Thoughts on 12/14/09.
Crunch.
His boots crushed leaves as he walked through the burning town. Flames licked the night sky, and wailing children from newly broken families could be heard in every direction. A nearby hut collapsed in a brief shower of sparks, and one wailing child was silenced forever. Gate walked on.
Crunch.
His greatsword, recently liberated from the dead hands of the blacksmith, dragged along the dirt road, carving a channel that neatly divided the destruction in two. Blood dripped from the hilt. Was it his blood, or a raider's?
Didn't matter.
Crunch.
His wounds forgotten, Gate slowly approached the pyre in the center of town. Thick smoke burned his eyes and the smell of pork invaded his nostrils, but he continued forward. These people were dead; it's the living of whom you've got to be wary. He stopped a few feet from the blaze and peered in, searching.
Ah. There.
Like a viper strike, his greatsword lanced into the pyre, skewering a body, and flicked it from the flames. It skidded across the ground and thumped against a nearby cottage. As it impacted, the head made a noise like an egg cracking. Bits of burning flesh marked the path it had taken. Gate shuffled across to the corpse, and, using his gloved off-hand, reached down and seized a small amulet hanging from the charred body's neck. With a quick jerk, the amulet was his, and the head of the former mayor of Ridgeway skittered across the ground.
Should have left when I told you to, old man. Too late. Too bad.
Nobody noticed or cared about Gate's departure, although one small girl, alone and cradling a rag doll to her chest, heard what seemed to be footsteps fading out into the nearby woods.
Crunch.
His boots crushed leaves as he walked through the burning town. Flames licked the night sky, and wailing children from newly broken families could be heard in every direction. A nearby hut collapsed in a brief shower of sparks, and one wailing child was silenced forever. Gate walked on.
Crunch.
His greatsword, recently liberated from the dead hands of the blacksmith, dragged along the dirt road, carving a channel that neatly divided the destruction in two. Blood dripped from the hilt. Was it his blood, or a raider's?
Didn't matter.
Crunch.
His wounds forgotten, Gate slowly approached the pyre in the center of town. Thick smoke burned his eyes and the smell of pork invaded his nostrils, but he continued forward. These people were dead; it's the living of whom you've got to be wary. He stopped a few feet from the blaze and peered in, searching.
Ah. There.
Like a viper strike, his greatsword lanced into the pyre, skewering a body, and flicked it from the flames. It skidded across the ground and thumped against a nearby cottage. As it impacted, the head made a noise like an egg cracking. Bits of burning flesh marked the path it had taken. Gate shuffled across to the corpse, and, using his gloved off-hand, reached down and seized a small amulet hanging from the charred body's neck. With a quick jerk, the amulet was his, and the head of the former mayor of Ridgeway skittered across the ground.
Should have left when I told you to, old man. Too late. Too bad.
Nobody noticed or cared about Gate's departure, although one small girl, alone and cradling a rag doll to her chest, heard what seemed to be footsteps fading out into the nearby woods.
Crunch.