A destitute road of dirt and filth lay unwelcoming before the hubristic prince. A lost and decrepit forest path, one that swallowed wanton travelers and criminals fleeing justice. Nary a pure soul dared traverse such a foul route, but he was prince to this land, it would be his birthright to choose this path that no one goes. Aching minutes passed as the stout son of a monarch rode his steed through myriad twists and turns on the dark unsettling road he chose. Suddenly, a feeling of malady crept upon the stoic regal figure as his steed reared to a dead stop. Not a sound was made, nor did a critter stir in the bush, it was deathly silent.

The soon to be monarch peered over at a most unusual sight. There in a clearing sat betwixt a great tree and a rose bush, ripe with red and thorn, was a tavern named “Ac Tenebras”, with a chimney bellowing smoke and a couple horses hitched to its exterior. No word was ever spoken of this mystery inn, none ever spoke of such a place on such a path, not in the prince’s entire lifetime. Enthralled by curiosity the heir of a monarch dismounted his steed and hitched to an open hitching post next to the other horses afront the mysterious tavern, “Ac Tenebras”.

The prince entered Ac Tenebras, hooded and in disguise, as to not rouse any suspension of his identity. There within was a jaunty scene of comfort and cheer, at his left two men sat at the bar singing a jolly tune, one sat in the corner reading under candle light, and at his right a dog lay slumbering on a fur skin rug next to a crackling fire, the barkeep stood pouring another round for the cheerful fellows singing at the bar. The prince strode in and sat on a far stool at the front of the bar, the barkeep turned to him and with a smile said, “How now does good fortune lay upon my disconsolate heart, here we have a visitor, a stranger, and I dare say…a monarch.” The prince was stupefied, the change in disposition, the biting words, the instant recognition, there was something foul in the air, something unclean. After a moment to collect his thoughts the prince, noticed the cheery men were no longer singing but staring straight ahead unmoving in their stools. The man in the corner who was reading under candle light was still in his place unmoved, except his candle had burnt out and he was shrouded in darkness. The barkeep was a portly man, with a red beard and a haunting smile, he stood staring at the prince as he sat tense and confused. It was then that the barkeep spoke again, “What service does his highness need? what sacrifice must I make for thee? Have I a choice? Or is your rule stretched even here, to a place unknown?”. The prince stiffened his demeanor and responded to the strange figure and said, “I am no monarch, treat me thus as you would any patron here within, my curiosity simply had me enter”. The barkeep smiled his wretched smile once more and spoke again, “Oh well then, forgive my assumption dear commoner, I hadn’t the proper light to discern you from the budding monarch of these lands, but now I see you are nothing but mere peasant blood. Shame it is, my lord would have liked to meet the great prince of these lands.” In that instant the hairs on the back of the prince’s neck stood up, he felt a cold trickle down his spine, and feeling of eyes upon his back…Then a voice.

“Ack Magus Durrank’ai Mori Kahn’ai”, the voice spat, in a language unknown and dark as shadow. The prince felt the presence behind him but was frightened stiff, unable to lift a finger, much less draw his sword. The voice crept upon him again like Jackals howling in the night and said, “Broken and unwanted, sore and overused, rigid and worn down, I sit here from the rising sun to the shroud of night…waiting for someone like you.” The small chuckle at the end of that sentence sent pangs of fear through the princes’ flesh and bone. Then panic struck was the immobile prince, as he heard the creaking of someone rising from a chair behind him, then slow barefooted footsteps traipsing towards him. The prince fervently fought his own mind to free himself of his state of fear born stillness. The steps grew closer and closer, and the words, “You cannot fight the dark dear monarch, you haven’t the will to face it!”, spat out like venom behind him. As the steps settled just behind him, he noticed the light of the fire was gone, the barkeep was still and expressionless, the patrons wide eyed and smiling, and the man reading in the dark was now gone as well. Then in a shock he felt a finger that felt like a melting icicle poke the nape of his neck, this shock sent the prince jolting forwards and he finally stood up and sprinted from his position, and out towards the door.

Upon reaching the door, he saw a flash and then a wave of darkness wash over him and he suddenly woke up, dazed and confused on the dark path he was riding on earlier. The princes head throbbed, as he felt the damp spot on the back of his head with his hand and felt blood. His hand was stained with the blood from the gash on the back of his head. He sat up and looked about the dark forest path, his horse abandoned him, he spotted hoof prints leading out back down the path where he rode in at. Suddenly, he snapped back into full lucidity and remembered the tavern inn he must have dreamt of while unconscious. He looked over to the spot between the big tree and the rose bush that the tavern sat previously, but the tavern was gone, and in its place lie a gravestone. The prince stirred to his feet and groggily walked over to the gravestone. Upon the gravestone a ring of gold and onyx was placed, and in scratchy writing the stone read, “Here lies Markahn’ai, Dread Mage, bane of light, Unknown-875 A.D.” and below that another inscription that read “Ungrateful Fatherland, you will not even have my bones”. Shaken by the dark events and by the words upon this gravestone, the prince, with his throbbing head quickly turned heel and trotted back down the path from which he came, never to traverse there ever again.

Written by Marcos Lopez 7/25/2021