Shadows
"The men exchanged mostly confused glances, then the man with the poster, who seemed to be the leader, stepped forward, reaching to grab the figure's arm. "Meddlin'? Now see 'ere, young fellow-" he began.He never got any further. The boy whirled, something flashing in the air, lightning-quick and shining. The villager's startled cry was cut off so shortly and quickly that it hardly seemed real. But then he crumpled to the ground, quiet and submissive, the blood-splattered wanted poster drifting down to settle on the ground next to him. The other men stared stupefied at their fallen companion, then up at the figure in black. Many of them immediately wished they hadn't.
The twin blades were now in the teenager's hands, one bright and shining as a flash of lightning, the other stained with a crimson stain of blood, dripping slowly onto the dirt ground. The boy's feet were placed in perfect sword-fighting stance, his lean wiry body ready for a fight. But most terrifying of all was his face, revealed as the hood fell back from his limp, dirty, jaggedly-cut dark brown hair. His face was as wiry as the rest of him, lined from too many cares for too few years, his lips curled in a defiant sneer as he challenged all or none of them to approach him. A long, dark-red scar ran across his face, from eyebrow to cheek, like a warning against meddling with him. What chilled the men the most, however, was how most of that warning sign was obscured by a strip of grey cloth that covered his left eye, hiding some dark secret that they all had guessed at. The poster had said that the wanted teenager had only one eye, but none of the villagers had imagined what it would be like to face someone who only saw half of the world and who hated all he saw.
The men exchanged nervous glances, adjusting their grips on their pitchforks and clubs, trying to ready themselves for a fight. They outnumbered the boy, yes, but they feared that he was more than a match for twice their number. And none of them felt they were brave enough to begin battling.
As for the teenager himself, well, he felt no fear, no intimidation, not even a hint of guilt for the fallen village man at his feet. He knew he could beat them all, had done it before, would do it again. They had made a mistake tampering with him and slowing him down.
He, Shadrall, Shad, the Shadow, the legend, the murderer, the mystery, the spy. And he was going to give them plenty of reason to remember that name.
He waited until one of the men stepped forward before he responded in the attack, blades whirling and whistling through the air. There was no strategy or reason to his attacks, just an irritation and a loathing for these men and all those like them. He wanted to be rid of them and soon. He was a blade himself, he was strong, he was fast, he was invincible"
He was also underfed, exhausted and injured. And it took it's toll on his awareness. He'd automatically counted his opponents when the battle began- exactly eight of them- and calculated how long it would take him to defeat them all. He factored in almost everything. Of course he forgot to account for reinforcements.
The boy, Shadrall, who had gone by Shad back when he had someone to bother to nickname him, was just finishing off the sixth man (not killing them all, of course, just temporarily disabling them) when he heard a sharp gasp behind him. He ran the sixth man through the arm hastily, turning to see about a dozen other men, coming around the corner, fully armed. He gave a snarl of challenge. He could handle them, and any more like them who would come. Why, he wasn't even breaking a sweat!"
-A Shadow's Fear (c)
Why do you talk to me?
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I disturb cause I care. Le mufff.
I did not know that.
I do care.
Your music skills are.......enviable. :3
Okay. Later baybe.
And why are you knocking me out? Go knock out random people. Not me.
I wish I could sing.