Post by Thoror on May 3, 2014 20:56:10 GMT -6
Evening had set over the city and the tavern was bustling with patrons eager to get smashed. The erratic ambiance of the bar radiated through the walls and could be heard on the street, drawing in potential customers and hurrying pedestrians who just wanted to get home. the inside of the building matched said sounds, with customers drinking and a travelling bard singing, and staff running hectic all over. The head of the bar had taken it upon himself to remove the trash, instead of waiting for an employee with free hands. The large metal bucket swinging lightly as he walked, he opened the staff door to the back turf, leading to the shed.
Thoror took one step out and halted. The smell and sight of blood assaulted his senses, stomach churning with dread and hands going numb. He dropped the bucket. To his right there were two bodies and a like Skirit huddled over one of them. The first was...the first was wearing a uniform. It was Starfire. No wonder she hadn't come into work today. The Dwarf knelt down beside the girl, turning her to lay upright. His hands shook as he examined her wounds. She suffered many, but the fatal one appeared to have come from an arrow.
"How expected." He mused. "Starfire, you poor girl, you get yourself into more trouble than..." Thoror trailed off. His blood ran cold. There was still a second body there. It was all mangled and scarred and the Skirit had been weeping over it's face but now it was sitting up and...
No.
No, no, no, it couldn't be. They were just wearing similar clothes, that's all. And had similar Basilica armbands. And similar flawless hair, and perfect features and hint of wisdom beyond a human lifespan in their faces and-
The Dwarf started crying. Softly at first, but tears fell faster and faster and soon he was a sobbing mess with the Skirit over the body. It was her. He couldn't believe it but it was right there in front of him. Destael was laying dead before him, marked by countless wounds big and small. There was a large gash in her stomach, cleanly cut and professionally done. It split a perfectly cut decal in her gut, mimicking the barbarian horde's coat of arms, though Thoror was too distracted by his sorrow to get angry at anyone right now.
He cradled Destael's limp form in his arms, gazing at her soft and still expression. It was pained, but looked relieved, as if death was truly desirable to her when it happened. Thoror leaned closer and kissed her forehead, then her lips. The practice would have disgusted him had it been any other corpse, but he could not live his life knowing he had never kissed his love. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek, now pale from blood loss. It was badly cut up. The Dwarf started weeping again, and clutched Destael to his chest.
Suddenly, over the mourning of the Skirit and himself, he heard a voice. A familiar voice, one that he thought he'd never hear again.
Thoror took one step out and halted. The smell and sight of blood assaulted his senses, stomach churning with dread and hands going numb. He dropped the bucket. To his right there were two bodies and a like Skirit huddled over one of them. The first was...the first was wearing a uniform. It was Starfire. No wonder she hadn't come into work today. The Dwarf knelt down beside the girl, turning her to lay upright. His hands shook as he examined her wounds. She suffered many, but the fatal one appeared to have come from an arrow.
"How expected." He mused. "Starfire, you poor girl, you get yourself into more trouble than..." Thoror trailed off. His blood ran cold. There was still a second body there. It was all mangled and scarred and the Skirit had been weeping over it's face but now it was sitting up and...
No.
No, no, no, it couldn't be. They were just wearing similar clothes, that's all. And had similar Basilica armbands. And similar flawless hair, and perfect features and hint of wisdom beyond a human lifespan in their faces and-
The Dwarf started crying. Softly at first, but tears fell faster and faster and soon he was a sobbing mess with the Skirit over the body. It was her. He couldn't believe it but it was right there in front of him. Destael was laying dead before him, marked by countless wounds big and small. There was a large gash in her stomach, cleanly cut and professionally done. It split a perfectly cut decal in her gut, mimicking the barbarian horde's coat of arms, though Thoror was too distracted by his sorrow to get angry at anyone right now.
He cradled Destael's limp form in his arms, gazing at her soft and still expression. It was pained, but looked relieved, as if death was truly desirable to her when it happened. Thoror leaned closer and kissed her forehead, then her lips. The practice would have disgusted him had it been any other corpse, but he could not live his life knowing he had never kissed his love. He rubbed his thumb over her cheek, now pale from blood loss. It was badly cut up. The Dwarf started weeping again, and clutched Destael to his chest.
Suddenly, over the mourning of the Skirit and himself, he heard a voice. A familiar voice, one that he thought he'd never hear again.