Over and above the Royal Castle, the thunder roared as though it was the obedient spirit and dutiful harbinger of the vengeful storm which twisted and roiled the face of the heavens, unleashing a wild and unnatural fury on the lands beneath, the lands in which mortal creatures scurried about like rats, unaware of what the future held. For many today, the future held death, and yet these unfortunate fools neither understood, nor realized this. For this reason, mortal creatures were to be pitied. What was made even more maddening to consider was the fact that most of the mortals who would die today would do so majorly because they thought themselves safer than majority of their fellow dustlings, who, despite possessing the same blood, flesh, and sometimes skin color, were relegated to living more dangerous lives because of the simple fact that these unfortunate, death-branded mortal specimens were simply in possession of more money, more material possessions, with which they believed they deserved a safer life than their poorer fellows on the speck of rock known as Earthland. And interestingly, most people tended to forget that they were incessantly in danger, ever so soon to have their lives snuffed out without a warning’s notice. Those who lived constantly with this reminder were more likely to survive…
…like the curious creature known as Beira. Obviously appearing as a human at first glance, her bloodline and heritage spanned across dimensions alien to ours, though people could argue that she was, for all intents and purposes, human. The being beside her could not be so favourably argued for. His breath, unnaturally warm and rank with the stench of sulphur, easily fogged the cool air before his face, as his gaze rested upon the same thing which Beira’s eyes were fixed on. Rakkul, they called him, and he was as gruesome in appearance as his companion was beautiful. His skin was red, and rough scales interrupted the natural contours of his form in many more than one place. From his forehead rose two horns which twisted backwards round each other to jut up about a foot high from the top of his head. A similar pair of horns, much smaller though, emanated from his jaw, as black as the midnight, and with a sheen like that of well fired ceramic. On his head were strands of green hair, or at least they could be called hair only because they grew on the same place most humans had hair on their heads. The strands were too few, too thick and too wiry to be similar to the natural growths on human heads, but since they corresponded to where hair grew, a descriptor’s suggestion that these were strands of hair would have to be forgiven. From the base of his spine emanated a long, thin tail, similar to that which was hosted on the posterior end of a cow, and from his knees downward, his legs were more akin to those of an ox than of a man. But if, because of his horns, hooves and tail, someone were to assume that he were related in some strange way, to a bovine creature, as of yet, bovines were not known to fly, and obviously did not possess wings. This creature did, immense and shaped like those of some gigantic infernal bat, though unlike the wings of the crepuscular mammal, they were covered in rough red scales. Another attribute of his that would quickly divest an observer of any assumptions that he was related in some way to a cow was his dentition. With teeth that looked much more comfortable with stripping raw flesh from bones than masticating lignin, this thing was nothing near related to a bull. He wore nothing but a crude loincloth, and held a black club in his clawed hand.
This Rakkul stood to Beira’s right. On the left of the young God Slayer stood a short, withered figure, leaning on a cane and gazing into the distance, eyes unfixed on anything, as opposed to the other two. For all intents and purposes, this creature looked to be an old woman, maybe two hundred years old, if the number of wrinkles on her face was anything to go by. Everything about her was crooked, from her limbs, to her teeth, to her back, to her clothes, to the cane she held in her hand. And yet, for all the ancient ambience she seemed to possess, a preternatural power and vitality seemed trapped somewhere in that withered frame, making the appearance of senescence seem to be an illusion, as her movements, though appearing afflicted with the torpor of old age, were marked with sudden bursts of firmness and strength. Her eyes were almost closed what with the amount of wrinkles on her face, and her head was totally devoid of hair. She had what looked to be a contented smile on her face, as she stared off into the storm.
Rakkul, for his part, was not at all content. ”We should be going ahead with the plan, Old One,” he snarled with impatience at the impassive form of the old woman standing across from Beira. The hag did not respond. Seeing as he was apparently ignored, the red demon turned his attention to the Utgardian. ”If your ‘mother’ will not respond to me, why don’t we have a little bit of fun, while we wait for her to reply?” Beira’s voice was laced with ill-concealed hatred, as she replied, ”watch your words with me, pitiful wretch, or I shall wring your head off from your neck before I drive your horns up somewhere the sun doesn’t shine, demon.”
”Empty words, human child,” laughed the demon. Before he could utter another word though, the cackling of the Old One caught the attentions of demon and damsel. ”Human?” the old woman cackled hoarsely. ”No, Rakkul, the child is as very much a creature of this world as you are.” The demon frowned in confusion, for he was certainly as much of this world as he could be stated to have relationship to a cow. ”This is interesting,” he said. ”What are you, maiden? An angel whose light has grown dark?” There was no reply.