Rays of Light can kill when you're a shadow!(Open)

[InfernoChild]

This is a battle.

Gentle dancing rays of merciful light cut across the threshold, bearing all those near it in a bath of pure light. The bustling inn was silent as the doors burst forth, spewing two guards onto the ground. Crimson blood splattered the ground and walls, some of it hitting a woman’s white dress. The woman’s shriek pierced the still air of the inn. A guards head rolled off, it's black mane of wild hair knocking the helmet loose from it's resting spot. The second guard, still partially alive tried to crawl farther away, towards the back of the inn. His futile attempts at preservation were cut short with a silent chop of the beast's sword. The ebony blade was disturbed only by the white streak cutting down it’s center, and the blood now splattered upon it. Finally the woman’s shriek died off as she fell to the ground. Icarus was in town.

The beast who had attacked the guards now stood just inside of the inn. He was dressed in an iron chest plate colored black with grey trim. His greaves and shin guards matched his chest plate. His form, dark and ever moving, stepped forth. Men and women rose to arms as the doors closed. Darkness…perfect arena for a battle against a Shadow. Icarus smiled in his mind as his sword rose up and was soon there-after was brought down on a mans head, splitting the skull in half. A grey matter oozed from the wound, mixed with the scarlet that was his blood. His eyes bulged foreword, the pupils expanding as they were shot forth, bouncing off of Icarus’ armor.

He spun around, his sword straight out, and cut down three more men advancing on him. Their abdomens were cut at the waist, the upper half of their bodies falling to the ground, soon followed by their posteriors. The few men left backed up and sprinted through the door leaving Icarus all alone, except for one person. Reaching out with his mind he found the person.

“Battle me…”

[Pariah]

" 'Nother one, bar keep! Aye, the bastard's late...time is money for me. Why can't people un'erstand that?"

The tender behind the bar, an average sized man with simple build and little fat on his body, simply shrugged his shoulders as he took Juno's mug. The blacksmith scowled, shaking his head as he slumped further into his posture. People these days; they had little respect for the average working man. Sure, when the heroes in their shining armor and legendary swords came sauntering through, everyone cheered and carried on and treated him with the utmost respect. But who did they think originally created that grand blade, that wondrous full plate? Sure, the hero did the saving with them, but the smith, he put his entire heart and soul into his work, and rarely ever got a single word of thanks out of it. "Aye, never a drop of respec' for us, eh?" The tender said nothing as he sat the full mug before the man, and Juno gave a sigh, wrapping his hand around it as he glanced over his shoulder.

For all the times he'd ventured off to Scara Brae to deliver orders, he couldn't ever recall catching the name of this place. While a modest crowd had amassed inside, they all were talking peacefully amongst their selves, making the inn comparably quiet compared to the the rowdy evenings that usually packed the place full with merry making drunks. Pleasant pale gold rays of sunshine spilled through the open windows, the city dust lazily floating in it's glow. The light but it shed a comfortable atmosphere through the rest of the establishment, losing it's intensity (if you could call such an amiable looking color intense) as it spread amongst the very early evening drinkers.

"Maybe I should cut 'im some slack." The tender nodded, before becoming distracted by another customer, slowly approaching the bar with the hazy eyes and dreamy smile only one in pure inebriation could possess. Looking at the young man as he struggled to order another drink, Juno's mood lightened considerably.

His own customer was a burly Salvarian with a love of heavy bludgeons, and Juno had crafted him a mace whose head was in the shape of a lion's, precisely as he asked. Cecil Astroloneigh (the bludgeon lover) had, however, proven several times right in the blacksmith's forge to be absent minded, though affable in nature. The well mannered brute had probably just spotted a nice place in the sunshine to nap in. Nodding in agreement with his own thory, Juno his mug to the drunk young man, grinned, and tipped his head back, taking several deep swallows of dark ale.

That dark ale served to darken and dampen the color of the floorboards to his left as it spewed from his pursed lips in a wide stream as the doors of the inn came crashing open and two guards tumbled head over heels inside. Blood sprayed and gave a new, disgusting coat of color to the inn and a young woman's light afternoon attire. Shock buckled immediately to fury as the head of one the guards, face frozen in an expression of determination mixed with apprehension, rolled across the floor and came to rest several feet from Juno, it's distressed eyes staring at him. Yet they stared through him, blankly, into the worlds beyond this life. The killer, a well muscled and otherwordly handsome man, strode inside fearlessly, his black blade smeared with blood. He added more of that red discoloration to it as he killed the second guard as he tried to escape.

Stifling his anger, Juno watched the man's face as he worked his weapon, spilling the blood of Scara Brae's protectors. There wasn't a single sign of remorse.

The doors of the inn shut and Juno groaned, burying his face in his left hand, the other occupied by his barely full mug. Juno Starsmore was no hero. His homeland was torn with civil war, yet he'd stayed a civilian, instead of rushing off to join the ranks like a good little patriot. All he wanted in life was some decent success with his smithery, yet he was constantly being drawn into conflict. Still, he often refused to swallow the bitter pill that was his destiny. However, today was simply not a day he was going to be able to avoid that taste; as he heard more blood slosh to the floor, more people die.

"Aye, you're a big 'un, 'ent ya?" His expression was somber and humorless as he lifted one hand to his mouth, igniting the cigarette resting between his lips with a spark springing from his index finger. A large, red bladed axe was slung over one shoulder, as he neared the killer, he hefted it into the air and swung it down gently to the floorboards, leaning against it. "I can't in good conscience just sit over there and have my ale and watch ya kill these people. Name's Juno Starsmore; any particular reason for the slaughter?"

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.