Original Submissions by Marko
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Felysia Kassigarh
Added on Sep 15, 2006The Northern Lirathan mentioned in the History timeline.
Wanderers
Added on Nov 26, 2005Artist sketch of two wanderers in the desert.
Blood, The
Added on Feb 2, 2005A fight in an alley reveals the Blood.
Screams of rage and anguish resounded loudly through the dirty alleys, the clash of obsidian against bone twisted through the maze of alleyways and dead ends. The downtrodden denizens of the streets plodded on with their pitiful existence, not knowing nor caring as to the why or who of the fight. Every now and then, a ragged form would look up and listen, a twisted expression of perverse pleasure forming upon gaunt and emaciated features. Such is the way of the street: do not question, do not interfere, above all, do not get involved.
Cries of surprise followed by a flurry of squeals of pain announced something new, something different. A couple shuffling shapes paused, looking up, the cowls of tattered robes almost concealing the faint shaking of their heads. Do not get involved or it'll make you dead. The thought is tangible in the dank, stale air of the alleyway. One small figure, draped head to toe in a dusty, ripped robe dared to venture forward, creeping through the littered alleys.
The muffled thud of flesh hitting stone marked the scene of the fight. The figure in a dusty, hooded robe halted in a shaded alcove, strangely deserted. Before, on the street, lay three bodies, blood oozing out forming a large red pool. Around the bodies stood four cloaked figures, locked in the mesmerizing dance of death. Before his eyes, one more body thumped to the ground, blood gushing from an obvious gash in its back. One form on the ground stirred, an older man, hair white as lice, stained by the thick ichor of blood. The sudden silence in the alley was deafening to the concealed figure, as he watched the three remaining cloaked forms turn to regard the stirring man.
One stepped forward and knelt by the old man, sheathing his obsidian blades. Before the concealed figure's disbelieving gaze, the cloaked form gently assisted the old man to his feet. In a resounding baritone voice, the cloaked form said, "If ye e'er need help again, ask. We are here."
"Th..than...thank you," stammered the old man as he haltingly disentangled himself from the cloaked form. "The..they want'd m..me.. 'sid."
His hand waving dismissively through the air, the cloaked form said, "No need for thanks. This is our duty."
The old man paused from his slow, but definite limping away from the cloaked forms and turned his blood stained face around, "Th..the..then.. y..y..you musssst b..b.b..be Blood."
The cloaked form nodded once and turned to his companions. With confusion the concealed figured noted that the old man relaxed visibly and that his trembling subsided. Without haste the old man slowly on his path away from the three cloaked forms who had begun to strip the corpses of useful gear.
One of the forms looked up as the old man disappeared from view and looked directly at the concealed figure's hiding spot. In a quiet, reassuring voice the cloaked form said, "Come out, I know you are there."
Reluctantly the concealed figure emerged, the dim light of the alley bathing him in its soft embrace. Swathes of threadbare, dark brown sandcloth barely concealed his small, gaunt form. Spindly arms and legs poked out from the edges of the cloak's protective shielding, and a haunted, dirty face gazed out from beneath the hood.
In the dim light filtering through the alleyway the three stood tall and proud. Their bodies wrapped by long dark cloaks with deep hoods. Of the three, two held dark obsidian blades that faintly gleamed in the murky air. Of indeterminate race or sex it was easier for the reluctant figure to know what race they weren't, not half-giants nor were they elves for they were not tall enough.
In a faltering voice, the reluctant figure said, "Who are you? The old man said you were Blood... what?"
The one who had spoken to the old man stepped away from the bloodied scene by his feet. In a quiet voice he said, "We are the Blood. We watch over the alleys and do what we can to help the needy."
"When no one cares to interfere, we will," he continued, "Ours is the law of the street taken form. We patrol to keep the alleys safer than they were and protect the children of the street."
As he fell silent another of the dark cloaked figures spoke up, "When e'er we bin 'round tha' peeps they be feelin' saf'r 'cause we be watchin' out. We chase them elves an' trouble mak'rs right out or, if they be givin' trouble, we kill 'em. We 'ave our own place an' take care of our own. Ain't much... but t'is bett'r than naught."
The third figure looked over and spoke, in a soft, feminine voice, "We are the blades of street law. We are revenge, we are protection, we are life."
The third fell silent and the reluctant figure stood straighter, his gaze challenging yet uncertain. In a loud voice he proclaimed, "I have see what ya've done. I know what ya speak ta be true. I want ta be Blood."
The three remained silent as they exchanged looks and then finally the first said simply, "Come."
Screams of rage and anguish resounded loudly through the dirty alleys, the clash of obsidian against bone twisted through the maze of alleyways and dead ends. The downtrodden denizens of the streets plodded on with their pitiful existence, not knowing nor caring as to the why or who of the...
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