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The Man With No Name
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Joined: 09 Dec 2011
Posts: 59

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re: What a teaser...

A mist hung over the dark fens of a red wood the likes of which Turchon did not know. Yet he walked on, defenseless and nearly nude. All that covered his body was a pair of tattered leather leggings and an intricate array of warpaint bearing symbols and runes he could not discern. Though the man was confused his actions were swift and decisive. Through the bush he stalked and the trees and the water, more akin to beast then man. And as he came deeper into the woods he heard it again, the screams and the howling of men and women in pain. They sang loud and clear, pleading for their lives and dying in pain all at once. But Turchon did not dwell on this he instead quickened his pace and came to a darting sprint through the woods, his form ducking between trees and shrubs until he came to a clearing free of mist.
In the center stood another man, alone and shirtless in much the same fashion as Turchon. But this man was different, he was pale and darker of hair. And his body was not filled with paint but cruel and maze like tattoos. And it was these marks that Turchon recognized for they were the marks of his enemy, the angmarim. And just as Turchon realized this the man turned, his face revealing a familiar wicked smile
"And so you come ranger... Nay, Orendir."

the man took a few steps toward Turchon, his dark gaze fixed upon his hated enemy and his hands locked behind his back.

"Or have you finally deemed yourself ill bearing on the name of your house?"

the man drew within an arms length of Turchon and leaned in to say at only a whisper- "They have."

And then swifter then the eye could see it the man thrusted a dagger into Turchon's midsection and turned its jagged edge to carve through his form, taking the blade in both hands he spilled the contents of Turchon's chest and stomach across the clearing and fell into a fit of wicked laughter as he watched the man fall to his knees...

But Turchon saw none of this, he felt no pain, his eyes were closed for the mist was too heavy now for sight and his mind too clouded to form images. All he could think of, all he could hear were the screams and pleading, the slashing of swords and spears into flesh and through bone, and then just as the noise grew unbearable Turchon let out a howl of pain and let open his eyes...

They saw first the face of an old man full of beard and age, though weathered paint could be seen and his long hair adorned many beads and trinkets. The man placed a hand on Turchon's forehead and said in a deep and rythmic voice

"The trail of blood lays before this Duvodiad."

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