Down the Rabbit Hole

I pass the pipe to my right. What have I done? I just smoked a part of the oppressed people I am supposed to be shepherding away.

A warm sensation builds in my stomach as the others hit the horn. Tiff and Devonport burst into silent laughter, convulsing on the floor with sheer ecstasy. A traitorous smile invades my face as I watch the Baron waltz around the room with an imaginary partner. The helmed she-goyle lights another ebony and bobs her head to the rhyme of Honey’s lute beside me.

“Wow, Honey. When did you get so good?” I ask the sulphur slug, her glow vibing to the strum of the instrument.

“It's a talent I've always possessed since I first hatched at the source of the world. 5000 odd years ago or so.” Her slight french accent plays like a melody over the soft chords.

“Can you show me?”

“Of course my Shepherd.” Her small head rotates on a swivel to look behind us. I follow her eyes and discover a cascading waterfall flowing from a heavenly source in the sky. It crashes into the open peak of a mountain upon which we now stand. A cool mist sprays me with vibrant tingles, the air swirling with the falling water’s energy.

A blanket of emerald jungle reaches into the hole to draw life and expands all around us to form the centre of Silva. From deep within, a cloud of green lights are pumped out and into the air. We breathe in the fresh scent of nature.

“Where does it flow from?” I shout over the continuous crashing backdrop, Honey’s lute barely audible now.

“My predecessor, who taught me the words of the world, once told me. But as the sands of time shift, so has my memory. I guess we could ask him directly? Here he comes now.”

She points with the bridge of the lute into the sky.

“That’s convenient.” I yell out as a leviathan sweeps through the clouds. A great whale swimming with multiple fins along its side and dragging a long tail, that curves and weaves like an oriental dragon of myth. It banks hard, dive bombing at terminal velocity towards our side of the mountain. I take a voluntary step back, fear bubbling through me to retreat before I'm crushed into paste.

Honey’s new frog-like arm grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly.

“If you believe you won’t die, then it will be so.” Ostrich egg eyes sprout on the sides of her head with dinner plate black pupils, instilling a reassuring confidence.

“Okay.”

I believe, I whisper to myself.

We stand, hand in hand. As this goliath whale of the old Gods enlarges with each leaf fall until it fills my entire vision.

The impact is instant. Our bodies explode to paint the misty air a light pink.

A sheet of deep maroon blocks my vision.

“Honey?” I cry in terror.

“Ssshhhh, it's about to begin.” She whispers beside me, I feel her hand in mine still.

The maroon washes away as the curtains lift and the sun's rays blind me. Not the sun, spotlights beam from the ceiling in a grand theatre.

A crowd roars as we are revealed on the stage. Music erupts from an orchestra pit below, the purple Daemon musicians play to our dancing feet. My thick brown frock swirls around me as I spin on the spot, crook in one hand and Honey in the other. She’s grown legs that dexterity match the beat, her flesh still that of a slimy slug but her features slowly morphing as the show goes on.

A flock of cardboard sheep race around us as grass grows through the wooden planks beneath our feet. The crowd of a thousand Daemons in sharp suits and black gowns clap and cry at the beauty of our art. I glide weightless as the lead, the attention and fame is all I want and all I deserve.

“I feel so wholesome Honey. We should dance forever.” Her round face splits into a ladies smile as she laughs along.

“If only we could Shepherd.”

“What do you mean?”

The string quartet strikes off dramatically as the brass section erupts into a wild crescendo. The warm lights take on a cold blue, a silence follows as the cardboard sheep shiver and bleat in fear. Deep drums beat like echoes of a giant's heart.

A woman screams from the crowd.

“If only we could.” Honey repeats.

Behind her from the side of the stage, a knight in battered armour enters. Mud and gore drip off his once glistening armour, his mace leaks brain matter onto grass causing it to wilt and die. Heavy breaths and condensation escape his bucket helmet as he marches forward. His mace swings, a sheep shatters.

“Please.” I whimper.

His plated leg stamps another.

“No, they’re innocent.” I drop my paper mache crook and beg him to stop.

The flock turns to me as he continues his gauntlet of mayhem towards me. Their shattered remains spray across the backdrop and over the audience in the front row.

“Help us Seth. Don’t abandon us.” A sheep pleads with me, its black eyes shed a single tear of blue cardboard before being obliterated.

The knight removes his helmet, my own eyes stare back at myself, but without empathy or remorse.

“Pathetic creature.” I, he, spits outs.

“Why would you hurt them?” I ask me, cowering on my knees.

“It’s empowering to kill monsters, keeps things in Orda.” I sardonically sneer and the mace swings towards me. I’m yanked backwards by Honey, she tugs me to my feet as we sprint through the mud. Cries of the dying surround us, men and Daemon begging for the mercy of their Gods.

We are in the midst of two great armies, already charged and battling through a bloody skirmish in no-man's land. The whistle of arrows causes me to duck and cover my head, like my bare hands can offer protection. I run into the back of Honey, almost collapsing into the sodden ground from the impact. Our path is blocked by a garrison of armoured Daemons, their ram horns jut from obsidian masked helmets. Huge shields create a wall across the battlefield, the glint of death strikes between the gaps.

They advance on us with machine-like union, shredding all that come within reach. Unanimous they advance, until they all tilt their heads to look into the sky. Above the warzone are the Reavers, watching like the puppet masters of carnage. Relishing in the flowing souls of both races, soon the screams of the dying will be replaced with the prayers of victory. But the Daemons don’t watch the floating cosmic horrors, they follow the path of a golden meteorite plummeting towards them.

It impacts the wall with a kinetic shockwave that knocks the first six rows on their purple arses. A woman in white robes of endless smoke emerges from the crater and tears the air from the hordes' lungs. They collapse, writhing and grasping for breath until their eyes match their skin and go still. The hero of Order swirls like a majestic legend of folklore, unscathed and unrelenting.

The Daemon army parts in the centre as a tiny imp sprints through, a flag bearing Omnia’s crest ripples in the wind flowing from a pole attached to its back. The imp produces a swirling horn and blows with the lungs of an ogre. A deep roar booms out, filling me with dread and stirring the nearby Daemons into a frenzy. The soldiers of man drop their weapons and shields, and sprint from the source of the horrifying noise. I look back in time to see the white woman sinking in a sea of frothing nightmares, their sharp eyes glowing with red rage.

A war cry answers the horn, more Heroes of man enter the fray. Riding great beasts and raw elements of magic, they smash the hordes apart. Scythes enlarge to reap the opposing warriors like dry wheat. A man in magma armour vomits a river of lava to elicit screams of pain. The army of Omnia breaks under the power of the human Houses, they retreat in a frenzy only to be shot in the back and executed in the dirt. A young hero in silver chainmail turns his horse as he spots me, a leather wine skin across his back spouts liquid mercury which quickly forms into a shimmering lance. He charges.

“Honey!” I cry out.

“Seth, quickly.” Honey stands near a single remaining tree. A lone survivor of the innocent in this bedlam. Its green leaves stand bright and proud against the backdrop of metal and blood.

My legs feel heavy and slow in the worked earth, the tree so far away. I hear the panting and clinking of my pursuer.

I’m not going to make it.

Honey climbs into the lower branches, her long green gown of moss trails behind.

“You are so close, don’t give up now.” She calls to me.

I reach the tree and see her dazzling eyes of emerald in the canopy, her skin still glows with a yellow tinge. But her head is covered in thick vines like a weave of hair.

A grab onto the soft moss and she pulls me into the tree's dense ca. The sounds of battle die as I enter this small safe haven, the sunlight is blocked out though green motes fill the air and illuminate her face.

“I can’t do this anymore. I want to go home.” I say with tears running down my face.

Honey’s glow shifts to match the green motes of Mother, her features sharpen to that of a beautiful woman.

“No Shepherd, you must save us.” She pleads.

The tree shakes with a thud. The leaves rustle and fall out to wilt and decay in showers.

“Choose someone else, please.” I grab hold of the branch as the thuds increase until a crack of splitting wood tilts our world.

Mother’s mouth opens with a bitter scream as the tree crashes to the ground.

I push away the rotten plant matter and stand in a world of ash. It falls from the sky like snow, dense clouds of black smog block out the sun.

The land is empty and grey, tree stumps and bare soil to the horizon. The moans and jingle of chains announce a chain gang of Satyrs passing through the great archway of Hearthold. They carry logs across their shoulders, the whips of slavers shreds their fur and pushes them on. Our safe haven was the last tree in Silva, its green foliage slowly bleeds out to match the desolate expanse.

A young Satyr hefts a wood axe onto his shoulder and stares at me without emotion. He’s lost in this place, believing he’s nothing but a tool like his owners say.

I hear a soft whimpering close by. Digging through the rotting leaves, I find Mother crushed beneath the tree.

Her eyes find mine, a trickle of dark sap leaks from the corner of her mouth as I take her hand in mine.

“Man will burn the world.” Her gentle voice fades away as a single mote escapes her lips to dwindle and dissipate.

“No. I’m so sorry.” Is all I can muster.

I feel hollow, a sick pit opens inside me as everything good in the world dies with her, dies with my Mother. A distant sobbing wracks my body as the loss eats away at me.

“Ay bois, found some meat to play with.” A guttural man yells amongst the slaves.

He beckons a group of slavers over, looking past me to the remains of the Goddess.

“Should still be warm enough.” They laugh, abandoning weapons to loosen their belt buckles. One tosses a flaming torch into the leaf litter, igniting the dry matter.

I grab a bare branch and swing wildly at them. “Get back! Leave her alone!” I shriek.

Lashing out with a mad fury, the wood starts to burn in my hand as heavy smoke billows all around.

“Come on Man, we can all share.” The slaver says with a wicked smile and laughs.

“I’m not like you, I'm nothing like you!” I scream and smash the flames into his face.

He immolates in a great blaze, though the laughter continues. I swing wildly, burning each one until the world before me is a flame. But within the twisting blaze, their cackles still reach me.