Post by erokai on Feb 7, 2006 18:20:58 GMT -5
The strange, cloaked figure moved through the darkness with almost fluid grace. The dark cloak swirled through the black night as it dodged and weaved in and out of the back alleys of Karador city with ever quickening steps, and Dorg Bandora followed.
Dorg was a renowned cutthroat, murderer, woman beater and much, much worse. The figure he followed with heavy footsteps was cloaked and no features were visible, but the stranger was small and moved with a grace that was definitely womanly - and Dorg's beer soaked breath proclaimed that he was after his nights thrills. He stared ahead with a ravenous hunger burning in his eyes, and an appetite that no decent man would even consider satisfying.
More heavy footfalls joined his own as Dorg's insatiable lust continued to burn, his pace quickening as he broke into a clumsy, shambling run to keep his prey in sight. He was now joined in the pitch black by several other figures, all well known gutter filth as he was. In the darkness it was impossible to make out the expressions on their faces, luckily enough, as those maddened grins would have turned the stomach's of many a man. This was their favourite pastime - hunting live prey - women.
Dorg snarled and laughed madly as his quarry turned down an alley that he knew all too well. It was a dead end, and one that he had visited many a time before to indulge in his dark pleasures.
As he turned the corner, closely followed by several other howling lunatics, he glanced around hungrily. His jaw hung slack and thick, stinking yellow saliva rolled down his chin, dropping onto the floor with a sickening splat, as he looked about, desperately searching for the black cloaked woman he was pursuing. She was nowhere to be seen, and Dorg let out a guttural, animal cry of rage, as his companions slowly came to the same conclusion. Then, his beer addled brain slowly came to a new conclusion – she was hiding, and he would find her. Dorg grinned madly once more, the look of insanity returning to his unwashed face.
“Cum’ ou’ meh pretty,” He chuckled madly, “Ol’ Dawgie wana play.” Spittle sprayed across the floor and walls as he coughed hard, looking about for the girl, as he advanced down the alley. Unfortunately, he didn’t look in all the right places.
With frightening speed and impossible agility, a dark shape seemingly dropped from the sky high above them between the two close built houses. Erokai landed swiftly and lightly on the disgusting man’s shoulders, his feet either side of his head as he balanced perfectly. Silver metal flashed in the dark as the assassin raised his blade high, pulling back Dorg’s head with his other hand, before sinking it into his exposed neck. Blood burst forth in a dark torrent, and the shadowed figure was gone as quickly as he came, as if he had simply disappeared into the inky blackness. All of this happened within the blink of an eye, and it took much longer for the surprise to register on the faces of the late Dorg’s companions.
Dorg turned, staggering as he tried to stay on his feet and his hands flew to his ruined throat to staunch the red, hot flow as his life rushed away, slipping between his fingers – literally. His face slowly turned white as the colour drained from his soiled skin, and he collapsed to the floor, spluttering and spraying dark blood across the white walls. He lay there for what seemed like an eternity as his life slowly ebbed away, with only one thought playing over and over in his twisted little mind. The eyes, those terrible red eyes. . .
His two companions moved closer, too drunk or too stupid to be afraid, when a dark shadowed shape, indistinct in the inky blackness, suddenly occupied the air between them within the blink of an eye. What appeared to be thick black smoke rose silently into the air from the near invisible apparition, as Erokai burst from the shadows, kicking out hard with his studded leather boots. The heels of his boots hit home with a sickening crunch, shattering the temple’s of the would-be rapists and crushing their skulls. They were dead before they even hit the floor, as the assassin dropped to the ground, landing on silent catlike feet.
Erokai turned to look over those who had stalked him, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering stench of sweat, grime and alcohol. He would not be consuming the blood that this gutter filth offered him. They may no longer need it, but Erokai refused to drink the blood of animals and these ‘things’ were less than human.
Slowly, the assassin turned and began to walk away on silent feet, his glaring red eyes visible within the shadows of his hood, though none of his features, nor clothing or weaponry showed through. Erokai dusted himself off with a contemptuous sneer, wondering where the local clan could be found, if these uncivilised people even had a clan of the night at all . . .
Dorg was a renowned cutthroat, murderer, woman beater and much, much worse. The figure he followed with heavy footsteps was cloaked and no features were visible, but the stranger was small and moved with a grace that was definitely womanly - and Dorg's beer soaked breath proclaimed that he was after his nights thrills. He stared ahead with a ravenous hunger burning in his eyes, and an appetite that no decent man would even consider satisfying.
More heavy footfalls joined his own as Dorg's insatiable lust continued to burn, his pace quickening as he broke into a clumsy, shambling run to keep his prey in sight. He was now joined in the pitch black by several other figures, all well known gutter filth as he was. In the darkness it was impossible to make out the expressions on their faces, luckily enough, as those maddened grins would have turned the stomach's of many a man. This was their favourite pastime - hunting live prey - women.
Dorg snarled and laughed madly as his quarry turned down an alley that he knew all too well. It was a dead end, and one that he had visited many a time before to indulge in his dark pleasures.
As he turned the corner, closely followed by several other howling lunatics, he glanced around hungrily. His jaw hung slack and thick, stinking yellow saliva rolled down his chin, dropping onto the floor with a sickening splat, as he looked about, desperately searching for the black cloaked woman he was pursuing. She was nowhere to be seen, and Dorg let out a guttural, animal cry of rage, as his companions slowly came to the same conclusion. Then, his beer addled brain slowly came to a new conclusion – she was hiding, and he would find her. Dorg grinned madly once more, the look of insanity returning to his unwashed face.
“Cum’ ou’ meh pretty,” He chuckled madly, “Ol’ Dawgie wana play.” Spittle sprayed across the floor and walls as he coughed hard, looking about for the girl, as he advanced down the alley. Unfortunately, he didn’t look in all the right places.
With frightening speed and impossible agility, a dark shape seemingly dropped from the sky high above them between the two close built houses. Erokai landed swiftly and lightly on the disgusting man’s shoulders, his feet either side of his head as he balanced perfectly. Silver metal flashed in the dark as the assassin raised his blade high, pulling back Dorg’s head with his other hand, before sinking it into his exposed neck. Blood burst forth in a dark torrent, and the shadowed figure was gone as quickly as he came, as if he had simply disappeared into the inky blackness. All of this happened within the blink of an eye, and it took much longer for the surprise to register on the faces of the late Dorg’s companions.
Dorg turned, staggering as he tried to stay on his feet and his hands flew to his ruined throat to staunch the red, hot flow as his life rushed away, slipping between his fingers – literally. His face slowly turned white as the colour drained from his soiled skin, and he collapsed to the floor, spluttering and spraying dark blood across the white walls. He lay there for what seemed like an eternity as his life slowly ebbed away, with only one thought playing over and over in his twisted little mind. The eyes, those terrible red eyes. . .
His two companions moved closer, too drunk or too stupid to be afraid, when a dark shadowed shape, indistinct in the inky blackness, suddenly occupied the air between them within the blink of an eye. What appeared to be thick black smoke rose silently into the air from the near invisible apparition, as Erokai burst from the shadows, kicking out hard with his studded leather boots. The heels of his boots hit home with a sickening crunch, shattering the temple’s of the would-be rapists and crushing their skulls. They were dead before they even hit the floor, as the assassin dropped to the ground, landing on silent catlike feet.
Erokai turned to look over those who had stalked him, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering stench of sweat, grime and alcohol. He would not be consuming the blood that this gutter filth offered him. They may no longer need it, but Erokai refused to drink the blood of animals and these ‘things’ were less than human.
Slowly, the assassin turned and began to walk away on silent feet, his glaring red eyes visible within the shadows of his hood, though none of his features, nor clothing or weaponry showed through. Erokai dusted himself off with a contemptuous sneer, wondering where the local clan could be found, if these uncivilised people even had a clan of the night at all . . .