queenofdisco
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Regal Wisp
I breath the cool air, the cold explains the steady sands. It tells me as it enters my lungs, of the thunderous volume it witnessed this day when the sun heated it to a hectic sweat, the ring; deafening it was. I ask the reason for the unwanted silence, when then only I know my eyes see the answer…… blood stained sands, a vicious or glorious perhaps both- battle was upon this ring of beauty this early morning.
The sands ask me why I ask, they tell me that which I already know, they tell me I died on this floor, I shake in horror; I did not die. For I am still here, no the beautiful sands lie, I did not die, my axe sliced through my enemies and rivals this day not them unto me, oh no that can’t be.
I ask them again, they weep repeating their answer, I bark at them.
“I am alive” I cry.
They forsake using mans word, and show me…. the bastards weren’t lying, my mind fades into…. Life? It might be life, it could be acceptance of death, then I know, it is morning once more!
I look around the arena’s crowd roaring for blood, I jump and turn to view the mob, my eyes widen, the hairs stand on end, then the gate opens.
A man runs out, gowned in black he is carrying a sword curved it is, with blue gems embedded in the handle.
“What a beautiful blade” I whisper, under the continuously thrilled crowd.
The man introduced as the executioner glared at me with a special hatred usually reserved for rapists. He dashes at me, I take arms swinging my axe at the man, he jolts to my side with inhuman speed then placing and removing his pretty dagger before I knew it.
I fall to a knee, doing my best to work through the fatal wound, I look for him and see a blur of darkness laughing at me.
“Such footwork” I gasp for air, and shake myself to see the man clearly.
I jump to my feet baring through the bloody mess of my side. He runs at me again, I fear. I look for him, he disappeared, he wants me to hear him I think as he brushes the sand with his feet. Behind me!
Too late, arghh it hurts, no blade was placed, the bastard teases me jabs from his sword’s hilt. I turn cleaving the air aiming for the whore-sons ribs. He’s gone, I strain to see and to understand. What is he?! Such speed I curse.
“Pitiful barbarian” he shouts.
I swallow my pride, I swallow the regal laws to which I swore to. A heir to kingship reduced to this, dying for entertainment for the Albion scum.
“What is a raid now and then.” I say.
He snarls, he walks forward, firmly and casually slapping the axe from my hand, then thrusting his sword to my chest, I fall. The crowd is gone, the sun is gone, the night is here once more.
“I….. I am shamed.” I weep. I look to the sands, they say nothing. I choke on my forgotten pride. Sliced down like a dog, like a commoner.
“Who was that man?” My eyes water, no they do not. For the dead do not have it in them to. “I am…”
I am withdrawn in my final thoughts, from a man looking at me, he stands at the first row, of the empty seats. he whispers something.
“dead”
I do not hear him, for not the darkness I could see whom I looked on at.
I look away, and fade.
----------------------------
Alot lighter than my last short story, and maybe less disturbing. This is a apposing piece to a scene of my Saliek story. Please enjoy this snippet.
And please do share your thoughts.
Hermit
I breath the cool air, the cold explains the steady sands. It tells me as it enters my lungs, of the thunderous volume it witnessed this day when the sun heated it to a hectic sweat, the ring; deafening it was. I ask the reason for the unwanted silence, when then only I know my eyes see the answer…… blood stained sands, a vicious or glorious perhaps both- battle was upon this ring of beauty this early morning.
The sands ask me why I ask, they tell me that which I already know, they tell me I died on this floor, I shake in horror; I did not die. For I am still here, no the beautiful sands lie, I did not die, my axe sliced through my enemies and rivals this day not them unto me, oh no that can’t be.
I ask them again, they weep repeating their answer, I bark at them.
“I am alive” I cry.
They forsake using mans word, and show me…. the bastards weren’t lying, my mind fades into…. Life? It might be life, it could be acceptance of death, then I know, it is morning once more!
I look around the arena’s crowd roaring for blood, I jump and turn to view the mob, my eyes widen, the hairs stand on end, then the gate opens.
A man runs out, gowned in black he is carrying a sword curved it is, with blue gems embedded in the handle.
“What a beautiful blade” I whisper, under the continuously thrilled crowd.
The man introduced as the executioner glared at me with a special hatred usually reserved for rapists. He dashes at me, I take arms swinging my axe at the man, he jolts to my side with inhuman speed then placing and removing his pretty dagger before I knew it.
I fall to a knee, doing my best to work through the fatal wound, I look for him and see a blur of darkness laughing at me.
“Such footwork” I gasp for air, and shake myself to see the man clearly.
I jump to my feet baring through the bloody mess of my side. He runs at me again, I fear. I look for him, he disappeared, he wants me to hear him I think as he brushes the sand with his feet. Behind me!
Too late, arghh it hurts, no blade was placed, the bastard teases me jabs from his sword’s hilt. I turn cleaving the air aiming for the whore-sons ribs. He’s gone, I strain to see and to understand. What is he?! Such speed I curse.
“Pitiful barbarian” he shouts.
I swallow my pride, I swallow the regal laws to which I swore to. A heir to kingship reduced to this, dying for entertainment for the Albion scum.
“What is a raid now and then.” I say.
He snarls, he walks forward, firmly and casually slapping the axe from my hand, then thrusting his sword to my chest, I fall. The crowd is gone, the sun is gone, the night is here once more.
“I….. I am shamed.” I weep. I look to the sands, they say nothing. I choke on my forgotten pride. Sliced down like a dog, like a commoner.
“Who was that man?” My eyes water, no they do not. For the dead do not have it in them to. “I am…”
I am withdrawn in my final thoughts, from a man looking at me, he stands at the first row, of the empty seats. he whispers something.
“dead”
I do not hear him, for not the darkness I could see whom I looked on at.
I look away, and fade.
----------------------------
Alot lighter than my last short story, and maybe less disturbing. This is a apposing piece to a scene of my Saliek story. Please enjoy this snippet.
And please do share your thoughts.
Hermit
i like it
