Beneath the cloudless sky flew a flock of crows, carried on the warm wind of the season. The crows flew past hills, occasionally diving from their group to catch a fly or two along their path. The crows passed a grass-covered knoll glimmering with frost-rimmed footsteps, where even now the ice covering the blades of grass refused to obey the sun staring it down.
Onward they flew past several hills thus, until they alighted upon their destination: a blood-soaked valley marked by a river swirling with an ever-increasing flow of crimson. The crows called out in triumph, having reached an area for great feasting. They joined many others that, like them, had heard of the rich opportunity from others of their kin. Every so often, the crows would abate their ravenous, flesh-consuming feast to let pass an unnaturally pale man.
Perhaps it was his red eyes, or the way that he walked that spoke of barely-restrained violence. For whatever reason, the person he carried upon his back was invisible to the horde of carrion-feeding birds. It probably had something to do with the fact that this particular person only wished he were dead. The red-eyed man carried his charge silently to a bend in the river, where a figure clad in spike-studded purple-and-blue armor rested on one knee towards the river. The armor-clad figure's right leg was submerged in the crimson wash of blood near the riverbanks.
As the pale man approached, the one in armor stood, pulling out a sword glowing purple and blue glyphs along the blade. I have brought him, mistress, as you commanded. The armored mistress merely pointed to the flooded ground and watched as the man fell, then placed a greave-clad foot onto the hapless man's chest.
Good. Leave me for now, Artamoz. Turn or kill anyone else that lives, as it pleases you, but do not leave any living.
(more to come)
Onward they flew past several hills thus, until they alighted upon their destination: a blood-soaked valley marked by a river swirling with an ever-increasing flow of crimson. The crows called out in triumph, having reached an area for great feasting. They joined many others that, like them, had heard of the rich opportunity from others of their kin. Every so often, the crows would abate their ravenous, flesh-consuming feast to let pass an unnaturally pale man.
Perhaps it was his red eyes, or the way that he walked that spoke of barely-restrained violence. For whatever reason, the person he carried upon his back was invisible to the horde of carrion-feeding birds. It probably had something to do with the fact that this particular person only wished he were dead. The red-eyed man carried his charge silently to a bend in the river, where a figure clad in spike-studded purple-and-blue armor rested on one knee towards the river. The armor-clad figure's right leg was submerged in the crimson wash of blood near the riverbanks.
As the pale man approached, the one in armor stood, pulling out a sword glowing purple and blue glyphs along the blade. I have brought him, mistress, as you commanded. The armored mistress merely pointed to the flooded ground and watched as the man fell, then placed a greave-clad foot onto the hapless man's chest.
Good. Leave me for now, Artamoz. Turn or kill anyone else that lives, as it pleases you, but do not leave any living.
* * *
(more to come)