77th of Winter, 514 AV
Lorden sat the brown book down softly on the oak table. The knight reached his newly freed right hand out, wrapping his fingers around the top of a nearby chair. Eagerly, he pulled the light brown seat from the table it was under. With a relieved breath Lorden settled into the seat, before closing his eyes and titling his head to the ceiling of the archaic archives. A smile began to form on the knight's face, as he breathed in and out slowly.
This feels right, Lorden thought, comparing the gentle, peaceful feeling of the library, with the horrific happenings of the day before's patrol. Slowly, Lorden opened his eyes, hopefully looking over to the corner of the room, and to the robbed man that sat behind a desk there. As the knight glared at the black haired librarian, longing almost entered his eyes. Quickly he shook his head in denial; Lorden put down the thoughts that were beginning to bubble up against his will.
No, I could never be a scribe, Lorden assured himself drearily, his heart beginning to squeeze itself.
I'm needed elsewhere, the knight thought, glancing down at the scabbard, that stuck its way out to the side of his seat. As his blue eyes drilled into his sword, memories of the battle with the wolves once again entered Lorden's mind; this time, the euphoria he had felt, inched its way into his thoughts, urging him to somehow experience it again.
"You're a killer, a warrior. A knight! You know you revel, in the warm feeling of sliding my steel length out of a fresh kill; as the warm body of your victim slouches over, submitting at your feet," Lorden could almost hear the words coming from his weapon, almost imagine a dark voice uttering them. The knight found his eyes stunned, unable to move from his own possession.
"A part of you even enjoys the sight of their death throes. You're a killer Lorden, a hunter of men," the blade's voice grew darker, viler, more coy; almost as if it enjoyed the inner torment, that it knew it was stirring up in it's wielder.
The dumbfounded man quickly squeezed his eyelids together, stubbornly blocking his sight of the sword, and ending its suggestive mutterings. With his blue eyes held firmly shut, Lorden moved his blinded head to look straight ahead. The knight took a deep breath, and opened his eyes slowly. Exhaling in as calming a manner as possible, Lorden ran a hand through his long, raven-esque hair.
I should have slept a little bit more, Lorden cooed to himself self-assuredly, a false smirk gluing itself to his face unconvincingly. Swallowing, Lorden reached his dominant hand for the brown book, that sat on the table before him.
Lets just see whats in here, the knight thought, shifting his thoughts hopefully. With the book in his right hand, Lorden lifted his left to pull back its cover. As his appendages shuffled the brown leather volume open, the knight allowed his eyes to take in what passed for its title page.
Basics on Tracking Syliran Buck, Lorden read the name inquisitively. As he became exited about the book's topic, any uncomfortable thoughts he had, finally began to tuck themselves back away, into whatever dark fold of the knight's brain, that they had crawled out of.
His heart now beginning to feel lighter, Lorden once more flipped into the text a page, eagerly reaching for the calm it was starting to provide him.
This feels right, Lorden thought, comparing the gentle, peaceful feeling of the library, with the horrific happenings of the day before's patrol. Slowly, Lorden opened his eyes, hopefully looking over to the corner of the room, and to the robbed man that sat behind a desk there. As the knight glared at the black haired librarian, longing almost entered his eyes. Quickly he shook his head in denial; Lorden put down the thoughts that were beginning to bubble up against his will.
No, I could never be a scribe, Lorden assured himself drearily, his heart beginning to squeeze itself.
I'm needed elsewhere, the knight thought, glancing down at the scabbard, that stuck its way out to the side of his seat. As his blue eyes drilled into his sword, memories of the battle with the wolves once again entered Lorden's mind; this time, the euphoria he had felt, inched its way into his thoughts, urging him to somehow experience it again.
"You're a killer, a warrior. A knight! You know you revel, in the warm feeling of sliding my steel length out of a fresh kill; as the warm body of your victim slouches over, submitting at your feet," Lorden could almost hear the words coming from his weapon, almost imagine a dark voice uttering them. The knight found his eyes stunned, unable to move from his own possession.
"A part of you even enjoys the sight of their death throes. You're a killer Lorden, a hunter of men," the blade's voice grew darker, viler, more coy; almost as if it enjoyed the inner torment, that it knew it was stirring up in it's wielder.
The dumbfounded man quickly squeezed his eyelids together, stubbornly blocking his sight of the sword, and ending its suggestive mutterings. With his blue eyes held firmly shut, Lorden moved his blinded head to look straight ahead. The knight took a deep breath, and opened his eyes slowly. Exhaling in as calming a manner as possible, Lorden ran a hand through his long, raven-esque hair.
I should have slept a little bit more, Lorden cooed to himself self-assuredly, a false smirk gluing itself to his face unconvincingly. Swallowing, Lorden reached his dominant hand for the brown book, that sat on the table before him.
Lets just see whats in here, the knight thought, shifting his thoughts hopefully. With the book in his right hand, Lorden lifted his left to pull back its cover. As his appendages shuffled the brown leather volume open, the knight allowed his eyes to take in what passed for its title page.
Basics on Tracking Syliran Buck, Lorden read the name inquisitively. As he became exited about the book's topic, any uncomfortable thoughts he had, finally began to tuck themselves back away, into whatever dark fold of the knight's brain, that they had crawled out of.
His heart now beginning to feel lighter, Lorden once more flipped into the text a page, eagerly reaching for the calm it was starting to provide him.