Post by sirktas on Feb 17, 2011 19:43:10 GMT
The Twisted Cold Eruption
Han Shen was swiftly losing his patience with the hostile scruffy-looking ruffian. “I know what you plan to do,” Shen hissed coldly. “Do not think I will let you do anything without first killing me.” The ruffian stood defiantly with folded arms and an amused smirk. “What’s it to you? You’ll do nothing. You’re just a weak noble pup. I suggest you keep away from where you don’t belong, or you’ll wind up dead really fast.” The ruffian’s raspy voice broke off into a wheezy laugh. “Perhaps, that is what I want,” Shen retorted slyly, although the statement would seem illogical to anyone. “But, your time will come before mine. I think you know that as well.” With that, the finely dressed Shen spun and swept scornfully out the exit. The ruffian stood unaffected, merely chuckling and shaking his head. “Stupid kid.” He turned to acknowledge his seated entourage, his fellow murderers, and motioned for them to follow.
A few hours later…
Shen was feeling hell, as his convulsions brought gut-wrenching spikes of pain. He lay on the floor of his carriage a few minutes from the tavern, curled, locking his knees to his chest. There is no way to face this kind of pain with dignity, especially not when it causes delusions. The dark whispers were faintly beckoning him; the figure reaches for him with her pale arms. It was a torrent into madness, an imaginary scene of blood and guts. His episode was over in minutes, but he can never accept that feeling of helplessness, the feeling of your hope being either torn, or left to drift away gently. Angry, but otherwise fully composed, Shen stood, brushed himself off, and exited his carriage clenching his sheathed sword with his wiry fist.
Meanwhile…
“His power is fueled by your fear and idiocy, like all other weak and incapable fools. Things are getting better, though, and I’d like to think that what I do makes things proceed a bit more smoothly,” The lone scruffy ruffian’s voice rippled through the dimness of the dry rotting barn. He stood in front of a large cage lined with livestock bedding and feed, also filled with nearly a dozen whimpering people, all were bounded and gagged. “You fools! My will is strong. It’s nothing personal you know?” The angry man stepped back from the cage. The noise of his boots scuffing the dusty ground below him sounded loudly in the silence that came thereafter. The ruffian wore an expression of disdain, with his eyes narrowed and his fuzzy face in a scowl. “But, I do digress. I haven’t got all day now.” He reached inside his tattered jacket, pulling out a flint and tinder. “Now, how should I do this?” He shrugged, and the people began to panic as they registered what was to be their inevitable doom. “It wasn’t cheap to arrange this, you know? You should be grateful I spent what I did just to kill you.” He snickered impishly, but his expression quickly turned cold. He turned, slowly making his way toward the exit, when suddenly he grabbed a stone from the ground. Bursting into laughter he chucked the stone at the cage, and then moved to light the fire. With that action, he tore any hope his victims may have gained, may have had left. There it was again, that feeling of helplessness, hopelessness.
There was a sudden noise that came from the door. The ruffian turned to witness the door being smashed open and the ‘noble pup’ from the tavern entering with a bloodied sword in hand, his eyes fixated on his, paying no heed to his prisoners. The ruffian’s jaw dropped in bewilderment, realizing that his three men were likely dead. Shen waited just long enough for the ruffian to draw his blade before quickly engaging him. The ruffian swung first. Shen snapped his sword up, driving the attack aside. The ruffian jumped back into a defensive position, but Shen slowly stalked him, confident he’d find an opening. The ruffian came back at him again thrusting low, then high, and were dodged and ducked away from. On the third strike, Shen slapped the sword from the man’s hand and drove his blade at his center mass. The blow penetrated shallowly, but deep enough to incapacitate the man. The cusp of Shen’s blade was held against the side of the defeated man’s neck, as he fell to his knees.
“I told you, you won’t get away with it. You knew I’d be here, cousin. Why did you have to try anyway?” The man tried to speak but was denied. “No! Shut up!” Shen kicked the man onto his back, pointing his blade down at him. “You have no friends, because you are too awkward and violent to fit into normal society. You couldn’t ever marry someone nice, because you are far too ugly, and you don’t have money. Poverty will ensure you will never make it out of the slums’ hands either. You’re definitely too weak and afraid to make a difference and face your challenges. Stupidity prevents you from functioning elsewhere. In fact, you’re too lazy to even attempt to go anywhere else. Not to mention, you are too filthy to even clean up after yourself. But, lastly, and most importantly, you are far too pathetic to realize any of this, because you are scum, which needs to be cleansed. The world would be better a better place, with filth like you all but eliminated.”
“You are not the cousin I used to know. Your detachment from yourself is the cause of your ignorance.” Shen lounged forward, his sword pierced through the man’s neck. He pulled the blade out. Leaning down over the man, he grabbed a piece of his clothing and tore it off. Standing back to his feet, he wiped the blood from his sword and slid it into his belt. A sweet reward this was, a fine rush. He dropped the bloodied cloth on the man’s face. “You’re even uglier dead,” he muttered spitefully. It wasn’t until then that he acknowledged the helpless captives. He could see the hope rebuilding in their eyes. He contemplated them for a moment, before letting out a devilish laugh. “Farewell,” he said to them with a smile. “And good luck.” He turned to the exit and passed through the door, stripping them, once again, of hope. There was not one of them that did not weep.
Outside the door lay the bloodied corpses of the three men he’d killed before entering the barn. He felt that there was no need to clean up the bodies or flee. Everyone in this part of the city knew he had just done them a favor. He was also pleased he didn’t get very much blood on his favorite black robes, just a little on his left sleeve, from the abdominal sword thrust. He made his way back to the tavern, which was only a few minutes away. He received many looks as he entered the doors, the incident from earlier still fresh in their minds. He would continue to receive looks and hear whispers of his name as he sat a table ordering his drinks. “Oh, how quickly word spreads around here,” he said aloud in amusement.
Han Shen was swiftly losing his patience with the hostile scruffy-looking ruffian. “I know what you plan to do,” Shen hissed coldly. “Do not think I will let you do anything without first killing me.” The ruffian stood defiantly with folded arms and an amused smirk. “What’s it to you? You’ll do nothing. You’re just a weak noble pup. I suggest you keep away from where you don’t belong, or you’ll wind up dead really fast.” The ruffian’s raspy voice broke off into a wheezy laugh. “Perhaps, that is what I want,” Shen retorted slyly, although the statement would seem illogical to anyone. “But, your time will come before mine. I think you know that as well.” With that, the finely dressed Shen spun and swept scornfully out the exit. The ruffian stood unaffected, merely chuckling and shaking his head. “Stupid kid.” He turned to acknowledge his seated entourage, his fellow murderers, and motioned for them to follow.
A few hours later…
Shen was feeling hell, as his convulsions brought gut-wrenching spikes of pain. He lay on the floor of his carriage a few minutes from the tavern, curled, locking his knees to his chest. There is no way to face this kind of pain with dignity, especially not when it causes delusions. The dark whispers were faintly beckoning him; the figure reaches for him with her pale arms. It was a torrent into madness, an imaginary scene of blood and guts. His episode was over in minutes, but he can never accept that feeling of helplessness, the feeling of your hope being either torn, or left to drift away gently. Angry, but otherwise fully composed, Shen stood, brushed himself off, and exited his carriage clenching his sheathed sword with his wiry fist.
Meanwhile…
“His power is fueled by your fear and idiocy, like all other weak and incapable fools. Things are getting better, though, and I’d like to think that what I do makes things proceed a bit more smoothly,” The lone scruffy ruffian’s voice rippled through the dimness of the dry rotting barn. He stood in front of a large cage lined with livestock bedding and feed, also filled with nearly a dozen whimpering people, all were bounded and gagged. “You fools! My will is strong. It’s nothing personal you know?” The angry man stepped back from the cage. The noise of his boots scuffing the dusty ground below him sounded loudly in the silence that came thereafter. The ruffian wore an expression of disdain, with his eyes narrowed and his fuzzy face in a scowl. “But, I do digress. I haven’t got all day now.” He reached inside his tattered jacket, pulling out a flint and tinder. “Now, how should I do this?” He shrugged, and the people began to panic as they registered what was to be their inevitable doom. “It wasn’t cheap to arrange this, you know? You should be grateful I spent what I did just to kill you.” He snickered impishly, but his expression quickly turned cold. He turned, slowly making his way toward the exit, when suddenly he grabbed a stone from the ground. Bursting into laughter he chucked the stone at the cage, and then moved to light the fire. With that action, he tore any hope his victims may have gained, may have had left. There it was again, that feeling of helplessness, hopelessness.
There was a sudden noise that came from the door. The ruffian turned to witness the door being smashed open and the ‘noble pup’ from the tavern entering with a bloodied sword in hand, his eyes fixated on his, paying no heed to his prisoners. The ruffian’s jaw dropped in bewilderment, realizing that his three men were likely dead. Shen waited just long enough for the ruffian to draw his blade before quickly engaging him. The ruffian swung first. Shen snapped his sword up, driving the attack aside. The ruffian jumped back into a defensive position, but Shen slowly stalked him, confident he’d find an opening. The ruffian came back at him again thrusting low, then high, and were dodged and ducked away from. On the third strike, Shen slapped the sword from the man’s hand and drove his blade at his center mass. The blow penetrated shallowly, but deep enough to incapacitate the man. The cusp of Shen’s blade was held against the side of the defeated man’s neck, as he fell to his knees.
“I told you, you won’t get away with it. You knew I’d be here, cousin. Why did you have to try anyway?” The man tried to speak but was denied. “No! Shut up!” Shen kicked the man onto his back, pointing his blade down at him. “You have no friends, because you are too awkward and violent to fit into normal society. You couldn’t ever marry someone nice, because you are far too ugly, and you don’t have money. Poverty will ensure you will never make it out of the slums’ hands either. You’re definitely too weak and afraid to make a difference and face your challenges. Stupidity prevents you from functioning elsewhere. In fact, you’re too lazy to even attempt to go anywhere else. Not to mention, you are too filthy to even clean up after yourself. But, lastly, and most importantly, you are far too pathetic to realize any of this, because you are scum, which needs to be cleansed. The world would be better a better place, with filth like you all but eliminated.”
“You are not the cousin I used to know. Your detachment from yourself is the cause of your ignorance.” Shen lounged forward, his sword pierced through the man’s neck. He pulled the blade out. Leaning down over the man, he grabbed a piece of his clothing and tore it off. Standing back to his feet, he wiped the blood from his sword and slid it into his belt. A sweet reward this was, a fine rush. He dropped the bloodied cloth on the man’s face. “You’re even uglier dead,” he muttered spitefully. It wasn’t until then that he acknowledged the helpless captives. He could see the hope rebuilding in their eyes. He contemplated them for a moment, before letting out a devilish laugh. “Farewell,” he said to them with a smile. “And good luck.” He turned to the exit and passed through the door, stripping them, once again, of hope. There was not one of them that did not weep.
Outside the door lay the bloodied corpses of the three men he’d killed before entering the barn. He felt that there was no need to clean up the bodies or flee. Everyone in this part of the city knew he had just done them a favor. He was also pleased he didn’t get very much blood on his favorite black robes, just a little on his left sleeve, from the abdominal sword thrust. He made his way back to the tavern, which was only a few minutes away. He received many looks as he entered the doors, the incident from earlier still fresh in their minds. He would continue to receive looks and hear whispers of his name as he sat a table ordering his drinks. “Oh, how quickly word spreads around here,” he said aloud in amusement.