Hey, my first time having a go at writing a bit of fan fiction so I hope it’s ok. It was fun to have a go at something thing like this! 😊
Whispers of the Nightingale
“I see. As soon as any little thing goes missing, I suppose it has to be me,” Alto calmly exclaimed, swinging upside down from a rope tied to a branch, his large leather boots bound together. Always one for a touch of flair, Alto’s flamboyant feather-strewn trilby laid sodden in a nearby puddle.
“Well, you’re a thief ain’t ya?” Priscilla argued, her voice rasped and worn by a series of sleepless nights. Since her charmed amulet disappeared a week ago, she’d been plagued by whispers in the night.
To Priscilla, it was a fair accusation. Before The Pale closed the realm network, Alto had forged a name for himself as a notorious thief. He’d become well known for his efficient heists and debonaire attitude.
While Alto gently hung from an old crooked tree, swinging in the gentle midnight breeze, he proclaimed his innocence.
“What use would one possibly have for a novelty trinket? Where would I even find a buyer for such an item?”
As dismissive as Alto’s words were, Priscilla knew he had a point. It had no monetary value (at least, not in their current circumstances). The amulet was passed on to her by her mother. Frequented by nightmares as a child, Priscilla was gifted the enchantment to protect her from the voices of the night.
But despite this, Priscilla never felt totally at ease. The fear fuelled her will to fight, a desire to be able to protect herself from whatever unlikely foe came her way. Plenty saw Priscilla, her nimble frame and flowing dark hair, and assumed her to be an easy target.
They assumed incorrectly. Priscilla spent her life practicing hand-to-hand combat, and she never backed down from a fight.
“This is doing us no good. Time is of the essence,” a voice bellowed. Gazoor, a tall, giant of a man emerged from the shadows, his wispy white beard glinted in the moonlight. He was the last member of this disheveled band of outlawed realmwalkers.
The trio’s uneasy alliance had been forged by a mutual desire to find a way back to Nightingale City. Gazoor’s calm and calculated demeanour often proved to tame Priscilla and Alto’s large personalities, particularly when they clashed.
Gazoor was not to be underestimated though. His diplomacy and intelligence meant he was particularly skilled in manipulation. And Gazoor’s stature deterred many from challenging him.
“Release Alto, he’s no use for your amulet,” Gazoor commanded.
Priscilla agreed, albeit very reluctantly.
The following morning, Alto awoke to find an empty camp. He stood, stretched, grabbed his trademark hat, and headed to the top of a nearby rocky verge.
Gazoor and Priscilla were sat there. They found a strange reassuring solace in watching the morning sunrise. Alto announced himself.
“I say we head south. Prettier terrain that way.”
“North it is.” Priscilla responded, with a wry smile.
But to Priscilla, her dislike of Alto ran deeper than simple childlike disagreements.
Early that night, she’d been abruptly awoken by a ghostly wind. The shock caused her heart to pound furiously.
This nighttime interruption had become a familiar experience to Priscilla, though no less terrifying. An otherworldly presence had plagued her the past several nights, but this time something was different. It felt heavier somehow.
The air turned thick around Priscilla. She began to hear indistinguishable murmurs and whispers. They eventually faded leaving a single withered voice.
“Beware the thief.”
Priscilla wanted to believe she didn’t know the ethereal voice. She didn’t want it to be true.
Deep down though, she knew it to be the voice of The Pale…
(To be continued!)
