Categories > Original > Fantasy > The Simple, The Beautiful, and The Valiant
Somber Silence
0 reviewsIt is the first day of the week long celebrations that mark the King's victory and the end of the war. Two mercenaries decide to forego the welcoming parade...
0Unrated
Confetti and streamers rained from the heavens, obscuring the few clouds present in the blue sky, and choruses of choruses of shouts and yells from thousands blended into one unified cacophony. Homesick men, all armed, rode and walked between the lines of people towards the heart of the city. The houses in Lacrimund were empty that day.
A towering barbarian and a voluptuous female walked in a shaded alleyway far enough from the parade to cause the dissonance of praise to seem like a distant thunderstorm. She stopped and spoke.
"Wait." Her voice was silky and liquid, but traces of strength were clearly present. "Where are you going?" His pace did not falter. "You're a fool if you think she's still waiting for you." The barbarian's walk came to a halt. "She probably thinks you're dead by now." He turned to face her.
She must have recognized the look in his eyes, because her defensive, pained expression quickly turned to a condescending gaze laced with doubt. "Women are fickle and impulsive, Duran. She probably doesn't even remember you."
"You've never even met her. She is not like you." His last five syllables were well emphasized; the subject was both sensitive and well worn. He casually turned around and continued his stride where he had left it.
It was several moments later when she ran to catch up to him. She said nothing.
The voluptuous female followed the towering barbarian through the city's alleyways and back streets all the way to their destination, albeit several steps behind. Their somber silence was consumed by the mirth of the city's distant celebrations.
Neither the antagonist nor the protagonist could afford such luxuries.
A towering barbarian and a voluptuous female walked in a shaded alleyway far enough from the parade to cause the dissonance of praise to seem like a distant thunderstorm. She stopped and spoke.
"Wait." Her voice was silky and liquid, but traces of strength were clearly present. "Where are you going?" His pace did not falter. "You're a fool if you think she's still waiting for you." The barbarian's walk came to a halt. "She probably thinks you're dead by now." He turned to face her.
She must have recognized the look in his eyes, because her defensive, pained expression quickly turned to a condescending gaze laced with doubt. "Women are fickle and impulsive, Duran. She probably doesn't even remember you."
"You've never even met her. She is not like you." His last five syllables were well emphasized; the subject was both sensitive and well worn. He casually turned around and continued his stride where he had left it.
It was several moments later when she ran to catch up to him. She said nothing.
The voluptuous female followed the towering barbarian through the city's alleyways and back streets all the way to their destination, albeit several steps behind. Their somber silence was consumed by the mirth of the city's distant celebrations.
Neither the antagonist nor the protagonist could afford such luxuries.
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