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Wednesday, April 11, 2007

The life of The Damned.. Part 2

For some the actions of the characters might seem apalling and I would not reccomend you to read it if you abhor reading about violence/criminalities no matter what the story. I do not however base the entire text on violence and "criminalities" so if you are up to reading something inventive for a change you would do yourself a favor by reading on.

The Mender felt exhausted as he walked away from the alley, and despite the young woman's urgent tone he could not make himself increase the pace of his walk. Typical, I have just mended her and she tries to tell me what to do in return.. "My lady is hold captive by your organization, They torture her often and for no reason at all." She was repeating herself he noticed, but he did not offer her the slightest amount of attention. "For Great Mother's sake! She needs your help or she will be tattooed!" Abrubtly he stopped, the woman's lady was also a witch? For Mother's sake indeed. "Fine I'll help. Do you have any idea where they hold her?" He didn't want anyone to experience the same fate as him, not even a witch. The tattoo at the back of his neck started throbbing lightly, a slight reminder from his mistress that he should have been back at his room by now. After the endless hours of being tortured for the smallest missteps he almost didn't notice. Something dragging at his right arm snatched the endless array of thoughts away from him, "This way." The young woman standing at his side said as she was dragging him eastwards. After a while of pacing through narrow streets in this filthy town she dragged him to a halt in front of a middle-sized house with the mark of the damned on it. The black hand with no thumb was placed straight above the huge doorframe. The house was not large, but not small either, and the fact that there was a large amount of clear space to all sides of it confirmed the fact that this was a residency of the damned. Noone wanted to live close to the damned.

He straightened and shook his head slightly, realizing that it was a bad idea. Then he opened the door. A huge man was blocking his path, "You have no right to barge in here, Mender!" The man right out shouted the words into his face. "Your mistress will hear of this." Another voice said, the threat did not affect the Mender in the least. Instead he willed for the damned and his mender to be slung to his wall. He focused his mind on it and felt strength seep out of him at the same time as the clash of flash against wood was heard. He ran over to the blackhaired woman lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, took her into his arms and ran out. The last thing he heard as he exited building was three strained words. "She will hear." He ran with her in his arms to the nearest alley, and did not stop focusing on holding the damned and his mistress pinned to the wall until he could no longer see the house or the street it was in. After that he paused in a specifically dark and narrow alley were he healed her wounds that had been created by torture. When he brushed the hair aside from here face he looked properly at her for the first time. His eyes widened as he noticed her features, her face was an image of perfection. This seemed odd to him, but after she came to, he led her towards the wooden town gates. He hid all the tattoos and the mark on his uniform when they neared the gate, and amazingly they came through without any trouble. Abruptly he started feeling a maddeningly painful sensation of burning heat all across his skin, he fell to his knees grunting in pain, he thought this was what happened to damned who walked beyond the town border, it was not until he was lying on his side cringing in pain and the woman with the perfect face leaned down, put her face clearly in front of his and smiled wickedly he realized it was her. "I saved you." He said and the effort of it sent him into unconsciousness.
The mender was sitting on a grassy hill watching the sun set holding the hand of the woman sitting next to him. Her face was oddly familiar but he could not tie the face to a name or any memories. So he decided to just sit there and enjoy the view however, he did not let go of her hand, somehow it felt comforting holding her hand, he had no idea why he should be upset. A realization came to him "This is a dream" He thought, but given his inability to remember anything the moment after he thought it, it was gone from his mind.

At the same time a women of remarkable resemblance to the one mender was watching the sunset with was pacing around a large room thinking. Why would he dissapear like that? She thought, and even though she allready had a myriad of answers, none of them seemed to hold up with the fact that he had felt an enormous amount of pain before she could no longer feel him. He could not be dead, she hoped he was not, he might see it differently but she had begun to take a liking to her so called student. and if he was not dead allready she was not about to let him stay in the bad company he obviously was in. But she could do nothing unless he returned from unconsciousness. Will he return from the dead to if that is what he is? A voice said inside her head, she reminded herself that everything went better when you stayed positive. And decided to even as hard as it was, to stay positive. She took red bracelet from the table in front of her and fastened it to her right arm and reminded herself to stay positive. Abrubltly she started to sense him again, and at that she ran out of the room to fetch help. She had never felt so relieved in her life.

The mender was still sitting silently on a grassy hill watching the sunset holding the hand of a woman when his vision started to fade, it felt like someone was slapping him but he could see nothing so he thought he imagined it. He felt another slap land on his left cheek, he ignored it. Another one, he opened his eyes slowly. The first thing that greeted his eyes was a hand rushing forward against his face. He tried to raise his hands to shield himself but to his surprise found that they could not budge. The hand landed on his left cheek hard enough to make him taste blood.

Will add more later..

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Posted by Ragnar @ 8:19 AM

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The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing.
Marcus Aurelius Wisdom outweighs any wealth.
Imagination will often carry us to worlds that never were. But without it we go nowhere.
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