thread starter infferrno Aug 29 2009
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| This was formally known as 'Traitors' A/N: This MIGHT be the last chapter I write for a long, long, long, etc... time... Why? According to my parents, my writing is a bad habit. >.> Also, my Jr year in High School starts... in other words, my future. This said, I have been pretty bummed and sort of half-assed it towards the end... BTW... did you know that an author's writing can express their mood? Guess mine. A/N: You might wonder why my dialogs sucks more than the tube at a liposuction clinic... well that's because I hate talking. tl,dr: Hit 'Alt + F4' Prologue: The world, an end shall see And a kingdom undone A dark age there shall be When all bow to one. Child of Fire, Ice, and Thunder Shall cause the earth to sunder. For by Bera the child shall be evoked He, a passion of vengeance shall be cloaked For blood shall be spilt for blood�s death And all shall fall to the Reaper�s depth. -Goddess Minerva -- A low guttural roar swept across the rugged plains of Perion, echoing in the distant mountains, the humid air adding tension to the peaceful grounds, as if the very land was holding its breath; waiting for the inevitable. Amidst the rugged terrain, a village lay nestled in an indentation in the earth. As the night dragged on, the winds dampened and a deep sigh seemed to rise from the ground as the land let up its pent up breath, sweeping across the withered and charred ground. The browned stalks of grass rose in the tender breeze, dancing along with the gentle rays of the moon. A murmur ran through the plains as the gentle wind wafted through the darkened grass. A blanket of silence and darkness lay over the lands as Night herself held the earth in her calming arms. -- Somewhere in the distance, amongst the sparse vegetation and jagged rocks, a shadow stirred. In the dark of a willowy tree, a tall figure rose to full height and stepped from the shadows. The darkness seemed to melt off his form, crawling off him as if in fear, back into the night. As the darkness subsided, the features of a muscular man became prominent. The man stood at over six feet tall, thick, dark, coarse hair cascaded from his cranium, held together with a loose headband. A thick ropy scar ran from his bony cheek down into the depths of the bandana covering the bottom half of his face. His skin looked withered and dry; an unhealthy brown hue lay on his hide. Light leather armor adorned his figure, cracked and covered in dirt from travel. Mail backed gloves were set on his coarse hands and steel plated boots fastened to his feet. The dark clothing blended the man into the darkness, making him one with the night. From the folds of his leather garment, the man pulled out a blood-red dagger, its edges reflected the glow of the moon as it slid from its sheath. The Chief Bandit twirled his weapon experimentally in his right hand. A light whistle split the otherwise silent grounds as the iridescent blade danced in the man�s palm. Once the final tendrils melted off his body, the ma |