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*North of the spider mountains...*
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S.Y. 311.4 (January
12, 2002) *A
healer sat, her old frame working deftly at mixing herbs for a poultice.
The night was frigid, and a hard wind was blowing outside, coming from
the south. It did not suprise her to hear the door slam open, knowing
it was the wind. Walking quickly to it, she closed it and bolted it
a third time, muttering to herself. Spinning on her heels, she reached
for a candle. Her hand rested on another hand, larger and much stronger.
Yelping, she tried to let go but it grabbed hard, throwing her to the
floor. Before she could think, hard staff blows came down on each of
her arms and legs, snapping sounds ringing in her ears. She cried out
for mercy as another kick came to her ribs, turning her on her stomach.
Elven boots, black, decorated with spiders, turned about and left, closing
the door. Silence followed, and she thought that maybe she had escaped,
they would leave her like this, unkowing that she had friends who would
come to her rescue. She smiled then, a smile of hope. It lasted untill the smell of burning plaster filled the air. The monk read his book, gazing up occasionally to look at Empath abbey outlined against the starry sky. It filled him with joy knowing that there was a place of such solace and peace in this world, even if he did prefer the winery roof on which he sat. Clunk. His head swiveled to the sound, looking at a shining silver claw caught on the ledge. Standing up quietly, his breath caught, he stared at it, only to hear five more clunks follow it, claws all over the roof. He spun around, breathing hard, yelling in fear as orcs climbed up the ropes, there cruel, muted laughter filling his ears. He stepped back, suddenly bumping against sharp metal mail. He spun so swiftly he tripped on his robes, falling to the floor, gazing up at the large figure outline against the moonlight. He was tall, a braided ponytail falling from his head. large black wings of fire sprouted from his back, and a massive scythe was held in his hands. He smiled at him, a real smile. A smile full of pity and grim determination. Orcish hands hefted him up by the arms, and the fallen angel pointed at him. His hand then turned, pointing twords the top of the abbey. His eyes filled with tears. |