| A faint glow emanated from the katana as the half-elf stood over his fallen foe. His expression betrayed no pride, no satisfaction, no remorse. Nothing. He slipped the katana into its sheathe and surveyed the room with a disinterested glance. It was over.
More wine, that’s what he needed. What had he done with his glass? He looked around again. A few feet away lied a man in two pieces, the ground smeared with blood and tiny fragments of glass. He frowned. Now how was he supposed to drink his wine? On a whim, out of habit perhaps, he reached down and went through the corpse’s pockets. A bag of gold. A few daggers, one of which shined a little brighter than the rest. Hmm, a scroll. A dark look crept across his formerly expressionless features. He quietly pocketed the bloodstained note, the dagger and the gold, and rose. It was time to leave.
As he was about to leave, something lying on the ground caught his eye. He walked over to the dead archer and kneeled down. The corpse was black and smoldering, but the short bow lying next to him was undamaged. A curious feeling ran through him as he picked it up. Like he had used one before. He fingered it, drawing it taut with the nimbleness of experience. He gave a mental shrug and stood, then walked to the door, bow in hand.
__________________ Lost Souls: A bereft lover. A masterless familiar. Friends gone their separate ways. Time marches on, and destiny heralds the meeting of comrades old and new. Can they find what they're seeking? Or will the search bring them only more pain? |