by luciandevine on Sat May 07, 2011 7:12 am
Leaves slapped against Tastol's face and arms as he ran. He cursed for the hundredth time the forest that was around him, but knew even still that it was his only chance of finding those he sought. The wound just below Tastol's shoulder still throbbed with a dull ache, but it was far better than it could have been.
As Tastol ran, he replayed in his mind the events of what had happened barely a few days ago. He'd been traveling with his friends and family, all of them students of the sublime way under his father and mother. They'd been traveling by horse, relaxed and unafraid with the large number of them that there were..
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Tastol had let his eyes glaze over, not really paying attention to the road in front of him, or the trees around him. He was simply watching the path. Tastol heard a sound that he didn't comprehend, not in time anyway. The force of a crossbow landing solidly just below his left shoulder knocked him from his seat, tumbling off the horse and landing hard on his stomach. The rough landing knocked the wind from him, and he lay there stunned for a few moments. Though he couldn't move, he could still hear, and the sounds of the slaughter were all around him. He heard the click of crossbows, and then the sound of sword being drawn, and a brief battle being had.
As much as Tastol wanted to rise and help those around him, he could do nothing but lay where he'd fallen. The battle that sounded around him was a brief one, though the screams of the fallen would haunt him forever. Tastol remember hearing the sounds of footsteps approaching him, how he'd frozen up, almost waiting for the blade to fall and end his life, and yet it didn't happen.
How long Tastol remained there, waiting to die, he didn't know. Eventually though, he heard the sounds of booted footsteps, moving here and there, taking what few valuables they'd had before moving back into the forest. Even after they were gone though, Tastol was still afraid to move, afraid to lift his head, lest he be killed as well. When at last he had done it though, he looked around at the slaughter, everybody he'd cared about, lying dead around him. He'd cried of course, but when the tears had run out, he'd risen, moving to the single carriage. He saw that it had been rifled through, the men clearly taking everything of value they could find.
Tastol's moved to the head of the carriage, his hands lifting the false lid, revealing what his father kept hidden there. He reached down to lift the sheathed katana from it's resting place.
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Tastol was no tracker, not by a long shot, but one didn't need to be to follow these guys. They seemed to be unaware that they were being followed, or simply not care. He didn't know however, exactly how many he followed, but truthfully, he didn't care. He was going to try to avenge his family and friends, even if he risked or lost his own life in the process.
A screeching sound ahead of Tastol caught his attention. He didn't know if it was his target or something else, but it was the only true lead he had, so he quickly headed in that direction.
Tastol was still going on pure adrenaline when he came to a clearing. He saw the remains of a tower of sort, but more importantly, he saw four men advancing towards the tower, crossbows down. He had no idea who or what the men were stalking, but in his mind, Tastol saw these crossbow holding men as his enemies. His parents and friends had been killed, many by crossbows, and that these men also held crossbows, so soon and close to that event, was good enough for him.
A hand slid to the handle of the katana sheathed at his side. Tastol slowly crept forward , his eyes measuring the length of the mithril blade he held. It was an heirloom, passed down to his father by his grandfather, and so on back. Tastol's breathing was slow as he crept forward, moving only slightly faster than the men he stalked, his eyes watching their backs, wondering if he could catch them before they had a chance to turn. Already though, he'd begun readying the maneuvers he'd use, the order, and most importantly, the targets.