Vibro repairman
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Jun 22, 2003
- Posts
- 281
The tip of the blade was poised perilously close to her right eye. She was frozen in fear, dared not blink, could barely look away from the point of the sword which glittered in the moonlight.
"Kill it and be done with it," spluttered someone indignantly nearby in the corrupted tongue of dark elvish. There was the sickening sound of a blade being torn from flesh, from the corpse of one of her companions who moments before had drawn breath, but no more.
"It intrigues me," replied the holder of the sword, a firm and commanding voice. "It has been a long while since I saw one of these, let alone shed their blood, though mine sings for doing so this night. And do not dare tell me what to do."
"Apologies, my lord" replied the first speaker after a short pause, "but it is just an animal, fit for slaughter" his voice continued carefully, weighing the words.
'One of these' he had said. Their language, though derived from true elvish, was still a little hard to follow for her. She was a sylvan elf, a nominal 'cousin' of hers and the other who argued for her death, though neither race would acknowledge the fact, such was the bitter feud they held for each other. She and some of her kinfolk had been returning from a hunting trip when they had fallen afoul of the dark elven ambush... a hunting trip of their own, she thought with a shudder. She was on her own now, the last alive.
"I beg mercy," she pleaded, her voiced steeped in fear.
"It begs prettily, for an animal," he said. There was some soft laughter about her that felt almost as cruel to her ears as the murderous scene she had just witnessed.
...
Lord Rakesh regarded his would-be victim coldly. A female sylvan elf, one of the hated foe. Her skin was an unnatural pale white, her hair the colour of gold that dwarves so loved. He laughed along with the soldiers with him, the tip of the blade dancing in front of her eye. "Perhaps it would make a good gift to my mother," he said, "she may well enjoy a new pet."
"Kill it and be done with it," spluttered someone indignantly nearby in the corrupted tongue of dark elvish. There was the sickening sound of a blade being torn from flesh, from the corpse of one of her companions who moments before had drawn breath, but no more.
"It intrigues me," replied the holder of the sword, a firm and commanding voice. "It has been a long while since I saw one of these, let alone shed their blood, though mine sings for doing so this night. And do not dare tell me what to do."
"Apologies, my lord" replied the first speaker after a short pause, "but it is just an animal, fit for slaughter" his voice continued carefully, weighing the words.
'One of these' he had said. Their language, though derived from true elvish, was still a little hard to follow for her. She was a sylvan elf, a nominal 'cousin' of hers and the other who argued for her death, though neither race would acknowledge the fact, such was the bitter feud they held for each other. She and some of her kinfolk had been returning from a hunting trip when they had fallen afoul of the dark elven ambush... a hunting trip of their own, she thought with a shudder. She was on her own now, the last alive.
"I beg mercy," she pleaded, her voiced steeped in fear.
"It begs prettily, for an animal," he said. There was some soft laughter about her that felt almost as cruel to her ears as the murderous scene she had just witnessed.
...
Lord Rakesh regarded his would-be victim coldly. A female sylvan elf, one of the hated foe. Her skin was an unnatural pale white, her hair the colour of gold that dwarves so loved. He laughed along with the soldiers with him, the tip of the blade dancing in front of her eye. "Perhaps it would make a good gift to my mother," he said, "she may well enjoy a new pet."
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