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1- Ruomen

' Th' miner's son, got himself' offed. That was quite a queer thing wasn' it? ' The drunk roared, his grizzly beard twitching as ale dropped from his mug.

His eyes were dirty brown as his stubby fingers persued a crack on the table. An iron stub lay where his feet once was, and his locks swung with his upturned head.

Though his speaking was slurred, his eyes remained observant. Though to the listener it may seem as if he had abandoned all semblance of consciousness, one look at his steady hands would have overturned the idea.

Suddenly the look in his eyes changed, as his grubby face crinkled into a scowl. His eyes screwed up as he glared at the bag of bones that had crept up onto the pubs' porch.

There was silence in the room as all the hardy men glanced between the beggar and the bearded man. The bearded man whistled, summoning four muscled men who charged at the barely conscious boy. They pushed him out of the door with a humph, and then returned to their seats to finish their drinks.

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RUIN:

I sighed as my face met the hardy pavement. It had always been like this. I had always faced the cruel treatment of the folks of tel'nar, the rural town I called home. They had always been this condescending, always judging and always glaring.

The townsfolk believed that his dark black hair was a sign of a heratic god, Durza, they called him, the storm bringer and thane to the snow swept Craig's of Roza, the fallow lands.

Ruin was a simple boy, his icy blue ernest eyes were a testament to his servitude to lonliness.

They were, in his opinion filled with a pure brilliance, the township though  believed otherwise. They claimed that it was Durza's mark, the sign of all his servants, and most of all the Rakhvi, the corpse collectors of yore.

Ruin sometimes felt that Durza, the monarch of carnage too, was only a victim to the icy touch of solitude, as afterall if one was subjected to long years of torment, they too would wish to tear it all down, if only to satisfy their penchant for company.

Ruin was a tall, lanky sort of child. His cheek bone was set high into his face and his hair swept his shoulder in an unruly embrace. His glistening bone white face and hollow chest were the only witness to his malnourished state.

He hated the folks of Tel'nar afterall they had stared at him with their judgemental, coloured gaze and their long winded pride of supremacy.

He hated the cruel world, the heavens and the Earth, for they were cold and harsh always and forevermore, in the cycle, in nature's hands. Most of all though, he hated his weakness, afterall, without it he would not have been bullied to such a state.

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He sighed as he edged to the cold sculpture of Ra'mon.

The stone seemed to stare at him with obsedian cold eyes. The face was etched with a sharp frown, and it's nose seemed to be held abnormally high, a sign no doubt, of the statue's disdain. They called Ra'mon the Frowner, for his visage always held a frown.

Ruin huddled up with his ragtag cloak and his knees held against his chest. His constant shivering was only accompanied by his forever clattering teeth, evidence enough of the formidable chill.

He sighed as his conscience slowly drifted away, his weak body succumbed to the chill, and the gnaw of his hunger..........

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NA'DAR:

Na'dar scowled as his scarred face crumpled. " Rasdall" He roared as his shoulder was shot.

It had been long since he had been on the recieving end of arrows and he had quite forgotten how it felt to be shot by them.

He cursed his luck as he ran past his brother, searching for a torch so they could see who his midnight assaulter was.

His hand reached towards the torch hung on the side, while he tried to pry the arrow from his basoom. His leather armor squelched as he pulled the wretched tool from his breast.

He fumed as he decided to extort the headman's wife for a higher pay. He also decided to visit 'The Midnight Maiden' on his next off day. The women there never failed to provide. They always managed to find a new way to entertain him and his merry band.

With these licentious thoughts that ran through his mind like the stray pars that skulk through the night.

He made his way back to the ledge waving his torch in the air.

"STAY you men. We must hold....... Atleast till the morn..... HOLD............" The captain roared as the night held him hostage. The final vestage of Na'dar's courage trembled, and then fell to the ground.

The dismal dark, cloaked the assailants in its shadows and drew the assailed as a sunlit torch upon a black canvas.

Suddenly in the night, there came a shrieking, like a million arrows let astray from a million bows. There it was, like a mighty stream, with torrents of brown that glinted in the ebony dark night.

'I am fucked' he thought, as the arrows besieged him from all sides.

The night was young and the predators bold, a night of slaughter lay ahead of the folks of tel'nar. With blood that would flow as rivers and shrieks that would resound through the nine heavens and the twelve hells.......................

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RUIN:

I heard a whistle as an armoured man  came clanking by. His obsedian helmet glinted with a cold, cruel light as his scarlet eyes stared into mine. Red like the blood that came flowing by with a vigour I had never seen.

His blood soaked blade glittered as his calm face suddenly grew a lace of white pearls that glowed in the darkness.

I was going to die, I knew it, I had accepted it. Afterall where was there hope of life for me a beggar, not to mention one with a dark tale behind him, when even the rich, experienced and balefully dark-hearted headman had just been chopped down.

The soldier brought his sword up, it's sharp edge enought to slice my skin, like ruffians did pockets, with an ease that bellied age and experience. It glinted in the pale moon light as he brought it to his chest.

"Ro Da Lokwi.......

The winter calls, young master. Ready your war wolf, raise your Kull, and shear the heavens. We the Rakhvi now to thee. O' monarch of In'duun .." he said as he bowed..........

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