[Tancred]

OOC: A thingy...

Karnas lets his sword-bound mind wander for a few moments during the sudden confusing lapse in events. He remembers a time, long ago...

***

This rain was not natural. It hammered into the ground, as if determined to reshape the land. The sky was choked by dark clouds, the moon and stars nowhere to be seen. The frantic wind threatened to tear trees up by the roots.
On the wind, noises… voices raised in rhythm, shaping words that were lost in the mad strength of nature.
And, cutting through the night, scraping across the nerves of every man present, a baby’s shrill scream.

Sudden lightning split the darkness in two, and in that sharp light shapes could be seen, standing like giants against the horizon. The flat shapes of stones, raised by men of ancient times. They stood in a rough circle, crowning the hilltop, surrounding a weather-scarred stone table. A young infant squirmed upon that table; a young babe, a girl-child, screaming against the rain… screaming against the dark, ancient malice bent against it, unknowing of the cruel fate that had carried her there. Men stood there too; some brandishing weapons, nervous, wary; others, gesturing, chanting, making a circle of their own.
One man stood in the centre of it all. Robed, his drenched blonde hair whipping around him in the fierce gale, evil in his heart, power at his fingertips, a knife in his hand, exaltation in his face. He stood against the storm, yelling the words he had so long prepared, breathing in the wonderful hate trapped here.
A hate that could be tapped, he thought. A hate that could be bound!
And only royal blood could be the key…
He could feel the bindings slipping with every syllable he cried out into the heavens. He –
An arrow flew out of the blackness of the hill. It thunked against one of the pillars, shattering upon the black stone. Shouts of alarm interrupted his concentration. He looked up in annoyance, one part of his mind forcing his mouth to carry the chant, the other part searching, looking…
He saw them. He felt the shapes of their souls – worried, miserable but determined, angry. They were coming for the child – and him.
Waving his arms frantically, motioning his followers into battle, the robed man began to speed up his chanting, urgency and excitement driving him on. His frustrated hand clutched the dagger, gripping it tightly, waiting for the right moment to strike. Yells of pain came through the rain… a sudden twinge clutched at his heart. Not guilt, no… panic. His followers meant nothing, nothing – but to think that his pursuers were coming so close…
He threw himself into the more important battle; setting his mind and resolve against the ancient wards, seeking out the cracks left by the ages, forcing his way through sheer willpower to the door. This power was as nothing to him. He knew every nuance of the charm placed here, and slowly he began to unravel it, his every syllable tearing it down, brick by spiritual brick…
The last word tumbled breathlessly from his lips. The time was right. He raised the dagger.
“You’re out of luck,” he murmured as he grinned at the child.
A scream lanced out of the darkness. Not from around him, but inside his head; a scream of anger, directed at an old foe. The shock startled the robed man; he clutched his head, gritting his teeth against the sudden pain. His dagger fell to the drenched grass. The prison walls slammed shut. The strength of the chant began to melt away as another power came to challenge him. He glared at the child, still bawling despite the turn of events that rendered her death meaningless. Fighting back a rising rage, he turned.
A woman stood there in the rain. Her hair was drenched, and clung soddenly to her armour. Her violet eyes were hard as gems, her lean face as rigid as stone. With one hand she drew her sword, and at once the night was gone; golden light streamed from what could only be a blessed blade, a sword of legends.
The robed man glared. She stood within the circle – the power of the sword seemed to smother the ancient anger buried within it. They met each other’s eyes, and knew they each faced a foe.
“You again,” spat the man in robes, flexing his fingers.
The woman’s voice was deep, and powerful, and heavy with her judgement.
“Karnas Thoth, prepare to die.”

[ 09-11-2002, 06:18 PM: Message edited by: Tancred ]