Wilem

Hey please take the time to read through this intro into 'The Angel of Death - Last of the Rift Kin.' And part of Chapter one - The Angel of Death. Any comments and spelling corrections/ word corrections/ grammer corrections are vital so please please do help me. Thanks, enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Our story begins in a time before time, in the ancient lands of Rinthera. Rinthera was once a symbol of hope and unity between races a beacon of light for new life to be acknowledged and above all accepted.
Five kings and Queens ruled over the five sections of Rinthera. To the north the great mountains of Dognar, Caster land founded and originally ruled over by King Doganar. These creatures are known for their profound desire of treasure in what ever form it may take, although greed is often overruled by pride for they are the only creatures to master magical essence and have so became the Magic Kin they are few in numbers and thus are raised with pride and bravery for the world which dwells beyond the snowy mountains.

West lurk the Blood Kin or otherwise known as the Vampires, creatures of the night. In the west it is said the sun never raises, eternal darkness creeps over desert plains and rivers of lava run freely through the black sand. In the centre of the west sits the great city of Vampirum where sat atop her throne the dark lady dwells. Vampires are immortal but not invincible, their curse is their strength and their strength their curse they are forever damned and taunted by the thirst of blood.

East prowls the Werewolves, the Gemini Kin; although never strong in number the Werewolves have strength and stamina which could never be matched. Born and breed as warriors till the last breath is drawn from them, within packs the werewolf is unstoppable but singular they will still prove a very vicious opponent. Alas their few numbers and lack of intellect has seriously crippled the werewolves, the city of Wooktrus which once stood upon a magnificent hill which rose above the lush thick forests and beautiful valleys lies burnt and broken of the scorched grass it once dwelled upon. And the great King Frances Ironheart lay dead without an heir.

South bordering the great sea macerates the Origin Kin or Humans, known as the Origin Kin because Humans are the place of origin the building blocks for the other Kin’s that calls Rinthera home. Humans are very jealous creatures, they envy the Vampires immortality, they crave the Casters magical essence, they long for the werewolves’ strength. Because of this pettiness the current King Henry victor Garrison knight of the light walkers has cut off all trade links between his fellow kings and queen and the Humans have declared open war on all that do not tread the holy path.

Finally the Rift Kin, long thought existent the Rift Kin were known for their immense combat knowledge calling upon a second conscious mind which dwelled inside their brains enhancing everything about them; this was known as the Rift. The Rift would often take on their own names very dangerous creatures but all the same magnificent. Century’s ago the Rift Kin rose to power under the influence of the ‘Rift Knights’ led by King Hyplin Aontius Limbuto Mane of the third crusade whom mastered the art of Dragon riding. The Rift Kin almost became the rulers of Rinthera but the combined forces of King Dognar of the Casters, King Herod of the Vampires, Queen Looyu of the Humans and King Garren of the Werewolves and an army of millions left the Rifts with insignificant numbers to maintain the population, slowly they died out. Or at least they died out to everyone’s knowledge. Alone a voice spoke to him, alone a voice became him, and alone he shall stay. The last of the Rift kin


Chapter One- The Angel Of Death.


‘Your lord is Omniscient
I am knowledge.

Your lord is Benevolent
I am Hate.

Your lord is Omnipotent
I seek power.

Your lord is Omnipresence
I am here.

Your world is infected
I am its cure.

I am the Angel of Death.’

With the howling of the frost bitten wind beating at his thick fur, and the bleach white snow, fresh but vicious, hammering every painful, blood stained weary step he took William Vontus Garimus, last of the werewolf clan, drew his final tainted breath from the Earth.
‘A curse be upon you Death!’ roared he, clutching his open flesh, wincing towards the one who robbed him of precious life.
‘You curse that which has no mortality? A plague be upon your wretched kind, I have purged your beastly filth from the land, leave the lords creation and wither with the Demon below.’ Death spat at the beast forcing it to growl instinctively, bearing fangs which leaked saliva and fell to the blood stained snow below. William was forced to his knees as his legs gave way, weakened by lack of blood circulation. His eye lids as heavy as lead, he was fighting to maintain his vision, absorbing the surroundings of the natural beauty. The snow littered valley was, during the summer season, a picture of beauty, fresh green grass would compliment the lush healthy trees and make tall the flowers of multicolor radiance which sat amongst it, nature would then dance to lady wind as she blew through the land and out into the vast crystal oceans.
‘Am I not of the lord’s creation? Do I not belong?’
‘You are the Demons work, sent to taunt what the lord has done in his infinite wisdom. You are a manifested thought, made a reality through dire cruelty; your very being makes ill my insides and sickens my conscious mind.’ No remorse, no pity. Deaths long white fingers curled around the thick handle of his sword, not yet, the abomination must suffer further.
‘If my being is of an evil nature then why must my heart feel for all that surrounds it? Why am I the more gentle of the two that stand atop this hill, why be it that you, a messenger of the lord, strike me with no arm, simply for being?’ William’s breath was heavy and rare his eyes were draining of their spark which kept his heart beating, he stared at Death through his faded yellow eyes, although he store with pride and strength of that possessed by a truly noble being. Death, in all his power and knowledge had never anticipated a werewolf who would retaliate with words rather than fangs and claws, never would the thought of a literate monstrosity such as he drift through the conscious or unconscious mind, stranger still were the words he spoke full of question and desire like that of an infant eager to learn.
‘Enough!’ Death drew his blade causing an echoed ringing, he pointed the tilt to William’s neck ready to ram forward.
‘William Vontus Garimus last of the werewolf clan, with your death this land shall be cleansed, make your next thought one of peace, for it shall be your last.’ Death lunged forward and William, the last of the werewolves was at rest.
‘Go forward, and face your afterlife.’ Death withdrew the long, solid silver blade from Williams’s throat. Blood ran freely from the wound, it travelled down into the thick mounds of brown fur a deep red colour, almost black. William toppled forward face first, his arms sat limply beside him, and there he lay in a pool of warm deep red blood.

The Angel of Death knelt besides his victim and looked the beast up and down, its huge mass was engulfed by fur, one might mistake it for a bear if it did not take the stance of a human.
‘The deed is done.’ Death stood back up right; he slid the blade back into its scabbard, he tilted his head left and then right, his long black cloak mimicking his real movements. Death was no ordinary slayer, although slightly deluded; he places truth in his own words to justify his actions, murdering in the name of God presenting himself as the sword wielded by he, the messenger of actions the lord can not perform.
Death removed his hood revealing shoulder length hair, grey and ruff parts tied in small pony tails decorated with golden rings. Like his hair Deaths eyes sat grey and miserable old before their age, for the man was not aged, on the contrary his skin was stretched across youthful bones creating chiseled handsome looks. Upon his face Death fashioned a small neatly trimmed beard of the same colour grey as the hair and eyes, the right cheek played host to a long deep scar semicircular in shape, it was one of many littered across his body caused by countless duels and battles.
Death turned his back on William’s corps and wearily started to tread his way back up the snow covered hill back to the path where he had tracked the beast; from there he would find his steed and ride onwards towards Vangash Inn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Will Continue if popular. Thank you for reading and please post a comment even if you didn't like it, let me know what I can improve on.

__________________
The cake, it is a lie!
Questioning everything but learning nothing since 1991.