The Song of the Storm King

A little pet project of mine that I had no intention of sharing with anybody, aside from friends and family. It’s a low fantasy story meant to be an epic, a sprawling continuation of events surrounding Garrett the Fox as he struggles to accept the mantle of the Storm King, coming to terms with his depression and suicidal tendencies, and generally trying to avoid dishonorable death in a world that’s hellbent on murdering him with inelegance. This is a little snippet, the prologue of The Song of the Storm King.

It’s been a lot of fun writing, like my particular brand of bullshit I call a blog.

Only tangentially related to my poem titled The Storm King.

Direct inspiration for my poem titled The Fox and the Red Death.

---

“Oh my God! There’s blood everywhere!” Lyrica slumped to the ground after having stabbed a man in the back. He was going for the leader of the band of mercenaries she works for, her personal hero in these trying times, Garrett the Fox. The Fox himself stood apart from the others of his company, coated from head to toe in sticky blood, milk white sword gripped firmly in both hands. Around the man were multiple carcasses, armed men who had recently been given a hemispherectomy or have otherwise had their head divorced from their shoulders. They were in a tavern, having a brief stop over for the night, trying to siphon just a bit of normalcy as they fled from their enemies.

“Most of it isn’t mine.” Garrett said, sheathing his blade. He turned to face the barmaid who had shouted. She had just entered the room from the kitchen with several steins of mead, now spilt on the floor, having left Garrett and his company peacefully not a few moments before hand. She fainted face first into a puddle of blood and mead, and Garrett gestured for some one to turn her head to the side. Lyrica, still catatonic, tried to take deep, even breaths as her friend tried to pull her up.

“Miss Lyrica, please get up.” Tom Jon murmured in her ear, pulling from under her shoulders. She always thought he was a nice boy, friendly in spite of his occupation, and keeper of many wild animals.

“It was Baldur.” she managed, voice low and quiet. Garrett, having wiped his face, turned the corpse Lyrica stabbed on it’s back. Indeed, it was Baldur, one of Arl Harkon’s trusted thanes and one of Garrett’s first friends among the Frixian nobility. Around his neck was a hammer shaped amulet, which Garrett plucked from his body and shoved in one of his pockets.

“He was the Arl’s most trusted thanes.” Garrett muttered. Marta, the Fox’s long-time number two, leaned against her bloody trident. Her arm was around a pretty, fair haired Frixian blue blood, the entire reason they’re on the run. Sinhildr Vinbär, Princess Adelheid’s lady-in-waiting, had developed a romance with Marta and, despite Garrett’s warnings, became increasingly intimate over the past few months.

“What’s the matter, Garrett? You’ve killed men before.” Marta said, drawing Sinhildr closer to her. Garrett glared at her, a withering look that drained the color from her face. It is safe to say that things have been tense between the two lately.

“Head count.” Garrett said darkly before rattling off the names of his sellswords. “Marta is present. Look alive, To Jo.”

“I’m alright, sir.” Tom Jon said, still struggling to support Lyrica’s body.

“How’s Lee?”

“I’ve got her, sir.” Tom Jon said again, slightly shaking Lyrica for emphasis.

“Bryce?”

“Aye, Gaz.” Bryce said, wiping the blood from his axe blade. A rivulet of blood traveled down his cheek, which he licked once it was close enough to his mouth.

“Where are you skulking Honest Frank?”

“Right here, Fox.” Frank said from beneath a table, hands over his balding head. “Honest” Frank wasn’t a fighter, but he knew how to get things and how to make illicit goods disappear.

“Eva, are you hurt?”

“I’m alright, mon ami.” Eva said, feeling her way over to Lyrica. The blind mendicant waved a packet of burning spices beneath the girls face, shocking her awake with the acrid smoke.

“Oh my god, there’s blood everywhere!” Lyrica shouted, breaking out of Tom Jon’s hold, “Oh my God it’s Baldur!”

“Miss Lyrica!” Tom Jon rushed to catch her as her legs buckled beneath her. She muttered and murmured in protest, but allowed him to continue supporting her.

“And, unfortunately, I’m also alive.” Garrett noted while prodding an errant scalp with his boot.” That makes everyone.” He shot Marta and Sinhildr another withering glare before making his way to the door.

“I’d very much like to keep it that way, so let’s get a move on.” Garrett announced, much to the displeasure of everyone else. They weren’t angry with him, it was Marta who was the cause of all this. She was always the level-headed one until she saw that pretty girl under her arm and, because of how laissez faire the Fox typically is, they paid no heed to his protests until it was far too late. Now Arl Harkon is after them, once their benefactor, and the entire might of his army close on their heels. They couldn’t afford to stop, not even for the night.

How they found themselves in this predicament is a long story, one that must start with who, exactly, Garrett the Fox is and all the choices he made along the way.