The Black Hellblade

Harsh winter winds blew freezing powder against the Nightblade Temple of the Serpent. In the temple's courtyard, Trainees shivered. The young men and women stood shoulder to shoulder in thick snow up to their knees. They were bundled in fur cloaks and hoods, and their lightweight leather armor stuck uncomfortably to their bodies with nervous sweat and sleet. Cold cut the trainees to the bone, and the enormous and twisting stone walls of the Temple of the Serpent did little to keep the weather out from the training grounds.As the Trainees huffed bitter air and watched their jagged breaths turn to mist in front of them, their leader, Master Titanoboa, trudged shirtless through the tall snow. Both of his muscular arms were covered with tattoos of large blacks snakes that spanned from the tops of his shoulders down to the bottom of his hands, where the snakes' mouths opened wide bearing a set of fangs by each of Titanoboa's palms. His braided brown beard fell to his chest, and he carried

When Ronan was finished polishing the swords and he had finally earned his measly half-bowl of soup, night had long since crept over the temple. The entire time he struck soot and ash off the weapons, cutting his arms and hands on the sharp blades, he had heard Trainee Robyn's celebration echoing up from many flights of stairs below him. As he coughed from the clouds of dirt and grime he pulled off the swords with the polish, he fantasized about his own celebration, and of performing a feat so stunning the other Trainees would shower him in love and approval. But Ronan didn't really care all that much about fame or glory. He didn't need to be idealized or have songs created about his heroic actions. He knew what it was like to live in a world of weakness and fear, and he wanted to protect others like himself. Ronan shifted on his stiff and uncomfortable straw cot, imagining a hot dinner of roasted pork ribs, steamed potatoes, and vegetables cooked over a blazing fire. He thought ab

The next explosion knocked Ronan off of his cot, and shook the fading oil lantern off its hook and to the floor. Glass shattered near Ronan's feet, and flames caught onto the furs and fleeces he was wrapped in. Ronan wrestled out of the fiery blankets. He shuddered at the sound of shrill screams just beyond the door to his room. "We're being attacked!" a voice shouted from outside and down the corridor before fading into a gut-wrenching gurgle. Ronan leapt up from the floor and away from the spreading flames, his mouth dry and heart hammering in his chest. He pressed his back to the door and trembled as his windowless little cupboard of a room continued to catch fire. What little he had and was given by Yvette was burning before his eyes. Feeling like he might be able to at least salvage something of great importance, Ronan reached over the rapidly growing flames for Yvette's purple crystal ball on his nightstand. Flames bit at his wrist, and the crystal ball cracked and fractured

Although the sky was bright and sunny, nothing was beautiful. The town street Ronan had landed on through the portal was damp, cold, and smelled of horse droppings. Nearby, gray brick and mortar houses looked as though they were on their last legs. Each door and window shutter was hanging on by loose screws and covered in cheap, chipped paint. The chimney on one home at the edge of the street had long since collapsed, leaving ashy rubble in the road. Ronan sat up in great pain over his still bleeding wound. Disoriented, he rummaged for his sword. It was nowhere to be found, and he determined that he had dropped it when traveling through the Serpent Sorceress' portal. The portal too had disappeared, and Ronan realized he was on his own and weaponless. For the first time in over a decade, he was outside of the temple. Ronan fought his way to his feet, then felt a faint and nervous smile creep its way on his face. He was in rough shape, but he was alive, and he would fulfill his obj

A gorgeous nurse dressed in a bright pink blouse and lacey white skirt handed Ronan a silver dinner plate. He sat up in his heavenly bed and graciously accepted the steaming plate of roasted broccoli and chicken slices that were adorned in melted cheese and herbs. "Thank you, Angelina," Ronan said, the delicious scent of the food making him smile brightly. Everybody he'd seen in the temple so far was older than him, and it made him feel all the more pampered, as if catching up on the nurturing he never received growing up.Tresses of Angelina's curly blonde hair brushed Ronan's cheek as she adjusted his pillow and said, "You're very welcome, Sir Ronan."Ronan fixed the plate on his lap and picked up his fork. Chuckling, he said, "I insist, just Ronan is fine."Angelina nodded and returned his soft smile. She said, "You'll have to forgive me, Ronan. I'm very accustomed to the formalities of this temple." She lifted the side of his gray doublet, inspected the stitching on his mend