| Forums-->Creative works-->|
Back to topics list
|Author||The Dying Soul|
|All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. |
‘Throw me the hammer’. Mark’s loud shout conquered the stillness of the night as a shining needle-sharp piece of metal whooshed past his left shoulder. ‘Here you go’ Ryth cried out picking up the hammer that lay beside his right leg and hurtled it at Mark, who with a swift motion of his hand caught it at its handle. By then, the wielder of the sword had recovered following his failed attempt at cutting across Mark’s flesh and he, a man covered in the most magnificent armor Mark had ever seen, prepared himself for another attack. With no time to lose, Mark strengthened his grip on the hammer’s handle and dodging the man’s next attempt to slice him into two, he jumped a little to the left and with a tremendous force, thrust the hammer head into the man’s skull, which apparently split like a watermelon. Not a single sound rushed out of the man’s mouth as blood from his bashed head, which no longer looked like a human head anymore, sprouted out of his skull; he fell down with a thud. The world fell silent as Ryth helped Mark pile up the six deformed human corpses that laid motionless on the dark brown soil.
Very soon, Eric returned with a pile of freshly chopped wood and looking at the neatly stacked bodies of dead men, he said ‘They know we are here. We shall make a move tomorrow at dawn’. Mark nodded. Following a brief moment of silence, Ryth said ‘I’ve had a great day. I managed to catch a huge boar. A very huge one, I must say, unlike the smaller ones we usually get. It’ll make a nice feast’. Saying so, Ryth rushed towards their tent and dragged the dead animal out. Soon, the fire was lit, Mark brought out some red wine and they were all ready to pounce upon their day’s catch.
Eric’s thick brown hair fell over his dark blue eyes as his teeth tore its way through the roasted boar. He was seventeen and Ryth and Mark were eighteen when they had first stepped into the Zerich forest atop Mt. Dourak. Seven months and fifteen days later, they were still roaming within the forest with no permanent abode, fleeing away from the soldiers. They neither had a home nor a fixed destination – How long could they keep on hiding? It had to end someday, thought Eric as he chewed on his last piece of boar-meat for the night.
|closed by Vlaer (2012-12-10 13:36:51)|