl where they do not belong. As the sun beat down on his sweat covered brow, his memory flashed back to his father’s face. The last time his father had looked upon him, the only emotion visible was disappointment.

“What a fucker…” Shrin’s voice cracked at the words. Tears began to form in the corner of his eyes yet could roll no further. He was already dehydrated, and his world was slowly spinning. The end would not be far off, already he could hear the heavy breathing of predators nearby. His thoughts drifted back several days, to his sacred day.

The sky was clear, not a cloud in the sky, a bad omen by some. Today, the entire tribe was gathering on the edge of the village. Those who had completed their trial stood in the front, the young children forced to climb on boxes and on top of huts to see the celebration. The adults wore grim faces as they looked over this year’s prospects. A group of young adults stood before the crowd; fine cloaks adorned their shoulders and twisted crowns on their heads.

“GO NOW!” The elder’s voiced boomed. “Return with your gift, or do not return.” His words cut fear in the youth, as they turned and began the journey into the sacred ruins. Behind them, some of the adults wept, knowing they may never see their children again, yet none moved, none cried out words of encouragement or warning. The time for that had passed.

The sacred ruins were alien compared to the village or the twisted woods around it. They were said to have existed for a thousand years, and none still living knew of their origins. The structure was square in shape will large cylindrical shapes reaching up to the sky, tapering towards to the top. One of the cylinders was missing a full half side, seemingly blown away from the inside, as debris could be found up to several miles away. The structure was a but a shell, the walls inside had crumbled away leaving piles of rubble. The youth began to spread out across the ruins. They knew what they were looking for, but not where to find it. They did not rush, they moved carefully and quietly. Time seem to stretch before finally a boy Shrin knew well let out a yelp of excitement.

“It’s Here!” His voice was excited, yet fearful. His fear was for good reason. The ruins were not empty. Before the boy could realize his mistake, a screech ripped out through the air. A black shape tore through the air, claws extended, and then the boy was gone. Everyone froze. Minutes passed and no one dared move until the creature had retreated with his prize. Then they were moving again. The children converged on the area the lost boy had found. A staircase hidden in the rubble.

The stair descended several floors until it came to a sudden end, collapsed long ago. The youth began to climb. Down they went, until their arms ached. One slipped and fell. He had the good sense not to scream. He knew he was dead and would not condemn his brothers and sisters to the fate of the first boy. Finally, the youth arrived at the bottom. Climbing over the corpse of their fallen friend, they moved on.

Ahead, a dull green glow illuminated the hallway. Moving quickly now, the boys entered the room. Inside, several pools large filled the room, large rectangular basins. Moving to the edge the boys peered into the pools, too deep or murky to see the bottom. One by one, the youth dropped down into the water. Most could not swim, they clung to the walls, shivering in the cold. Some seemed to be out and heading back within seconds, too cowardly to stay any longer. A few, Shrin included, refused to give in. One boy dunked is head under the water, and a girl kicked off and doggy paddled to the center and back. Both climbed out and left, feeling slightly satisfied at their display of bravery.

Shrin was the chieftain’s son and would not be outdone. Shrin pushed his head underwater and swam down. His father has taken him on a journey when he was young to teach him to swim. He had thought it idiotic at the time, but now he knew the purpose. He dove deep, as deep as he could, and when his lungs burned, he kicked and flailed until he could once again breath. Seeing he was the only one left, he climbed out and began his journey to the surface.

At the bottom of the stairway, he found another girl. She was writhing in pain, her skin was a strange color, he wasn’t sure if she would survive, but if she did, he though, she would certain have a gift. The climb was difficult, but he had managed it without issue. At the top, yet another boy, this one was staring blankly ahead, his eyes were dull. Dead. Some sort of tumor was already growing out of his face. Shuddering, Shrin pushed on.

At the entrance to the ruins, one of his childhood friends was screaming in pain, yet the dark creature did not swoop down to claim him. Shrin kept moving and looking back he could see the child on all fours, no, 6 limbs now. Two strong arms were growing out of each side. A true gift! Shrin could not help but think to himself that he had dove deeper than any, so his gift must be greater! On the outskirts of the village, his feet faltered.

His stomach was on fire. His eyes were swimming. Stumbling into the village he fell to ground. This must be it, his gift manifesting! His world spun like a great storm. He could feel the bile building up in his throat. His father stood in front of him. Disappointment covered his face. Why? What was wrong? Stumbling over to a water trough, he glanced down at his refection. The skin was falling off his face, leaving bare bloody bone. With a wimper, Shrin knew he would not survive. He lost consciousness then. When he awoke, he was in the twisted forest outside of the village. Left to die. He had failed. He had dived too deep, and he had tried to take in too much. Then end would fortunately not be long.

Before the day was over and the sun dipped below the horizon, Shrin was dead. The vultures had already been circling and were now pecking what remained of his flesh off his bones. The sacred pools had claimed many, but several had survived, and those would be added to the ranks of the adults. Strengthening the village and continuing the path to perfection. The memory of Shrin the chieftain’s son would be forgotten by all.