[ WP ] The rain tastes like fear

A man can be hunted; a man can be broken; a man can become a slave; a man can be killed. But only a madman can enjoy witnessing it. 
 
 The words sat, engraved, on a darkened chunk of stone, high, high above the town of misery and pain. The town, Narrowed Ghulls, was medieval, lovecraftian; dark stone and tiled roofs of gothic antiquity. The denizens of Narrowed Ghulls groveled, with their noses pointed towards the ground of filth and dirt. They scavenged for survival, eking by an existence, but never truly living. High above Narrowed Ghulls, a tower of imperious stone and steel stood, a gallows to cast a shadow, a shade, over the town. 
 
 From the tower, strung up by chain and rope, hung the stone; the herald of the Maker ’ s words. It haunted the townsfolk; a death eye of reminder. 
 
 A knight rode into Narrowed Ghulls one day. A man of renown, a man of prestige. Followed by him was his court. A squire, and a retinue of foot soldiers. The knight, clad in steel, sat atop his mount, and stared down in disgusted curiosity at Narrowed Ghulls. The town existed on no map, and was known by no outsider. The knight had heard tale of treasure, promises of bounty, in these lands; he had not expected to find the horror of Narrowed Ghulls. 
 
 Cloth covered the clinking chainmail and steel of the knight ’ s armor. Emblazoned across the cloth was the sigil of the knight ’ s master; a tree with an arrow across the front. The knight wore his master ’ s sigil with pride. 
 
 As the knight, and his followers, descended upon the town, clouds formed overhead. Insidious, dark beings who blocked out the sun. The townsfolk scurried away from the sight of the knight. They hid behind shuttered windows and locked doors. They whimpered in fear and knowing. Their only solace was a singular thought; all things must die one day. 
 
 The knight came upon a large inn, with a stables nearby. Soon the horses were put to rest, and the hardy men of war and travel entered the inn. A single barkeep stood behind an old, wooden bar. The men, the warriors, took seats, as the knight approached the barkeep. 
 
 “ Drinks, food, rooms. My men are tired, and very thirsty. ” The knight said; his words more order than pleasantry. 
 
 The barkeep stood still behind the wooden counter. He stared at the knight, adorned in his regalia and armor. The barkeep looked down. His body was thin, weak and worn. Thin cotton scraps hung from his frame. He looked up at the knight. Slowly, he shook his head no, with sad eyes. 
 
 “ What is the meaning of this? I ’ ll pay. ” The knight commanded, slamming a fistful of gold and silver onto the bar. The coins clanked and skittered onto the scratched, worn wood. 
 
 The barkeep looked at the money, the promise of a future, for a moment. A rattling whimper escaped his lips. He frowned, and shook his head. 
 
 “ It would be best if you and your lot left … before it ’ s too late. ” The barkeep whispered, staring up at the emotionless steel helmet of the knight. 
 
 Above their heads, through the thin, thatched roof of the inn, a clap of thunder struck. The sound was sharp; a whip cracking. The barkeep winced. The heavy patter of rain fell onto the thatched roof. The downpour became all consuming, the noise deafening. 
 
 The knight turned, and stared up at the roof for a moment. He was surprised by the sudden downpour, the instant lightening. The rain was much too intense for a simple shower. 
 
 “ Quite the weather you folks have here. ” The knight said, turning back towards the barkeep. 
 
 To the knight ’ s shock, no one stood behind the bar. The barkeep was gone, vanished without a trace. A shiver ran up the knight ’ s spine. 
 
 A grunt, a shuffle, a muffled cry, escaped behind the knight. The knight spun around. In front of him, an empty inn sat. Chairs sat perfectly upright, and at their place. There was no trace of the knight ’ s men, nothing to show that his squire, his foot soldiers, had been sitting there. The knight took a step forward, hesitant and unsure. 
 
 “ What is this witchcraft. Carl?! Asmine?! ” The knight cried out, searching for his squire and his second in command. 
 
 The knight ’ s words were returned by nothing but the heavy downpour of the rain. 
 
 “ Is this some silly prank; a joke perhaps? ” The knight asked, taking several more steps into the center of the inn. All around the knight, the air was still. There was nothing, save fore the pattering of the rain. 
 
 The door to the inn crashed open. The knight strode outside, irritated. He stood, amidst the rain, and glared around him. The cobbled street was vacant, deserted. There was not a living soul in sight. The knight looked left and right. The rain fell onto the metal helm of the knight. 
 
 A sense of cold, of dread, ran across the knight ’ s mind. The feeling of being watched, of being observed, suddenly consumed the knight. There was a sensation of eyes, of a predator hunting him. The knight unsheathed his sword, and twirled around, glancing in all directions. 
 
 “ Come out. Fiend! Beast! Come out and face me. ” 
 
 The scraping of claws against stone caught the knight ’ s attention. He turned, and faced the noise. Down the street, through the dark haze of the downpour, the knight saw something move. He saw something lurch. 
 
 At first it was a shade, nothing but an outline of darkness. The knight stood his ground. He gritted his teeth. The thing continued slowly, towards him. As it neared, the knight gasped in horror. 
 
 The beast stood tall, a mass of dark limbs and sharp claws and teeth. Fur covered it in patches, and several eyes peered from its dark form. The knight took a step backwards, retreating from the twisted limbs, and sharp hooks and claws. 
 
 “ Nn-no no. ” The knight whimpered. His sword shook in the air. 
 
 A great clap of thunder and lightning cut across the sky. The beast let out a roar, and charged. Sharp hooks, fangs and claws, strong limbs, tore into the knight. The knight let out a sharp scream, that was quickly silenced. 
 
 The beast lay over the knight ’ s corpse, and in the downpour, feasted, as sharp hooks tore off the knight ’ s armor, and dug into his flesh. 
 
 High above the knight ’ s corpse, above the beast ’ s head, above the darkened roofs of Narrowed Ghull, the stone, the Maker ’ s Stone, sat. It was a reminder, a warning, to the people of Narrowed Ghull. They lived in the shadow of the Maker ’ s tower, and were spared from the Maker ’ s beasts; not as a sign of gratitude, but as a sign of pity and disgust. 
 
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 Hope you enjoyed the story! I've got tons more over at my sub, r/ThadsMind, if you want to subscribe to it.
