Font size: - +

A Royal Creed

A Royal Creed


… Three winters earlier…


“Open the gate!” Men shouted outside of a fortress, built in the heart of the desert, close to Babylon. A guard rushed into a muddy cell, deep within the heart of the fortress where two beasts were kept highly secured, one being a werewolf boy and another being a newly discovered species called a ‘vampire’ which originated from strigoi roots, apprehended with thick chains pinned to the wall and floor. The guard’s apparel was burnt with some rags and leather straps dragging through the dust. Norg was the unlucky werewolf being kept in a cell with another man that could not stop talking. The man later explained to Norg that he was from the first of the strigoi survivors that ravaged over Britannia. The cell had only a single entrance, where no force of nature could breakthrough. There was a table hiding in the corner with a torch, containing notes from a man claiming to be a druid from Midgard. The fortress’ leader was slaughtered in the rampaging battle above, having more than sixty-two men butchered by a witch doctor, Persian and a boy from the northern parts of the world.

“You are in trouble now… I am pretty sure that I explained it countless times…” The man mocked. The guard’s eyes locked onto the man with fear.

“T-t-t-t-that boy…” The guard stuttered, wiping the sweat from his palms on his leather tunic. Norg confusingly gazed at the man and then back at the guard, unable to understand the strange language they spoke, although the man could speak his language fluently. A bright blue flash shimmered through the cracks of the cell door. The man chuckled, knowing well enough that it would be pointless to explain to the guard in his last moments. The door shattered into pieces as a charged bolt of lightning struck, blasting hay and dust in all directions. The guard fell to the ground, struggling himself to his feet, aiming his blade at the door. A sudden glimpse of light caught Norg’s eye. A boy, the same age as him with small sparks of lightning and flames emitting from his arms. The boy wore the same apparel as the warriors in Stormgard. The guard charged and was ultimately repelled against the wall with severe force. The boy used the last energy he was able to muster up to save his captive friend, panting heavily as he walked into the dusty cell.

“Why is it the second time that I have to come and save you?” The boy asked, scoffing at his friend being chained up again.

“I think exercise is good! Besides, I have learned incredible information!” The man excitedly shouted, hopping with his tied legs towards the boy. Norg felt afraid of his current situation when he heard the two speak in his language and tried to hide so that the boy could not see him. He felt unsure if he should speak with them or just stay silent. The dust hid the boy just enough so Norg could not catch a proper glimpse. The chains of the man dropped to the floor, being butt naked and free again.

“Well? You found out where they are keeping your daughter?” The boy asked excitingly, eager to save another life wherever he can.

“YES! They are traveling towards Irkalla! Since all of us were captured to be smuggled off, by some men called Olaf and Torsten… And Kal, I think… That does not matter, we are only half a day away if we move now, then Jakar and Khan do not need to know, I believe that we would suffice in this task!” The man cluttered, moving to the body to remove the clothes. The torch in the cell did not blow out with the impact of the lightning, allowing a bright shine to reflect off of the man’s snowy hair. The pupils of the man-made Norg feel unsure what kind of beast he was, it was purple with a dim hue inside.

“We? We will need Jakar for this. I have been long enough in Irkalla since I was six. It has been ten winters, forgive me, but it is not a place I wish to revisit.” The boy quickly said with a displeasing tone. His voice had a strange lisp to it, with a warm comforting feeling of trust.

“Wait! Just hear me out. I made sure to come to this cell… For a reason.” The man answered wittingly, observing the tunic if it would be worth wearing.

“Emriel… I think your mind is damaged… Since you were caught by these men…” The boy’s displeased voice was hushed with a cocky silence. The man refused to hear excuses, placing his hand on the boy’s head and turning it to Norg, catching Norg by surprise that he was being part of the plan all along.

“Ahhh… I believe this plan has something to do with him?” The boy curiously asked, walking closer to Norg. Emriel chuckled and placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder, following him butt naked.

“He comes from your world.” Emriel proudly said. Norg’s eyes widened when the dust settled and a face emerged. A young brown-haired boy with icy blue eyes, a deep scar across the nose and a smile as warm as the sun.

“What is your name?” The boy asked. Norg struggled to swallow, unsure how to communicate with a human after winters of isolation.

“N-n-n-n-n-o-r-r-r-r…g” He answered. The boy observed the eyes of Norg, spotting a dim hue of an ember burning from the iris. Then everything made sense to him. Emriel caused enough trouble to be in the cell of a werewolf, born from godly blood to assist them in their quest. He could tell by the sudden struggle Norg made when he came closer, that Norg was not used to humans, neither did he expect to be spoken to. It made the boy understand what Norg was going through, being the same as him. A child, taken away from his family.


#312 in Fantasy
#46 in Action fantasy
#27 in Action & Adventures

Story about: werewolf, action, vikings

Edited: 27.01.2020

Add to Library