36th Day of winter 512AV
Just to the north of Sunberth on the outskirts of the city and the Northern Wilds a small group of trees huddled together against the onslaught of the storm. The world was covered in a thick white blanket and still the snow continued to fall. Each flake was different, unique in it's own way. They were crystalline examples of Morwen's creativity as they slowly fell from the cloudy sky to add to her infinite collection. A collection that stretched on over the frozen earth far as the eye could see. Sarthas stood upon that snow, cloaked and hooded within the shadow of a large oak tree. His black clothing was a stark contrast to the purity around him, as if he were a disease or a cancer that had grown on the land. A fitting description for the darkness that had become a man. He was frozen in a fighting stance like a statue that stood in defiance of Morwen's strength.
The man held perfectly still, his left arm extended above his head in front of him. One of his shortswords held horizontally in an iron like grip as small piles of snow began to build upon his hood and shoulders. His right arm was cocked back as his fingers curled around the second sword, an exact copy of the first, with a much more relaxed hold. This blade was held vertically, the opposite of the left poised to defend against an invisible foe. The air was frigged and steam rose from his pale lips as each breath was taken and then forced back out into the cold air like a hot knife through frozen flesh. All around him were light footprints, they danced around extending the distance from the current shelter of his tree to the next closest a dozen feet away. The footprints seemed to move from shadow to shadow, avoiding open ground as much as possible and that is precisely what Sarthas meant to do.
The man remained a frozen sentential against the biting wind as it rose and fell in short gusts coming from over the water far in the distance. Again and again it whipped against him with angry determination making his cloak billow out behind him in a flurry of darkness but the man seemed not to notice. Winter's assault was not his concern just yet, his mind was occupied with his movements over the last several hours. Every step, every flourish, every feint and parry. Every movement however small was analyzed for perfection. There were too many mistakes, too many missteps, perfection was impossible....unreachable and yet still he reached. That is after all who the man was, what he was. He was a creature driven by the pursuit of perfection. His will was iron, unbreakable and as unyielding as his body was before the wind.
At long last the man moved and had anyone been watching, it might have been a frightening sight to see. One moment he was a frozen statue of solid obsidian, the next he came alive with a speed and ferocity that seemed inhuman in nature. His right blade shot forward and in as if he were stabbing a man in his left side while his left blade retreated back, held diagonally to ward off any attacks of this invisible enemy. He only paused for a split second before rotating his left wrist and slashing diagonally upward at what would have been the upper chest finishing at the throat. At the same moment his right blade returned from it's stab to once more assume the role of defense. So it continued, the man attacking with one blade while the other remained to defend. Alternating between left and right not favoring one over the other. As before there were mistakes now and then. The blade came in too far to defend properly, or a strike was too shallow to be effective or his footing would throw him off balance. Whatever the case, a solid strike or a mis-step, the man continued despite the Inconsistency. He made a mental note of every one of these mistakes and filed them away for later. Every now and then the fluid movements would be halted as he struggled with using both arms in unison but these moments were few and far between. Sometimes when the wind died down he shot forward in a flurry of assaults, others when the wind was at it's most violent he seemed to be defending with parry and blocks. It was almost as if he were fighting the storm itself and he certainly looked the part. Darkness against light, corruption against purity, a rather amusing comparison had the man taken a moment to recognize it. On and on it went for several hours, the two combatants dancing their deadly dance. The dark man's sweat soaked his clothing only to freeze when the wind ripped the warmth from it. Then it would melt again, thawing from the heat of his body before freezing once more. It was a cycle as endless as the battle that played out on this stage of white. Slowly his tempo began to build, squeezing every last ounce of speed out of his tired body. His mussels were burning, his heart felt as if it were going to burst it's way through his chest as the flash of his blades kept time with the beat of that heart.
Memories flashed before his eyes, unbidden yet they came non the less. Memories of a life of violence and cruelty. Of moments lost in the past and buried beneath a river of blood and sweat. Tears and loss and a hatred so profound that it seemed almost palpable, almost alive. The man was the darkness then, the shadow within the shadow as he danced over the snow beneath the barren trees. Lost in his past he was everything he was made to be, everything he was born to be.
A sudden jolt and then the stillness that followed brought the man back to the present. As his vision cleared from the darkness that had claimed it only a moment before he found himself staring at a tree. Both blades had been thrust into the trunk so hard he had sunk a good five of the twenty five inches of the steel through the hard bark of the old oak. He felt his pulse slowing, the adrenaline fading leaving behind the familiar emptiness that consumed his soul. Lifting his foot, he pressed it against the trunk of the tree and using it as leverage he jerked the steel free. Sap oozed from the tree's new wounds before quickly slowing to a stop in the bitter cold air. “Everything bleeds...” His voice was barely above a whisper and was snatched away from his lips by the wind the second he uttered the words. Somewhere, beyond the clouds and far in the distance the sun began to set as the day was drawing too a close. It would be nighttime soon, his time.
Glancing down at the weapons in his hands he knelt and set the blades on the snow. Grabbing handfuls of that snow he quickly cleaned the sap from the blades, using the end of his cloak to wipe and dry them. Returning the blades to their scabbards at his sides, the man turned his eyes to the sprawling city of Sunberth in the south. The faintest hint of a smile twisted pale lips. “Everything bleeds.” He repeated his earlier words in the same whispered voice with what could only have been a tone of amusement. His body was cooling now, the frozen sweat stealing what little heat had remained to the man. He was cold, bitter cold but for this shadow the cold was a way of life. There was no room in his existence for weakness or warmth.There was only the endless night and it called to him with the seductive voice of a lovers whisper. This city was ripe, a rotting cesspool of death waiting to happen. The man tilted his head slightly to the side like a bird listening to things only it could hear. He could smell it on the wind, taste it in the snow. She was so near...death...so close. He could always tell when she was close, like an old friend waiting with her cold welcoming arms. She beckoned to him just as she beckoned to this rotting city. This storm, this cold would smother what little warmth remained in the controlled chaos that was Sunberth. It would strangle the tiny bit of humanity that remained and with it darkness would fall. He had seen it before, in a past not so long ago. In the darkness people would show their true selves, their ugly sides that never saw the light of day. Beneath his hood, shrouded in that darkness his lips twisted further until what lay upon his face had become so ugly, so unrecognizable that to call it a smile would have been madness. Smiles were warm, inviting, this thing was anything but. At long last the sun had set and with it the light that kept the darkness at bay. Whispered words slipped from cold lips to dance on the wings of the wind. Words he had heard in his youth among the screams of agony and despair. "Sing with me tonight, sing for my delight and I will give to you what you seek, an end..." The final words were cut off by a sudden gust of violent wind that tore at the man with icy fingers. Sarthas shook his head ever so slightly. His next words were louder, clearer and filled with deadly intent. "Time to play." |
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by Sarthas on January 15th, 2013, 1:04 pm 
