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Short Story S:1 P:6 - The Gathering Bones

     She tried to steady her erratic breathing as she nestled herself as far into the shadows as she could go. Her nostrils flared at the rancid smell permeating around her, the dampness of poorly carved earth dripping from the rooted ceiling and mixing with the rot beneath her, leaving a film across her tongue that taunted her stomach. Fingers scarred and calloused gripped with rhythmic beats against the handle of her sword as she pressed her back against a cool rock wall, fear trickling with the sweat across her skin at the sound that was echoing closer.
     Many creatures had crossed her blade, their chilling cries and shrieks of madness leaving lyrics behind in her mind as permanent notes to some haunting tune. But none had pierced her soul like the grinding and clicking of bones shifting against one another that was drawing ever closer. She had encountered Harpies and monstrous Trolls, she had snarled back at massive attacking Dire Wolves and dove into frigid waves to test the sharpness of her boot knife against the dense scales of a venomous water Serpent. Yet here she could not wrap her mind around the horror that was menacingly stalking about the narrow caverns she had stumbled upon.
     With eyes wide in terror she had watched as piles of bones and wasting flesh had crawled like insects over one another, shifting and stitching themselves together, creaking, groaning and moaning in ungodly harmony. The Gathering Bones shuddered and heaved in wails of agony as their final form stumbled to their feet and rose their massive frame above her. Even the ground beneath her trembled at the weight of the foul thing and she had quickly decided no shield or sword was going to keep her safe from this being.
     So here she hid, wishing like a rat cornered by flames, that she could dig her way through the rock behind her until she broke surface from this lower pit of hell and could gasp in the cool night air under a bright moonlight. The maze she had rushed through now felt even smaller and the wall of twisting bones that was shambling slowly down one corridor after another would eventually find her. Heroes were suppose to die in the throng of battle, their blade bloodied, their skin marked and their life cut in the flames of glory. They were not to fall in a broken chamber under castle ruins like a starving dog looking for shelter. A faulty choice driven by ego was going to be her undoing and she only prayed that the glinting salivating ragged mouth that she knew was grinning in the darkness would grant her a quick departure and not take its time by devouring her alive.
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