Post by kadenkeene on Nov 20, 2006 18:01:55 GMT -5
The plan was to ride hard through town, killing the bravest of the beasts in the sunlight. When the word of their arrival had reached the masses, they would ride out while the rats fled to the safety of their holes. They charged, swords free from their scabbards and hung low at their sides, and rode over the bodies of those who had fell to the Mortality...and much later, in death, to the beasts.
Joseph de Montfort called their mark first, taking the lead. He strode hard and held his blade high above his shoulder. The monstrosity before him raised from its haunches and hissed, but Joseph payed no heed. Rather, he tightened his grip on the hilt and swore that if his cut was not true, the beast would fall under the hooves of his steed, Marna.
A powerful stroke, and the beast's head was removed below the nose. It would not die until its heart was to meet the same end, or until its thirst for blood became great enough to bring the shadow of death upon it, but it would never feed again, and Joseph was satisfied with that. Time was not on their side; they must move quick or meet the same fate as their English brothers and sisters that lay dead upon these very streets.
By illness or monster, their end would be soon if they did not move with haste.
Mathew de Grey had found a pair feasting on a long-passed young lady, and nodded to William Montgomery. William's scream cut the air as his sword soon would, and he sped to the marks with his captain at his side. Ahead, the beasts dropped their lady-find and set off running. A wicked smile crossed Mathew's lips as he raised his blade heavenward; they could run, but in the name of Edward III, they would not find the shelter they seek.
William's sword fell on the one in the rear, cutting the beast's head in half like a melon. It fell to the dirt, but its companion did not slow. Mathew hurried his horse and pushed ahead, grunting and laughing as he pursued. His steed's head nudged it, and it fell over its own feet, its bones cracking with a sickening volume as the steed Minotaur strode over it. William followed quickly, snatching a dagger from the leather harness on his forearm. It flew from his hand with deadly accuracy, and the blade sunk through the back of beast, not resting until it felt the walls of its heart.
John had rode well behind the pack, searching for a brave soul to come and try a rear assault. Of the group, John Mortimer was the least of the fighters, much younger, and far more quiet. There was a natural ability in him, that much was certain, but he found himself at the charge of King Edward because of politics rather than ability. Still, he reveled in the experience, even if he feared it while the others did not.
Then, a cry from the alleyway: A girl, young and pretty in tattered clothes. She looked very much afraid, and her strawberry hair fell in dirty strands around her face. John kicked his horse and galloped to the alleyway, reaching down with his big hand and snatching the girl. He heaved her to his back, letting her fall into place on the saddle behind him.
"Your name, love?" He said, sounding as jovial as he could. John had a knack for that.
"Bethany, kind knight." She said, her voice as soft and young as morning rose pedals.
John turned his horse and strode out to meet his mates, but something caught his eye before he could. From his side, a beast with a beard that seemed to rot from his face, leaped onto John's steed, clinging and clawing at his leg. John fought to relieve his blade from his scabbard, but the beast was strong, and hit with a vicious fury that stunned him. John belted the beast in the head with the plate armor on the back of his hand, but it did not move. They rode on, John on the reigns, the young girl Bethany in the back, and the bloodthirsty beast hanging from John's leg.
William saw them first, and called to Joseph and Mathew, but they were too far ahead by now. Soon, they might 'round back, but John needed help now, and William would have to do it alone. He pushed ahead, hoping to meet John before the beast could do any damage.
John finally wrestled his blade loose, and brought the pommel down upon the beast's head. Stunned, the beast's grip loosened, but still it hung with a determination that would have been inspiring under different circumstances. He took a hard grip of the leather-clad hilt and again brought the pommel down upon the beast's crown. Another blow, and the beast fell. William sighed in relief, and charged the fallen bastard with sword drawn.
John felt relief as well, but something had bothered him greatly; as the monster fell, he swore he heard it say something...it was strangled and twisted thanks to the longs and sharps that now served as its teeth, but he was sure it was a word...
The beast rose, and hissed with its hands out and ready to battle. With a swing as mighty as the steed he rode upon, William lobbed the monster's head off. But just before the blade could meet its mark, the beast uttered its deformed word again: Bethany.
This time, John was sure of it; Bethany, it said. He looked to William, who wore a broad smile of relief, and a streak of blood across his massive blade. Slowly...it seemed like an eternity...John watched that smile fade. He couldn't understand it at the time, nor could he understand why William kicked his steed and charged for him as if he were riding headlong into battle...none of it made sense, this whole scene playing in a painfully slow motion.
"John!" William screamed, but it was too late.
Bethany had stood her small frame on the saddle, and with a strength that was beyond her years and size, ripped the helm from John's head. She clamped down with a furious force on his armored shoulders; it felt like he was being pushed through the saddle. Then, on his neck, heat. Wetness. The sound of a fresh apple being broken between teeth, and then the image of William charging to him faded to black.
William screamed for his mate, but the little bitch on his back was having her way. He sat limp on his steed, moving only when the girl moved her head. Her mouth was planted firmly on his neck, and blood had begun to gush in oceans down his armor. William met them, and thrust his sword at the girl, removing her bowels from her body in one motion. She made a horrible sound of pain, and released her grip, falling dead to the dirt below. John was to follow, but William snatched him and slung him over the back of his saddle. In the distance, Mathew and Joseph were riding back.
Mathew would know what to do.
******
"Are you ready?"
Francis pulled hard and quick on his cigarette, twirling his hand in a "hurry the fuck up" motion. Kaden stood across from him, with the look of a deer caught in the headlights.
"You're serious?" Kaden asked sheepishly.
"Of course I am. Now go."
Kaden shook his head. He couldn't believe was about to do this; he had never been too involved with self-promotion, but Francis had come today to let him know that "it was time," to start. If Kaden Keene was to be the superstar that Lantlas was, or that Grimm is, he would need to sell himself. Kaden wasn't exactly happy about it, but he knew Francis was right.
Francis was always right. He wasn't quite exactly happy about that, either.
"Um, OK, where do I start? Hey, Nina, I'm going to, um, hurt you, um--"
"Jesus...no, Kaden," Francis said, sticking his cigarette between his lips and adjusting Kaden's shoulders. "First of all, your posture is all wrong; you have to look bigger than you really are. And don't hesitate! Just let it go."
Kaden looked at Francis, puzzled. "Are you serious? I don't want to do this. I don't need to do this!"
His pleas fell on deaf ears. "Yes you do. Now pretend I'm Nina Arcania, and let me know what you think of me."
"You want me to cut a promo on you..."
"Yes! Now come on. Go."
"What, do I look like Justin Michaels? And I thought that's what you were for!"
"I can't be here forever, Kaden. At some point, you need your own voice."
"Tell that to Silence..."
Francis slapped him in the back of the head, and Kaden blushed and rubbed it. "OK...fine."
He cleared his throat, and his eyes met Francis'. He stared hard for moment, then took a deep breath.
"History," He stared, which made Francis raise an eyebrow. "In books, on television, before our very eyes, it plays out while we sit numb and watch. We don't feel it, we dont' care about it, we only see it. It rides past us like a bullet train, and we--"
"OK, where is this going?" Francis said.
"I was getting there! Fine, OK, to the point."
"That would be nice."
Kaden cleared his throat. "Nina Arcania, you aren't going to sit on your couch with a bag of Cheetos in your hand while the world passes by on the screen. No, you're going to live history, experience it first-hand. When you step into the ring with me, you will learn that you can't meat bee...shit...beat me, I mean...fuck!"
Francis threw his hands up and walked away. "Nevermind. I'll do the talking for now, but we are going to continue this."
"Yeah, whatever."
It was a good thing Nina hadn't seen that, Kaden thought.
Joseph de Montfort called their mark first, taking the lead. He strode hard and held his blade high above his shoulder. The monstrosity before him raised from its haunches and hissed, but Joseph payed no heed. Rather, he tightened his grip on the hilt and swore that if his cut was not true, the beast would fall under the hooves of his steed, Marna.
A powerful stroke, and the beast's head was removed below the nose. It would not die until its heart was to meet the same end, or until its thirst for blood became great enough to bring the shadow of death upon it, but it would never feed again, and Joseph was satisfied with that. Time was not on their side; they must move quick or meet the same fate as their English brothers and sisters that lay dead upon these very streets.
By illness or monster, their end would be soon if they did not move with haste.
Mathew de Grey had found a pair feasting on a long-passed young lady, and nodded to William Montgomery. William's scream cut the air as his sword soon would, and he sped to the marks with his captain at his side. Ahead, the beasts dropped their lady-find and set off running. A wicked smile crossed Mathew's lips as he raised his blade heavenward; they could run, but in the name of Edward III, they would not find the shelter they seek.
William's sword fell on the one in the rear, cutting the beast's head in half like a melon. It fell to the dirt, but its companion did not slow. Mathew hurried his horse and pushed ahead, grunting and laughing as he pursued. His steed's head nudged it, and it fell over its own feet, its bones cracking with a sickening volume as the steed Minotaur strode over it. William followed quickly, snatching a dagger from the leather harness on his forearm. It flew from his hand with deadly accuracy, and the blade sunk through the back of beast, not resting until it felt the walls of its heart.
John had rode well behind the pack, searching for a brave soul to come and try a rear assault. Of the group, John Mortimer was the least of the fighters, much younger, and far more quiet. There was a natural ability in him, that much was certain, but he found himself at the charge of King Edward because of politics rather than ability. Still, he reveled in the experience, even if he feared it while the others did not.
Then, a cry from the alleyway: A girl, young and pretty in tattered clothes. She looked very much afraid, and her strawberry hair fell in dirty strands around her face. John kicked his horse and galloped to the alleyway, reaching down with his big hand and snatching the girl. He heaved her to his back, letting her fall into place on the saddle behind him.
"Your name, love?" He said, sounding as jovial as he could. John had a knack for that.
"Bethany, kind knight." She said, her voice as soft and young as morning rose pedals.
John turned his horse and strode out to meet his mates, but something caught his eye before he could. From his side, a beast with a beard that seemed to rot from his face, leaped onto John's steed, clinging and clawing at his leg. John fought to relieve his blade from his scabbard, but the beast was strong, and hit with a vicious fury that stunned him. John belted the beast in the head with the plate armor on the back of his hand, but it did not move. They rode on, John on the reigns, the young girl Bethany in the back, and the bloodthirsty beast hanging from John's leg.
William saw them first, and called to Joseph and Mathew, but they were too far ahead by now. Soon, they might 'round back, but John needed help now, and William would have to do it alone. He pushed ahead, hoping to meet John before the beast could do any damage.
John finally wrestled his blade loose, and brought the pommel down upon the beast's head. Stunned, the beast's grip loosened, but still it hung with a determination that would have been inspiring under different circumstances. He took a hard grip of the leather-clad hilt and again brought the pommel down upon the beast's crown. Another blow, and the beast fell. William sighed in relief, and charged the fallen bastard with sword drawn.
John felt relief as well, but something had bothered him greatly; as the monster fell, he swore he heard it say something...it was strangled and twisted thanks to the longs and sharps that now served as its teeth, but he was sure it was a word...
The beast rose, and hissed with its hands out and ready to battle. With a swing as mighty as the steed he rode upon, William lobbed the monster's head off. But just before the blade could meet its mark, the beast uttered its deformed word again: Bethany.
This time, John was sure of it; Bethany, it said. He looked to William, who wore a broad smile of relief, and a streak of blood across his massive blade. Slowly...it seemed like an eternity...John watched that smile fade. He couldn't understand it at the time, nor could he understand why William kicked his steed and charged for him as if he were riding headlong into battle...none of it made sense, this whole scene playing in a painfully slow motion.
"John!" William screamed, but it was too late.
Bethany had stood her small frame on the saddle, and with a strength that was beyond her years and size, ripped the helm from John's head. She clamped down with a furious force on his armored shoulders; it felt like he was being pushed through the saddle. Then, on his neck, heat. Wetness. The sound of a fresh apple being broken between teeth, and then the image of William charging to him faded to black.
William screamed for his mate, but the little bitch on his back was having her way. He sat limp on his steed, moving only when the girl moved her head. Her mouth was planted firmly on his neck, and blood had begun to gush in oceans down his armor. William met them, and thrust his sword at the girl, removing her bowels from her body in one motion. She made a horrible sound of pain, and released her grip, falling dead to the dirt below. John was to follow, but William snatched him and slung him over the back of his saddle. In the distance, Mathew and Joseph were riding back.
Mathew would know what to do.
******
"Are you ready?"
Francis pulled hard and quick on his cigarette, twirling his hand in a "hurry the fuck up" motion. Kaden stood across from him, with the look of a deer caught in the headlights.
"You're serious?" Kaden asked sheepishly.
"Of course I am. Now go."
Kaden shook his head. He couldn't believe was about to do this; he had never been too involved with self-promotion, but Francis had come today to let him know that "it was time," to start. If Kaden Keene was to be the superstar that Lantlas was, or that Grimm is, he would need to sell himself. Kaden wasn't exactly happy about it, but he knew Francis was right.
Francis was always right. He wasn't quite exactly happy about that, either.
"Um, OK, where do I start? Hey, Nina, I'm going to, um, hurt you, um--"
"Jesus...no, Kaden," Francis said, sticking his cigarette between his lips and adjusting Kaden's shoulders. "First of all, your posture is all wrong; you have to look bigger than you really are. And don't hesitate! Just let it go."
Kaden looked at Francis, puzzled. "Are you serious? I don't want to do this. I don't need to do this!"
His pleas fell on deaf ears. "Yes you do. Now pretend I'm Nina Arcania, and let me know what you think of me."
"You want me to cut a promo on you..."
"Yes! Now come on. Go."
"What, do I look like Justin Michaels? And I thought that's what you were for!"
"I can't be here forever, Kaden. At some point, you need your own voice."
"Tell that to Silence..."
Francis slapped him in the back of the head, and Kaden blushed and rubbed it. "OK...fine."
He cleared his throat, and his eyes met Francis'. He stared hard for moment, then took a deep breath.
"History," He stared, which made Francis raise an eyebrow. "In books, on television, before our very eyes, it plays out while we sit numb and watch. We don't feel it, we dont' care about it, we only see it. It rides past us like a bullet train, and we--"
"OK, where is this going?" Francis said.
"I was getting there! Fine, OK, to the point."
"That would be nice."
Kaden cleared his throat. "Nina Arcania, you aren't going to sit on your couch with a bag of Cheetos in your hand while the world passes by on the screen. No, you're going to live history, experience it first-hand. When you step into the ring with me, you will learn that you can't meat bee...shit...beat me, I mean...fuck!"
Francis threw his hands up and walked away. "Nevermind. I'll do the talking for now, but we are going to continue this."
"Yeah, whatever."
It was a good thing Nina hadn't seen that, Kaden thought.