| Subject: Thank you so much for your kind words and I'm glad you like it. I'm writing this as I go, so it might take a bit longer to post in the future, but for now, the next part's inside. |
Author:
Tacroy Bladefire
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Date Posted: 23:27:09 08/08/03 Fri
In reply to:
Whiteye
's message, "very interesting! I agree with Dakkan...You describe things very well." on 22:56:01 08/08/03 Fri
Grid lurched unsteadily to his feet and glared at the hooded man in front of him with bloodshot eyes. "Really?" he sneered. "And who might you be?" An expectant hush had fallen over the pub, like the false lull before a storm breaks. The customers were staring at the two men almost fearfully; Grid's giant stocky frame and hideous face, and the tall, lithe frame of the dark stranger.
The man stared back at Grid, though his voice was a little harsher as though he was gritting his teeth and his black gloved hand found the hilt of his sword and clenched it tightly. "My name is my own buisness."
Grid belched and then laughed loudly and suddenly. "I think, boyo, it's time I teach ye some manners!" Grid whipped from his boot, a jagged piece of iron and advanced on his opponent as the customers who still could, ran out of his way.
The hooded man kicked back his stool and stood, looking strangely impressive in the flickering firelight, his black cloak billowing out behind him slightly, his black gloves and boots gleaming. As Grid advanced, kicking stools out of his path, his teeth bared and his bloodshot eyes glinting, the hooded man unclenched his hand from his swordhilt with a visible effort and raised it in front of his face. His eyes were riveted on his black gloved hand and his feet were apart, as though bracing against an invisble strain. Under his hood, his mouth formed strange words, chanted and repeated, as Grid came ever closer.
And then with a hideous roar, Grid sprang forwards, thrusting viciously with his piece of iron. Time seemed to slow down. Grid was still in mid lunge, his howl of anger contorting his face, when bright blueish white flames curled up around his opponent's outstretched hand. Without a trace of alarm and with the air of a chess player making his winning move, the cloaked stranger uttered one word which sent the flames surging up off his hand to slam into Grid's chest. Time sped up all of a sudden. Grid was flung backwards with a howl of pain and shock and smashed against the far wall with a shattering of glass as he crashed into a shelf holding beer mugs. His opponent calmly lowered his hand, strode back over to his fallen stool, righted it, and sitting down, went back to his drink.
He seemed oblivious to the shocked stares that he was being given, oblivious to the sixty pairs of incredilous eyes trained onto him in a strange mix of awe and fear. "Crud!" hissed on man, his eyes wide and his face suddenly lined with a terror far beyond words. "I know who you are!"
The hooded man gave no sign that he heard the comment. He didn't turn and he continued to drink deeply from his mug, but far in the depths of his hood, his dark eyes were kindled with a sudden fire. "You're the Gyrfalcon!" As soon as the words left the man's mouth, a horrible pressure filled the air. Nobody breathed and a vast majority of the occupant's hands shifted to weapons hidden in their cloaks or boots. Evey eye was fixed on the dark stranger, even those of Grig, who lay in a puddle of beer and was bleeding from the broken glass.
The black figure slowly put down his mug and turned around. Everyone flinched and some people drew their weapons. The hooded man laughed softly and the customers glanced quickly at each other in fear and confusion. "Oh aye," chuckled the man and everyone's gaze snapped back to him. "I'm the Falcon all right!" He said it in such a way that everyone who had suspected him to be the infamous Gyrfalcon couldn't help but feel foolish.
The hooded man stood slowly and reached a hand into his cloak, pulling out a worn leather bag. There was a clink of coins and the dark stranger placed a shilling on the tabeltop, next to the empty beer mug. He nodded his thanks to the stricken bar-tender and stepping over the limp form of a drunken man curled up on the floor, strode through the ranks of the staring customers.
His hand had just closed over the doorknob of the tavern door, when a bolder soul said loudly, "Well, then who are ye?" Without turning, the man replied. "Just a wandering mage." With that, he opened the door and stepped into the night, leaving the whole of the Red Serpent staring after him.
Outside, the man rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth, his breath steaming upon the air. He stood still for a second, gazing out onto the filthy streets, gray snow, and black sky and clenched his hands suddenly. After all these years, the Gyrfalcon had finally returned to his roost. The hooded man smiled bitterly and and set off down the long street, his cape billowing out behind him, almost like the wings of his namesake, the largest true falcon.
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