Hey! People reviewed! I'm not gonna review their reviews. Though I do love
you all in your own special way.
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Many, many years from that fateful day when the Assassin walked out on the Cleric forever, a lone figure walked among the remains of a ruined castle. A deep pit surrounded it and was full of long since solidified magma. Massive black stones and hunks of walls lay strewn about the inside of the frame.
The figure kicked a small stone down the ravine and watched it fall. It tumbled loudly in the silence until it came to a dusty rest at the bottom. The figure turned, revealing the face of the Cleric whom we've all come to know and love. His face was impassive as he surveyed the scene. So many years ago, his life changed again. He wasn't used to being alone, and spending several centuries with the Assassin didn't remedy the severe loneliness he sometimes felt. To the untrained eye, he looked a mere 19 or 20, but years must have pressed for him to show much age at all. He sighed heavily and prepared to leave. He had begun to concentrate on his next destination when an evil presence filled his mind and his eyes narrowed. He instinctively fingered the hilt of his Avenger.
"Oh come now Dacius, it hasn't been that long, has it? Don't tell me you couldn't sense me?" a mocking voice rang happily through the debris. The Cleric turned to face the Assassin. He was slightly surprised by her change in appearance but he didn't show it. Her formerly shifting hazel eyes had settled at a stormy gray with hints of amber. Her straight light brown hair was a mass of deep brown loose curls. The band still adorned her wrist, though with slight variation. It was still midnight black but silver scrollwork had been worked into it and several fire opals (very pretty I might add) were inlaid in the original piece. She wore a black band choker with fire opals that matched her bracelet. Her scar was still prominent on her face and her ears were still full of earrings, onyx and fire opals again. She still wore the black pants, slightly tighter and lower than before but in essence the same, and a tight black long sleeved shirt. The sword that she had stolen from Anya so long ago hung at her hip and her black painted nails tapped on it rhythmically. She grinned at him mockingly.
"Amys," he said coolly.
She merely inclined her head at her name.
"What brings you here?" he said in the same cold manner.
She smiled. "It seems, old friend, that you are the last of a dying breed," she stated totally ignoring his previous question.
It was true; the numbers of clerics had dwindled dangerously. Necromancers were ferreting them out and horrific and powerful battles that leveled cities also leveled the fighters. This is not to be said that necromancers were in booming numbers either.
"And it is said, that you are the last of a dead one," he said with a hint of venom in his tone.
She smirked. "I shall take that as a compliment,"
"It wasn't meant to be one."
"It does say something to me though, doesn't it?" she questioned. "How would it be that I would survive while so many of my kind had died? And many of yours have fallen at my feet, have they not?" Her cordial smile was gone and she was serious now.
The Cleric's eyes flashed in anger but soon returned to their impassive state. "I will avenge those whom you have brutally murdered," he rumbled in a low tone.
"Will you now?" her light and uncaring air returned quickly. "I highly doubt that you would beat me, as so many before of your arrogant kind. You always were arrogant, even before I got a- different perspective- on things. You were always right and I wrong. Where did that get you? Alone and fighting an un-winnable fight. So long as there is good, there will be evil to counter it. Right now, that would be me," she smiled and crossed her arms in front of her.
"Arrogant?" he asked, her conversation rumbling around in his head.
She smiled and nodded.
"Well, never been called that before. Nonetheless," he said as he slowly and dramatically drew the Avenger.
She rolled her eyes. "You don't scare me."
"Ah, but I should. I will be your undoing, enjoy your last breaths," he said and he ran at her. She rolled her eyes and stepped sideways into a shadow. The Cleric hastily tried to stop himself before he went tumbling down the ravine.
When he was fully upright again, the shadows seemed different. They moved unnaturally and hesitantly toward him.
"And what does this do?" he scoffed.
"I was told once, it was hard for Clerics to remain in shadow for too long. If they did, they Fell-"
"So you intend to make me Fall?" he scoffed. "I'd kill myself first."
"Hasty too. Always hasty. I don't want you to Fall. That would be too easy. I want you to fall at my blade. Even Clerics who had Fallen to our side retained that obnoxious arrogance. I truly grew weary of it. I killed a few until I was forbidden to," she sighed, "so many rules. I'm so tired of rules."
The shadows stopped moving and she walked out. The shadows left a 200-meter radius. The Assassin pulled back her curly hair and stopped walking. She tipped her head backward and looked down the future field of battle at him. Her smirk had never left her face and the Cleric was beginning to tire of that mocking half smile.
"Let's make this interesting," she said laughing. "I won't use dark magic and you can't use," she scrunched up her nose in disgust, "magic of light. Deal? That way we could see who truly is the better swordsman. Or should I say swordswoman?"
"You call me arrogant? Fine. I won't use my magic. It's settled then," he rotated his wrist. "Oh yeah, nearly forgot. This time, I won't bring you back." He lunged at her and she laughed lightly while drawing her own weapon.
"Don't worry, if I bring you back, it will only be to serve me," and her expression changed in a heartbeat into a cold and solemn mood.
Metal on metal rang out as they moved faster than any eye could follow. Neither had landed on flesh as of yet, but it would not be long until one of the blades found skin.
The Assassin's smile returned as she fought, though it did not seep to her eyes which remained their stormy gray without emotion. Logically, one should have fallen after the sixth or seventh ring of metal, but both were still going strong. They said nothing as they danced but it was clear what the other was thinking. The Cleric only saw a necromancer, and the Assassin only a cleric. The past was forgotten of both and there was only the here and now. Dark sparks danced around the Assassin's form as she fought both internally and externally. Inside her, the will to crush him with her magic was building up, but she was always foolishly one to stand by her word. So her magic's only outlet was the sparks that danced along her.
"Having trouble?" the Cleric asked between attacks.
"Not at all, thank you for asking," she hissed as she dodged an attack from him. Though her dodge came a bit too late. The blade came dangerously to her face and she was a hair's breadth from being clear of the blade when it found the flesh below her left eye, crisscrossing her old scar. Blood began to dribble thickly down her cheek and she stepped back several feet to touch her wound curiously, as if she had never seen the red substance pouring from her cheek. She flicked her fingers free and a dark anger swirled the amber in her eyes.
"You cut me," she said barely above a whisper. "You actually cut me? Oh, for this you must pay dearly."
Her form disappeared in plain sight and she reappeared in front of him only long enough to fake an attack to his chest and plant a hefty dagger in his side. She disappeared again and came back into view back in her original position.
He bit his lip as he pulled the dagger from his side and glared at her. His eyes began to shift to their blue glow when he was about to heal someone and she set her jaw in frustration.
"Oh no you don't," she muttered and leapt at him with all the momentum she could muster. He abandoned his healing effort and leapt to meet her halfway. Their swords collided halfway and in a brilliant flash of light that the sudden and powerful clash that their opposite weapons produced. Both were disarmed and thrown across the large area and skidded motionlessly to a rest. Neither moved. The silence was deafening and the sound of the dust settling back to the floor was as loud as a construction site.
After what seemed an eternity, the Assassin stirred painfully and in a very sluggish motion. She rolled over from her prone position and lifted her head barely enough to see the Cleric's motionless form somewhere around a 100 yards from her. She sighed and lay her head back down. Her mind was fully operational, even if her body screamed in pain while breathing. She quickly surveyed the damage from her collision. Her arm was most definitely broken, as was her leg, judging from the awkward position that it bent. She had definitely cracked or broken ribs. Blood had begun to clot from a gash in her head and her hair stuck defiantly around it. Her face felt swollen and she winced as she shifted her arm. Tilting both arm and head she saw the serious road-rash from sliding. The whole underside of her right arm was bleeding and filled with gravel and dust. Her hip and thigh were a red and bloody mess, barely a hint of what they actually looked like. Her back was a little cut up also but not as bad. Biting her tongue hard, she forced herself into a sitting position. Her leg screamed and her arm was fire, but she got up. Sitting wobbly, she watched the Cleric still unmoving.
She began to laugh bitterly. It was almost ironic. He nearly brought her to her downfall. Nearly. She still had breath. But what was funnier was that she had spent all that time with him and now she was his. Life truly does come back and bite you in the ass. Bites hard when it does too. Her bitter laughter was nearing on hysterics and her chest cried in pain but she couldn't seem to stop. She hadn't yet realized that tears fell freely down her face and the clotted wound had broken open again. Blood mingled with the tears, making it appear she was crying blood.
Her laughter rocked the room and a lone dove that was watching from one of the remaining walls flew away in a rustle of feathers in fear of the crazy girl sitting in a pile of dust, rubble and blood. She laughed as the shadows began to collect her. She would lick her wounds elsewhere. The remnants of her laugh echoed sickly even after she was gone. The Cleric's spirit sighed from the air. He didn't find anything that funny.
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That's it. I'm done. It's over. For real.
We've had a good run, right? A lot has changed since I decided to actually post one of my stories that fateful day in July while I was bored at work. Hey, all good things tho, right?
Much love to everyone who reviewed. And I mean everyone. Even people who only reviewed once. Perhaps I'll get over a hundred. That would just blow me away.
Its funny, I did an entire season of swimming during this. Its officially over, nothing at all relating to do with the sport, on the 11th when I get my letterman's jacket. Oh yeah, Tigereyes lettered again and gets a jacket. Huzzah! Much love and as always, give love to swimmers (and any athlete for that matter) school sucks and boys have cooties.
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Many, many years from that fateful day when the Assassin walked out on the Cleric forever, a lone figure walked among the remains of a ruined castle. A deep pit surrounded it and was full of long since solidified magma. Massive black stones and hunks of walls lay strewn about the inside of the frame.
The figure kicked a small stone down the ravine and watched it fall. It tumbled loudly in the silence until it came to a dusty rest at the bottom. The figure turned, revealing the face of the Cleric whom we've all come to know and love. His face was impassive as he surveyed the scene. So many years ago, his life changed again. He wasn't used to being alone, and spending several centuries with the Assassin didn't remedy the severe loneliness he sometimes felt. To the untrained eye, he looked a mere 19 or 20, but years must have pressed for him to show much age at all. He sighed heavily and prepared to leave. He had begun to concentrate on his next destination when an evil presence filled his mind and his eyes narrowed. He instinctively fingered the hilt of his Avenger.
"Oh come now Dacius, it hasn't been that long, has it? Don't tell me you couldn't sense me?" a mocking voice rang happily through the debris. The Cleric turned to face the Assassin. He was slightly surprised by her change in appearance but he didn't show it. Her formerly shifting hazel eyes had settled at a stormy gray with hints of amber. Her straight light brown hair was a mass of deep brown loose curls. The band still adorned her wrist, though with slight variation. It was still midnight black but silver scrollwork had been worked into it and several fire opals (very pretty I might add) were inlaid in the original piece. She wore a black band choker with fire opals that matched her bracelet. Her scar was still prominent on her face and her ears were still full of earrings, onyx and fire opals again. She still wore the black pants, slightly tighter and lower than before but in essence the same, and a tight black long sleeved shirt. The sword that she had stolen from Anya so long ago hung at her hip and her black painted nails tapped on it rhythmically. She grinned at him mockingly.
"Amys," he said coolly.
She merely inclined her head at her name.
"What brings you here?" he said in the same cold manner.
She smiled. "It seems, old friend, that you are the last of a dying breed," she stated totally ignoring his previous question.
It was true; the numbers of clerics had dwindled dangerously. Necromancers were ferreting them out and horrific and powerful battles that leveled cities also leveled the fighters. This is not to be said that necromancers were in booming numbers either.
"And it is said, that you are the last of a dead one," he said with a hint of venom in his tone.
She smirked. "I shall take that as a compliment,"
"It wasn't meant to be one."
"It does say something to me though, doesn't it?" she questioned. "How would it be that I would survive while so many of my kind had died? And many of yours have fallen at my feet, have they not?" Her cordial smile was gone and she was serious now.
The Cleric's eyes flashed in anger but soon returned to their impassive state. "I will avenge those whom you have brutally murdered," he rumbled in a low tone.
"Will you now?" her light and uncaring air returned quickly. "I highly doubt that you would beat me, as so many before of your arrogant kind. You always were arrogant, even before I got a- different perspective- on things. You were always right and I wrong. Where did that get you? Alone and fighting an un-winnable fight. So long as there is good, there will be evil to counter it. Right now, that would be me," she smiled and crossed her arms in front of her.
"Arrogant?" he asked, her conversation rumbling around in his head.
She smiled and nodded.
"Well, never been called that before. Nonetheless," he said as he slowly and dramatically drew the Avenger.
She rolled her eyes. "You don't scare me."
"Ah, but I should. I will be your undoing, enjoy your last breaths," he said and he ran at her. She rolled her eyes and stepped sideways into a shadow. The Cleric hastily tried to stop himself before he went tumbling down the ravine.
When he was fully upright again, the shadows seemed different. They moved unnaturally and hesitantly toward him.
"And what does this do?" he scoffed.
"I was told once, it was hard for Clerics to remain in shadow for too long. If they did, they Fell-"
"So you intend to make me Fall?" he scoffed. "I'd kill myself first."
"Hasty too. Always hasty. I don't want you to Fall. That would be too easy. I want you to fall at my blade. Even Clerics who had Fallen to our side retained that obnoxious arrogance. I truly grew weary of it. I killed a few until I was forbidden to," she sighed, "so many rules. I'm so tired of rules."
The shadows stopped moving and she walked out. The shadows left a 200-meter radius. The Assassin pulled back her curly hair and stopped walking. She tipped her head backward and looked down the future field of battle at him. Her smirk had never left her face and the Cleric was beginning to tire of that mocking half smile.
"Let's make this interesting," she said laughing. "I won't use dark magic and you can't use," she scrunched up her nose in disgust, "magic of light. Deal? That way we could see who truly is the better swordsman. Or should I say swordswoman?"
"You call me arrogant? Fine. I won't use my magic. It's settled then," he rotated his wrist. "Oh yeah, nearly forgot. This time, I won't bring you back." He lunged at her and she laughed lightly while drawing her own weapon.
"Don't worry, if I bring you back, it will only be to serve me," and her expression changed in a heartbeat into a cold and solemn mood.
Metal on metal rang out as they moved faster than any eye could follow. Neither had landed on flesh as of yet, but it would not be long until one of the blades found skin.
The Assassin's smile returned as she fought, though it did not seep to her eyes which remained their stormy gray without emotion. Logically, one should have fallen after the sixth or seventh ring of metal, but both were still going strong. They said nothing as they danced but it was clear what the other was thinking. The Cleric only saw a necromancer, and the Assassin only a cleric. The past was forgotten of both and there was only the here and now. Dark sparks danced around the Assassin's form as she fought both internally and externally. Inside her, the will to crush him with her magic was building up, but she was always foolishly one to stand by her word. So her magic's only outlet was the sparks that danced along her.
"Having trouble?" the Cleric asked between attacks.
"Not at all, thank you for asking," she hissed as she dodged an attack from him. Though her dodge came a bit too late. The blade came dangerously to her face and she was a hair's breadth from being clear of the blade when it found the flesh below her left eye, crisscrossing her old scar. Blood began to dribble thickly down her cheek and she stepped back several feet to touch her wound curiously, as if she had never seen the red substance pouring from her cheek. She flicked her fingers free and a dark anger swirled the amber in her eyes.
"You cut me," she said barely above a whisper. "You actually cut me? Oh, for this you must pay dearly."
Her form disappeared in plain sight and she reappeared in front of him only long enough to fake an attack to his chest and plant a hefty dagger in his side. She disappeared again and came back into view back in her original position.
He bit his lip as he pulled the dagger from his side and glared at her. His eyes began to shift to their blue glow when he was about to heal someone and she set her jaw in frustration.
"Oh no you don't," she muttered and leapt at him with all the momentum she could muster. He abandoned his healing effort and leapt to meet her halfway. Their swords collided halfway and in a brilliant flash of light that the sudden and powerful clash that their opposite weapons produced. Both were disarmed and thrown across the large area and skidded motionlessly to a rest. Neither moved. The silence was deafening and the sound of the dust settling back to the floor was as loud as a construction site.
After what seemed an eternity, the Assassin stirred painfully and in a very sluggish motion. She rolled over from her prone position and lifted her head barely enough to see the Cleric's motionless form somewhere around a 100 yards from her. She sighed and lay her head back down. Her mind was fully operational, even if her body screamed in pain while breathing. She quickly surveyed the damage from her collision. Her arm was most definitely broken, as was her leg, judging from the awkward position that it bent. She had definitely cracked or broken ribs. Blood had begun to clot from a gash in her head and her hair stuck defiantly around it. Her face felt swollen and she winced as she shifted her arm. Tilting both arm and head she saw the serious road-rash from sliding. The whole underside of her right arm was bleeding and filled with gravel and dust. Her hip and thigh were a red and bloody mess, barely a hint of what they actually looked like. Her back was a little cut up also but not as bad. Biting her tongue hard, she forced herself into a sitting position. Her leg screamed and her arm was fire, but she got up. Sitting wobbly, she watched the Cleric still unmoving.
She began to laugh bitterly. It was almost ironic. He nearly brought her to her downfall. Nearly. She still had breath. But what was funnier was that she had spent all that time with him and now she was his. Life truly does come back and bite you in the ass. Bites hard when it does too. Her bitter laughter was nearing on hysterics and her chest cried in pain but she couldn't seem to stop. She hadn't yet realized that tears fell freely down her face and the clotted wound had broken open again. Blood mingled with the tears, making it appear she was crying blood.
Her laughter rocked the room and a lone dove that was watching from one of the remaining walls flew away in a rustle of feathers in fear of the crazy girl sitting in a pile of dust, rubble and blood. She laughed as the shadows began to collect her. She would lick her wounds elsewhere. The remnants of her laugh echoed sickly even after she was gone. The Cleric's spirit sighed from the air. He didn't find anything that funny.
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That's it. I'm done. It's over. For real.
We've had a good run, right? A lot has changed since I decided to actually post one of my stories that fateful day in July while I was bored at work. Hey, all good things tho, right?
Much love to everyone who reviewed. And I mean everyone. Even people who only reviewed once. Perhaps I'll get over a hundred. That would just blow me away.
Its funny, I did an entire season of swimming during this. Its officially over, nothing at all relating to do with the sport, on the 11th when I get my letterman's jacket. Oh yeah, Tigereyes lettered again and gets a jacket. Huzzah! Much love and as always, give love to swimmers (and any athlete for that matter) school sucks and boys have cooties.