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 Posted: Wed Jul 21, 2010 11:34 am
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Posted: Fri Aug 06, 2010 8:50 pm
Ezra arrived at the Ruins. Here was a place that made him feel he actually belonged. He dropped his mask, returning to his normal form. He had been here many times when he was young, and now this place was his refuge. He touched the decayed walls, trailing his fingers as he walked through. He finally came upon a certain area. It was a narrow hallway that led to a dead end.
To the sides of him, the walls were covered with runic writings, now nearly unreadable due to time's harsh hands. In front of him however, were chip marks, and in the corner, was writing by the hands of two children. He knelt down to the writing. It talked over and over about how the children dreamed of becoming the fabled hero of shadows, Shadow Strider, Nameless, Shadow Rider, The Night Angels. There were tally marks next to the chips on the wall, keeping tract of who's record was higher.
He turned his eyes upon the chip marks, touching them, remembering the many practices with throwing knives here, with her, and he smiled only a faded, weak smile. He walked back a distance and drew his throwing knives. He threw one at a time, removing the poison as he drew them. All 20 had stuck to the wall, deep. He regathered and stepped back further, repeating the process.
He caught gaze of a certain mark. There was a gargoyle statue high, high up, were even adults had a harder time reaching with a bow. "We were so close Nesa, just an inch off..." he said. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He had only one throwing knife left. He etched the word Nesa on it, then threw it.
It flew across the air, leaving a silver sash in the air, and a thunk was heard. He looked. Right in the gargoyle's mouth. He smiled, then his smile faded.
"You should have been the one to make it, not me" he said. He just sat down cross legged, leaning against one of the hyro-glyphic walls. He sat there, in he lament alone.
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Posted: Wed Aug 11, 2010 8:53 pm
MemorysGalleySlave Ezra arrived at the Ruins. Here was a place that made him feel he actually belonged. He dropped his mask, returning to his normal form. He had been here many times when he was young, and now this place was his refuge. He touched the decayed walls, trailing his fingers as he walked through. He finally came upon a certain area. It was a narrow hallway that led to a dead end. To the sides of him, the walls were covered with runic writings, now nearly unreadable due to time's harsh hands. In front of him however, were chip marks, and in the corner, was writing by the hands of two children. He knelt down to the writing. It talked over and over about how the children dreamed of becoming the fabled hero of shadows, Shadow Strider, Nameless, Shadow Rider, The Night Angels. There were tally marks next to the chips on the wall, keeping tract of who's record was higher. He turned his eyes upon the chip marks, touching them, remembering the many practices with throwing knives here, with her, and he smiled only a faded, weak smile. He walked back a distance and drew his throwing knives. He threw one at a time, removing the poison as he drew them. All 20 had stuck to the wall, deep. He regathered and stepped back further, repeating the process. He caught gaze of a certain mark. There was a gargoyle statue high, high up, were even adults had a harder time reaching with a bow. "We were so close Nesa, just an inch off..." he said. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He had only one throwing knife left. He etched the word Nesa on it, then threw it. It flew across the air, leaving a silver sash in the air, and a thunk was heard. He looked. Right in the gargoyle's mouth. He smiled, then his smile faded. "You should have been the one to make it, not me" he said. He just sat down cross legged, leaning against one of the hyro-glyphic walls. He sat there, in he lament alone. Ezra stood up, a ring on his index finger glowing. "An assignment boy. Get your arse up and get to work. You're target is a Centaur Healer. Doesn't matter how or if you leave traces, just get it done. To win a war, take out the key pieces the ring hissed. It was a command, from one of the Royal heads, but he was never told who gave him the orders. Whoever it was, Royal family or any of the Royal guards, he had to obey. The ring was forced on him through magic, a compulsion spell. He knew how compulsion spells worked, use whatever the target owes as leverage. For him, it was the lost of someone he cared about. No matter, he left for the Centaur nation, to end the life of someone.
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Posted: Sat Nov 06, 2010 9:46 pm
Once again in the hidden archives of the north, TY moved his body in a linear path, mirroring his own actions from so many times before. Moving to the lone desk of the small room, his hand reached out to the left-most of the three volumes there. Flipping directly to the page of his desire, the man of shadows left a black mark to linger where his finger touched the pages. Reaching in, he covered more of what little remained uncolored. Closing the dark book, he let his fingers trail away from him to eagerly touch the edges of the center book before turning and leaving.
"And then there were four."
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