06-25-2009, 06:00 AM
2)
He watched as the smoke rose from the valley below. A few days ago, what he surveyed was once a thriving town of a hundred. Now, a desolate gravesite of blackened ash and strewn corpses. His eyes scanned every collapsed hovel and every bloodsoaked form in the dirt. Nothing must live.
Nothing but him.
The man turned from the destruction, his forest green cloak spreading out behind him as he strode towards the nearby encampment. Aric was doing a fine job, but his progress was ploddingly slow. His loyalty was unquestionable, but his methods were that of a politician, not a tactician.
Balthus had to do something if he intended to achieve his goal. Time was close. Yet the components demanded for his goal were far from complete. Another tactic was needed.
Something bloodcurdling.
No one entered his tent. No one dared. Not anymore.
From outside, it appeared no different than any other. Dark forest green made of canvas. A tall, pavilion styled unit that could shelter six or more with ease. But inside was different.
Very different.
Within the darkness, ebony walls glistened as what appeared to be veins running along their length. A heavy black table with silver inlay was at the center, and in the back... a canopy bed lined with red satin.
Removing the cloak and tunic, Balthus began the arduous job of removing the heavy plate armor. Gauntlets of leather, the heavy epaulettes of steel, eventually the breast plate. The plate that hid the dark violet shard embedded within his chest.
He watched as the smoke rose from the valley below. A few days ago, what he surveyed was once a thriving town of a hundred. Now, a desolate gravesite of blackened ash and strewn corpses. His eyes scanned every collapsed hovel and every bloodsoaked form in the dirt. Nothing must live.
Nothing but him.
The man turned from the destruction, his forest green cloak spreading out behind him as he strode towards the nearby encampment. Aric was doing a fine job, but his progress was ploddingly slow. His loyalty was unquestionable, but his methods were that of a politician, not a tactician.
Balthus had to do something if he intended to achieve his goal. Time was close. Yet the components demanded for his goal were far from complete. Another tactic was needed.
Something bloodcurdling.
* * *
No one entered his tent. No one dared. Not anymore.
From outside, it appeared no different than any other. Dark forest green made of canvas. A tall, pavilion styled unit that could shelter six or more with ease. But inside was different.
Very different.
Within the darkness, ebony walls glistened as what appeared to be veins running along their length. A heavy black table with silver inlay was at the center, and in the back... a canopy bed lined with red satin.
Removing the cloak and tunic, Balthus began the arduous job of removing the heavy plate armor. Gauntlets of leather, the heavy epaulettes of steel, eventually the breast plate. The plate that hid the dark violet shard embedded within his chest.