 |
Well, now that my headphones are significantly beyond repair and the tiny speakers I rigged up are past their limit, I suppose it's time for me to bore those who see it with another of my stories, no?
It seems I don't have any christmas-y stories to share, so you'll just have to endure another kind.
“A long time ago, years ago, to be certain, I was told a very charming story of a man who dressed in all black, from his toes to his head, he was the embodiment of shadows when the shade crossed his face, the only visible skin he ever showed the world. This man, the shade, was known to be a hunter, a killer of killers/
So much was he like a shade, that his name at that time was synonymous with the word. He was called Darke, and he walked as if hell were before him, and he were bound and determined to bring the devil to his knees.
For a time, it seemed to those who crossed him, that his ominous agenda was exactly that. He was always striding through the darkness like those he hunted, his long legs carrying him from hideout to fortress, his sword cutting for him a clear path. The devil, surely, would have trembled before his might.
One day, such a man, this man named Darke, came to our village, and stayed for a while, bringing with him Hope, Joy, Fear, Pain and Ecstasy all through his stay, while he hunted the monsters that plagued us in those times. You’re probably too young to have known much, but they used to rule over this land, and bend us to their will when they saw to it. We rarely left the village in those times. Oh, it seems like now everyone is coming and going…”
“Anyways, I suppose I should tell you about Darke, and his stay here, huh?”
- - - - - -
With his hat tipped against the setting sun, a man came to town, some years ago, his mount calmly stepping through the shadows, it seemed, almost gliding with ease, as a cat would have walking a thin path high in the air. The horse didn’t seem to bounce him at all, he was close to the horse in a way few riders are ever. Watching him slide down was like watching silk fall from a sleeping child’s fingertips. He drew about him a cloak that seemed to devour the light that was the falling sun and tied the horse as he made his way to the door of the inn. Lucky for him that he’d arrived when he had.
“When monsters still ruled us, the sun’s falling fortold the end of any who ventured outside or opened their doors to any. In his time, the Duke was still in the big castle on the other side of the woods to the west of our little town of Durendem. The castle is ruins now, but if anything, the Duke had kept it very nice. Well, at least he was good for something, eh?”
Well anyways, Darke made no move to tarry or linger, he simply strode into the tavern we had, making no move to be swayed by the harlots and the drunkards, he simply cut through crowds like a blade through all else. He took up a seat and when the round bartender made his way to parrallell him with Darke, he didn't look up. He spoke, his lips just barely beneath the shade of his widebrimmed hat.
"There are many monsters in this land, yet none are too bothered that they are confined to this place, so destitute and full of fear. Why does no one destroy the monsters? Simple packs are no great undertaking." He had a tired tone, that spoke of many experiences with every aspect of the situations of which he spoke, his lips and voice unwavering in his speech.
He glanced through the inpermeable darkness to the man, who shrugged in a resigned manner, his fingertps working a rag that seemed to merely smear dirt along the bartop.
"It's not like the monsters don't take more than their share of our hard work, but what can we do? We have warriors, but everytime one leaves to stop the monsters and bandits outside, they come back as a head on a stick in the morning." The man told Darke, his eyes peering tiresomely over the bar. Many were larger people, brutes who seemed to be beasts of men themselves, but none of which held the aura of stillness as Darke did.
"Bandits too, roam the lands here. Why are so many monsters here, and not fighting eachother?"
"The monsters are all in one faction of monsters here. They all look to the count who lives in the castle towards the north, where he takes our women when he can find them. And he always does," he added with a soft sigh. It was not altogether difficult for Darke to bear in mind that this man had lost a woman, a daughter or wife, to the count.
"A count, you say? It sounds to me more like a fool who plays with too many toys. Why don't you kill him? One man is certainly no obstacle to the many," Darke responded aptly, his hands waving gently in the stale air.
"We've tried. He's a vampire, one of the man-shaped beasts who drinks the blood of his own," the tender said, setting the abused rag down on the bartop and setting his hands down ontop of it. " No one can fight all of those monsters at once," the man added, sighing softly.
"I see," Darke said, but it was apparent later that Darke had learned nothing more now than he had known when he set foot in that town. Confirmation was all that the conversation had seemed to amount to. When he rose, the tender reached over and yanked his dark cloak open. There, on his belt was a long sword, with a cross drawn on the hilt.
"I don't think you see, stranger," the bartender said, sitting back, feeling a bit foolish. "There's a graveyard of people who went there to die down the road."
"Not to be misleading, but I'm not interested in graveyards, or legends, or titles that people give themselves. If he says he is a count, that will mean as much to me as it did before he said it." Darke said, grumpily, though his voice seemed just as calm as it had been before he had had his cloak opened. "It's not a worry I concern myself with often,"
If you like it, say so, I'll be sure to write more as the weeks drag by in this wintery season.
|
 |
Reply
