VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

Login ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 123[4]5678910 ]
Subject: OOC: Mmmmm.....lucky you. Tell your sister I wish her happy B-day! :) BIC: Next part inside....


Author:
Tacroy Bladefire
[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]
Date Posted: 21:10:25 08/09/03 Sat
In reply to: Vi 's message, "OOC:Wheeeee! My uncle Richard just described my sister's (My mama Kylie IC) birthday cake to me! Four dollars worth of fresh cherries, lotsa chocolate, you know, the usual." on 19:55:55 08/09/03 Sat

The Gyrfalcon was in a narrow corridor, just as Crinnath had told him. It was very dark and extremely narrow, just wide enough for him to pass through. He started forwards, carefully lifting his cloak clear of the dirty floor.
He passed a door, and despite himself, looked in. Two small, thin children lay curled up on the floor of a dank room, sharing a blanket which moved up and down in time to their ragged breathing.
He shook his head and moved on. The next door loomed up on the left side of the corridor. The Gyrfalcon stopped outside for a split second as if composing himself and then he turned the doorknob and entered the room.
A small, ramshackle bed greeted his eyes in the otherwise unfurnished room. And in that bed, he could make out two shapes huddled together under one sheet as filthy as the floor. The Gyrfalcon strode over to the bed, twitching aside his cloak to draw a strange blade from his hidden black scabbard. The blade was not tempered from ordinary steel. It was black, dull black in this light, and large, jagged spikes emerged from the blade itself. Carved into the steel were images of his name sake, the Gyrfalcon fastest of the true falcons. The hilt was blackbound with a red pommel stone which gleamed faintly of its own accord, even though there wasn't any light for it to reflect.
With this strange, magnificent blade held tightly in his right hand, the Gyrfalcon advanced lightly to the bed side. He gazed down at the figure nearest to him. It was a man, tall and thin like Crinnath, but with a look of simple determination on his features that his employer lacked. His wife was sleeping curled up to his side, clasping hands with him as if for reasurance that their small family would make it through the hard times that lay before them.
The Gyrfalcon's eyes flashed bitterly and he raised his fearsome blade and placed it to the man's throat so lightly that it didn't wake him. With a quick pull from its owner, the blade slashed open the man's throat, the jagged spikes catching the flesh and mangling it badly. The man's body went rigid for a few seconds, blood leaking from his torn flesh and also from his nose and mouth, staining the pillow and sheet. Then he became limp and sagged back onto the bed, never to rise again.
The Gyrfalcon wiped his blade clean on his victim's body, but left the tip still dripping blood. Striding over to the wall, the Gyrfalcon scratched in the wood of the house, a large G, behind which was a single feather. The blood floed from his blade into the deep groves, then down the wall. The murder wiped the tip clean and sheathed his blade with a hiss of metal.
His job done, the Gyrfalcon padded out of the room, casting one last glance at the woman who lay curled up to her dead husband, unaware of what had taken place. He closed the door behind him and stole down the corridor without the slightest hesitation.
Opening the door, he let himself back out into the main room and made for the exit. One gloved hand was on the door knob when he hesitated and looked back to the rocking chair. He sighed very softly and crept up to the form of the old woman, lost in sleep, but trembling visibly from the cold draught. Bowing his head slightly, the Gyrfalcon slipped off his hood and undid his cloak from around his throat. He placed it gently over the sleeping woman, drapping it around her snugly. She tensed and then relaxed, a small flicker of a smile creeping along her face.
The sight didn't cheer the Gyrfalcon up. It was a poor deal. A cloak in compensation for the life of her son. The Gyrfalcon sighed again and ran his hand through his curly black hair. And now he didn't have a hood. He never went anywhere without a hood to mask his features, but tonight would have to be the exception.

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Replies:
Subject Author Date
Great as usual, but who do you think you are making me cry? (NT)Vi21:48:45 08/09/03 Sat


Post a message:
This forum requires an account to post.
[ Create Account ]
[ Login ]

Forum timezone: GMT-1
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.