((closed rp))
Richard Dagonet stood motionless in the open clearing, his eyes unmoving on the tree line. This was one of many that he had done, brutal murders at night. He was a trained assassin, a person that welcomed death as he would a brother. The smell of blood was on the air, his blade hilt seeming to burn in his hand from it's thirst for blood. He had watched the young page for months now, tracking his moves, his fighting styles and his tendencies. Hell, he probably knew more about the man then even his own master.
Why would he kill this man? He had always hated Knights and there ways, going out of his way to tarnish there name and kill off the ones they knew and loved. If he could use his skills as an assassin to kill off the members of the target Knight and place the blame on his hand, then surely he would do as he always did. He would have to make this spotless, placing the blame solely on another man would be hard. That is why he had spent so many months contemplating his murders.
A few hours before, Richard had set in the same spot just as the sun begin to reveal it's last bit of light. The dove had made it's way towards Trolls Bane carrying the same message he had usually used for his murders.
Dear Gorim von Bragona,
It seems that you and I have something in common, we both wish to further the good in this isle. I am tired of seeing it being overran with the undead, bandits, thieves and everything else that might destroy it. I have within my grasp, something, Gorim, that shall end it all. But I fear that I, Clyde van Bouten, am to weak to wield it. I have searched the isle for months, looking for the sort of man that could one day be able to relinquish the power of this.. relic upon the isle. The gods have spoken, Mister Bragona. You are the one.
Meet me at the south tree line near the Gnoll woods. Bring none. Watchful eyes are in the woods. The evil search for this relic everyday, there lust only met when they lie there hands upon it.
Be safe,
Clyde van Bouten
He had made sure to write with his left hand, making the writing rather scratchy and unlike his own.
"Yes, yes.. this kill will be a success. Hopefully he goes peacefully, I hate making a mess of someone's child." The man muttered with a defiant ring of laughter as he slipped into the shadows of the woods, dropping down to become one with the brush.
The first string
Moderator: Gamemasters
-
Gorim von Bragona
Dear Gorim von Bragona,
It seems that you and I have something in common, we both wish to further the good in this isle. I am tired of seeing it being overrun with the undead, bandits, thieves and everything else that might destroy it. I have within my grasp, something, Gorim, that shall end it all. But I fear that I, Clyde van Bouten, am too weak to wield it. I have searched the isle for months, looking for the sort of man that could one day be able to relinquish the power of this... relic upon the isle. The gods have spoken, Mister Bragona. You are the one.
Meet me at the south tree line near the Gnoll woods. Bring none. Watchful eyes are in the woods. The evil search for this relic everyday, there lust only met when they lie there hands upon it.
Be safe,
Clyde van Bouten
The parchment fell to the ground, as Gorim’s hand dropped it. A weakness he had not felt in weeks approached him like a shock. This letter had arrived only minutes ago, yet he had read it twice, and a third time, to make sure he did not miss a single word.
As he had never gained for anything than to become a common knight, and to help others who needed his help, he could not see why it should be him carrying this burden now. He did not even know the noble who had sent this letter, he had never heard of his family name. Still, this did not mean a lot as he knew well. His own name was not very well known to most of the nobles in Albar, yet his family was one of the most powerful groups of politicians ever gathered together.
“Why me, Shadow?” he asked his hawk dreadfully. Any other man would have been overly happy to take this relic, whatever it was, and help the gods to clear the island of all criminals and monsters. Yes, it was an honourable path he was expected to follow now. But did he want this kind of honour? Did he really want it? It was a lot more power than he ever had wanted to have. All of his brothers would have killed for a power like this. His father would have killed even his sons to get this power.
Gorim sat down on a rock and stared town at the tiny river that curled through the valley where he had gone to be alone for a while. Gorim hardly talked to others, and he knew well that most did not like him too much. He was someone who hided his emotions all of the time. No fear, no dread, no pain and no happiness.
Yes, he could see why he had no true friends. Liam was the only one of the knighthood who had given him a friendly word in months. Most of the others never met him and he did not meet them. He still was a page, after such a long time of serving the Knighthood. Not as if he cared. There was little he cared about, when it came to himself. Thoughtfully his hand palmed the hawks black wings, and his grey eyes, shining with the silver moonlight, watched the stream of water. Liam… Liam was a friend, but he was not too trustable. Gorim knew that. Liam had not told him his true name for a long time, and he still had not done if it had not been discovered by accident. He knew that Liam gave him the fault on this discovery, but he did not care. He had paid for his failure, as Liam had for his. They were even.
Suddenly his rips hurt again, and he groaned angrily, now that none could hear him. What good was a page too weak to fight properly? Too weak as it seemed to give tasks to him. Too weak or… not trustable any longer. Even the simple thought of this hurt him more than his inner wounds had in the last months. He had given a lot for this Knighthood, this brotherhood. He had thought that he made progress, that Sir Sladrir was content with him. Now he saw that all of this trust had been destroyed. It was the only possible explanation why they should no longer give him works to do.
But not the present ruled his thoughts tonight. He also thought of his past. He had to think it through and finish up with it, before he could think of the future. Somewhere on this island, he knew it well, was his brother. Alan, the lute player. Alan the storyteller. Alan the boy who never had thought badly about someone. Not even about their father. Alan the half-brother he had been ordered to go and look after, and to kill as soon as he found him. Alan the cause that he had broken with his family. Gorim shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment of remembrance. He tried to think of what Alan would tell him if he showed him this letter. Alan the dreamer…
Alan would perhaps tell him that no one should ever have this kind of power. But then he remembered another thing. A story he had once been told by his three months younger brother. A thief that saved a princess and became king of a land after he had tricked the knights of the evil king. A thief, no fighter, no honourable person. Less important than anyone else, and then he brought good to all others that had tried to hunt him down before. Everyone had the strength to change who they were, and everyone had to take the chances the gods gave him, to turn fate for all others and to secure a good future. A good tale.
Gorim rubbed his forehead while still thinking. Perhaps it was really a sign of the gods. A new task. Or even… more than that. Not a task, but a test. They wanted to examine him, if he proved that he had become a better person, the person he had sworn to become.
But what if… If his family had found out he was still alive. He had betrayed them and they would kill him for this betrayal if they ever recognized. They knew him well and they knew what he would think of a letter like this. It could also be a trap, as unlikely as anything, but still…
The young page stood up slowly, and sat down again, taking out his quill and a new parchment. He had a lot to do now. He had to take care of some things just in case. He would not take this relic anyways. He would pass the test. No human should ever be given such a power, to judge others and destroy them. Even if there were people that could be given such a task, he was none of them. Not yet.
His writing was clear as always as he finished the long letter and went back to Troll’s Bane. Bringing it to Borgate was his aim, and also leaving a note for the Knights of Gobaith if they should be looking for him. They would not be before Liam, but it was his duty to inform them he would be gone for at least a week or so. None of them he had told the truth about his departure. Liam was the only one he had told in the letter, and this only because he knew this friend would do what he begged him to do, if he got killed. The testimony in his pocket made him feel uneasy and even more uneasy after he left it at the Fluffy Sheep.
Putting on his armour, he left the town, sending his only friend a short note that if he came not back within a week, Borgate had a letter for him. His way led him to the Gnoll woods, armoured and alone. Even Shadow was elsewhere. Gorim felt lost, although he had found something to do for the first time in weeks.
It seems that you and I have something in common, we both wish to further the good in this isle. I am tired of seeing it being overrun with the undead, bandits, thieves and everything else that might destroy it. I have within my grasp, something, Gorim, that shall end it all. But I fear that I, Clyde van Bouten, am too weak to wield it. I have searched the isle for months, looking for the sort of man that could one day be able to relinquish the power of this... relic upon the isle. The gods have spoken, Mister Bragona. You are the one.
Meet me at the south tree line near the Gnoll woods. Bring none. Watchful eyes are in the woods. The evil search for this relic everyday, there lust only met when they lie there hands upon it.
Be safe,
Clyde van Bouten
The parchment fell to the ground, as Gorim’s hand dropped it. A weakness he had not felt in weeks approached him like a shock. This letter had arrived only minutes ago, yet he had read it twice, and a third time, to make sure he did not miss a single word.
As he had never gained for anything than to become a common knight, and to help others who needed his help, he could not see why it should be him carrying this burden now. He did not even know the noble who had sent this letter, he had never heard of his family name. Still, this did not mean a lot as he knew well. His own name was not very well known to most of the nobles in Albar, yet his family was one of the most powerful groups of politicians ever gathered together.
“Why me, Shadow?” he asked his hawk dreadfully. Any other man would have been overly happy to take this relic, whatever it was, and help the gods to clear the island of all criminals and monsters. Yes, it was an honourable path he was expected to follow now. But did he want this kind of honour? Did he really want it? It was a lot more power than he ever had wanted to have. All of his brothers would have killed for a power like this. His father would have killed even his sons to get this power.
Gorim sat down on a rock and stared town at the tiny river that curled through the valley where he had gone to be alone for a while. Gorim hardly talked to others, and he knew well that most did not like him too much. He was someone who hided his emotions all of the time. No fear, no dread, no pain and no happiness.
Yes, he could see why he had no true friends. Liam was the only one of the knighthood who had given him a friendly word in months. Most of the others never met him and he did not meet them. He still was a page, after such a long time of serving the Knighthood. Not as if he cared. There was little he cared about, when it came to himself. Thoughtfully his hand palmed the hawks black wings, and his grey eyes, shining with the silver moonlight, watched the stream of water. Liam… Liam was a friend, but he was not too trustable. Gorim knew that. Liam had not told him his true name for a long time, and he still had not done if it had not been discovered by accident. He knew that Liam gave him the fault on this discovery, but he did not care. He had paid for his failure, as Liam had for his. They were even.
Suddenly his rips hurt again, and he groaned angrily, now that none could hear him. What good was a page too weak to fight properly? Too weak as it seemed to give tasks to him. Too weak or… not trustable any longer. Even the simple thought of this hurt him more than his inner wounds had in the last months. He had given a lot for this Knighthood, this brotherhood. He had thought that he made progress, that Sir Sladrir was content with him. Now he saw that all of this trust had been destroyed. It was the only possible explanation why they should no longer give him works to do.
But not the present ruled his thoughts tonight. He also thought of his past. He had to think it through and finish up with it, before he could think of the future. Somewhere on this island, he knew it well, was his brother. Alan, the lute player. Alan the storyteller. Alan the boy who never had thought badly about someone. Not even about their father. Alan the half-brother he had been ordered to go and look after, and to kill as soon as he found him. Alan the cause that he had broken with his family. Gorim shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment of remembrance. He tried to think of what Alan would tell him if he showed him this letter. Alan the dreamer…
Alan would perhaps tell him that no one should ever have this kind of power. But then he remembered another thing. A story he had once been told by his three months younger brother. A thief that saved a princess and became king of a land after he had tricked the knights of the evil king. A thief, no fighter, no honourable person. Less important than anyone else, and then he brought good to all others that had tried to hunt him down before. Everyone had the strength to change who they were, and everyone had to take the chances the gods gave him, to turn fate for all others and to secure a good future. A good tale.
Gorim rubbed his forehead while still thinking. Perhaps it was really a sign of the gods. A new task. Or even… more than that. Not a task, but a test. They wanted to examine him, if he proved that he had become a better person, the person he had sworn to become.
But what if… If his family had found out he was still alive. He had betrayed them and they would kill him for this betrayal if they ever recognized. They knew him well and they knew what he would think of a letter like this. It could also be a trap, as unlikely as anything, but still…
The young page stood up slowly, and sat down again, taking out his quill and a new parchment. He had a lot to do now. He had to take care of some things just in case. He would not take this relic anyways. He would pass the test. No human should ever be given such a power, to judge others and destroy them. Even if there were people that could be given such a task, he was none of them. Not yet.
His writing was clear as always as he finished the long letter and went back to Troll’s Bane. Bringing it to Borgate was his aim, and also leaving a note for the Knights of Gobaith if they should be looking for him. They would not be before Liam, but it was his duty to inform them he would be gone for at least a week or so. None of them he had told the truth about his departure. Liam was the only one he had told in the letter, and this only because he knew this friend would do what he begged him to do, if he got killed. The testimony in his pocket made him feel uneasy and even more uneasy after he left it at the Fluffy Sheep.
Putting on his armour, he left the town, sending his only friend a short note that if he came not back within a week, Borgate had a letter for him. His way led him to the Gnoll woods, armoured and alone. Even Shadow was elsewhere. Gorim felt lost, although he had found something to do for the first time in weeks.
-
Gorim von Bragona
The man stood, awaiting him, and turned around to do so. “You are a novice.” Milamber broke to him. “I am?” Gorim asked, feeling foolishly and confused at the same time. “Yes, you are a Neophyte of religion. A novice templar.”
Gorim stood startled and tried to get to his mind what the priest just had said to him. “May I ask you a question, Milamber? What is a templar? And… why me?” The priest looked at him severely. “A templar is a knight who serves the temple. And you because you are good… honourable. Not many of those are left around.” Gorim felt like defending his brothers in arms. “There are many honourable men in the knighthood…” – “Not that I can claim. Your friend, what was his name again…? Liam?” – “Do you mean Alber?” – “Oh, yes of course… Alber. Good man, this Alber.” Gorim had hardly talked to this fellow page that he had shared a task with once. “He is more your friend than mine, I suppose. But still, he is my brother in arms.”
They walked on, and Gorim began to wonder why the old man did not talk any more, as he suddenly declared: “Yes, yes, we have much work to do.” – “What work?” The priest rubbed his hands in the cold while answering. “To fight evil.” – “Evil lies sometimes in the eye of the beholder…” Gorim dared to answer. “I know, this is why I have to go myself.”
And then the priest fell, Gorim could recall it almost too easily. He had to help him while finishing off the demon who obsessed Milamber. Still he knew exactly what a feeling it had been. He had saved Milamber’s life before, and now he had also saved his soul. But instead of taking the thanks he had been offered, Gorim knew that it had only been his duty. Milamber had helped the knighthood before. Now they were even.
Another remembrance did come to his mind while walking along the forest line.
“Some memories leave scars on our souls, and some leave us unharmed. Some memories leave us things we do not understand…” He murmured, his steps becoming slower. The three blackstones in his chest were such things. What should he do with them? Logrin Parr had given him these, to have something to protect. They made him feel different when he carried them, and possessing them gave him a strange feeling he did not like, even if they had perhaps healing powers. This was why he did not carry them around but held them hidden. No one was to know they were his. If he died tonight, they would know… and he had made sure at least one understood what he knew then.
He stood, and sat down to rest for a few brief moments. Just to close his eyes shortly and then look around onto the Three Finger Bay, shining silver in the moon light. Beautifully. He remembered every word in his letter to Liam, and he hoped this letter would never be opened. He hoped he could just gain it back, after he had talked to this other Albarian, and then burn it. Forget about it.
Shadow came nearer, flying over the Bay towards his master. His black feathers contrasted with the silver water, and as the wings touched the surface, small waves curled the shiny mirror.
Gorim offered him his knee to land on, and rethought his testimony. Even the existence of it made him feel more anxious and nervous than he had ever felt before. He was usually a man fighting for nothing, nothing to lose, nothing to fear.
Had it been the right decision? He was not sure. Liam had the thick envelope as well as the letter that had been around it:
Gorim stood startled and tried to get to his mind what the priest just had said to him. “May I ask you a question, Milamber? What is a templar? And… why me?” The priest looked at him severely. “A templar is a knight who serves the temple. And you because you are good… honourable. Not many of those are left around.” Gorim felt like defending his brothers in arms. “There are many honourable men in the knighthood…” – “Not that I can claim. Your friend, what was his name again…? Liam?” – “Do you mean Alber?” – “Oh, yes of course… Alber. Good man, this Alber.” Gorim had hardly talked to this fellow page that he had shared a task with once. “He is more your friend than mine, I suppose. But still, he is my brother in arms.”
They walked on, and Gorim began to wonder why the old man did not talk any more, as he suddenly declared: “Yes, yes, we have much work to do.” – “What work?” The priest rubbed his hands in the cold while answering. “To fight evil.” – “Evil lies sometimes in the eye of the beholder…” Gorim dared to answer. “I know, this is why I have to go myself.”
And then the priest fell, Gorim could recall it almost too easily. He had to help him while finishing off the demon who obsessed Milamber. Still he knew exactly what a feeling it had been. He had saved Milamber’s life before, and now he had also saved his soul. But instead of taking the thanks he had been offered, Gorim knew that it had only been his duty. Milamber had helped the knighthood before. Now they were even.
Another remembrance did come to his mind while walking along the forest line.
“Some memories leave scars on our souls, and some leave us unharmed. Some memories leave us things we do not understand…” He murmured, his steps becoming slower. The three blackstones in his chest were such things. What should he do with them? Logrin Parr had given him these, to have something to protect. They made him feel different when he carried them, and possessing them gave him a strange feeling he did not like, even if they had perhaps healing powers. This was why he did not carry them around but held them hidden. No one was to know they were his. If he died tonight, they would know… and he had made sure at least one understood what he knew then.
He stood, and sat down to rest for a few brief moments. Just to close his eyes shortly and then look around onto the Three Finger Bay, shining silver in the moon light. Beautifully. He remembered every word in his letter to Liam, and he hoped this letter would never be opened. He hoped he could just gain it back, after he had talked to this other Albarian, and then burn it. Forget about it.
Shadow came nearer, flying over the Bay towards his master. His black feathers contrasted with the silver water, and as the wings touched the surface, small waves curled the shiny mirror.
Gorim offered him his knee to land on, and rethought his testimony. Even the existence of it made him feel more anxious and nervous than he had ever felt before. He was usually a man fighting for nothing, nothing to lose, nothing to fear.
Had it been the right decision? He was not sure. Liam had the thick envelope as well as the letter that had been around it:
Gorim sighed. This was all he had been able to do. He had to move on now, if he did not want to be too late. The gnoll woods were only half an hour away now.“My dear friend and brother in arms,
I know you are busy with your own problems, yet I have to make sure some things just in case…
I received a letter that called me away from Bane, to the wilderness. I never heard of the sender, so I guess it also could be a trap. Who might do something like this? I can’t tell you here, though of course I have suspicions to a man who would not mind killing me. If I should not come back within a week, I beg you to make sure I am dead, and then you may open this envelope. It comprehends my last will. I am confident that you won’t open it as long as there is a chance left of me being alive.
Be thanked,
Gorim von Bragona,
Hopefully seeing you soon”
-
Gorim von Bragona
His feet carried him there, faster than he had thought they would. Remembering the way far longer, he looked at the Gnoll Woods, which appeared out of nothing like a wall of black shadows. He had been here once, on his way to the Northmark. It was an odd feeling to come here again, intending to meet a total stranger.
Silently he came nearer, his hand on his sword, and kept an eye open for the Gnolls. Meeting one of these creatures was the last thing he was up to at the moment. His hand touched his chest, where he had put the letter, taking it out and reading it again, one last time. Clyde van Bouten… he had to be here somewhere.
Gorim stepped forward, reaching the tree line and paused for a moment, looking up at the paling dark blue sky, the first signs of the soon-to-come new morning at the eastern horizon caught his attention shortly. But where was the man who wanted to meet him here? Gorim shrugged, as he saw none, and walked slowly along the tree line, surrounding the forest step by step, always alert for a sudden Gnoll aggression.
Nothing. After he encompassed the point he had been before, having walked around the whole little forest, he turned away and walked towards Bane. Waiting was meaningless in his point of view. The man had not been where he had promised to be. To his own surprise, Gorim was not even disappointed; he was only confused about this seemingly bad joke. Why lead him out of Bane, this far, and then let him down? What for?
It could not be any of his family, he now knew it. Perhaps one of the other pages had meant to be overly funny. Shaking his head, and deeply in thought, Gorim took a wrong path and came to the Northern Woods. After a short pause he decided that the shortcut through the forest would be better than the long way round. In the next moment he was already on his way, not feeling how malicious eyes watched over him. His lack of knowledge on the secrets of the forests would fatally seal his fate. The goblin scout was away, long before he even noticed its footsteps. Shadow flew over his head, for a long time, as he came nearer and nearer to the heart of the wood. But the hawks warning cries should come too late.
The arrow seemed to come out of nowhere. Gorim was walking, and in the next second he lay on the ground, his gritted teeth suppressing a painful groan, the spearhead sticking in his hip. Standing up shaking, he found himself face-to-face with a bunch of goblins. Ignoring the pain every single movement caused him like fire rushing through his right leg, he drew two swords, skipping his shield and watching out for the first attack.
Their strength lay not in their weaponry, and not in their armour. It was the numeral superiority that made them invincible. Gorim could have killed each of them without difficulty, and even ten of them would not have been a problem. But over twenty goblins were more than his weak, still recovering body could stand, especially if three of them kept shooting at him.
After a time that felt like ages to him, but could not have been too long as the first sunbeams met the forest ground, his view had reddened, and the fire in his now many wounds had turned to ice. He fell of, almost unconscious, unable to move, listening to the gibberish the goblins started to talk in their hissing tongue. As they left him bleeding, he was not able to believe it. Had they thought he was dead? Or was it just a punishment to him? A new cruelty? Leaving your victim alive, long enough to make sure it senses every single pain before the venom in its veins finish their paralyzing job and kill it?
Shadow landed on his shoulder, this he felt, as he crept over to a tree and sat up, leaning against it, blood spilling on the moss. Red on green, black feathers on bloody metal. Leaning his head back, his sight blurt slowly. Black feathers on his knee, and two worried cold bird eyes in his own…
Shadow. Best friend he had ever had. Only friend left. Shadow…
((You have two more days to write something, whatever you want to write, PO Richard. Then I will have Gorim die anyways. Thanks for your tryings, but this takes way too long and I can't stand it any longer.))
Silently he came nearer, his hand on his sword, and kept an eye open for the Gnolls. Meeting one of these creatures was the last thing he was up to at the moment. His hand touched his chest, where he had put the letter, taking it out and reading it again, one last time. Clyde van Bouten… he had to be here somewhere.
Gorim stepped forward, reaching the tree line and paused for a moment, looking up at the paling dark blue sky, the first signs of the soon-to-come new morning at the eastern horizon caught his attention shortly. But where was the man who wanted to meet him here? Gorim shrugged, as he saw none, and walked slowly along the tree line, surrounding the forest step by step, always alert for a sudden Gnoll aggression.
Nothing. After he encompassed the point he had been before, having walked around the whole little forest, he turned away and walked towards Bane. Waiting was meaningless in his point of view. The man had not been where he had promised to be. To his own surprise, Gorim was not even disappointed; he was only confused about this seemingly bad joke. Why lead him out of Bane, this far, and then let him down? What for?
It could not be any of his family, he now knew it. Perhaps one of the other pages had meant to be overly funny. Shaking his head, and deeply in thought, Gorim took a wrong path and came to the Northern Woods. After a short pause he decided that the shortcut through the forest would be better than the long way round. In the next moment he was already on his way, not feeling how malicious eyes watched over him. His lack of knowledge on the secrets of the forests would fatally seal his fate. The goblin scout was away, long before he even noticed its footsteps. Shadow flew over his head, for a long time, as he came nearer and nearer to the heart of the wood. But the hawks warning cries should come too late.
The arrow seemed to come out of nowhere. Gorim was walking, and in the next second he lay on the ground, his gritted teeth suppressing a painful groan, the spearhead sticking in his hip. Standing up shaking, he found himself face-to-face with a bunch of goblins. Ignoring the pain every single movement caused him like fire rushing through his right leg, he drew two swords, skipping his shield and watching out for the first attack.
Their strength lay not in their weaponry, and not in their armour. It was the numeral superiority that made them invincible. Gorim could have killed each of them without difficulty, and even ten of them would not have been a problem. But over twenty goblins were more than his weak, still recovering body could stand, especially if three of them kept shooting at him.
After a time that felt like ages to him, but could not have been too long as the first sunbeams met the forest ground, his view had reddened, and the fire in his now many wounds had turned to ice. He fell of, almost unconscious, unable to move, listening to the gibberish the goblins started to talk in their hissing tongue. As they left him bleeding, he was not able to believe it. Had they thought he was dead? Or was it just a punishment to him? A new cruelty? Leaving your victim alive, long enough to make sure it senses every single pain before the venom in its veins finish their paralyzing job and kill it?
Shadow landed on his shoulder, this he felt, as he crept over to a tree and sat up, leaning against it, blood spilling on the moss. Red on green, black feathers on bloody metal. Leaning his head back, his sight blurt slowly. Black feathers on his knee, and two worried cold bird eyes in his own…
Shadow. Best friend he had ever had. Only friend left. Shadow…
((You have two more days to write something, whatever you want to write, PO Richard. Then I will have Gorim die anyways. Thanks for your tryings, but this takes way too long and I can't stand it any longer.))
A large ugly halfing the size of an a small fat man, crept behind a nearby tree, laughing to himself as he smashed his face against it.
Looking over to the dying man seemed to give the halfling much delight in his own sickly unhuman way, rubbing the cow dung from his tattered and worn clothing onto his seemingly emotionless face.
"UuuuurR" The halfling yelled, as he then suddenly ran from the scene, with little much importace at all.
Looking over to the dying man seemed to give the halfling much delight in his own sickly unhuman way, rubbing the cow dung from his tattered and worn clothing onto his seemingly emotionless face.
"UuuuurR" The halfling yelled, as he then suddenly ran from the scene, with little much importace at all.
-
Gorim von Bragona
Somehow dying was less grave than he had always thought. He had thought of great pain, but all he felt were his legs and later on his arms becoming numb. As he tried to lift up a hand, to palm one last time over Shadows black wings, it did not move.
And so he sat there, not even turning his head as the Halfling showed up, destroying the peace of the forest, and disappeared again. Gorim did not know if he had been able to turn his head to watch the smaller creature vanish. He did not try it out. He did not want to know.
Hours went past, the light in the forest turning more intense, to a beautiful gold, which played on the feathers of his strangely non-moving hawk. Gorim was able to smile, for the first time on this island a real, heartedly smile, it lighted up his face and gave his eyes the warm glance that was usually to be found in his brother’s, friendly and without worries.
Still he was breathing, and thinking deeply about the journey of his life. A long path that had him brought to this moment, sitting at a tree, in a forest, bleeding to death slowly, slowly, while venom crept through his veins slowly, slowly. Time had become unimportant. No one would find him here. It was over.
The thought of it made him smile even warmer. He had tried, and failed, but he did not care. It seemed that the Gods had tested him in fact, and he had failed to become the knight he had always tried to become. But he did no longer care. It was over. A last thought went to his half-brother somewhere on this island, hopefully happy. And to his poor sister, she was as gentle as a dove. Caught as a dove in a cage she was, caught in an arranged marriage with a man he had always hated. She was certainly not happy at this very moment, but he hoped best for her. To get a daughter she loved, and find happiness in bringing up her child. He prayed to Zhambra for the both of them and for his other family members as well, his hate turning in mild disagreement.
He also gave a thought to Liam, and to Liam’s sister Fianna who had saved his life once. How unnecessary, as he died now anyway. But she had done a wonderful job still. She had given him enough weeks to recover and find a friend at last. He was thankful for that.
As the shadows grew larger, his breathe became harder, and he suddenly tasted blood on his lips. But he licked it away and shortly after that tongue and nose became numb as well. He could see, see into Shadows eyes, who stared right back at him. Gorim wanted to say something to the hawk, tell him to fly away and forget him. But his mouth did not obey his thoughts. No sound came over his unmoving lips. Still no pain.
And so he stared back, not even wasting strength on trying to twinkle, his eyes becoming dry.
He had to suck in the air now, and press it out with all strength he had left. Every gasp was a fight against his weary lungs. Little insects started to crawl over his legs, but why should he care? His legs were already dead.
As he drew his last breath, his eyes broke remaining open. Shadow rustled his wings, and cried silently to awake his master, and as nothing happened, he put his head under his wing, and grieved for the young page.
And so he sat there, not even turning his head as the Halfling showed up, destroying the peace of the forest, and disappeared again. Gorim did not know if he had been able to turn his head to watch the smaller creature vanish. He did not try it out. He did not want to know.
Hours went past, the light in the forest turning more intense, to a beautiful gold, which played on the feathers of his strangely non-moving hawk. Gorim was able to smile, for the first time on this island a real, heartedly smile, it lighted up his face and gave his eyes the warm glance that was usually to be found in his brother’s, friendly and without worries.
Still he was breathing, and thinking deeply about the journey of his life. A long path that had him brought to this moment, sitting at a tree, in a forest, bleeding to death slowly, slowly, while venom crept through his veins slowly, slowly. Time had become unimportant. No one would find him here. It was over.
The thought of it made him smile even warmer. He had tried, and failed, but he did not care. It seemed that the Gods had tested him in fact, and he had failed to become the knight he had always tried to become. But he did no longer care. It was over. A last thought went to his half-brother somewhere on this island, hopefully happy. And to his poor sister, she was as gentle as a dove. Caught as a dove in a cage she was, caught in an arranged marriage with a man he had always hated. She was certainly not happy at this very moment, but he hoped best for her. To get a daughter she loved, and find happiness in bringing up her child. He prayed to Zhambra for the both of them and for his other family members as well, his hate turning in mild disagreement.
He also gave a thought to Liam, and to Liam’s sister Fianna who had saved his life once. How unnecessary, as he died now anyway. But she had done a wonderful job still. She had given him enough weeks to recover and find a friend at last. He was thankful for that.
As the shadows grew larger, his breathe became harder, and he suddenly tasted blood on his lips. But he licked it away and shortly after that tongue and nose became numb as well. He could see, see into Shadows eyes, who stared right back at him. Gorim wanted to say something to the hawk, tell him to fly away and forget him. But his mouth did not obey his thoughts. No sound came over his unmoving lips. Still no pain.
And so he stared back, not even wasting strength on trying to twinkle, his eyes becoming dry.
He had to suck in the air now, and press it out with all strength he had left. Every gasp was a fight against his weary lungs. Little insects started to crawl over his legs, but why should he care? His legs were already dead.
As he drew his last breath, his eyes broke remaining open. Shadow rustled his wings, and cried silently to awake his master, and as nothing happened, he put his head under his wing, and grieved for the young page.