Season: Winter/Day: 70th/Year: 513/Time: Midnight
Two feet made rhythmic music through the cold empty alleyway, as the old man stumbled and fell in the alleyway. He rolled his body wildly, attempting to get back to his feet, his hands clinging to either ear, trying to keep the incessant noise from filling them. He sprawled out on his stomach, before crawling forward with his forearms, wanting nothing more than this pain to stop. He gripped at the building walls, his heart racing a mile a minute, like the hooves of many great horses upon a battlefield. He began to bash his head against the building, trying to make the pain end, “Knock, knock, knock” went his head to the solid surface, “knock, knock, knock!” came the sound, as the sleeping Huskabar awoke from his less than pleasant dream. He gradually got up, rubbing the back of his head, taking note of a terrible ache in his mind.
The gnarled naked body of the elderly man stood in all it’s splendor, as he departed from his bedding, before reaching for his garments. Once he was dressed, he made his way to the door, opening it to see two tall men, around his eye level, at about six foot now stood before him. They wore elaborate cloakes, decorated in a variety of patterns, ranging in all different colors. The man on the right had a light blond beard, hanging only an inch down from his chin, where as the man on the left had thick black stubble, and a scar that curved all along the outer side of his right eye.“Please come with us, Sir,” both of the men said, almost mechanically in complete unison.
The old wizards oh so great reservoir of patience was now immediately spent, drained rapidly by the complete nerve of the two men knocking at his door with demands at this time of night. He continued to rub at his aching head, as his brows arched, and his voice deepened. “Have you two completely lost your wits? I am not going anywhere with anyone. You createns had better make your presence here scarce and soon, or what little of your lives you have left are going to be filled with regret and fear,” said the grumpy warlock, before attempting to slam his door, but without much effort the two men pushed their way inside, and before Huskabar could do anything he was struck with a swift blow to the head, knocking him out cold.
He was once again invited into the blackness, and as the men carried him out, the elderly man journeyed back into the center of his mind. His mind wandered back into that dark helpless alleyway, the noise now more unrelenting than ever, and in every direction he looked the city was crumbling to the ground. What was this awful noise that would not stop? He was about ready to do anything for the answer to that question, and then as he turned around he saw it. Where a wall had once been, were thousands of dying bodies, gripping at their wounds, as they gradually bled out, feeling their sweet life nectar escape them drop by drop. He then looked upon the face of a poor suffering boy, and leaned forward, looking into his eyes. “Boy… Boy… Who caused such havoc? Who caused such terror?”
The boy turned his head, to cough out a small puddle of blood, before wiping away the scarlet droplets, and then looking back to the man. “It was you, Lord Huskabar,” he said, as tears ran down his small plum like cheeks, the eyes tense and cold as if he were looking at the devil himself. “Why did you bring about such misery?” he said, mustering his last bit of strength to point the index finger of his right hand to the old wizard. “Are we nothing but insects to you? You are a monster, and you’ll never be anything more than a monster!” Huskabar could not understand. Sure, he was certainly far from being a saint, but he had never done anything to warrant this kind of reputation. |
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