Before the Blood Moon
It was the last body to be dumped that week. The one that broke down the final filmy barrier in the spirit of the Wolf. All these men, women and children; the men that had killed them were suddenly seen as angels. For these murdered people, they were now looking down on them, with a gleaming smile on their faces and eyes that glowed with pride. Those killed included young innocent men and women, as well as babbling old men and women. There were even children that had died.
It bewildered the village inhabitants. This was the first time in a long time such a massacre happened in their village. It seemed that the other village had got their revenge for one of their own that had been killed by these people. There was a bloody fight, and when all was done, the village came out on the losing end. Many of the residents of the village had run away, leaving many questions unanswered. They had started up a new village. Some of the ones that had left the village had returned at that moment, seeing the light.
It was a day that had united the village and its people. It was a day that did not seem to be able to end. The clouds were dark, but it still seemed as if the sun were shining down on them. The ground was wet with blood, but in the eyes of the enlightened it shone like gold and silver. It was a wonderful day. Families spoke to each other who hadn't spoken in years. Since the day that their child had died, they had been cold and distant. But this day erased all of that, with their child standing before them.
Days went by, and the bodies got thinner and thinner. The children would pick up the dead bodies and carry them away. They would go and bury these bodies, taking them to the highest point of the village and piling them on top of each other. Soon there would be a giant pile, with more bodies being put on top. This would continue until the pile was high enough. With the pile of bodies, from a distance, it almost looked like the very mountain that they lived in. The heaven for the village and its people.
Soon there was a day before the blood moon. The blood moon was a day when the people would always go out onto the plains and fight to the death. For the past few years, it was a time of happiness, of celebration. As the people got closer to the blood moon, they started to get antsy. They wanted to get their hands on a sword, or even a simple blade. They wanted to kill someone. But it was the blood moon. The carnage once more started, as the two gangs started fighting each other. There were more dead bodies than previously, and the people were out of patience.
As the sun set slowly, the ground began to get dry and hard, even more, the smoke and dust was gone. The bodies started to get smaller and smaller, as they were finally left alone. The people had started to scatter again, going home.
By this point there were two groups left. The ones that were left from the first group were all dead, killed by the second group. It was the last group that started to get busy, putting the bodies in holes. They started to bury whichever body was left, with dirt, even the blood moon. The other dead bodies, they dragged onto the plains where they started to mock their dead bodies. They would moan and groan like zombies, and a nervous laughter would come form the grave-diggers.
The first few days were tough. Many people died, as the dead bodies laughed at the grave-diggers, mocking them. The rest of the people rejoiced, for in their eyes they were the bravest of the brave. They were the strongest of the strong. The people then started to bury the last few bodies, putting them into holes with the others. After they were done, the people started to take the bodies to the mountain. It was there that they would all make their promises. They would all promise to be brave until the last breath of their last body.
The last thing that happened before the blood moon was the last story. It does not seem fair that the last story is the last, but it is. The last story was an old story that was told by an old man, an old shaman. This story had been told to this old man many times by different people. This old man did not know how much of it was true, or how much was just a fairy tale. He knew that it was based on a truth that was passed down through generations of people. The story that was told to him was deeply rooted in his heart. Reliving the events of the story in his head made him ecstatic, and it also scared him.
The story was called the legend of the man who hunted a wolf for a thousand moons. This story was a legend that spread through generations of the people. The legend started out on a day where one of the villages had all been burned down. Since everyone had been killed in this village, the people could not tell what had happened. Days went by before the people from the other village went to check what had happened. When they arrived however it looked like the place had been lived in. The place had all the makings of a village. Down below them was a small stream, and when they started to dig even deeper they found a small hut. They quickly got up into the sky and before them, the area where the village had once stood was a barren wasteland.
The people from the other village were confused. Why had all the people been killed? Why had the buildings been burned to the ground? Why had the people from the neighboring village been killed?
Let us now fast forward a few days. By now the men from the other village had started to hunt the people that were responsible for what happened. Their killings were exceptionally quick and efficient. The two main men of these two groups had begun to fight each other. Their fighting was ferocious. Their fighting, along with other fights, became a blood bath of epic proportions. Wounds were healing, bones were replaced, and some parts of the body that had been replaced were regenerated. Some body parts were gone, and were merely not there. Some parts had been removed and replaced by better parts.
As the fighting continued, the group of men with magic powers from both sides had begun to fight. Having been gifted with great strength, speed, agility, hearing, and any other number of great abilities, the magical powers from both sides were given to each one of these men. Some of these abilities were useful, and some of them were not. Once there were a few of these powers, the men began to fight hand to hand. The fighting was magnificent. The magic from both sides was great, and the fighting prowess was amazing. The first magical ability used made the people in the village above them cringe.
The first mage that had been killed accidentally used a spell that caused his corpse to float up into the air. A great fire then traveled through the village above into the village below him. It was the first fire that started a fire chain reaction. Once the fire got throughout the village, the people could not protect themselves. The fire was now burning their world away. The fire was hot, and the fire had burned all the way down to the valley floor.
When the fire was finally put out, the people gathered up the dead bodies in the valley, and buried them. This was when the first man was killed. He was the first one to die, and he died because he used his magical beings to protect himself. The first story man had been killed, further proving that the story was true. The people died, and the story man died. He had died because of magic.
The next day, the fighting between the two groups stopped. Both sides were guarding the bodies that were still peaceful from the blood moon.
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