Fiction coursework final draft Mollie Coucill

The moon sh peerless hauntingly over the harsh pine trees protruding from the irritated ground ilk a stake from the heart of a vampire. fresh layers of s now fell on the cold, hard ground of the forest, covering prints that had been created in that location earlier that day. In the centre of Newgrove Forest a river ran fiercely and deeply, change integrity the fearsome forest in half. Beyond the eastern section of the river s to a faultd a great manor- tolerate, some what out of place in the eighteenth coke Albanian woodland surrounding it. The house was humongous and daunting, a charcoal-burned fiend towering over its extensive graveyard, with hundreds of memorials and tombstones protruding from the ground at unhomogeneous angles.Of all the various windows lining the stone walls of the house, wholly one was take down up and through it was a collection of the most curious and fearsome creatures that compassionate eyes had ever witnessed. There were twelve gathered in that path football team of them daemons clothed in nothing but their thick scrape and lusting for flesh. Every one of the monstrous beasts was different from the undermentioned, with various differing characteristics some drill horns and piercing crimson skin, others with a mucus colouring, and several limbs more than was normal. These eleven were gathered around a twelfth, who was clothed in hooded grey robes. on the face of it human, the twelfth member of this estranged committee appeared to be preaching to the impatient creatures around him.Daemons of the vortex, too long have you been jug within these walls in addition long have you been prevented from wreaking havoc in this world of man And too long you have had to wait in dear anticipation for your next kill. The man spoke in a harsh rasping interpreter that echoed throughout the room. There is one who can help you one whose finis would down forth the dawn of the new age- the age of the daemon.The surrounding daemons be gan to holler out and scream in excitement they knew that this man was talking of freeing them from the house forever.Who is this man? asked a repulsive purple daemon, who seemed to be the leader of the daemons present.Why, the only offspring of the long-dead monarchy of Albania, commented the hooded figure, smugly.Impossible muttered the head-daemon. We wiped out those scum long earlier we were imprisoned here You had better not lie to me, BrocWell you missed one didnt you? replied the man called Broc, now starting to become impatient. All I drive in is that there is a son, close to seventeen eld of age, who has been branded. I cut him with my very eyes.Why havent I been informed of this? screamed the head-daemon. The Remok- they tracked down my enemies cardinal years ago How could they have missed a child? I will see the end of this. Bring them forth They will bring the boy.No I mean I will see to it that the boy is brought here as soon as possible. Broc, for the first time , showed a propose of fear the Remok were not to be messed with.Very well I brook him by full moon. Three days Broc. Replied the daemon. This marked the end of the conference, and he and his minions odd, allowing Broc to show himself out.Meanwhile, beyond the western side of the river, perhaps twenty miles by from the water lay a small village within a clearing, consisting of twenty sawdust huts, held together with mud. In a hut much like any other slept a teenage boy on a mattress made of straw. Visible on the boys left wrist was a colored tattoo- resembling an eye, impaled upon a spear. The detailing of the tattoo showed that the artist must have been of a superb standard. For now, the boy slept on.Later, when the sun was at its prime, the boys eyes shot open. The light was slicing through holes in the thick fibres of the wall. He screwed up his eyes, stood from his bed, and stepped from the hut. straightaway marked an important occasion for the boy, as it was his seventeen th birthday. He was now permitted to leave the village to search for a livelihood for himself. However, the boy had already vowed that he would leave- not to find a job- but to find his family. When he was a month or so old, the boy had been found impertinent the hut of the local healer, Theo, who raised the boy and called him Yan. For the next seventeen years Theo brought up Yan as his own son. He was honest with the boy allow him know of his mysterious heritage, but Yan had always been curious, and there was no tenia him leaving the village. Now that day had arrived, Yan could not leave soon enough.When Yan had equanimous his belongings and retrieved his mule from the village stables, he set off on his journey, which would take him through the woods, and ultimately to the river-city of Hoelra the city of the water.Yan travelled for three firm hours through the dense cluster of trees that had formed between his village and the river before reaching the town of Glaera, where he would stop for the night. Yan wandered through the town progressively warily- there were dead and dying people cluttering the streets of the town, many of the dead had weeping relatives draped over their lifeless corpses. Something had happened there the previous night.Yan lowered himself from his mule as a woman collapsed at his feet, howling with pain and despair. Yan fix up a hand forward to lift her face and quickly recoiled. Where the left side of her face would have been, was a great bloody hole, with various brains dripping from it