| Subject: OK, next part inside. Sorry if I'm boring you. |
Author:
Sekin Brightfall
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Date Posted: 00:45:15 10/27/03 Mon
In reply to:
Sekin Brightfall
's message, "YES! Please do, I promise I'll write more of my story later today, but I want to hear more of yours!!!!" on 18:22:53 10/26/03 Sun
His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, his breathing harsh and ragged, sweat trickling down his face, his wounds suddenly burning. Where was she? He stared down at the shadows of the bones, the ribs like knives, then his head shot up to satre at the pools of darkness around the houses as he turned uncertainly, his knuckles blushing a furious white on his sword hilt. A flash of movement at the corner of his eye inbetween the walls of two nearby houses. Like lightning, he turned, his eyes sweeping over the area, but nothing was there.
A breeze began to whisper dirge-like through the houses, hissing over the broken windows. A door slam caused him to jump and spin, panting, onto the round skull. Stumbling awkwardly, he struggled to regain his feet but tripped and fell flat on his stomach. Levering himself up frantically, he stopped suddenly, face close to the ground as abruptly, his shdow solidified to become the Shadowrider on her back, leering up at him. Quick as a lunging wolf, she thrust up with her sword, straight at his face, with that unnatural hiss.
With speed fanned by desperation like dying flames fanned by the winds, Grisen threw himself flat, onto his back. The sword stabbed nothing but the writhing air. The Shadowrider uncoiled herself from the ground, shooting up to her full height in the same movement she lowered her sword arm. With a snap and clattering of bones, Grisen rose as quickly as he could, his breaths more ragged. The Shadowrider took a step back and Grisen's jaw tightened. He charged towards her, she wasn't going to get away and surprise him again.
The woman parried his blow expertly and raised a gauntleted fist to cuff him over his head with one gracefully calm movement. Grisen's vision exploded into stars and other bright shapes that danced wildly. Off balance from the blow, he staggered into a nearby house and smashed against the solid, unyielding door. He whirled around, dazed, but once again she was gone. Utter silence prevailed except for his loud, harsh breaths. Sweat ran down his face mingling with the blood from the gash over one eye, caused by the barbs on the Shadowrider's wicked gauntlets, but he made no move to wipe it away. Squaring himself firmly in the doorway, he hefted his blade, making the air thrum as it turned slowly in a circle. His eyes were never still, darting from shadow to shadow, house to house. Nothing moved.
Grisen realized that his whole body was shaking, trembling with fear and tension. His eyes smoldered with rage and he forcefully willed himself to remain calm, bringing his sword up to shoulder level for a wide, slashing sweep. Still nothing. The wind that had sprung up had died down again, leaving an eerie silence. His blood began that drumbeat in his ears again.
Minutes crawled by. Grisen's arms began to quaver from weariness, but he forced himself to sum up the faces of Elanin and Amas, forced himself to re-live their deaths, and banished his weariness with that deadly, cold, calculating fury. He searched all the shadows standing stark and vividly in the moonlight, patches of knife sharp darkness in the pale celestial glow. Nothing.
A feeling of unease writhed up in his stomach as Grisen gazed around him. She couldn't really have gone...She wouldn't leave him alive when she was winning... So where had she gone to? After what seemed like an eternity, Grisen cautiously padded out into the street, the unease tearing gaps in his shield of anger. Doubt and fear flooded up into his mind as he slowly trod back onto the street, ready at any moment to either attack with his sword, or to spring back from a sudden hostile thrust.
He shuddered violently despit himself. A Shadowrider's sword was said to be made from steel tempered and dipped in the blood of a victim infested with Tamorac'Gihadon or the Shadow's Plauge. The Shadow's Plauge; a disease made by the Black Lord himself with the Weaving of the tainted Flows. There were many rumors about the effects of the Plauge, each riddled with horrible invisionments of what death by it would feel like. Gruesome, malicious suffering, writhing torment...None of those words came close to what the whispered rummors spoke of. All differed horribly, but in each one, it was clear that even the shallowest nick from a Shadowrider's blade could cause the immediate spreading of the Shadow's Plauge. More than once, he had just barely missed finding out what the Shadow's Plauge felt like first-hand.
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