Post by Rowenna on Aug 3, 2007 0:34:07 GMT -5
Genesis
Deep inside the halls of a grand house walked a sullied woman, aged in the face and worn by time’s cruel deeds. Caressed by a torn, gray tunic, threads raggedy and ripped from far too much use, the woman in her early forties walked sullenly around carrying a broom in her rough hands, sweeping the dust and grime off the marble floors. ‘Make sure it shine so I can see my face in it, Amelai, m’dear…’ The brutal voice of her mistress rang over and over in her head. It was nearly impossible to get out after the years of having to put up with it. For Amelai, though, she had no choice but to work for this brute of a lady. Washing, cleaning, scrubbing and making her house sparkle from top to bottom. Lady Carlotta Caethes ran her household with clock-like efficiency and did not tolerate and misbehavior or worthlessness from her hired help. She desired them at top work ethic and a clean house at the end of everyday. And what Lady Caethes wants, Lady Caethes gets. Amelai and the few other servants worked tirelessly for thirteen hours daily. It was all worth it though for Amelai. Outside the Caethes household at this moment was one of her three prides and joy. He was watching is younger sister while his mother and father were at work. Amelai thought of her son and daughter all day long, wondering if they would be well outside by themselves. Byron, her son, had shown much responsibility for such a young age. With both his parents needing to keep steady jobs, his mother a servant and father, Caddawyc a respectable blacksmith, Byron had the weight of his sister’s and his life thrusts upon him, yet he held it well.
* * *
"Get back here Aviv!”
A young boy, aged to nearly eight years by now, ran furiously after his younger sister, chasing her down the streets of Gondor. All day Aviv had been wanted to go to the nearby bakery, but Byron would not let her. There was no point in going to drool over food they could not afford to purchase. She finally got her chance to ditch him when Ubel, one of Byron’s friends caught up with him to chat for a while. Next Byron knew, Aviv was tearing down the streets towards the bakery. Byron tore after her, knocking over various crates and boxes and finding harsh words following down the street from vendors. She is going to get it this time… He thought to himself.
Aviv finally arrived at the front of the bakery and eyed all the treats that she would never have. Byron supposed that just looking and lusting at the treats filled her constantly empty stomach. A sigh of relief swept over Byron as he caught up to her. She was looking at one of the most delicious loaves of bread Byron had ever laid his eyes upon. Freshly backed and steaming still.
“C’mon Aviv. Let us go back to mother.” Byron said. Aviv turned to him, a tear sliding down her pink cheeks.
“Brother…I am so hungry…please.”
Moments later the two hurriedly made their way back to the Caethes Manor, underneath Byron’s left arm a new treat steamed and a smile glinted off his face. The ecstasy he felt when he ripped the loaf from it’s resting place filled a place in Byron’s soul that seemed to complete him. The rush of the experience was livid in him.
Three Years Later
Several years later, Byron’s family was still living in the same squalid conditions they have for the past eleven years. It was an absolute disgrace. His mother worked tirelessly for the wench Lady Caethes still and his father had made no progress in sustaining any money. Just because he family could not do well in life didn’t mean Byron couldn’t. His small, but prized collection of stolen items was continually growing by the week. His skills were also finally getting better and Byron’s name was getting known around the streets. He lived off the feeling of getting something for nothing. It was complete rapture for him.
His family was still in harsh conditions though. Living day-to-day with hardly any time off, very little to eat for meals and meager wages, even though Byron knew the work they were doing was worth more. It was up to Byron to do something about his families conditions because his mother, father and young sister, Aviv, seemed fine in the world. They enjoyed living at the bottom of the food chain, digging and working hard for every scrap they get. Byron, and his family deserved more than that. They deserved the best this world could offer.
And Byron was going to get it for them.
* * *
Over the years they had gotten to know the guards of the city rather well, and they often told the children tales of their adventures and fights. It simply fascinated them to no end. Today the two children were sitting captivated by one of the Captain who was telling them of one of his many adventures. Now, Byron and Aviv did not know if the tales were truth, but it did not matter to them. This story, as equally captivating as the many others portrayed the Captain in a heroic light and his deathly clash with an orc who wandered a little too close to the city. The Captain barely escaped with his life, which nearly brought tears to Aviv’s eyes, as she sat upon his knee.
“Captain Cael!” a fellow guardsman saluted, interrupted the storytelling. “I have come to report the findings of the day.”
“Yes, go ahead.” Cael ordered.
“To our best knowledge, the outskirts of the city are safe and unbreakable. But I must urge you once more to look into the band of assassins near the forest. A scout reports that their numbers are beginning to grow and some seem to be slipping inside our walls as common travelers. They then leave with stolen merchandise. These thieves must be stopped.” The guard ended his reports with a salute and waited for dismissal.
“Thank you, Wick. You may leave.” The Captain said. He then turned to the children in front of him, “I will have to finish my tales later children. It is my duty to make this city safe for sprouts like you, and these thieves must be taken care of. Be off now and go home.”
Byron and Aviv returned to the Caethes Manor, to wait for their mother. All the while, Byron thought to himself about the band of assassins. Could he possibly pull it off? Would he get caught? How much could he get?
All of the would have to wait as Amelai pushed open the front doors of the Manor, ashen faced and streaks of tears running down her face. “Mama! You are early!” Aviv exclaimed as she hugged her mother around the knees. “What? Oh yes…dear. Mistress Caethes had decided to…give me some time off. She said to take as long as I like…. Let us go home now. I bet you two are weary from your long day.” The way home, silent tears dotted the path they took.
* * *
In the darkness that same night, Byron’s small body was easily hidden by the shadows of the forest. He seemed almost as invisible as he felt. When Wick told of the assassins’ gathering numbers and riches, he was not lying. The band of thieves did not seem too organized, but they were many and dotted throughout the camp was tents and small campfires sending wisps of smoke into the air. Seemingly everywhere, Byron could spot various items of value or pieces of gold lying about. The glint of greed shone in his eyes. His lust for the valuables raged through him, filling him with adrenaline and a desire beyond compare.
Byron snuck carefully around the camp, picking up various items that caught his voracious gaze and stuffing them into his pockets. Soon enough he was weighed down quite a bit and was finding it somewhat hard to walk about noiselessly. I can always come back later, maybe even tonight.
He made his way through the outskirts of the camp, quietly skirting around the tents, fires and assassins. Several times his clinked or clanged with the coins in his pockets, but luckily he believed the assassins did not hear him. Byron was nearly free and on his way home when a gruff voice began to chuckle nearby. Too nearby…
__________________
The beauty of religious mania is that it has the power to explain everything. Once God (or Satan) is accepted as the first cause of everything which happens in the mortal world, nothing is left to chance... logic can be happily tossed out the window.
- Stephen King -
Last edited by Hxlgg : 12-21-2005 at 11:23 PM.
#2
12-21-2005, 11:32 PM
Rowenna
Red Death
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Box 5
The early evening was crawling over the vast and conspicuous campsite, the various firesides dancing in the oncoming dark. The twilight glow flushing in the sky, back on earth, the blaze and shadow flickered across the many faces, roaring drunkards, intent storytellers, and plotting thieves. The vibrant scarlet also brought to light objects of the inanimate sort. The mounds of spoils from previous ventures by the traveling band, gold and trinkets glittering by fire. Anyone would have been drawn by the alluring wealth that stood so near and scattered, anyone would have longed to posses what items of value and attraction... but those already with dominion would not let go so easily.
Tomah Goshawk was a man of uneffable intelligence. He plotted, he planned, he always seemed to have the situation in the palm of his hand whether such was true or not. He had an ally everywhere, in every village and every city he had ever been, and knew exactly where to run if the circumstance required it. He had striven through troubles vast and small for his comfort. So some small child was no trouble at all.
“Well, now, what have we here?” his hand reached across and picked up what appeared to be a child no more than eleven by the back of his clothing. The boy was much heavier than he appeared... a glint of fire flashed across a pair of brown specs, eyes of the Assassin, a gaze so strange that appeared to be more of a muddied yellow than an earthy bronze. Others came at the sound of Goshawk’s voice, soon some small semicircle encompassing a man and the child suspended in his fist. The man, in an instant, flipped the boy upside down, gripping an ankle as various objects of value fell to the ground in an array of clanks and crashes. Some men scowled. Some men smirked with a malicious essence of the eye, and some men roared with laughter and drunkenness at the sight.
“The boy thinks he’s an Assassin!” one man laughed, gloved hand gripping a bottle of a substance one could easily guess. Despite better judgment, some chuckled along with that sentiment. Goshawk merely grinned.
“Well, he’s going to need a lesson on that grounds, isn’t he?” Goshawk released the boy from his grip, the child falling to the ground on his head. Like some kind of infection, small laughs radiated through the mass of men, the presence of the boy the only entertainment they’ve had in days. And what exactly ‘entertainment’ meant would be clear soon enough as Tomah withdrew a hammer from his belt, wasting little moment in striking the offender across the head.
It was not long before his compatriots decided to join.
__________________
She is singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!
Avatar (c) Margot Jenner
Supporting the MEO Role-playing community through H.A.R.P.
WWMD?
#3
12-22-2005, 08:41 AM
Hxlgg
Teh Duck Wrangler
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Middle O' The Continent
Pain radiated through the small boy’s frail body. The pain he felt now was worse than the stabs of hunger reeling through him on a daily basis, but the young boy kept his ache inside, silencing the cry he so wanted to let out. He would not give these men the upper hand. Give them the superiority they so desired. Byron was not sure for how much longer he could take this kind of torture. These grown men, these brutes, were mercilessly beating this fragile boy to a pulp without end in sight. Byron needed to get out. He knew that these monsters were far out of his league to deal with alone. Throughout the midst of fear, anxiety and dread, Byron let out a piercing scream of hurt. Momentarily stunned, his attackers ceased their rampage. Seeing his chance, Byron jolted out of the now circle of men surrounding him. His body screamed with agony as he limped away as fast as he could.
Byron shot between the various tents and campfires, dodging the assassins as best he could. Valuables glinted and stole his eyesight momentarily every so often. Tempation thirsted within him. Every time he thought he has a chance to sn*tch one of the items on his way out, he was halted either by throbbing pain or a theiving shadow dancing from the flames.
The men would be after him soon enough. They would not simply let this boy go without more punishment. Feeling that he was beginning to gain the lead on his pursuers, Byron sought out for one last bit of revenge before departure. Near the outskirts of the camp the boy spotted a glint of gold he missed when entering. After a quick, but closer inspection of his future prize, Byron noted the item was a golden necklace with some sort of jewel hinged as an ornament to its beauty. Mother would love that…Byron seized the necklace and dashed out of the camp, blood leaking from various wounds of his body. Nevertheless, he had gotten off free, or so he thought as he trekked back to his house.
Once inside, Byron left the necklace on table and crept into the bathroom. He wiped the blood off as best he could and slightly shaken, he crawled into bed. Exhausted as he was by his ordeal, sleep came to him immediately and never more soundly.
__________________
The beauty of religious mania is that it has the power to explain everything. Once God (or Satan) is accepted as the first cause of everything which happens in the mortal world, nothing is left to chance... logic can be happily tossed out the window.
- Stephen King -
Last edited by Hxlgg : 12-26-2005 at 06:26 PM.
#4
12-26-2005, 08:22 PM
Rowenna
Red Death
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Box 5
Things were not to be so sound a distance off, outside the the city.
As the young boy raced for what may have very well been his life, Tomah bolted after like a lion unwilling to let go of the kill, such thrill coursing through his body that pushed him after such a small trifle as that beaten, bloodied child.
A hand caught his arm.
Goshawk turned viciously on his fellow Assassin, tearing himself from the hard grip that threatened to hold him back, or worse for the lot of them, refocus his murderous nature on his own. His golden brown eyes were furious, furious with rage, and ecstasy, and fire, the fire of using his hands to take down another. It was not the joy of the fight, or the kill, but of the use of all this on someone smaller than himself. That was his way. It was always his way.
“It’s a boy,” his fellow Assassin said in a shaken astonishment, shaken at the anger so clearly directed at himself. “You want us to run off in the middle of the night after a useless child? It’s madness.”
“Madness, you say?” Tomah smiled cruelly, for his mind worked in ways not always understood by his underlings at first sight. “We once said we wanted to make a statement. What better chance than now? What better chance when we have been planning in the wilderness for the strike, what better chance when the opportunity has been so conveniently dropped in our lap, what better chance when we must slay the boy regardless, with this knowledge he has of our location? No, forget the boy.”
His grin twisted with vision in his eyes.
“First the child, then his family, then the cities will crumble like we said we would do. Can you not see the poetry, Admon? How can you not see?”
Whatever any stranger might think, any victim, any helpless child under the hammer of his sadistic needs and ends, that was not madness in his eye. No... no matter how crazed his proposition, no matter the lunacy of it all, his acolytes knew. They had seen it, insane demands, impossible aspirations, but every time, every single moment Tomah Goshawk led them into war with no obvious reason to be, in the end, it became clear. In the end, they won. He was brilliant. His mind was a maze that worked too fast for all to understand at once, not to be slowed, not to be questioned or meddled with when he was on the move. Genius. Which was exactly why every living thing that once crawled from the nothing at the dawn of history had a right to fear him.
The chase began, horses racing fast, beating the ground with the rhythmic thud of hooves against the earth, like the wind was chasing behind, threatening to catch the hair on the end of their tails. The chase... the chase against a boy? No. No, it all lead to something greater, something better, but even wants so great as that had to begin somewhere. A tiny slaughter first, disastrous but unfaltering of function, then the wait, then another when the guard’s down. Time was a luxury they learned from Goshawk to afford.
The gateway became clear in sight. Faster, faster, faster... they knew what they faced, they knew what lay ahead, they knew from their spies what to expect, what to do, what would be necessary to do.
People died. Unsuspecting sentries, lazy mules who slumped by, unprepared for battle, so sure of their city’s superiority over all the known world, so sure their boarders were impermeable to raid. So sure a few rogue Assassins miles off would never dare attack, would never make it past the main gate if they did.
They were wrong.
The guards were easy pickings, fumbling with their swords like baffled idiots as Tomah swept through on his steed like a specter riding the wind, crushing their skulls before they could register who, and why, and how. The only man with the slightest sense of power fell too, overpowered, a man who faced Tomah himself. The Assassin even had the respect to get off his horse and face him man-to-man. The sentry, the man lost his life, the man who soon lay at Goshawk’s feet, the man once called Cael.
That was not the end of it. No, not the end, never until the deed was done. Some might have thought Goshawk a wolf in pursuit, smelling out the scent of a bloodied boy, his eyes on the ground as he tracked tiny footsteps that could only belong to an eleven-year-old boy that encroached in places eleven-year-old boys did not belong, did things eleven-year-old boys should not do, and would pay the ultimate price for his folly.
It was easy, far too easy, and they knew the rewards would far exceed one night’s pleasure. They all went, knowing Goshawk had far greater plans, and knowing he had never steered them wrong once.
A slaughter, indeed. A husband was killed in his bed, and a wife screamed a piercing shriek as she fled to be caught and killed a moment later. And the children... Tomah had no qualms with slaying a child. Just another kill, as natural as putting down a bull for the feast. By the demonstration in the woods, it was clear most of his kindred felt quite the same on that particular note. It was clear as the bodies were dragged out of their bedrooms, one of them a small girl with tears that died on her cheeks as they took her life away. He stood there, smiling, picking up a necklace from the table. His grin was saner than grinning at the calm scene of the rising sun, and he strode as his fellow Assassins scrummaged around the wretched place for anything of value to take before the end.
He walked into a room that went unnoticed in the scanty place that it was, and the chamber was small like it was meant for nothing but clothes or broomsticks. But he knew better. He could smell it; flesh, young, alive, very much alive. He peeked his golden eye through the crack in the door to find the body they hadn’t before, a boy, awake at the sounds of screaming death and silence. Tomah’s simper, so amicable, and his eyes almost glowing in the dark, he came like a father might to his son, so gentle and cool.
“You needn’t be afraid of me, lad,” he said to the boy, raising his fist and releasing his grip so a necklace dangled from his hand, a large pendant swinging back and forth in a golden shine. “You took this from me... but now I give it to you, freely. Take it.”
Tomah pressed it into the boy’s hand, the circular plate of the necklace almost as big as the child’s palm. He enclosed the child’s fingers around the amulet, hard, harder, the skin breaking against the edge, bleeding, and his grin turned wicked as he took a dagger from his side, and stabbed it in the child’s belly, watching the life go out of his eyes.
Tomah took hold of the back of the boy’s clothing, lifting him from the ground with his strong arm, and effortlessly tossing him out in the living room with the bodies of his mother, father, and sister. Goshawk could see it... the boy was still alive. A fitting end, lying to rot with the family he let down with a crime they all had to pay for.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he grinned in composure, standing tall, mocking him with his earthy yellow eyes. “We might have parted on good terms, if you hadn’t taken from me. Like all good children, now you must learn your lesson about stealing from thieves, and take your punishment with humility and understanding. Perhaps, one day, you will think twice when crossed with the likes of an Assassin.”
He bowed, respectfully, and turned about-face, poise about his walk and he sauntered away from the scene of a once gentle house torn apart at the hands of greed, and the blood and tears of those inconveniently in the way.
“You know what to do,” he said in a quiet and casual voice to the others, who all very well understood his meaning.
They left the house in a gorging fire.
__________________
She is singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!
Avatar (c) Margot Jenner
Supporting the MEO Role-playing community through H.A.R.P.
WWMD?
Last edited by Rowenna : 12-26-2005 at 11:33 PM.
#5
12-28-2005, 08:42 PM
Deep inside the halls of a grand house walked a sullied woman, aged in the face and worn by time’s cruel deeds. Caressed by a torn, gray tunic, threads raggedy and ripped from far too much use, the woman in her early forties walked sullenly around carrying a broom in her rough hands, sweeping the dust and grime off the marble floors. ‘Make sure it shine so I can see my face in it, Amelai, m’dear…’ The brutal voice of her mistress rang over and over in her head. It was nearly impossible to get out after the years of having to put up with it. For Amelai, though, she had no choice but to work for this brute of a lady. Washing, cleaning, scrubbing and making her house sparkle from top to bottom. Lady Carlotta Caethes ran her household with clock-like efficiency and did not tolerate and misbehavior or worthlessness from her hired help. She desired them at top work ethic and a clean house at the end of everyday. And what Lady Caethes wants, Lady Caethes gets. Amelai and the few other servants worked tirelessly for thirteen hours daily. It was all worth it though for Amelai. Outside the Caethes household at this moment was one of her three prides and joy. He was watching is younger sister while his mother and father were at work. Amelai thought of her son and daughter all day long, wondering if they would be well outside by themselves. Byron, her son, had shown much responsibility for such a young age. With both his parents needing to keep steady jobs, his mother a servant and father, Caddawyc a respectable blacksmith, Byron had the weight of his sister’s and his life thrusts upon him, yet he held it well.
* * *
"Get back here Aviv!”
A young boy, aged to nearly eight years by now, ran furiously after his younger sister, chasing her down the streets of Gondor. All day Aviv had been wanted to go to the nearby bakery, but Byron would not let her. There was no point in going to drool over food they could not afford to purchase. She finally got her chance to ditch him when Ubel, one of Byron’s friends caught up with him to chat for a while. Next Byron knew, Aviv was tearing down the streets towards the bakery. Byron tore after her, knocking over various crates and boxes and finding harsh words following down the street from vendors. She is going to get it this time… He thought to himself.
Aviv finally arrived at the front of the bakery and eyed all the treats that she would never have. Byron supposed that just looking and lusting at the treats filled her constantly empty stomach. A sigh of relief swept over Byron as he caught up to her. She was looking at one of the most delicious loaves of bread Byron had ever laid his eyes upon. Freshly backed and steaming still.
“C’mon Aviv. Let us go back to mother.” Byron said. Aviv turned to him, a tear sliding down her pink cheeks.
“Brother…I am so hungry…please.”
Moments later the two hurriedly made their way back to the Caethes Manor, underneath Byron’s left arm a new treat steamed and a smile glinted off his face. The ecstasy he felt when he ripped the loaf from it’s resting place filled a place in Byron’s soul that seemed to complete him. The rush of the experience was livid in him.
Three Years Later
Several years later, Byron’s family was still living in the same squalid conditions they have for the past eleven years. It was an absolute disgrace. His mother worked tirelessly for the wench Lady Caethes still and his father had made no progress in sustaining any money. Just because he family could not do well in life didn’t mean Byron couldn’t. His small, but prized collection of stolen items was continually growing by the week. His skills were also finally getting better and Byron’s name was getting known around the streets. He lived off the feeling of getting something for nothing. It was complete rapture for him.
His family was still in harsh conditions though. Living day-to-day with hardly any time off, very little to eat for meals and meager wages, even though Byron knew the work they were doing was worth more. It was up to Byron to do something about his families conditions because his mother, father and young sister, Aviv, seemed fine in the world. They enjoyed living at the bottom of the food chain, digging and working hard for every scrap they get. Byron, and his family deserved more than that. They deserved the best this world could offer.
And Byron was going to get it for them.
* * *
Over the years they had gotten to know the guards of the city rather well, and they often told the children tales of their adventures and fights. It simply fascinated them to no end. Today the two children were sitting captivated by one of the Captain who was telling them of one of his many adventures. Now, Byron and Aviv did not know if the tales were truth, but it did not matter to them. This story, as equally captivating as the many others portrayed the Captain in a heroic light and his deathly clash with an orc who wandered a little too close to the city. The Captain barely escaped with his life, which nearly brought tears to Aviv’s eyes, as she sat upon his knee.
“Captain Cael!” a fellow guardsman saluted, interrupted the storytelling. “I have come to report the findings of the day.”
“Yes, go ahead.” Cael ordered.
“To our best knowledge, the outskirts of the city are safe and unbreakable. But I must urge you once more to look into the band of assassins near the forest. A scout reports that their numbers are beginning to grow and some seem to be slipping inside our walls as common travelers. They then leave with stolen merchandise. These thieves must be stopped.” The guard ended his reports with a salute and waited for dismissal.
“Thank you, Wick. You may leave.” The Captain said. He then turned to the children in front of him, “I will have to finish my tales later children. It is my duty to make this city safe for sprouts like you, and these thieves must be taken care of. Be off now and go home.”
Byron and Aviv returned to the Caethes Manor, to wait for their mother. All the while, Byron thought to himself about the band of assassins. Could he possibly pull it off? Would he get caught? How much could he get?
All of the would have to wait as Amelai pushed open the front doors of the Manor, ashen faced and streaks of tears running down her face. “Mama! You are early!” Aviv exclaimed as she hugged her mother around the knees. “What? Oh yes…dear. Mistress Caethes had decided to…give me some time off. She said to take as long as I like…. Let us go home now. I bet you two are weary from your long day.” The way home, silent tears dotted the path they took.
* * *
In the darkness that same night, Byron’s small body was easily hidden by the shadows of the forest. He seemed almost as invisible as he felt. When Wick told of the assassins’ gathering numbers and riches, he was not lying. The band of thieves did not seem too organized, but they were many and dotted throughout the camp was tents and small campfires sending wisps of smoke into the air. Seemingly everywhere, Byron could spot various items of value or pieces of gold lying about. The glint of greed shone in his eyes. His lust for the valuables raged through him, filling him with adrenaline and a desire beyond compare.
Byron snuck carefully around the camp, picking up various items that caught his voracious gaze and stuffing them into his pockets. Soon enough he was weighed down quite a bit and was finding it somewhat hard to walk about noiselessly. I can always come back later, maybe even tonight.
He made his way through the outskirts of the camp, quietly skirting around the tents, fires and assassins. Several times his clinked or clanged with the coins in his pockets, but luckily he believed the assassins did not hear him. Byron was nearly free and on his way home when a gruff voice began to chuckle nearby. Too nearby…
__________________
The beauty of religious mania is that it has the power to explain everything. Once God (or Satan) is accepted as the first cause of everything which happens in the mortal world, nothing is left to chance... logic can be happily tossed out the window.
- Stephen King -
Last edited by Hxlgg : 12-21-2005 at 11:23 PM.
#2
12-21-2005, 11:32 PM
Rowenna
Red Death
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Box 5
The early evening was crawling over the vast and conspicuous campsite, the various firesides dancing in the oncoming dark. The twilight glow flushing in the sky, back on earth, the blaze and shadow flickered across the many faces, roaring drunkards, intent storytellers, and plotting thieves. The vibrant scarlet also brought to light objects of the inanimate sort. The mounds of spoils from previous ventures by the traveling band, gold and trinkets glittering by fire. Anyone would have been drawn by the alluring wealth that stood so near and scattered, anyone would have longed to posses what items of value and attraction... but those already with dominion would not let go so easily.
Tomah Goshawk was a man of uneffable intelligence. He plotted, he planned, he always seemed to have the situation in the palm of his hand whether such was true or not. He had an ally everywhere, in every village and every city he had ever been, and knew exactly where to run if the circumstance required it. He had striven through troubles vast and small for his comfort. So some small child was no trouble at all.
“Well, now, what have we here?” his hand reached across and picked up what appeared to be a child no more than eleven by the back of his clothing. The boy was much heavier than he appeared... a glint of fire flashed across a pair of brown specs, eyes of the Assassin, a gaze so strange that appeared to be more of a muddied yellow than an earthy bronze. Others came at the sound of Goshawk’s voice, soon some small semicircle encompassing a man and the child suspended in his fist. The man, in an instant, flipped the boy upside down, gripping an ankle as various objects of value fell to the ground in an array of clanks and crashes. Some men scowled. Some men smirked with a malicious essence of the eye, and some men roared with laughter and drunkenness at the sight.
“The boy thinks he’s an Assassin!” one man laughed, gloved hand gripping a bottle of a substance one could easily guess. Despite better judgment, some chuckled along with that sentiment. Goshawk merely grinned.
“Well, he’s going to need a lesson on that grounds, isn’t he?” Goshawk released the boy from his grip, the child falling to the ground on his head. Like some kind of infection, small laughs radiated through the mass of men, the presence of the boy the only entertainment they’ve had in days. And what exactly ‘entertainment’ meant would be clear soon enough as Tomah withdrew a hammer from his belt, wasting little moment in striking the offender across the head.
It was not long before his compatriots decided to join.
__________________
She is singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!
Avatar (c) Margot Jenner
Supporting the MEO Role-playing community through H.A.R.P.
WWMD?
#3
12-22-2005, 08:41 AM
Hxlgg
Teh Duck Wrangler
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Middle O' The Continent
Pain radiated through the small boy’s frail body. The pain he felt now was worse than the stabs of hunger reeling through him on a daily basis, but the young boy kept his ache inside, silencing the cry he so wanted to let out. He would not give these men the upper hand. Give them the superiority they so desired. Byron was not sure for how much longer he could take this kind of torture. These grown men, these brutes, were mercilessly beating this fragile boy to a pulp without end in sight. Byron needed to get out. He knew that these monsters were far out of his league to deal with alone. Throughout the midst of fear, anxiety and dread, Byron let out a piercing scream of hurt. Momentarily stunned, his attackers ceased their rampage. Seeing his chance, Byron jolted out of the now circle of men surrounding him. His body screamed with agony as he limped away as fast as he could.
Byron shot between the various tents and campfires, dodging the assassins as best he could. Valuables glinted and stole his eyesight momentarily every so often. Tempation thirsted within him. Every time he thought he has a chance to sn*tch one of the items on his way out, he was halted either by throbbing pain or a theiving shadow dancing from the flames.
The men would be after him soon enough. They would not simply let this boy go without more punishment. Feeling that he was beginning to gain the lead on his pursuers, Byron sought out for one last bit of revenge before departure. Near the outskirts of the camp the boy spotted a glint of gold he missed when entering. After a quick, but closer inspection of his future prize, Byron noted the item was a golden necklace with some sort of jewel hinged as an ornament to its beauty. Mother would love that…Byron seized the necklace and dashed out of the camp, blood leaking from various wounds of his body. Nevertheless, he had gotten off free, or so he thought as he trekked back to his house.
Once inside, Byron left the necklace on table and crept into the bathroom. He wiped the blood off as best he could and slightly shaken, he crawled into bed. Exhausted as he was by his ordeal, sleep came to him immediately and never more soundly.
__________________
The beauty of religious mania is that it has the power to explain everything. Once God (or Satan) is accepted as the first cause of everything which happens in the mortal world, nothing is left to chance... logic can be happily tossed out the window.
- Stephen King -
Last edited by Hxlgg : 12-26-2005 at 06:26 PM.
#4
12-26-2005, 08:22 PM
Rowenna
Red Death
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: Box 5
Things were not to be so sound a distance off, outside the the city.
As the young boy raced for what may have very well been his life, Tomah bolted after like a lion unwilling to let go of the kill, such thrill coursing through his body that pushed him after such a small trifle as that beaten, bloodied child.
A hand caught his arm.
Goshawk turned viciously on his fellow Assassin, tearing himself from the hard grip that threatened to hold him back, or worse for the lot of them, refocus his murderous nature on his own. His golden brown eyes were furious, furious with rage, and ecstasy, and fire, the fire of using his hands to take down another. It was not the joy of the fight, or the kill, but of the use of all this on someone smaller than himself. That was his way. It was always his way.
“It’s a boy,” his fellow Assassin said in a shaken astonishment, shaken at the anger so clearly directed at himself. “You want us to run off in the middle of the night after a useless child? It’s madness.”
“Madness, you say?” Tomah smiled cruelly, for his mind worked in ways not always understood by his underlings at first sight. “We once said we wanted to make a statement. What better chance than now? What better chance when we have been planning in the wilderness for the strike, what better chance when the opportunity has been so conveniently dropped in our lap, what better chance when we must slay the boy regardless, with this knowledge he has of our location? No, forget the boy.”
His grin twisted with vision in his eyes.
“First the child, then his family, then the cities will crumble like we said we would do. Can you not see the poetry, Admon? How can you not see?”
Whatever any stranger might think, any victim, any helpless child under the hammer of his sadistic needs and ends, that was not madness in his eye. No... no matter how crazed his proposition, no matter the lunacy of it all, his acolytes knew. They had seen it, insane demands, impossible aspirations, but every time, every single moment Tomah Goshawk led them into war with no obvious reason to be, in the end, it became clear. In the end, they won. He was brilliant. His mind was a maze that worked too fast for all to understand at once, not to be slowed, not to be questioned or meddled with when he was on the move. Genius. Which was exactly why every living thing that once crawled from the nothing at the dawn of history had a right to fear him.
The chase began, horses racing fast, beating the ground with the rhythmic thud of hooves against the earth, like the wind was chasing behind, threatening to catch the hair on the end of their tails. The chase... the chase against a boy? No. No, it all lead to something greater, something better, but even wants so great as that had to begin somewhere. A tiny slaughter first, disastrous but unfaltering of function, then the wait, then another when the guard’s down. Time was a luxury they learned from Goshawk to afford.
The gateway became clear in sight. Faster, faster, faster... they knew what they faced, they knew what lay ahead, they knew from their spies what to expect, what to do, what would be necessary to do.
People died. Unsuspecting sentries, lazy mules who slumped by, unprepared for battle, so sure of their city’s superiority over all the known world, so sure their boarders were impermeable to raid. So sure a few rogue Assassins miles off would never dare attack, would never make it past the main gate if they did.
They were wrong.
The guards were easy pickings, fumbling with their swords like baffled idiots as Tomah swept through on his steed like a specter riding the wind, crushing their skulls before they could register who, and why, and how. The only man with the slightest sense of power fell too, overpowered, a man who faced Tomah himself. The Assassin even had the respect to get off his horse and face him man-to-man. The sentry, the man lost his life, the man who soon lay at Goshawk’s feet, the man once called Cael.
That was not the end of it. No, not the end, never until the deed was done. Some might have thought Goshawk a wolf in pursuit, smelling out the scent of a bloodied boy, his eyes on the ground as he tracked tiny footsteps that could only belong to an eleven-year-old boy that encroached in places eleven-year-old boys did not belong, did things eleven-year-old boys should not do, and would pay the ultimate price for his folly.
It was easy, far too easy, and they knew the rewards would far exceed one night’s pleasure. They all went, knowing Goshawk had far greater plans, and knowing he had never steered them wrong once.
A slaughter, indeed. A husband was killed in his bed, and a wife screamed a piercing shriek as she fled to be caught and killed a moment later. And the children... Tomah had no qualms with slaying a child. Just another kill, as natural as putting down a bull for the feast. By the demonstration in the woods, it was clear most of his kindred felt quite the same on that particular note. It was clear as the bodies were dragged out of their bedrooms, one of them a small girl with tears that died on her cheeks as they took her life away. He stood there, smiling, picking up a necklace from the table. His grin was saner than grinning at the calm scene of the rising sun, and he strode as his fellow Assassins scrummaged around the wretched place for anything of value to take before the end.
He walked into a room that went unnoticed in the scanty place that it was, and the chamber was small like it was meant for nothing but clothes or broomsticks. But he knew better. He could smell it; flesh, young, alive, very much alive. He peeked his golden eye through the crack in the door to find the body they hadn’t before, a boy, awake at the sounds of screaming death and silence. Tomah’s simper, so amicable, and his eyes almost glowing in the dark, he came like a father might to his son, so gentle and cool.
“You needn’t be afraid of me, lad,” he said to the boy, raising his fist and releasing his grip so a necklace dangled from his hand, a large pendant swinging back and forth in a golden shine. “You took this from me... but now I give it to you, freely. Take it.”
Tomah pressed it into the boy’s hand, the circular plate of the necklace almost as big as the child’s palm. He enclosed the child’s fingers around the amulet, hard, harder, the skin breaking against the edge, bleeding, and his grin turned wicked as he took a dagger from his side, and stabbed it in the child’s belly, watching the life go out of his eyes.
Tomah took hold of the back of the boy’s clothing, lifting him from the ground with his strong arm, and effortlessly tossing him out in the living room with the bodies of his mother, father, and sister. Goshawk could see it... the boy was still alive. A fitting end, lying to rot with the family he let down with a crime they all had to pay for.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” he grinned in composure, standing tall, mocking him with his earthy yellow eyes. “We might have parted on good terms, if you hadn’t taken from me. Like all good children, now you must learn your lesson about stealing from thieves, and take your punishment with humility and understanding. Perhaps, one day, you will think twice when crossed with the likes of an Assassin.”
He bowed, respectfully, and turned about-face, poise about his walk and he sauntered away from the scene of a once gentle house torn apart at the hands of greed, and the blood and tears of those inconveniently in the way.
“You know what to do,” he said in a quiet and casual voice to the others, who all very well understood his meaning.
They left the house in a gorging fire.
__________________
She is singing to-night to bring the chandelier down!
Avatar (c) Margot Jenner
Supporting the MEO Role-playing community through H.A.R.P.
WWMD?
Last edited by Rowenna : 12-26-2005 at 11:33 PM.
#5
12-28-2005, 08:42 PM