"The Fifth angel sounded his trumpet, and I saw that a star had fallen from
the sky to the earth. The star was given the key to the shaft of the
Abyss. and out of the smoke locusts came down upon the earth and were given
power like that of scorpions of the earth. They had as king over them the
angel of the Abyss, whose name is the Destroyer."
Revelation 9:1-11
While the fight raged in the tavern, a slight drizzle began. Within a few minutes, the skies were pouring the tears of the gods upon the countryside. The king's road was a track of deep mud, and the creeks and rivers all swelled up greatly. It was quickly building into a storm of torrential standards. The people in town stayed inside, knowing that it would be over soon, as was common with the storms of summer. Almost everyone in the kingdom sought some sort of temporary relief from nature's fury. The castle guards abandoned their forward posts to retire within the walls for the duration of the storm, for the castle itself was built upon a plateau, a great plate of earth looking as if it had been thrust up all at once from the ground. The only part of the castle that did not border on a sheer cliff was the front gate, which was staffed by twenty men. Because of the position of the castle, that was the only entrance. It was believed that only a madman would attempt to scale the cliffs, and even in he somehow succeeded, there was no way he could climb the smooth exterior of the castle wall. So the guard on the north, west, and east walls were light compared to the guard on the south wall. Because of that, plus the storm, plus the nighttime, all meant that there was absolutely no way for anyone to have spotted the man climbing the side of the cliff.
The man was chilled and soaked to the bone, his long red-blonde hair plastered to his face. He looked to be of average of even skinny build, but the way he climbed the cliff face, pulling himself up with first one hand and then the other for more than a hundred yards straight up belied the musculature under his clothes. Finally finding purchase at the top of the plateau, he heaved himself up and scrambled across the thirty feet of brush to the side of the castle, where he paused a moment to catch his breath. Then he pulled two small hooks with custom-made handgrips and, with a grunt, dug one into the mortar of the wall. The west side of the castle was old and hand not been seriously maintained in many years, and the stones had been spaced far apart, with a great deal of filler between, which was now rotting and soft. Slipping the small hooks into the crumbling mortar, the man climbed the thirty vertical yards of the castle wall quickly and vaulted over the top, dropping to a crouch on the palisade. The rain was a torrent now, and the darkness complete. The only light was the flickering torchlight that came from the windows and arrow- slits in the walls of the keep.
There were stairways down the wall in each of the towers around the castle, but the towers were likely to be guarded. The man took a rope he had liberated from the house of a fisherman and tied it to a tooth of the palisade, then let it down the inside of the wall. It dangled above the ground by some eight feet, but the man judged it would do. He quickly slid down the rope and dropped that short distance at the bottom, landing with catlike grace. Standing in the courtyard, he quickly scanned for guards he might have missed. But there were no signs of life out in the monsoon about him. Only a fool would brave the elements at a time like this - a fool, or someone in desperate need.
The castle was a grand thing, all one great stone edifice, with spires going many hundreds of feet into the air. The grand keep itself was reputed to be an impregnable fortress - it had stood for near a thousand years. However, in these years of peace, when the tranquility of the land was unperturbed by conflict and the people did not dream of an enemy, the vigil over the castle had fallen from a thousand knights to a few score of guardsmen, working in shifts. The few knights and royal guards in the castle watched the royal chambers and acted as bodyguards to the royal family. Many of them were gone with the King to Porre for the conference that he had with the leaders of the southern continent. Most of the men that remained were posted on the wall and mainly in the gatehouse, huddled together around fires in the guardrooms, trying to dry themselves. Thus it was that only a handful of men were in the main hall of the keep, two flanking the great oak doors, and a few more scattered around the room, most of them half-asleep.
The main door was not locked, merely closed against the elements. It opened slowly, and the two guards first thought that a freak wind had blown it ajar. That belief was dispelled when a man walked out of the night and into the hall. He was soaked to the bone, but seemed unconcerned about it. The two guards stepped up to his sides. One of them began, "Hold, sir. You-"
He got no further, because at that point a knife pommel seemed to sprout from the side of his neck. His eyes rolled to his partner, who seemed to have a similar growth. The young man was standing between them, his arms crossed and gripping the two blades. He released them and the two men seemed to fall with impossible grace, red blood pooling on the floor and staining the carpet. The young man, with one swift, fluid motion, dropped the small crossbow from its slung position on his back and flipped it under his arms directly into his hands. He bent his knees slightly and instantly shifted into a bowman's stance, sighting straight down the shaft for a split second before loosing the bolt into the nearest man's throat with surgical accuracy. The three other men in the hall were alerted by this point. The two far men on the right hallway pulled their shields from the useless rest position leaning on the floor up into guard position, covering their bodies from arrows with the thick iron. The other man, who was the one from the left hallway and had not been shot, ran for the intruder, drawing his blade in a flash. The intruder did not have enough time to drop his crossbow and draw his blade, and they both knew it.
Instead, he dropped his archer's stance and changed his grip on the bow. As the guard slashed at him, he took a step back from the swinging blade, and thrust the butt end of the rife down and underneath, stepping forward and bringing it up into the guard's jaw, breaking it with a telltale crack. As the guard stumbled, the man followed up, smashing the butt of the bow directly into the guard's face twice. The guard dropped to the ground, unconscious. The two guards from the right hallway were approaching more cautiously, and the young man had time to draw his unique blade and re- sling his bow. Turning to face the men, he fell into a combat stance, holding the weapon so that the curve pointed downward, one hand around the pommel, the other palm flat against the heel of the pommel. Upon seeing it, one of the guards recognized it. He furrowed his brow and brought his guard closer to himself. That was the same stance that he had seem the Princess's consort use fighting monsters in the forest, and used against the prison guards when he had broken out. No one else used it - it left you open on too many sides to be an effective stance for any but the quickest swordsman, and besides, it was useless for a straight sword, the official blade of the Guardia Knights.
The guard looked over his shield at his opponent, letting his eyes flicker from the man's chest to his eyes. After a moment, his eyes were caught in the invaders, and the guard could only notice the glazed, empty look they had. It was if the attacker wasn't even paying attention. Thinking that now was his chance, the guard sprang forward, swiftly followed by his partner, sliding in for a swift thrust. The killer spun his back to the wall and lightly parried the blades. The guard was puzzled for a moment - setting his back to the wall was like slitting your own throat for all it did for you. But then a strange sensation came from his body and he looked down to see that his opponent's sword had swept upwards, cleaved his own shield in twain, and cut a similar furrow through his own body. The guard looked the damage over for a moment, and slowly fell forward. The final guard looked at the man, this destroyer, then dropped his weapons and turned to flee. He did not take more that a few steps before the shimmering blade clove through his clavicle and his heart. The man hung from the weapon as his life was pumped from him, and then he slid off and fell in a broken heap to the floor. His slayer stood over him for a moment, then gathered up a handful of the guard's tunic to wipe his blade clean. Satisfied with its cleanliness, he sheathed it over his back and ran soundlessly down the hallway, leaving the antechamber filled with corpses and death.
Revelation 9:1-11
While the fight raged in the tavern, a slight drizzle began. Within a few minutes, the skies were pouring the tears of the gods upon the countryside. The king's road was a track of deep mud, and the creeks and rivers all swelled up greatly. It was quickly building into a storm of torrential standards. The people in town stayed inside, knowing that it would be over soon, as was common with the storms of summer. Almost everyone in the kingdom sought some sort of temporary relief from nature's fury. The castle guards abandoned their forward posts to retire within the walls for the duration of the storm, for the castle itself was built upon a plateau, a great plate of earth looking as if it had been thrust up all at once from the ground. The only part of the castle that did not border on a sheer cliff was the front gate, which was staffed by twenty men. Because of the position of the castle, that was the only entrance. It was believed that only a madman would attempt to scale the cliffs, and even in he somehow succeeded, there was no way he could climb the smooth exterior of the castle wall. So the guard on the north, west, and east walls were light compared to the guard on the south wall. Because of that, plus the storm, plus the nighttime, all meant that there was absolutely no way for anyone to have spotted the man climbing the side of the cliff.
The man was chilled and soaked to the bone, his long red-blonde hair plastered to his face. He looked to be of average of even skinny build, but the way he climbed the cliff face, pulling himself up with first one hand and then the other for more than a hundred yards straight up belied the musculature under his clothes. Finally finding purchase at the top of the plateau, he heaved himself up and scrambled across the thirty feet of brush to the side of the castle, where he paused a moment to catch his breath. Then he pulled two small hooks with custom-made handgrips and, with a grunt, dug one into the mortar of the wall. The west side of the castle was old and hand not been seriously maintained in many years, and the stones had been spaced far apart, with a great deal of filler between, which was now rotting and soft. Slipping the small hooks into the crumbling mortar, the man climbed the thirty vertical yards of the castle wall quickly and vaulted over the top, dropping to a crouch on the palisade. The rain was a torrent now, and the darkness complete. The only light was the flickering torchlight that came from the windows and arrow- slits in the walls of the keep.
There were stairways down the wall in each of the towers around the castle, but the towers were likely to be guarded. The man took a rope he had liberated from the house of a fisherman and tied it to a tooth of the palisade, then let it down the inside of the wall. It dangled above the ground by some eight feet, but the man judged it would do. He quickly slid down the rope and dropped that short distance at the bottom, landing with catlike grace. Standing in the courtyard, he quickly scanned for guards he might have missed. But there were no signs of life out in the monsoon about him. Only a fool would brave the elements at a time like this - a fool, or someone in desperate need.
The castle was a grand thing, all one great stone edifice, with spires going many hundreds of feet into the air. The grand keep itself was reputed to be an impregnable fortress - it had stood for near a thousand years. However, in these years of peace, when the tranquility of the land was unperturbed by conflict and the people did not dream of an enemy, the vigil over the castle had fallen from a thousand knights to a few score of guardsmen, working in shifts. The few knights and royal guards in the castle watched the royal chambers and acted as bodyguards to the royal family. Many of them were gone with the King to Porre for the conference that he had with the leaders of the southern continent. Most of the men that remained were posted on the wall and mainly in the gatehouse, huddled together around fires in the guardrooms, trying to dry themselves. Thus it was that only a handful of men were in the main hall of the keep, two flanking the great oak doors, and a few more scattered around the room, most of them half-asleep.
The main door was not locked, merely closed against the elements. It opened slowly, and the two guards first thought that a freak wind had blown it ajar. That belief was dispelled when a man walked out of the night and into the hall. He was soaked to the bone, but seemed unconcerned about it. The two guards stepped up to his sides. One of them began, "Hold, sir. You-"
He got no further, because at that point a knife pommel seemed to sprout from the side of his neck. His eyes rolled to his partner, who seemed to have a similar growth. The young man was standing between them, his arms crossed and gripping the two blades. He released them and the two men seemed to fall with impossible grace, red blood pooling on the floor and staining the carpet. The young man, with one swift, fluid motion, dropped the small crossbow from its slung position on his back and flipped it under his arms directly into his hands. He bent his knees slightly and instantly shifted into a bowman's stance, sighting straight down the shaft for a split second before loosing the bolt into the nearest man's throat with surgical accuracy. The three other men in the hall were alerted by this point. The two far men on the right hallway pulled their shields from the useless rest position leaning on the floor up into guard position, covering their bodies from arrows with the thick iron. The other man, who was the one from the left hallway and had not been shot, ran for the intruder, drawing his blade in a flash. The intruder did not have enough time to drop his crossbow and draw his blade, and they both knew it.
Instead, he dropped his archer's stance and changed his grip on the bow. As the guard slashed at him, he took a step back from the swinging blade, and thrust the butt end of the rife down and underneath, stepping forward and bringing it up into the guard's jaw, breaking it with a telltale crack. As the guard stumbled, the man followed up, smashing the butt of the bow directly into the guard's face twice. The guard dropped to the ground, unconscious. The two guards from the right hallway were approaching more cautiously, and the young man had time to draw his unique blade and re- sling his bow. Turning to face the men, he fell into a combat stance, holding the weapon so that the curve pointed downward, one hand around the pommel, the other palm flat against the heel of the pommel. Upon seeing it, one of the guards recognized it. He furrowed his brow and brought his guard closer to himself. That was the same stance that he had seem the Princess's consort use fighting monsters in the forest, and used against the prison guards when he had broken out. No one else used it - it left you open on too many sides to be an effective stance for any but the quickest swordsman, and besides, it was useless for a straight sword, the official blade of the Guardia Knights.
The guard looked over his shield at his opponent, letting his eyes flicker from the man's chest to his eyes. After a moment, his eyes were caught in the invaders, and the guard could only notice the glazed, empty look they had. It was if the attacker wasn't even paying attention. Thinking that now was his chance, the guard sprang forward, swiftly followed by his partner, sliding in for a swift thrust. The killer spun his back to the wall and lightly parried the blades. The guard was puzzled for a moment - setting his back to the wall was like slitting your own throat for all it did for you. But then a strange sensation came from his body and he looked down to see that his opponent's sword had swept upwards, cleaved his own shield in twain, and cut a similar furrow through his own body. The guard looked the damage over for a moment, and slowly fell forward. The final guard looked at the man, this destroyer, then dropped his weapons and turned to flee. He did not take more that a few steps before the shimmering blade clove through his clavicle and his heart. The man hung from the weapon as his life was pumped from him, and then he slid off and fell in a broken heap to the floor. His slayer stood over him for a moment, then gathered up a handful of the guard's tunic to wipe his blade clean. Satisfied with its cleanliness, he sheathed it over his back and ran soundlessly down the hallway, leaving the antechamber filled with corpses and death.
