- Joined
- Mar 19, 2005
- Messages
- 3,886
- Age
- 33
Arrow's scuffed leather boots whispered against the cobblestone street, her steps measured and firm. Here and there came the murmur of feathered night birds from the trees and building eaves, or the occasional sound of an early riser in their house, but other than that, all was quiet. Arrow expected nothing more of the last hour of their Watch, in the soft darkness before dawn. Most nocturnal Ledonaathians, even the most ambitious of magic-users who gave them trouble, had retired for the night, and the shadows that haunted the City were sinking away from the promise of sunrise.
Understandably, the young Nightbird wasn't expecting anything more. She was a little sore from some previous scuffles, but it had been a fairly slow night for her and Roger, and she was looking forward to breakfast and a few hours of sleep once they mustered out for the Watch.
Even so, she kept her ears quivering- figuratively, that is. Her tall Raisidhe ears had been burning with the sound of magic in the earlier hours, but her sixth sense was silent now. Nothing, nothing but-
Not ten yards away from them, a scream rent the still air.
At the same time, Arrow's ears began to ache: a piercing, incredibly high-pitched ringing was driving through her skull. She knew that sound, which always accompanied the worst blood-magicks she'd encountered. Whatever had just happened, it had been terribly, terribly wrong.
And someone had lost a life because of it.
She signaled to Roger and began to run to the house up ahead.
If she had been unsure where the scream had come from, all uncertainty was washed away as a door flew open, banging on its hinges, letting flickering light spill out onto the dark street. And silhouetted on that doorstep was ... a demon
Arrow had seen plenty of summoned demons in her years as a Guard, but admittedly, this was among the most horrifying. It was humanoid in shape, hunched and thin, and completely hairless: its skin was stretched tight across its bones, greyish-brown in color with splotches of maroon. As it crawled into the light, Arrow saw that it had no mouth: where lips should be was nothing but discolored scar tissure, outlining sharp teeth within: its mouth was a closed wound.
As she watched, it began to knaw at its own skin from the inside, biting and tearing with those fangs until, with a spurt of blood, the scar tore open. The demon stretched back its head and hissed, gurgling blood and sparse ribbons of flesh.
A wave of nausea hit her, the effect of evil magick roiling in her system: she sensed a desperate, single-minded hunger, a connection gone bad. Just inside the house, a woman leaned against the wall, staring at her blood-drenched hands.
Arrow readied herself in a fighting stance and held her staff horizontally in front of her, the long curved blades appearing with a snik.
"Weak points, Roger?"
Understandably, the young Nightbird wasn't expecting anything more. She was a little sore from some previous scuffles, but it had been a fairly slow night for her and Roger, and she was looking forward to breakfast and a few hours of sleep once they mustered out for the Watch.
Even so, she kept her ears quivering- figuratively, that is. Her tall Raisidhe ears had been burning with the sound of magic in the earlier hours, but her sixth sense was silent now. Nothing, nothing but-
Not ten yards away from them, a scream rent the still air.
At the same time, Arrow's ears began to ache: a piercing, incredibly high-pitched ringing was driving through her skull. She knew that sound, which always accompanied the worst blood-magicks she'd encountered. Whatever had just happened, it had been terribly, terribly wrong.
And someone had lost a life because of it.
She signaled to Roger and began to run to the house up ahead.
If she had been unsure where the scream had come from, all uncertainty was washed away as a door flew open, banging on its hinges, letting flickering light spill out onto the dark street. And silhouetted on that doorstep was ... a demon
Arrow had seen plenty of summoned demons in her years as a Guard, but admittedly, this was among the most horrifying. It was humanoid in shape, hunched and thin, and completely hairless: its skin was stretched tight across its bones, greyish-brown in color with splotches of maroon. As it crawled into the light, Arrow saw that it had no mouth: where lips should be was nothing but discolored scar tissure, outlining sharp teeth within: its mouth was a closed wound.
As she watched, it began to knaw at its own skin from the inside, biting and tearing with those fangs until, with a spurt of blood, the scar tore open. The demon stretched back its head and hissed, gurgling blood and sparse ribbons of flesh.
A wave of nausea hit her, the effect of evil magick roiling in her system: she sensed a desperate, single-minded hunger, a connection gone bad. Just inside the house, a woman leaned against the wall, staring at her blood-drenched hands.
Arrow readied herself in a fighting stance and held her staff horizontally in front of her, the long curved blades appearing with a snik.
"Weak points, Roger?"
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