Unfulfilled
06-22-08, 01:16 AM
[Closed to those I invited]
The crisp sting of the fall air nipped gently against the ears of the Sword Demon as he clutched his coat to his chest tightly, his Sword held loosly in his hand. The sun's rays did nothing to warm up the cold as the rain clouds far out loomed ominously as they stalked closer to the inland. Feeling another chill wind nearly caused the warrior to fall to the ground, but instead he simply quaked and chilled himself to the bone as he continued to walk. He had a mile or two left to go before he was officially out of the territory of His Lordship Konrad Von Guner, the dark count of the island of Belore. He knew he was on borrowed time at this moment, and the blooded stains on his sword only left to remind him of why he walking.
The Sword Demon had become very close to finding a challenger worthy of his time and energy to seek out, and as he searched for this renowned swordsman he happened upon a very beautiful velumptious woman who clearly had an eye for the finer things. It was so quick and so fast that no one could predict it, but the demon of blades had taken her, her daughter, her handmaiden and the Lordship's concubine at once in bed. He grinned remembering the thrill of the moment, the woman blurred in and out as his body felt a very unique sense of sensation he rarely felt outside of battle. Yet the moment didn't last long as his Lordship entered the room and walked in on the demon in his act. It was a few short moments to apprehend the demon and take him to the pit below the castle keep.
It was there Konrad decreed the Demon of Swords would fight until death against the king's elite. A thousand men died that day, as the demon fought them honorably one on one in a circular pit. The pit carried deep into the earth, and Demon knew the platform he fought on had no way off unless the plank was dropped. After he had done his deed of killing a thousand elite soldiers the king and lordship of Belore allowed the Sword Demon to walk away to the edges of his kingdom. However, should he stumble in exhaustion he would be killed on site. Should he collapse from dehydration or hunger he would be stabbed. He had to leave the kingdom forever, and never return.
He looked outwards with a small grin of satisfaction upon his face, the border within a throws reach. As he crossed the border he felt an invigorating presence. The Demon laughed to himself. "Ah, what a great day!" He said smugly. "I wonder who I shall cut next? Maybe a rouge ronin? Maybe a wandering swordsman? Maybe two? Hopefully three, I'm getting kind of bored..." The Sword demon said lazily. "I really hope they bring an army as well." He looked upon his blade and looked back at the kingdom he had recently left. With a sharp inhale of breath and the clearing of his throat the Demon released a long, vile loogy upon the land he had left. With a crude gesture with his finger he turned away. "Wooses..." He muttered. "No fun at all."
It had been that way for Regal Burnswidth, the self proclaimed Demon of Swords. One minute he was perfectly happy with life, content in what he had just done. The next moment he was upset, aggravated, and wanting. No matter what he was always unfulfilled with his goals and accomplishments. Not that they were anything to be ashamed of, but Regal never took much pride in what he had done until he was bored and found nobody to fight. Then he would tell anybody how he had slain such great warriors, but it was never just one with Regal.
According to him he had slain well over two-thousand people. His claims never, however, remained consistent. Sometimes he had fought ten people, but the next time he thought about it, there was twelve, twenty, hundreds of people. Even in the midsts of battle Regal would shout out how many foes he had seen, and they were always growing as he talked. Should nobody interrupt him he would go on forever it would seem trying to determine how many foes he was about to vanquish. In Regal's mind, there was never one person to fight. Well...not always.
There was one soul who Regal vowed to fight and kill. And he knew this person would never back down and fight with a horde of soldiers at his back. No, the quarry of the Sword Demon was an honorable man. A beacon of hope in a time of despair, a shining example of morality in darkness. He was Karel Hector Raven, the Saint of Swords. The Bane of Regal's exsistance. He vowed to one day take that title for himself. Until then...
"Well, I guess killing things is a thankless job..." he muttered. "Nobody appreciates the art of killing anymore. I mean, come on...stabbing an apple? Stabbing the Adam's apple? What really is the difference when you boil it down? Nothing!" Regal said to himself.
The wind blew over him again, but this time he ignored the cold and moved forward until eventually his knees gave out and he collapsed. With a harsh sigh on the way down Regal felt the world spin around him as he slowly blacked out of consciousness.
"What...a..." He whispered. He closed his eyes yawning loudly. "Buzz...kill..." he said softly going to sleep, the exhaustion of the day slamming into him at long last.
The crisp sting of the fall air nipped gently against the ears of the Sword Demon as he clutched his coat to his chest tightly, his Sword held loosly in his hand. The sun's rays did nothing to warm up the cold as the rain clouds far out loomed ominously as they stalked closer to the inland. Feeling another chill wind nearly caused the warrior to fall to the ground, but instead he simply quaked and chilled himself to the bone as he continued to walk. He had a mile or two left to go before he was officially out of the territory of His Lordship Konrad Von Guner, the dark count of the island of Belore. He knew he was on borrowed time at this moment, and the blooded stains on his sword only left to remind him of why he walking.
The Sword Demon had become very close to finding a challenger worthy of his time and energy to seek out, and as he searched for this renowned swordsman he happened upon a very beautiful velumptious woman who clearly had an eye for the finer things. It was so quick and so fast that no one could predict it, but the demon of blades had taken her, her daughter, her handmaiden and the Lordship's concubine at once in bed. He grinned remembering the thrill of the moment, the woman blurred in and out as his body felt a very unique sense of sensation he rarely felt outside of battle. Yet the moment didn't last long as his Lordship entered the room and walked in on the demon in his act. It was a few short moments to apprehend the demon and take him to the pit below the castle keep.
It was there Konrad decreed the Demon of Swords would fight until death against the king's elite. A thousand men died that day, as the demon fought them honorably one on one in a circular pit. The pit carried deep into the earth, and Demon knew the platform he fought on had no way off unless the plank was dropped. After he had done his deed of killing a thousand elite soldiers the king and lordship of Belore allowed the Sword Demon to walk away to the edges of his kingdom. However, should he stumble in exhaustion he would be killed on site. Should he collapse from dehydration or hunger he would be stabbed. He had to leave the kingdom forever, and never return.
He looked outwards with a small grin of satisfaction upon his face, the border within a throws reach. As he crossed the border he felt an invigorating presence. The Demon laughed to himself. "Ah, what a great day!" He said smugly. "I wonder who I shall cut next? Maybe a rouge ronin? Maybe a wandering swordsman? Maybe two? Hopefully three, I'm getting kind of bored..." The Sword demon said lazily. "I really hope they bring an army as well." He looked upon his blade and looked back at the kingdom he had recently left. With a sharp inhale of breath and the clearing of his throat the Demon released a long, vile loogy upon the land he had left. With a crude gesture with his finger he turned away. "Wooses..." He muttered. "No fun at all."
It had been that way for Regal Burnswidth, the self proclaimed Demon of Swords. One minute he was perfectly happy with life, content in what he had just done. The next moment he was upset, aggravated, and wanting. No matter what he was always unfulfilled with his goals and accomplishments. Not that they were anything to be ashamed of, but Regal never took much pride in what he had done until he was bored and found nobody to fight. Then he would tell anybody how he had slain such great warriors, but it was never just one with Regal.
According to him he had slain well over two-thousand people. His claims never, however, remained consistent. Sometimes he had fought ten people, but the next time he thought about it, there was twelve, twenty, hundreds of people. Even in the midsts of battle Regal would shout out how many foes he had seen, and they were always growing as he talked. Should nobody interrupt him he would go on forever it would seem trying to determine how many foes he was about to vanquish. In Regal's mind, there was never one person to fight. Well...not always.
There was one soul who Regal vowed to fight and kill. And he knew this person would never back down and fight with a horde of soldiers at his back. No, the quarry of the Sword Demon was an honorable man. A beacon of hope in a time of despair, a shining example of morality in darkness. He was Karel Hector Raven, the Saint of Swords. The Bane of Regal's exsistance. He vowed to one day take that title for himself. Until then...
"Well, I guess killing things is a thankless job..." he muttered. "Nobody appreciates the art of killing anymore. I mean, come on...stabbing an apple? Stabbing the Adam's apple? What really is the difference when you boil it down? Nothing!" Regal said to himself.
The wind blew over him again, but this time he ignored the cold and moved forward until eventually his knees gave out and he collapsed. With a harsh sigh on the way down Regal felt the world spin around him as he slowly blacked out of consciousness.
"What...a..." He whispered. He closed his eyes yawning loudly. "Buzz...kill..." he said softly going to sleep, the exhaustion of the day slamming into him at long last.