“When the ancestors of the wild cats first began pursuing the ancestors of the gazelle, neither of them could run as fast as they can today. And when my ancestor first wandered these lands, they learned to observe, to read their surrounding and to anticipate of what will come and at some point of time a form of magic must have stirred in their blood. We carry with us the faintest idea about our ancestor’s lives, their trials, their hardships and challenges, learning from them bettering ourselves and the magic in our blood gets stronger. “
– Klave Vardhein, Lord Protector of Castlemoor and Prophet of Treala
It’s always the same, first comes the sense of doom and despair washing over the scenes in the mind eye. Then comes the sound of approaching peril, it varies with time. Sometimes it’s the drums of war that can be heard over a sea of blood, while sometimes it’s the clash of swords in a thundering sky and while some other times it’s the sound of someone screaming from the darkness.
This time it came with running footsteps that sped through the roof tops of the city. There were four of them and each stank of blood. Each clothed in black garbs with hoods covering their masked faces which whipped in the wind as they ran with sure footsteps above the roof tiles, side stepping a broken tile or two, gliding through the rooftops. They had their long knives sheathed in dark and brown scabbard and slung over their shoulders tightly bound so as not to upset the balance of their owners.
The sky above the city was cloudless and the sun was going down in the horizon, casting red hue over the city before the night would blanket it in its darkness. The birds that were returning to their roosts in the nooks and corner of the buildings of the city didn’t heed them or maybe they didn’t hear them as they sped by their nests.
Strong, silent and agile, they were the kind that usually kept to the shadows offered by the great towers of the Panthia. Shadow hands employed to kill, hidden hands of lords who loved their games of diplomacy.
There are many like them in the Panthian Empire and even more of those who use them to be their hands and their strength.
I sighed, this city is corrupted beyond measure but their was still hope. Hope as flimsy it was still hope.
I stood from my chair and walked out of my study to the balcony to watch the city lights as the night slowly spread it wings. It was a beautiful sight and the darkness helped to hide the ugliness from the mortal eyes. I looked up, the stars have started appearing in the night sky.
I smiled to myself as I felt a movement behind me.
” You promised me that you will attend upon our sons tonight.”
“Yes you did “, she replied. I felt her hands wrap around me as she spoke, her head rested on my back. As the time slowly passed I could feel my heart dancing to the rhythm of her heart. All these years and still.
I turned around to hold her but she swiftly stepped away from my hands laughing. She is beautiful, my wife. Her raven hair framed her face which had an olive complexion, her eyes were dark and she had a slight aquiline nose. And she has a beautiful smile but her laughter always enchanted me.
She watched me staring at her for a moment.” Attend to your promise husband “, she said and smiled. She then turned around and began walking back into the room with a little more sway.