Post by Vija Thorn on Feb 4, 2014 4:41:06 GMT -6
For a winters day, the breeze that flitted through the high trees was not as cold as normal, in fact, this day was uncharacteristically warm. Many took advantage of this fact, venturing out of their homes to hunt, visit the market, or just to soak up some much needed sunlight. But the reason why the assassin, crouched high in the trees, was out was for none of these reasons. No, he was on the job. It had taken longer than normal to locate this particular target but now that he had, there would be no failure.
Completely oblivious to the peril she was in, the woman walked slowly below. Like a phantom, Vija had haunted the forest as of late, occasionally passing through town but never stopping to speak to anyone. The assassin high above considered her for a long while, following her as she went. Her expression was drawn and weary, appearing as if no joy was left within her.
This was indeed true. In a mix of bitter anger and hopelessness, Vija had no love of the world. She had come to the end of her rope long ago, losing all she loved and cared about along with any principles she lived her life to. And when the final two people who she cared about finally gave up on the land, leaving it and her behind, she had given up. Any thread of spirit, compassion….hope that she had left slipped away. And in that moment she had become like an apparition, cursed in her uncaring and hopeless mindset to wander aimlessly and without purpose.
In the past the tiny twang of the bowstring would have brought a fox-like ear swiveling around to the sound. But on this day, it was the sudden pain in her chest that brought her attention. A black arrow, penetrating even her thick leather armor, protruded just shy of her heart.
High in the trees above, the assassin cursed his shot. The glare of the sun on the snow blinded him, paining his sensitive eyes and causing him to miss. And he had missed, having aimed for her heart. He much preferred bringing swift deaths, for he was not in the profession of causing suffering. He swallowed, brows coming together as he drew another arrow from his quiver and prepared to nock it. But then, as he watched his current mark, he stopped.
Below the assassin, the kinto’s lips parted slightly as she raised both hands to barely touch the arrow. A look of pain and confusion passed her face for a moment. Her body already beginning to fail, Vija furrowed her brows and followed the arrows path up to the trees. For a moment their eyes met, but to the assassin’s amazement rather than anger or hate passing through the gaze, the only emotion that the kinto conveyed was acceptance, even thankfulness.
She then broke the gaze to shut her eyes, dropping her hands to her sides and raising her face up to the sky. To the assassin’s shock and wonder, a look of serenity passed over the woman’s face then. This was the moment she had been waiting for. It was over. She could now meet whatever fate she would. Thinking of her brother, of her family, she hoped that they would be there to greet her. They had long ago left her alone in this lonely and cruel world. She could now finally join them.
The barbarian stumbled back a step then, and in a violent coughing fit, brought up a mouthful of blood that had begun pooling in her lung. Her heart struggled to continue beating, despite the arrowhead that was cutting into it. But that struggle lasted only minutes more. Falling backwards, Vija lay back in the snow, her hair that had grown much to long was wreathing her head like a halo.
Shutting her eyes, the fox kinto laid her arms at her side as she took her final shallow breaths. And then, very quietly, her life passed, drifting away from her mortal form with no grandeur or celebration. Unlike the many times that little life force had slipped from her body, this time it was not returning.
Vija, who led the small human band in the kinto/human wars. Vija, whose design had ended that war. Vija, who sat on the very first peace council of wildgard. Vija, who fought and defended the land of wildgard. Vija, who had lost so very much. Vija the barbarian, the killer, the slaughterer of an entire town. The friend who would never give up on you, the rock who was often leaned on by friends; who had been loved by many and equally hated by many others…was gone.
The only witness to this great passing was the single assassin who knew nothing of this woman.
Normally after a completed hit, the assassin would depart as quickly as possible. But something drew him towards the body in the snow.
Shouldering his bow and deftly sliding down the tree, the assassin approached the kinto. Stepping through the snow until he stood beside her, he studied her face. Her expression was not one of pain, or anger, but one of peace. Something told him that this was the first time in a long time those features held that expression.
What was confusing him was that she was the only one of his marks had accepted their death graciously and with thanks. Looking down on her, he wondered who she had been and what she had been through to bring the hopelessness he had seen on her face. Seeing her now with the serene expression he could finally see the youth of her features. With the look of hopelessness that had been there before he had assumed her beyond the years she had actually been.
Pulling her heavy cowl down to free his hair to the wind, he turned his face upwards like she had. Shutting his eyes, he spoke a quiet prayer in his native tongue for the soul he had just snuffed out. Hopefully she would find what she was looking for in the place after death.
Opening his eyes once more, he was about to leave when a tiny shimmer caught his eye. There, among the mane of hair that ringed her face, a small owl pendant hung from a braid. Very rarely did the assassin loot bodies….but for reasons he could not fathom he reached down with a gloved hand and pulled the pendant from the braid.
He turned it over in his hands for a moment. It was delicately carved out of wood and even more delicately painted. On the back, there was a tiny etching of a name. ‘Vija’. Letting out a small sigh, the assassin slipped it into his coin pouch before whispering the words to his teleport spell. And in an instant, the assassin was gone, leaving only his steps in the snow as a sign of his ever being there.
For a long while the forest sat in silence, as if honoring the kinto who lay in its embrace. It even seemed that the trees shuddered much more than the slight wind could cause, their limbs swaying downwards protectively towards her. It was an end of a long and painful era, and was one of both joy and mourning. The kinto had given mind, heart, and soul to the land and its people….and now her body as well.
But it was not so sad.
All things come to an end.
Completely oblivious to the peril she was in, the woman walked slowly below. Like a phantom, Vija had haunted the forest as of late, occasionally passing through town but never stopping to speak to anyone. The assassin high above considered her for a long while, following her as she went. Her expression was drawn and weary, appearing as if no joy was left within her.
This was indeed true. In a mix of bitter anger and hopelessness, Vija had no love of the world. She had come to the end of her rope long ago, losing all she loved and cared about along with any principles she lived her life to. And when the final two people who she cared about finally gave up on the land, leaving it and her behind, she had given up. Any thread of spirit, compassion….hope that she had left slipped away. And in that moment she had become like an apparition, cursed in her uncaring and hopeless mindset to wander aimlessly and without purpose.
In the past the tiny twang of the bowstring would have brought a fox-like ear swiveling around to the sound. But on this day, it was the sudden pain in her chest that brought her attention. A black arrow, penetrating even her thick leather armor, protruded just shy of her heart.
High in the trees above, the assassin cursed his shot. The glare of the sun on the snow blinded him, paining his sensitive eyes and causing him to miss. And he had missed, having aimed for her heart. He much preferred bringing swift deaths, for he was not in the profession of causing suffering. He swallowed, brows coming together as he drew another arrow from his quiver and prepared to nock it. But then, as he watched his current mark, he stopped.
Below the assassin, the kinto’s lips parted slightly as she raised both hands to barely touch the arrow. A look of pain and confusion passed her face for a moment. Her body already beginning to fail, Vija furrowed her brows and followed the arrows path up to the trees. For a moment their eyes met, but to the assassin’s amazement rather than anger or hate passing through the gaze, the only emotion that the kinto conveyed was acceptance, even thankfulness.
She then broke the gaze to shut her eyes, dropping her hands to her sides and raising her face up to the sky. To the assassin’s shock and wonder, a look of serenity passed over the woman’s face then. This was the moment she had been waiting for. It was over. She could now meet whatever fate she would. Thinking of her brother, of her family, she hoped that they would be there to greet her. They had long ago left her alone in this lonely and cruel world. She could now finally join them.
The barbarian stumbled back a step then, and in a violent coughing fit, brought up a mouthful of blood that had begun pooling in her lung. Her heart struggled to continue beating, despite the arrowhead that was cutting into it. But that struggle lasted only minutes more. Falling backwards, Vija lay back in the snow, her hair that had grown much to long was wreathing her head like a halo.
Shutting her eyes, the fox kinto laid her arms at her side as she took her final shallow breaths. And then, very quietly, her life passed, drifting away from her mortal form with no grandeur or celebration. Unlike the many times that little life force had slipped from her body, this time it was not returning.
Vija, who led the small human band in the kinto/human wars. Vija, whose design had ended that war. Vija, who sat on the very first peace council of wildgard. Vija, who fought and defended the land of wildgard. Vija, who had lost so very much. Vija the barbarian, the killer, the slaughterer of an entire town. The friend who would never give up on you, the rock who was often leaned on by friends; who had been loved by many and equally hated by many others…was gone.
The only witness to this great passing was the single assassin who knew nothing of this woman.
Normally after a completed hit, the assassin would depart as quickly as possible. But something drew him towards the body in the snow.
Shouldering his bow and deftly sliding down the tree, the assassin approached the kinto. Stepping through the snow until he stood beside her, he studied her face. Her expression was not one of pain, or anger, but one of peace. Something told him that this was the first time in a long time those features held that expression.
What was confusing him was that she was the only one of his marks had accepted their death graciously and with thanks. Looking down on her, he wondered who she had been and what she had been through to bring the hopelessness he had seen on her face. Seeing her now with the serene expression he could finally see the youth of her features. With the look of hopelessness that had been there before he had assumed her beyond the years she had actually been.
Pulling her heavy cowl down to free his hair to the wind, he turned his face upwards like she had. Shutting his eyes, he spoke a quiet prayer in his native tongue for the soul he had just snuffed out. Hopefully she would find what she was looking for in the place after death.
Opening his eyes once more, he was about to leave when a tiny shimmer caught his eye. There, among the mane of hair that ringed her face, a small owl pendant hung from a braid. Very rarely did the assassin loot bodies….but for reasons he could not fathom he reached down with a gloved hand and pulled the pendant from the braid.
He turned it over in his hands for a moment. It was delicately carved out of wood and even more delicately painted. On the back, there was a tiny etching of a name. ‘Vija’. Letting out a small sigh, the assassin slipped it into his coin pouch before whispering the words to his teleport spell. And in an instant, the assassin was gone, leaving only his steps in the snow as a sign of his ever being there.
For a long while the forest sat in silence, as if honoring the kinto who lay in its embrace. It even seemed that the trees shuddered much more than the slight wind could cause, their limbs swaying downwards protectively towards her. It was an end of a long and painful era, and was one of both joy and mourning. The kinto had given mind, heart, and soul to the land and its people….and now her body as well.
But it was not so sad.
All things come to an end.
