"I banish you, child of the Forlorn! Rot in the abysmal hell you deserve!"
The Gaen waved his long fingers in the air, as if he was preforming some exorcism. Another of his tall brothers lie silent in the mud. His face covered with a mask of dirt and blood.
This soul, who took every insult and label with the same indifferent stare, went by the name Vulf. Vulf was not an extraordinary looking Gaen, even less extraordinary with the multitude of bruises and spit that had been cast on him. He kept the little hair that did grow only on the left side of his head in a neat wave, but the others around him had ripped the demonic black strands out by the root. His eyes, a simple dark red, were swollen to the point that he could barely see. The simple cloak had been shredded and tossed over him like ribbons.
He was still awake. He had been for every excruciating, humiliating punishment that these people, most of which his own species, had given. Vulf hadn't said anything, or moved on his own the whole time. He hadn't screamed, he didn't plead, and he most of all wouldn't fight back.
"Do not feel for this abomination!" Hollered one holy man,"he want's you to pity him! He does this by not offering resistance! Show him my brethren, show him that his trickery shall not stray us from righteousness!"
Another Gaen ran out from the mob and kicked Vulf as hard as he could. He stomped again and again on the motionless body, desiring the satisfaction of a scream. Vulf's mouth remained shut.
Some were backing away now, terrified of what was happening. Even he who mercilessly beat Vulf soon was retreating. The circle widened, and awaited what would happen next.
"My friends! There is no need to fear the body! We have executed this evi-" the preacher found his mouth open wide, and his eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.
Vulf's body squelched in the mud. Wet rags slid away, leaving his naked body exposed to the cold. There were few places not bloodied or cut on his back. And then he rose, with a ghostly appearance in the darkness.
"Damned freak!" Screamed the holy man, as he tore a torch from a woman's hands.
Vulf turned his head and watched the glowing embers as they approached in the limping priest's hand.
"I....am not....your play toy."
In impossible speed, Vulf was up. His hand clutching the burning tip of the flaming club. There was a pathetic puff of steam as the fire was extinguished, and the hiss of his skin burning away.
The village folk gasped as he leaned forward, nearly touching the preachers sweating forehead. He stared into the tearful eyes of the man who once he would have begged for forgivness.
His voice more like a beast than a Gaen. The priest's eye rolled into his head and he shrunk to the ground. Vulf didn't stop until the holy man shriveled completely, face down in the mud. His whole body trembling in absolute fear.
Around him, the ground began to rumble. Vulf's hands outstretched to the heavens as he hollered into the clouds. Stones began to stand upright like spires, guided and balanced by an unseen force. Dirt clumps rose, and hovered in the air.
Anyone even remotely near Vulf had fled to a safe distance to watch the witchcraft unfold. The priest still lie prone on the ground, whimpering for something to save him. Suddenly, everything that had been raised by the unbeknown powers began to circle the place where Vulf stood. Each revolution, they would move in a bit closer, forming a small sphere of debris around the two Gaens.
But as quickly as it began, it ended. The rocks crashed back onto the ground, forming a bizarre pattern outward.
"Get away from me." Vulf hissed through his heavy breathing.
With that, he grabbed the stirring torch from the ground. As he waved it downward, it reignited brightly. Without another look, he slowly trudged back, away from the village, and into the wilderness. All the while, a dancing shadow followed his wake, much like the forlorn he communed with.