BT44: Hmph. I think I might just change my pen name soon. This one is getting boring.
WL88: Noooo.
BT44: I could just /taste/ the sarcasm then.
WL88:grin:
BT44: ¬¬
WL88: Anywho, new story.
BT44: Probably be rubbish.
WL88: No no! It's good :D :cough: for once
OoOoO
It was a cold day in Ancelstierre, a bitter wind blew from the north, bringing with it dark clouds and snow. The perimeter was manned, as was policy, the guards patrolling the trenches rythmatically. It was oddly quiet, not a sound drifting across the area, as if everything had just gone silent. Well, except for the wind flutes that kept the dead exactly that; dead.
Finally, a wretched caw echoed through the air as a crow circled overhead, surprisingly being able to fly into the strong northerly wind and not be blown off course. It flapped it's wings sending spirals of feathers and what suspiciously like rotten meat down upon the perimeter patrol. Sergeant Siyamek looked up, eyes catching the bird's form and a frown of doubt etching itself into his face. He was a tall man, thin and world weary, eyes creased at the edges from the mistrusting smile he so often gave.
The bird cried again, it's beady eyes focused down as it sent another wave of black feathers drifting from the sky in a flurry. Siyamek checked he had his sword at his hip with a grim expression before heading along the trench a little further. He nodded to a couple of soldiers as he passed them, knowing they would think little of the bird, them not having the charter mark upon their brow. Siyamek himself had only a little experience with charter magic but he practised as often as he could.
There was a sudden rush of movement by all of the perimeter guards, each fixing their bayonet to their rifles. Siyamek looked towards the wall, brushing dark, snow covered locks from his face. Someone... something was walking towards them… Crossing the wall. The sergeant drew his sword and walked along the trench so he was closest to the crossing point, eyes narrowed at the approaching figure.
"STOP!"
The voice rang out. It was the captain, Siyamek assumed, his haughty voice carrying easily through the air even in this weather.
"Stop or we shoot!"
Siyamek grimaced, guns wouldn't work with a northerly wind. The captain was new to the perimeter. Often taking that tone with something... not human... was not a good thing. He let it go for now, biting his lower lip with considerable force. He reached into the charter, enjoying the momentary bliss as he moved all about him, before drawing the marks he needed out from the endless flow and placing them in his hand, just in case the wall-crosser was not what he seemed.
The figure did stop, outline barely made out through the snow. Siyamek continued to watch. A group of figures then moved out into view behind the figure, stepping around him.
"Perimeter scouts!"
The cry came from the group. The sergeant looked towards the Captain and the Captain nodded to him, signalling for him to move forwards. He did so, hoisting himself up out of the trench and walking towards them, sword naked and eyes narrowed, the charter spell still in his cupped hand. He reached the group of men. They looked like scouts save for the first figure that had come through the mist. Each man was dressed appropriately. Siyamek walked to a few paces of them before holding up the sword to the closest man's throat and indicating the man's forehead. He could feel several troupes approaching him from behind for back up but none of them strayed close to him. The man he had at sword point nodded and Siyamek reached forwards to place two fingers upon his head, feeling the endless charter flow about him once more. He drew back and went round to the next scout.
Once he had tested each scout for a corrupted mark, he moved on to the first figure. He was crouched down in the muddy slush that now surrounded the crossing point due to the snow, his face angled down so only a mop of black-brown hair was visible. Siyamek looked to the closest perimeter scout and raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Found him skulking around near the crossing point, sarge."
The man replied, glancing down at the figure that crouched in the mud. Siyamek nodded and put the sword to his back, digging it into the leather armour that covered his back.
"Stand or I shall run you through, we don't take chances at the perimeter."
Siyamek's voice was calm, steady and neutral. A little trick he had learned off the previous Captain. The man stood, eyes still cast down and hair flopping over his face. Siyamek frowned a little, moving the sword to the base of the man's neck. He taste the metallic tang of free magic though it was extremely weak, it could just have been carried in the breeze from over the wall… but something didn't feel right.
Siyamek suddenly collapsed.
The strange man in leather armour stood there for a moment before turning and looking at the collapsed body face down in the mud. The scouts all drew their swords and pointed them to the man's chest. He smirked a little.
All 8 of the scouts collapsed.
The strange man lifted his head, rusty hued eyes catching the watery light, a smirk lighting itself upon his lips. He turned and walked away; back towards the wall.
OoOoO
Siyamek heard voices. There was some strange sticky liquid about his face and body so he pushed himself up a little. He had been lying in the mud. Eyes were drawn to the bodies of the scouts. He wondered why they were lying there, confusion fogging his mind. The Sergeant pulled himself over to one and checked for a pulse. There was none. With a frown of dismay, he plucked the marks for burning the body from the charter and set them to the body. This small spell left him too weak to help the other scouts and he lay in the mud for a moment longer, blinking a little.
It all came back in a flood. The strange man, the strong spell. It had been a death spell. Why was he still alive? Siyamek pushed himself onto his hands and knees and sat, head in his hands.
OoOoO
The man in leather armour stood at the base of Cloven Crest, the charter stone at it's peak broken and cracked. The man's eyes were closed, a sword in one hand and a hand bell in the other, icy hands gripping his body as he were covered in sheets of the frozen water. Suddenly his eyes snapped open and he shifted, the coating of ice cracking and breaking. He stood straight now, brushing the stuff off of himself and a wry smile.
The crow circled above his head. After a moment it was joined by several more, each gliding on the spring breeze, for that was the current season in the Old Kingdom. The man looked up towards them. So, the perimeter thought they could stop him crossing the wall? It didn't matter. It was all for fun anyway. Living at odds with death.
He laughed a little, the notes carrying a kind of maniacal ring to them as he moved up the hill, the birds keeping pace with him in the light blue sky. Once at the hill's peak he sighed deeply the sunlight washing over him. The crows cawed and fluttered, feathers dropping to the ground all about the man.
"Go."
He looked up at them all, eyes narrowed. The birds dispersed and the man looked back towards the sunrise.
"Go.. for I shall need you upon the morrow,"
He grinned in a nasty way, sheathing his sword and placing the bell back into the bandoleer that ran about his chest. There were 7 pockets ranging in size from a jar to a pill box, each having a ebony handle sticking out the top. Eyes were fixed on the horizon.
"For on the morrow, there will be death."
OoOoO
BT44: Short TT
WL88: There there? Oo
BT44: PLEASE R&R
WL88: Yush please do.
