Larksbrook.
It was a comfortable town. Large enough to offer comforts that people thought they needed, yet small enough to convince them all that they were safe and knew their neighbors well. Homes were frequently left unlocked when nobody was home, and children ran and played in the streets without a care in the world. Criminals were put away promptly and never heard from again. The way it should be. A life of peace and contentment, nothing more.
The moon sat high in the sky, overlooking the sleeping town and washing the stone streets and thatched roofs in a lazy silvery-white glow. Not a single guard roamed the streets, and no light was cast from a window of one who couldn't sleep. It was as quiet as could be, with the only sounds coming from the crickets and the water in the river nearly a mile away. The only thing out of the ordinary to be seen was a patch of sky not blocked by buildings, yet it was pure black with no stars twinkling in the distance. Soon enough, the patch moved. It was no mystery, but a figure, and one that moved without a sound.
Leaping from roof to roof, the figure was soon standing completely still atop the jail. Even this building was silent. For several long moments, the figure did not move, but soon it vanished. It was no act of magic, of course, but merely a slip down into a window. Even the landing on the dirty stone floor did not make a scratch. The figure straightened slowly, making a steady pace down the hall and down the stairs. No prisoners were awake, and nobody noticed that they were no longer alone. Guards slept at the doorways, their snores marking the passage of the black figure that went ever-downward. Soon the door to the basement was the last to go.
The door swung open and light flooded the hallway. Inside, the resident 'healer' was at work on his latest creation - a man with three arms instead of two. Blood, both old and new, was pooled on the floor and streaked across the walls. Spare body parts were kept in crates, some preserved in salted water like pork while others simply rotted out in the open. The man on the table was clearly dead, but for some reason the healer kept right on working as though his masterpiece would soon be walking around to show off his genius.
"Play God, pay the price."
The figure stepped forward and pulled down the black hood. It was a woman, with emerald eyes slitted with silver pupils. Her face was soft, yet her cold expression made her seem stern and hard. She had long hair that naturally fell in black curls to the small of her back, but was now tied out of her face with a thin cord that kept her focused. Though her skin was pale, it was not unhealthy, and her pointed ears betrayed even further that her race was not Human. Her black suede boots had no firm soles, making them form to her feet and keep her silence. Even the tops were tightly laced, to keep from rubbing against her raven leggings and making a sound. The only thing she wore that was not black was the blade of her sword, which she drew now as she took a step further into the room to address the surprised healer who had turned to face her at the sound of a voice.
"Who are you? What do you want?" the man demanded, holding up one of his knives defensively. He was an older gentleman, likely well respected in the community. No doubt he was married, and likely had children of his own. He would be perfectly likable, if he wasn't completely insane.
The woman stepped forward again, suddenly right in front of him. He felt her breath mingle with his and flinched in panic, making a startled swing with his blade that never connected. Her blade had already sank home before he even registered movement. Through the abdomen, pointed straight up and coming out of his shoulder. It barely missed his spine, but then again, she hadn't been aiming for it. She felt his warm blood soaking her glove and she lowered the blade enough to speak to him on eye level.
"Retribution finds us all," she breathed, gazing at him for a moment before twisting the blade and dropping the body. She eyed both corpses, then turned to leave. This was not her first, nor would it be her last. She was nearly to the door when another figure stepped inside. Tall, muscled, dark. A man. She paused and looked up, seeing an extremely attractive face in front of something that she didn't recognize at first. Wings. Black wings. She took half a step back, but for once, she was too late. An arrow slammed into her chest and she fell backward, unconscious before she hit the floor.
"Yes, it does."
Subject: Retribution 
Sun Feb 02, 2014 10:19 pm
