Schreiben Anforderungzeichnen
herecirm gave me a prompt back a few weeks ago as part of a meme. I need more writing prompts in my life apparently.
The prompt: Write a conversation between an assassin and their next victim.
A shadow flickered in the moonlit darkness. Na'ry was a mere sliver and Roshir was fully covered. Aveshar sat up. Someone was coming. The feeling prickled up his spine, settling at the base of his skull. He turned his head slowly this way and that to orient himself. It was to the North and on the move, but not directly. For a moment he thought it might pass, but no, it made an arch and slowly spiraled inwards, swinging from North to South and back again, getting closer and closer with each pass.
Who would be looking for him so deliberately? All of his relatives were dead, and there was none of that instant familiarity. As it crept closer the sensation became more complex. The layers came in waves, repeating the same sequence over and over again. He knew that one. It had been a long time, but it was her. Aveshar sighed. She was taking her time. He had minutes left, but there would be no running. Not from the likes of her.
There would be no use alerting his men. None of them, good as they were, would be able to track her and as carefully as she was approaching there was no doubt in his mind that she would be expecting trouble. Why prolong the inevitable. If she had her sights set on him there would be no dissuading her. Postponing, yes, frustrating, certainly, but nothing would stop her. So he climbed out of his bedroll and put it away and then loosed the flap and tied it up. Once he settled himself at the far corner of the tent he realized she had paused. By Beneur she was sensitive. It was a full minute before she resumed her steady, careful approach. Yes, there would be no running from that. If she could tell he was moving in the cramped quarters of a tent she could sense him from well outside his own range.
The normal night sounds continued. As she drew near the noise of them became oppresive. He strained to hear a muffled step, a breath, or catch a smell that didn't belong. She chose the perfect night and the perfect time. All he could see out the opening were the shadows of other tents, the occasional tree, and the night sky speckled with stars with the sliver of Na'ry. And then she was there, her form suddenly blocked more of the stars, filling most of the entrance.
The silence between them was deafening. Aveshar finally took in a deep breath as he shifted positions, fingering the knife in its sheath at his hip. "Timky of Rohtdin."
"You remembered." She stated as she finally stepped past the opening. "I am surprised you chose to wait in the dark."
"I didn't need to alert anyone striking a lamp." He strained to hear her, she moved like a ghost.
"You know what I mean Aveshar of Korreth." She settled in the farthest corner from him, her r's rolled in a soft growl.
"Of Korreth. I haven't been of Korreth for decades." She was close enough to smell and it was Ki'err. It was a suggestion he shape-shift. The feline Ki'err could almost see on a cloudy night, let alone with the help of starlight. He stayed as he was.
"You have called yourself many things over the years trying to hide who you are." There was movement, but she hadn't come closer. He could hear her tail shush against the floor in an impatient twitch.
"And haven't you done the same? You're not here to talk about old times. Your reputation has traveled far, Timky, changing from messenger to assassin."
She snorted. "I am no assassin."
"Then what about Kying or Simerk? Benkir, Tyn, Josha, and Kiran? You have quite the list running."
"If you spent your time helping your people rather than trying to destroy them you would know."
He let out a short, barking laugh. "They say you take trophies, proof of a kill."
"What is a finger in exchange for freedom when you have a price on your head? They all have been smuggled to Flumeri where the Tynomai have allowed us asylum under the premise that we keep to ourselves and they deny our existence."
"And you're here to offer me that?" He almost laughed again.
"No. I am here to make you stop." She shifted positions again. "I have been watching you, Aveshar. What you have done is unforgivable. Not only have you tracked your own people, but you have trained others. Betraying the trust they should be able to place in their own kind."
"I am surviving." His hand closed around the knife's handle.
"At the cost of everyone else!" She hissed.
"So what are you going to do, Timky. Kill me?"
"If that is the only way."
The suspense was too much for him. She may be able to sit smug in her own power and skill all night long, but he had appearances to keep up. What would happen if his men found him with a Shabenay woman in his tent? He didn't doubt her Marks would be plainly visible, but his were not. He had to hide them otherwise it would be Aveshar strung up in some town market instead of those he hunted. If she were dead that would be one thing, attacked in the middle of the night and him victorious, but them sitting here alive having a conversation? There was no place for that. Not now, not even thirty years past, and probably not ever again. If she killed him ... well, that is what she came for anyway. He wasn't going to roll over and give in. He'd go with a fight and on his terms.
He lunged forward, the tent collapsed. The contents rolled in a growling, angry mass. Sounds of alarm went up. Lamps were lit and by the time the cause of the noise was found it had ceased in a yelping cry and a brief shuffling of canvas. Aveshar was found entangled in his tent with his own knife driven into his gut. There was no sign of another person other than a few sparse hairs.
An owl smoothed its feathers in a tree not far away. They were crumpled badly in places and some were stuck together with blood. Its large eyes half watched the scene below as it carefully sorted the feathers with its beak and tongue. The dozen men, Ki'err, Frineir, and Humans among them sifted through the mess by lamplight. One of the Frineir was picking up objects and bringing them to his nose to draw in the scent. His expressive ears working as he tried to find one that didn't belong. He stood, circled, crouched, stood again and circled before dropping again, drawing a deep breath, and shouting to his comrades. The words "Shabenay" and "Shape-shifter" drifted up. As others scrambled to break camp the Frineir stood, nose in the air and drawing in deep, ponderous breaths. He looked in the direction of the preening owl. It continued it's task without a pause. His eyes narrowed slightly and ears laid back as he watched it in the greying light of pre-dawn.
When the owl was satisfied everything was in order it stretched its wings and tested them with a few beats before taking off into what was left of the night.
More random stuff about Kashi'an can be found on the community for it: kashian
The prompt: Write a conversation between an assassin and their next victim.
A shadow flickered in the moonlit darkness. Na'ry was a mere sliver and Roshir was fully covered. Aveshar sat up. Someone was coming. The feeling prickled up his spine, settling at the base of his skull. He turned his head slowly this way and that to orient himself. It was to the North and on the move, but not directly. For a moment he thought it might pass, but no, it made an arch and slowly spiraled inwards, swinging from North to South and back again, getting closer and closer with each pass.
Who would be looking for him so deliberately? All of his relatives were dead, and there was none of that instant familiarity. As it crept closer the sensation became more complex. The layers came in waves, repeating the same sequence over and over again. He knew that one. It had been a long time, but it was her. Aveshar sighed. She was taking her time. He had minutes left, but there would be no running. Not from the likes of her.
There would be no use alerting his men. None of them, good as they were, would be able to track her and as carefully as she was approaching there was no doubt in his mind that she would be expecting trouble. Why prolong the inevitable. If she had her sights set on him there would be no dissuading her. Postponing, yes, frustrating, certainly, but nothing would stop her. So he climbed out of his bedroll and put it away and then loosed the flap and tied it up. Once he settled himself at the far corner of the tent he realized she had paused. By Beneur she was sensitive. It was a full minute before she resumed her steady, careful approach. Yes, there would be no running from that. If she could tell he was moving in the cramped quarters of a tent she could sense him from well outside his own range.
The normal night sounds continued. As she drew near the noise of them became oppresive. He strained to hear a muffled step, a breath, or catch a smell that didn't belong. She chose the perfect night and the perfect time. All he could see out the opening were the shadows of other tents, the occasional tree, and the night sky speckled with stars with the sliver of Na'ry. And then she was there, her form suddenly blocked more of the stars, filling most of the entrance.
The silence between them was deafening. Aveshar finally took in a deep breath as he shifted positions, fingering the knife in its sheath at his hip. "Timky of Rohtdin."
"You remembered." She stated as she finally stepped past the opening. "I am surprised you chose to wait in the dark."
"I didn't need to alert anyone striking a lamp." He strained to hear her, she moved like a ghost.
"You know what I mean Aveshar of Korreth." She settled in the farthest corner from him, her r's rolled in a soft growl.
"Of Korreth. I haven't been of Korreth for decades." She was close enough to smell and it was Ki'err. It was a suggestion he shape-shift. The feline Ki'err could almost see on a cloudy night, let alone with the help of starlight. He stayed as he was.
"You have called yourself many things over the years trying to hide who you are." There was movement, but she hadn't come closer. He could hear her tail shush against the floor in an impatient twitch.
"And haven't you done the same? You're not here to talk about old times. Your reputation has traveled far, Timky, changing from messenger to assassin."
She snorted. "I am no assassin."
"Then what about Kying or Simerk? Benkir, Tyn, Josha, and Kiran? You have quite the list running."
"If you spent your time helping your people rather than trying to destroy them you would know."
He let out a short, barking laugh. "They say you take trophies, proof of a kill."
"What is a finger in exchange for freedom when you have a price on your head? They all have been smuggled to Flumeri where the Tynomai have allowed us asylum under the premise that we keep to ourselves and they deny our existence."
"And you're here to offer me that?" He almost laughed again.
"No. I am here to make you stop." She shifted positions again. "I have been watching you, Aveshar. What you have done is unforgivable. Not only have you tracked your own people, but you have trained others. Betraying the trust they should be able to place in their own kind."
"I am surviving." His hand closed around the knife's handle.
"At the cost of everyone else!" She hissed.
"So what are you going to do, Timky. Kill me?"
"If that is the only way."
The suspense was too much for him. She may be able to sit smug in her own power and skill all night long, but he had appearances to keep up. What would happen if his men found him with a Shabenay woman in his tent? He didn't doubt her Marks would be plainly visible, but his were not. He had to hide them otherwise it would be Aveshar strung up in some town market instead of those he hunted. If she were dead that would be one thing, attacked in the middle of the night and him victorious, but them sitting here alive having a conversation? There was no place for that. Not now, not even thirty years past, and probably not ever again. If she killed him ... well, that is what she came for anyway. He wasn't going to roll over and give in. He'd go with a fight and on his terms.
He lunged forward, the tent collapsed. The contents rolled in a growling, angry mass. Sounds of alarm went up. Lamps were lit and by the time the cause of the noise was found it had ceased in a yelping cry and a brief shuffling of canvas. Aveshar was found entangled in his tent with his own knife driven into his gut. There was no sign of another person other than a few sparse hairs.
An owl smoothed its feathers in a tree not far away. They were crumpled badly in places and some were stuck together with blood. Its large eyes half watched the scene below as it carefully sorted the feathers with its beak and tongue. The dozen men, Ki'err, Frineir, and Humans among them sifted through the mess by lamplight. One of the Frineir was picking up objects and bringing them to his nose to draw in the scent. His expressive ears working as he tried to find one that didn't belong. He stood, circled, crouched, stood again and circled before dropping again, drawing a deep breath, and shouting to his comrades. The words "Shabenay" and "Shape-shifter" drifted up. As others scrambled to break camp the Frineir stood, nose in the air and drawing in deep, ponderous breaths. He looked in the direction of the preening owl. It continued it's task without a pause. His eyes narrowed slightly and ears laid back as he watched it in the greying light of pre-dawn.
When the owl was satisfied everything was in order it stretched its wings and tested them with a few beats before taking off into what was left of the night.
More random stuff about Kashi'an can be found on the community for it: kashian