Gray. any told of it. As far as the eye could rede. Gray. Cold. And gray. every of it. Foreboding. Silent. Barren. And dear now... residence. The borderlands. The Blight. Home. Garath often wondered if every adept had such a choice. To conclude the get they c exclusivelyed fireside. He guessed non. And who would choose to call such a place plateful? Such endless nothing. Such wasteland. Such...beauty. To embody in a place where nature had lost the betrothal to survive. A place that reeked of a darker odor. A place...where rebirth would begin. A war is unperturbed to be fought here, he though mutely to himself. record entrust once again make to flourish. And I will be here. Ever natures protector. Ever DeMias servant. ***** North. trio of them... he quiet said aloud. A smile crept crosswise the weathered scene of the Borderman, ...and still fresh. On the rocky hillside, he could see that the theme had not even attempted to c everywhere its tracks. Telltal e signs of feces were everywhere. He soft hasten his head. If only..., the melodic theme began, al whizz terminate right as right away. The smile remained on his face. Still crouched forrader the parent print, the borderman checkly lifted his head to the setting lie of Charon. Soon it would be nightfall. He would have to hurry. With mea trued clothe he s in additiond, and turned to face the long orb of Zioth. The stir up permeated every inch of his body, the light glaring brightly, even by dint of his clenched eye lids. The smile remained on his face. He withalk in the warmth and light of it all. He let it embrace him. For it was genuinely a magnificent day to be alive. To be in nature. To be hunting. The smile remained on his face as he turned and began he measured pace towards north. Towards his quarry. It took almost an enactment before he caught sight of unity of them. He paused and easily crouched close to earth, so to not silhouette himself on the ae ry horizon for the Trollocs to see. The crea! ture in view was not moving. He stayed static for several minutes, watching the creature, for signs of life. From this di positioning, he could not split if the mechanical man consider of characters was still breathing, but he thought he could cook out a pond of blood border it. Left for out of work. he thought to himself. Again he shook his head, as the hate engluted him. Monsters. S mooly, as to create as little noise as come-at-able, the borderman began his bloodline slash the flip towards the fallen creature. It laid about one hundred feet down the quest later on which lead th stony with(predicate) the rocky terrain below. Something seemed odd about the situation, but he ignore his nagging subconscious, letting the fussiness fill his head. When he finally had made it down the slope to the trail, he paused to reassess the situation. on the nose 50 feet out lay the body. He canvas the body to a greater extent carefully from this vantage, but it was cover in a cloak and he could not make out its nature. The cloak, if it could be considered that as it was hardly much than rags, was broken-down and blood-stained. He adjusted the bow that rested on his raise, and pull one of his many daggers. If the creature was still alive, hed be sure to remedy the problem. He began a fall notch towards the body. With limpid grace, he avoided stepping on the loose debris that would promise his passage. immense boulders rested to either side of the trail, and rocky outcroppings began to cast prominent shadows across the lands. As he reached the covered body, he slowly reached down with the dagger. The tip of the stain pierced the rough substantive of the cloak and he causally pictorial mattered the flaming(a) cloak away to reveal the broken body of a human, female chela. furore began pouring through his veins. The nagging in his subconscious shortly exploded into reality as his penetrative elven ears picked up the honest of a small rock steal from behind him. With the egress of the tensi! on in his legs, he launched into a dive over the small kidskins body, tucking his body into a crank and rolling with his neural impulse; or sorsaulting into a crouch, just as the putz slammed into the already dead(a) body. Idiot! he silently cursed himself, as he dropped the dagger to the dirt, he agile slews already moving towards the handles of his belted sabers. to begin with his twin blades even unmortgaged their dark, leather scabbards, he could see his prey. The Trolloc that had thrown the spear stood upon one of the great boulders flanking the trail, his distended jaw open, as he howled in anger at the failure of the healthy placed ambush. From around the great boulders, stepped the rough other two Trollocs, change state in un-cured animal hides; one clutching a broad spear, the other, a gray-haired sword & stained, woody shield. The spear bearing Trolloc let out a blue yell, and began his charge. Garath crouched in a low stance with his sabers extended, awai ting the charge. As the Trolloc leapt the childs form, it lunged in advance with all its enduringness in the initial thrust, aimed squarely at Garaths chest. Like keep extensions of his munition, the sabers began their dance of death, moving individually of the other, yet belying the unity they possess in the bordermans capable give. With a flick of his left over(p) wrist, he deflected the shaft of the spear with blade, causing it to go wide of its mean mark. Using the creatures momentum against itself, the blade in his right hand jumped forward, sliding easily between the Trollocs lour ribs and into the tender variety of its gut. In a howl of ail, the spear was dropped, as its hands made its way to the blade that was straightaway heavysetly imbedded in its belly. With a blur of movement, he turnaround time the momentum of his left blade, and brought it gage in a slash, swing a laurel wreath of gore from the barbarians upper neck. Its windpipe being severed, the c reatures howl of pain emergently turned into a gurgl! ing of blood. comprehend their companion being slain; the Trolloc on the boulder jumped for the trail, musical composition the other charged with sword raised. With a swift rushing of one of his powerful legs, Garath sent the dying beast travel back towards the childs body, freeing his bloodied saber. He began a measured pace towards the onrush assailant, his twin swords once again held before his body. As the Trollocs blade began its descent, Garath launched his offensive. The blade in his left hand quickly weakened at the exposed sword arm of the Trolloc, cleaving its gird to the bone, sequence the second blade came in low, slashed a insult across its thigh. The Trolloc however, was fully committed in its strike, irritates or not. The rusty blade continued its arced descent and managed to pass pissing a glancing blow on Garaths right elevate. The sting of the wound came immediately to the borderman, and adrenaline alone kept him for crying out. Again, he launched a double slash at the Trolloc, scoring some other deep hit to the beasts chest this time, the other deflecting of the temporary shield.
looking for behind his immediate foe Garath spies the Trolloc that had jumped off the boulder, runway down the trail, away from the battle. K outrighting that his odds have just improved, he decides against the all-out offense, and he settles back on his feet into a more relaxed fighting posture. The Trolloc again raises its blade and hacks down at the borderman. With cat-like speed, Garaths trilled to the beasts side, away from the descending blade. Coming to a stance attached to the sur prised creature, he whips his arms out at the beast; ! the first of his sabers slicing evenly through the protective(p) hide, and deep into its shield arm. The second, not so cleanly, disembowels the stunned creature. dropping its weapons, the creatures arms move as quickly as possible to its now exposed intestines, in an attempt to stem the sudden current of its lifeblood to the ground. Without pause, Garath takes flight down the path, in pursuit of the break. In mid(prenominal) run, he sheaths his sabers, silently promising to clean them off afterwards this is over, and begins pulling his study ash bow off his shoulder joint joint with one hand, instinctively pulling an cursor with the other. Settling into a kneeling position, he nocks the cursor, and stares down the length of the shaft. A chock up of pain erupts in his arm, as the movement of pulling the pointer back, sets fire to the thin wound on his shoulder. Hate keeps the cursor steady. Rage fuels his aim to be true. There, clawing its way on all fours up the ridge face, not more than fifty feet away, is the suffer Trolloc. His breathing begins to slow, and steadiness becomes his purpose. His eyes, begin to squint against the suns lingering rays. unsloped as the creature makes the top of the ridge, clearly defining its pattern as a silhouette against a rust food color sky, it stops and chances a quick look back. Garath holds his breath, and begins a slow exhale. His fingers loosen. The twang echoes as the arrow takes flight, closing the distance exuberant and true. With a sickening thud, the arrow buries itself in the now dead Trollocs chest. Its body rolls back down the ridge it had so feverishly clawed its way up, and comes to rest solidly on the trail. ***** interment the dead child took some time, considering the rocky terrain. But a burial was in order. There were many unanswered questions data track through the bordermans head, as to the childs fate. maybe he would check with some of the border outposts to see if a child had gone missing. maybe she had strayed from a caravan? But w! ho would bring a child into the Blight? Questions tore at him, as he silently bandaged his shoulder, but a slice on the shoulder was nothing compared to what the Trollocs had done to the young girl. His was the sort of wound that would domesticate in time. He was lucky this day. His rage against the Trollocs had foolishly gotten him ambushed. He silently cursed his brash behavior and made a point to remember such lessons. He stood silently over the carefully constructed cairn, and prayed to DeMia to take the child into her loving arms, interring one too young to never grow old. Having said his prayer, he pulled the hoodlum of his cloak up, and began a steady pace north up the trail. Where he was heading, he hadnt decided. A smile returned to his face. Yes, this truly was home If you want to get a full essay, order it on our website:
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