Deaf
The night was dark. And while the lone man ran through the silent streets of East Bay, he cried out for help.
But no one heard him.
No one heard his pleas, shouts of mercy. He was being stabbed. Stabbed to death. The knife repeatedly made squelching noises, as he was stabbed, with horrific accuracy, in the same spot every time the already blood-soaked blade came down. He screamed.
No one heard him.
Slumping against the wall, eyes wide open in a final glimpse of his life. One final cry of anguish, a hoarse cry of despair.
And no one heard him.
His attacker moved off without a word, footsteps stepping lightly over the body. Freeing the corpses frozen wrist of its treasure. The insignificant looking brown parcel. Rustling the paper as it was pulled out of the young man’s grasp.
Yet no one heard him.
The mysterious individual jostled through the bustling crowds of the Great Capital.
At first glance, she was not different from the others, although if one kept solely on track of her particular movements, one would see.
A typical merchant, one with a careful eye would point out. But if an even more speculative eye observed the way the woman moved, one would see she moved unsteadily, swaying, making no effort to counteract her unnecessary movements. One could even suggest she was one of the Bishop-Wizards, the greats, who travelled thousands of kilometres on foot to preach at various cities. But no, there was something more. Something in her eyes, something evoking a veil of cautiousness, a barrier of hindrance, obscuring a dark secret hidden away in that suppressing mind.
And it was on this day, a day for merriment and joy, which the first dark Necromancer from the shadows descended upon the continent of LordsWM (I really need a better name…), foreshadowing havoc and destruction, leaving all behind to waste.
Metal clashed against metal as an unearthly monotone rang out across the heavens. Sweat dripped from Tomas’s brow as he struggled to find a good footing on the treacherous mountain hillside. His opponent showed no similar signs of fatigue, resorting only to nimbly dance across Tomas’s field of vision, mocking the young knight as if he were no more than a mere barbarian. Lunging forward with the last remaining ounce of his strength, Tomas watched, as if in slow motion, as his sparring rival deftly flicked his staff in front of Tomas’s field of vision.
Impact.
Disbelief clouded Tomas’s eyes as his sword was batted up high into to sky, his eyes continually flicking back and forth, alternating between the sneering elf and the quickly descending blade. With expert precision, the young elf lightly caught the handle of the weapon with his free hand and quickly jammed the sword down into the hard, compressed soil. With a sharp snap, the tip of the blade crumpled under pressure, rendering the sword useless…
To be Continued … (Still thinking of Random Ideas :P)
Yes, I know, there's no love (or butchery) in it. Ill put it in later... |
