...Remove your existance -- oddiejoining

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Subject: ...Remove your existance

Author:
Galladhor

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Date Posted: 15:36:58 11/26/04 Fri

A desk sits in the middle of a dark room. An oil lamp flutters on the dark wood surface. Underneath the table sits a cloaked figure, humming and rocking impatiently. A door squeaks open, light pouring in. The rocking and humming stops.
� Your fine has been paid. Walk this way.� A man dressed in a full suit of armor ushered the dark figure out. He stumbles but quickly rises, head still hidden in shadows. He walked impatiently behind the guard, hand fidgeting with the black cloak he wore. There was a sudden clatter of metal, possible a weapon rack had fallen. He rose his head up sharply, revealing a pair of wide grey eyes that darted around nervously. The guard gave him an over the shoulder look which made him burry his face in shadows again. The guard stopped quickly and stuck his arm out, pointing to a heavily worn set of doors. The young man jumped a bit.
�Through here. Talk to the officer behind the desk. He has something for you.� The cloaked figure slid through the hallway to the end, and opened the door just enough for him to fit through sideways. This new room was well lit compared to the dark , cold halls of the previous chambers. He surveyed the contents quickly. An extravagant chandelier hung from the high, domed roof. The floor was covered in an animals skin. Possibility bear. In the far corner was a large birdcage filled with twittling, screeching flying lizards. And then the desk. A little man sat behind it propped up on books.
�You there. On the table. This package was delivered last night during the storm. Though I am unable to put a face to the deliverer. You go ahead and take the package, then leave promptly please. I have matters to attend to.� The young man looked over at the table, then back at the strange short scrubby creature that sat behind the table, then at the package. He hovered a moment over the table, then picked up the rapped package and tore open the brown paper. He turned his back to the officer behind the table and looked at the object, obviously hiding it from the officers sight. The metal glistened in the heavy light. Radiant waves of black dripped from its sharp edge. The beautiful red embers were still imbedded in the warm silver. Eyes shining, he slid it into its sheath that rested at his side, and concealed it behind his flowing black cloak.
� Please, young sir. Leave now.� The officer spoke sharply this time. The cloaked figure turned and left through the door. Outside of the asylum , the ground was wet. He removed the hood that resided over his head. His short, shaggy black hair rippled in the wind, and he looked from left to right anxiously, rocking back and forth on his heels. The sword buzzed at his side. At one side of the street, a woman sat in the patio chair of a bar, groping for a mug of brandy. She took a huge, sickly gulp, and turned back to glare at him again, only to find that he was no where in sight.

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