The men did their jobs as instructed, to the most precise point in time that can be imagined. Their movements so synchronised you were unsure whether they were separate entities or the same. They wore the same clothes, dyed blacker than the darkest night - their fabric seemed to drink light as it hit, the strangest material to look upon.
As they converged on the building in the centre of the town from all points of the compass rose, they dispatched the men and women they stumbled across with disturbing ease. Each casualty caused by a simple touch on bare flesh, a pinprick of pain and a moment's fright - then they were gone. Tumbled into the ground where they had stood a moment before, following their neighbours into the lands beyond.
Eight black figures, silhouetted against the bright square of the open doorway - the blazing fires from inside providing a blindingly bright opulence of splendour on the rotten earth outside.
As they each stepped into the hall, they came face to face with the first of the resistance. They were waiting for them here, in this ancient room, this sacred hall - in the presence of their god.
Only four were arrayed against the eight, and each of the dark masters were equal to fifty lesser men. There was no pause in the advance, no time for the faithful defenders to prepare against the invaders.
No words exchanged, only stares.
The defenders lashed out with blessed staves as they came, pressing forward with a bare minimum of an advantage. The attackers drew blades from hidden sheaths, barely seen needles of darkness. They moved like a wave across the beach, first forward on the left, retreating on the right for a bare moment before surging forward in a deadly rush to strike down the first of the four.
He died well, smashing his stave through his murderer's eye with his final blow.
The three remaining defenders chanted their farewells to their comrade and prepared for their own final breaths.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I liked/disliked... or, I think... should happen...