| Xandax slept uneasy, as he was accustomed to. Fighting each night to keep his sanity and his life, to keep it being drained away from him, he would not succumb, not in his dreams and not in his life.
Xandax opened his eyes, but did not move, he could sense something in the room with him, something ……. unnatural. “Ferox” gave off a light glow, illuminating the area around it. With reflexes trained through a lifetime, Xandax quickly extended his hand toward the hilt, and “Ferox” almost leaped with anticipation up into his hands, in the same movement Xandax rolled out of the bed and stood with his back against the corner of the room ready to fight of the assailant. Numerous cuts and scars were visible on the upper body of Xandax, many of them would have proven lethal to others. One cut especially on his left side, spoke of a deep cut with an axe.
Xandax looked around the darkened room, weary.
What was this, two red ….. eyes? They were eyes, floating in the air.
Xandax rotated his swordhand, and the sword gave of a whistle as it span in the air.
Xandax recalled last time he saw such a sight. It was the pet of “that mage”, could it be the same? Xandax didn’t like such unnatural creatures.
He stood vigilant, trying to observe the misty figure, it was “its” move now.
Xandax rotated his wrist and the sword whistled once more. |