Breaker
12-18-08, 04:00 PM
Continued from Luxuria. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=14540) Closed to The Sweetest Thing. All bunnying approved. This thread may contain mature content.
The single handful of dirt fell like tarnished tears, six feet straight down to scatter across the corpse that was once Jeb Galatian.
Vince Galatian turned like a toy soldier and marched away from the grave site. His men went to work immediately, kicking piles of loose soil into the row of graves they had dug the night before, burying Jeb and his band of ronin. The soldiers worked with stony faces, hastening to finish the unpleasant task. They had all known Jeb's crew, been friends and brothers-at-arms with those deceased warriors. But for Vince that day was truly painful; it was his first day as the last of the Galatian lineage. Neither he nor his brother had sired any children, and with their parents long dead it seemed inevitable that the family would soon cease to exist.
Vince pushed his brother's death aside; let the frigid rivers of blood in his veins swallow the fond memories. He focused instead on his own death, for he could taste it. The thought of trading his life for that of Jeb's killer made him salivate more than a side of beef on the spit.
He did not have to walk far to hide himself from the camp. Long thick grass, taller than most men, grew everywhere on the western slopes of the Comb Mountains. In the tepid sunlight of early dawn, it swayed against the wind like a sickly mirage.
Alone for the moment, Galatian unsheathed his katana and sank to one knee, burying the blade to half its length in the earth. He rested his forehead on the hilt, savouring the cold steel on his feverish skin. And then he heard the footsteps.
A less experienced warrior would have mistaken the sound for the footfalls of some small creature, perhaps a fox or a rabbit. But Galatian could have picked the soft pattern out of the darkness in a thunderstorm.
"Moore! I'm over here!" He called blindly into the sea of grass.
The footsteps paused then commenced faster and louder than before. A moment later Corren Moore, Galatian's second in command, emerged in front of him.
Normally, Galatian would have greeted his second by slinging a blade at him, just to test the lanky man's reflexes. Normally, Moore would have caught the spinning wakizashi and returned it handle first with an idiotic grin on his streamlined features. Instead, Moore simply crouched down to the same level as his superior and stated his scouting report.
"I got to Pagration halfway through the night. Had to rouse the right people from their beds, but eventually the innkeeper a the Mountaintop gave me the information, sir." Moore spoke quickly in a gravelly voice, at times slurring words together. He was obviously tired; the skin beneath his eyes bagged as if bruised, and his gi smelled of enough sweat to testify that he really had trekked through the night. Galatian merely nodded for him to continue. The ronin would rest when his report was through.
"According to the innkeeper, there's only been two strangers in Pagration over the past couple days, and only one of 'em could have done away with Jeb and his band." Moore sniffed and wiped his nose with a black sleeve.
Galatian nodded again. He had expected nothing less concise. Pagration was small even for a town on top of the Comb Mountains. The Mountaintop Lodge was the largest inn up there, so it was probably the first place Moore had looked.
"The innkeeper described a man about your size, sir, with short brown hair and eyes like stone. With a--" Moore cleared his throat as if resisting the urge to cough, then continued-- "With a Y-shaped scar on his left cheek."
Galatian's black eyes snapped open. With those last words, Moore may as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. His skin prickled as if an army of ants was using him as their parade ground. But he held his silence, waited for Corren to finish.
"Anyway, the keeper told me this man left yesterday morning, and that he gave him directions to Akashima." Moore stood up, turned away, coughed then spat into the long grass. Galatian rose slowly and returned his katana to its home on his back, next to the shorter wakizashi.
"Sir?" Moore shook his head, having trouble staying awake. "Sir, there's a price on your head in Akashima. On all our heads. Think about it, it's not worth it..."
"I make that decision, Moore." Galatian stared into the sun as he spoke, daring it to burn hotter than the coals in his skull. "He'll never make it to Akashima. We'll catch him in the forest on the eastern slopes of the mountains. Go and rest now, but first tell the men to be ready to move at noon."
Moore nodded, took three steps towards the camp, then turned and called back. His voice sounded haggard, like the bark of a dying dog.
“Sir, from the innkeeper’s description... well, it sounds like that Pagoda Master--”
“By the cursed crystal spire, I know who it is! Do as I told you Moore!”
As his second trudged away, the wind increased, swishing the grass about. To Vince Galatian, the grass sang a death song. He folded himself to the ground, sat cross legged and meditated.
He had all morning to plan a way to kill Josh Cronen.
The single handful of dirt fell like tarnished tears, six feet straight down to scatter across the corpse that was once Jeb Galatian.
Vince Galatian turned like a toy soldier and marched away from the grave site. His men went to work immediately, kicking piles of loose soil into the row of graves they had dug the night before, burying Jeb and his band of ronin. The soldiers worked with stony faces, hastening to finish the unpleasant task. They had all known Jeb's crew, been friends and brothers-at-arms with those deceased warriors. But for Vince that day was truly painful; it was his first day as the last of the Galatian lineage. Neither he nor his brother had sired any children, and with their parents long dead it seemed inevitable that the family would soon cease to exist.
Vince pushed his brother's death aside; let the frigid rivers of blood in his veins swallow the fond memories. He focused instead on his own death, for he could taste it. The thought of trading his life for that of Jeb's killer made him salivate more than a side of beef on the spit.
He did not have to walk far to hide himself from the camp. Long thick grass, taller than most men, grew everywhere on the western slopes of the Comb Mountains. In the tepid sunlight of early dawn, it swayed against the wind like a sickly mirage.
Alone for the moment, Galatian unsheathed his katana and sank to one knee, burying the blade to half its length in the earth. He rested his forehead on the hilt, savouring the cold steel on his feverish skin. And then he heard the footsteps.
A less experienced warrior would have mistaken the sound for the footfalls of some small creature, perhaps a fox or a rabbit. But Galatian could have picked the soft pattern out of the darkness in a thunderstorm.
"Moore! I'm over here!" He called blindly into the sea of grass.
The footsteps paused then commenced faster and louder than before. A moment later Corren Moore, Galatian's second in command, emerged in front of him.
Normally, Galatian would have greeted his second by slinging a blade at him, just to test the lanky man's reflexes. Normally, Moore would have caught the spinning wakizashi and returned it handle first with an idiotic grin on his streamlined features. Instead, Moore simply crouched down to the same level as his superior and stated his scouting report.
"I got to Pagration halfway through the night. Had to rouse the right people from their beds, but eventually the innkeeper a the Mountaintop gave me the information, sir." Moore spoke quickly in a gravelly voice, at times slurring words together. He was obviously tired; the skin beneath his eyes bagged as if bruised, and his gi smelled of enough sweat to testify that he really had trekked through the night. Galatian merely nodded for him to continue. The ronin would rest when his report was through.
"According to the innkeeper, there's only been two strangers in Pagration over the past couple days, and only one of 'em could have done away with Jeb and his band." Moore sniffed and wiped his nose with a black sleeve.
Galatian nodded again. He had expected nothing less concise. Pagration was small even for a town on top of the Comb Mountains. The Mountaintop Lodge was the largest inn up there, so it was probably the first place Moore had looked.
"The innkeeper described a man about your size, sir, with short brown hair and eyes like stone. With a--" Moore cleared his throat as if resisting the urge to cough, then continued-- "With a Y-shaped scar on his left cheek."
Galatian's black eyes snapped open. With those last words, Moore may as well have dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. His skin prickled as if an army of ants was using him as their parade ground. But he held his silence, waited for Corren to finish.
"Anyway, the keeper told me this man left yesterday morning, and that he gave him directions to Akashima." Moore stood up, turned away, coughed then spat into the long grass. Galatian rose slowly and returned his katana to its home on his back, next to the shorter wakizashi.
"Sir?" Moore shook his head, having trouble staying awake. "Sir, there's a price on your head in Akashima. On all our heads. Think about it, it's not worth it..."
"I make that decision, Moore." Galatian stared into the sun as he spoke, daring it to burn hotter than the coals in his skull. "He'll never make it to Akashima. We'll catch him in the forest on the eastern slopes of the mountains. Go and rest now, but first tell the men to be ready to move at noon."
Moore nodded, took three steps towards the camp, then turned and called back. His voice sounded haggard, like the bark of a dying dog.
“Sir, from the innkeeper’s description... well, it sounds like that Pagoda Master--”
“By the cursed crystal spire, I know who it is! Do as I told you Moore!”
As his second trudged away, the wind increased, swishing the grass about. To Vince Galatian, the grass sang a death song. He folded himself to the ground, sat cross legged and meditated.
He had all morning to plan a way to kill Josh Cronen.