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 Orc blood and a parasol - A Macintyre Tale

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Number of posts : 1
Points : 3
Registration date : 2012-04-09
Age : 29
Location : Under your bed

PostSubject: Orc blood and a parasol - A Macintyre Tale   Thu Apr 12, 2012 9:33 am

Her bare feet aloft on the planks of the Palanthas pier. The light cotton of her kimono gently brushes the aged wood as she walks quietly toward the vast city's central plaza. The long tresses of waist-length, raven-black hair fall carelessly to a light breeze. The black parasol clutched in her hand cuts the light just so, and the pale eyes are veiled from the brightness as she travels on.
They have been watching her since the boat arrived... biding their time for the moment to strike. One becomes too anxious and grunts excitedly, perhaps a little too loud and he is hushed with a mailed fist to the throat. Checking again from the crude cover of a fallen shack, their victim seems oblivious still. Walking casually, unsuspecting, ripe for the picking. The appointed leader eyes his troops a gives a curt nod signalling the attack and guttural war cries echo accross the seaport. A younger warrior reaches her first, a cruel smile upon his face a he takes a massive swing for her midsection with a dangerous two-bladed sword...
Impossibly fast, she sidesteps the blow and a gleaming flash arcs into the young warrior. Time slows... the others are confused as the youngling turns to face them, his grin replaced with disbelief, then horror, as the torrent of blood erupts from his throat. The spray covers the remaining warriors, who blink, dazed at the carnage wrought from the singular blow. Their eyes fall on their would-be victim as she stands idly, her back to them, a short blade in her free hand and parasol still in the other.

"... orcs... in Palanthas no less..." Her voice comes slowly, a lilthing thing, almost calm.

The next noise heard is the quiet clatter of the parasol, softly hitting the ground.

Yellow eyes go wide, weapons are clutched angrily and a bitter cry rings out into the city.


Her back is still to them as the remaining full on charge, her now empty hand drawing another short blade...

There are few clashes of steel, many throaty screams drowned with the liquid sound of choking of blood. In the midst of the chaos, the orc leader managed to roll away from the carnage. He clutches a deep gash in his side and hopes he is not missed amongst the dead. Propping himself up on the fallen ediface he first watched her from, he believes himself sheilded from view. He attempts to control his breathing so as not to be heard. The sounds die away as he hears the last exhale of his comrades... then there is nothing. After a long moment he risks a look, his entire troop lays dead, but the demon witch is nowhere to be seen. Only that silly black parasol sitting on the cobblestones indicates she was ever there. His attention is drawn back to forward as he feels the short blade enter his sternum. His head turns to stare into the ice pale eyes and snow white skin, splattered with the blood of his people. The duel horns protruding from the sides of her skull also drip the life ichor that must surely be growing cold. He grunts uselessly as the blade slides easily through his armor and bone of his chest. He tries to move his arms but finds them non-responsive. Her bluish lips part softly and she speaks in a gentle whisper...

"... sssshhhh... hush now... this the sound of me loving you..."

His vision blurs, but her eyes remain on his... as the world blackens he only has one thought...

"... could death be this gentle?"

As the last breath fades from the orc leader, she straightens and draws a white cloth from her kimono, gently she cleans her blades before resheathing them and blots the worst of the ruin from her face. Lightly she would place the cloth over the leaders face. Quielty picking her way through the mass of bodies she reclaims her parasol, and clutching it just so to keep the sun from her eyes, she continues her measured walk into the orc-filled city. Ironically she would comment as she went...

" ... 'tis far too hot a day..."
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Orc blood and a parasol - A Macintyre Tale
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