This is my strange and aimless (more or less) story called Bellator. The prologue is vague for a reason, so please lay off pointing that out, if you don't mind. (I hope you don't mind me posting it all here, but it is only about a thousand words.)


Baulb peered out of his house into the night. Everything around him was made of brilliant white stone; the door he was grasping, the near by fountain, even the outside floor, which was many metres from the ground, were all made of stone. He was use to the Stone City, he had lived there all his life, but now something made his hair stand up on the back of his neck.

He was no perfect stranger to fear. Though he did not feel it often, he had felt it a fair few times. The few times that he had spent with the five rascally adventurers, who were probably heading for Petra to meet him that very moment, he had been in situations that were most frightening. Danger seemed to follow them where ever, even into poor Baulb’s home.

So as he scanned the darkness for any peculiar signs (and wishing he had the sense to bring an electric torch) he wondered if this had anything to do with them. After all, they were to be there the very next day so was it impossible for danger to proceed them by twenty-eight hours? But still...

But still, Baulb though as he shifted back into his house and closed the heavy door, the fear that now haunted him seemed different somehow. It was more ... eerie. The times he had been scared out of his wits was the same type of fright that keeps one from jumping off a cliff. The fear now stopped him entirely and seemed to have no origin. Somehow it was worse.

He thought of the old stories that those like Priestist repeated as though they were sacred words that should never be forgotten, even though they have by most. Many of them mentioned creatures of darkness that Priestist would not utter the name of, even though he seemed to know it. They could strike the most peculiar fear into the weak of heart, and are most powerful at night, when the sun does not bother them, glaring their senses and screwing up their concentration.

Baulb snorted. The likelihood of these creatures roaming Petra, or even existing for that matter, was pathetic. Yet he felt sickened at laughing at such things, as one feels sickened for laughing at a gruesome death of a friend, almost immediately afterwards. This fear commanded respect and needed all possibilities open.

Baulb shook his head. This sort of thinking was not rational. He’d have a bite to eat and a drink then go back to bed. By morning the feeling will be gone. But even though he did have a bite and a drink, he could not go to sleep for a long time. The fear kept him awake and even seeped into his dreams when he finally did drop off. Dark things disturbed shadows and the cry of falcons, terrible to hear, moved through his mind.

He woke up in a cold sweat. The cries of falcons still penetrated his brain. Then he realised he was no longer dreaming. The terrible cries of those falcons did split the night, not just his mind. Baulb quickly ran to his window and peered out of the glass. Birds flew everywhere through the city; above the buildings, though the streets; and even into the tunnels that went into the darker areas of the city. And then, the thing that really crushed Baulb’s heart was the shadows ... the shadows that neither light nor dark could touch. Shadows to the light of reality moved though the streets and effortlessly and (as far as he could tell) soundlessly opened the doors to houses and entered.

Baulb wasted no more time. He move quickly enough so that it was not until he had grab the last water jug did he hear it. Among the crying of the falcons came screams ... screams of women, shouts of men, and even the shrill crying of children. Hot tears began to flow down his eyes as he shouldered his pack, grabbed a few swords and, for extra precaution, a gun. Finally he grabbed his walking stick and made for his back door.

He slipped out and looked around. One of the shadows slipped out of a nearby house, but did not head for Baulb. It headed for a running child. Baulb watched horrified as the shadow picked up the boy, who was only thirteen years, and held him up in the air. The boy became so pale that he seemed to shine in the darkness and soon slumped over. The shadow then dropped him and caught a woman trying to escape in the opposite direction of Baulb’s escape route. Now was the time.

Now truly sobbing with fear, revulsion, and sadness, Baulb turned and ran away from the shadow and the woman it now held. Somehow he stumbled through the chaos of, not just screaming people and falcons, but also streets and roads. He found the South Gate and found it mercifully wide open. He stumbled out, but seemed to be the only one. As he exited, he noticed two shadows not far from him. They had just drop two babies and noticed him. One took a step forward, but the other held it back.

It said in a terrible, indescribable voice that was not in any language that Baulb knew, or perhaps it was not in any language or any voice and was just a thought in the mind. But the meaning was clear as he did so, No, he is just one. Leave him to find the others. They left him. It was some time before he remembered to move.

He left the cawing, screaming, dying city of Petra behind him and never saw it the same way again.