Categories > Original > Horror
Silent Death
0 reviews(Shortie) A stalker on a mission, darting through the dark wood of the trees on way to his prey.
0Unrated
SILENT DEATH
Original Short
By: Scy Storm
ssbs.furrynet.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Bored, and testing my creativity and writing ability. Now if only this would work for my actual projects.
INEVITABLE DISCLAIMER: Death.
They cannot. They will not.
He repeated these words in his head over and over as he sped through the dark of the wilderness green. He takes necessary steps from side to side to stay out of any area the sun would shine directly upon him in a large amount. Though, he really need not worry about anything seeing him, namely those he was sent to get. His steps are longstrided, stepping over and through whatever attempts to block him on the ground. That, and they remain completely silent.
They cannot. They will not.
His clothing could not be any more suited for this wilderness. His clothes a comfortable linen and soft leather, all fitted snug to his body. What is normally colored white in the clothing he had dyed a deep green, with the rest - including the leather - deep shades of brown. And over all of this, a deep green hooded cloak. A special hood, too, that he had prepared specifically to be rather dark in what it conceals. He can't remember a time when he ever let down his hood while in any environment outside of a private inn room. He doesn't want to see their faces, why should they see his?
They cannot. They will not.
Like it would be any much of a surprise to them that he is an elf. He's perfectly at home in the wilderness, and well moreso with his training. Same goes with his proficiency with his bow. Ah... his bow. Rarely in his life has he ever encountered a one, elf or not, that could best him at archery. And if he did meet such a one, he would eventually best them. He has all the reason in the world to have his ego.
They cannot. They will n-...
His constant mental note to himself is interrupted, by a sense. Empathic. His ally has found something. His eyes dart around momentarily, his pace slowing, before he takes off again in a near straight line, this time not bothered by running through sunny spots. He just runs, eyes locked forward, moving only to sway by a tree. Then abruptly, he leaps into one of the trees. He lands inside with very little sound, only a soft rustling of the leaves falling down. He stays still for a moment. Dead still. Quiet, even in mind. Listening to the sounds around him. He can hear them. They are not far away.
They cannot. They will not.
He ducks his head down low and darts his eyes, before leaping again, out of the tree he resides and into another one several feet away. Once again, little to no noise, just the movement of the branches. He stops dead and listens again. It seems they are unaware. He crawls to the other side of the tree, and looks outside of the branches. He can see them. Several yards away, with only a few trees partially obstructing his view. He grins wickedly.
They cannot. They will not.
The warriors. Foolish warriors. Taking whatever quest any random passerby wishes to give out. And what do they want? Gold? Enchanted items? There are much better means of getting them. Such as... sending a bunch of poor saps on a useless quest? He almost chuckles. This is fun no matter now many times he does this.
They cannot. They will not.
He can hear them talking. About what they were promised for completing this task. Gold, fame, glory... a new sword? Hmm... This warrior seems to really love the idea of getting a new sword. And he's got a good line of sight. That one will have to die first. He reaches both of his arms behind his back, pulling off his bow, and 3 arrows from his quiver. His legs hook onto the branch he's on as he drops down, hanging from the tree, locking his arrows into his bowstring.
They cannot. They will not.
The sword-loving warrior smirks and laughs at a comment one of his partner makes. Then, it was all over. Three arrows come out of nowhere and pierce him, two in his midsection and one to the side of his skull, the arrow protruding out the other side. Before he can even hit the ground, the ranger has hit the ground and ran, speeding silently and circling a pathway around the encampment. The warrior's friends are up quickly, brandishing blades and bows, and looking to where they saw 3 mysterious arrows fly. But they will not find him. For he is now behind them, lurking in the dark shadows of the wood, three more arrows knocked.
They cannot. They will not.
The arrows zip through the air, one each striking the remaining three warriors. Two of them yelp in pain from the shots, but the other one falls to his knees, dropping his bow and grasping the arrow as it's sticking out of his stomach, red with his blood. The two others turn quickly, and see nothing. Once again, he is gone. He has zipped to another spot in the dark of the wood. Oh, he could drop them while running, but it's so much fun to see them look around confused before getting it. He waits in silence with but a single arrow knocked and pointed.
They cannot. They will not.
He waits for one of them to turn their head towards him in their idiotic scanning of the wilderness. And one does. He can almost see the arrow just before it hits him, and turns his world into blackness. His comrade turns to see him fall, an arrow lodged in his forehead, the tip of it sticking out the hair on the back of his head. Blood trickles from both entry and exit wounds. The last warrior brandishes his sword high and stares at where the arrow came from. He calls out for the firer of it to come out and fight him. But he gets no answer.
They cannot. They will not.
A soft rustling. The billow of a cloak snapping on the air. The warrior heard this from another direction. Of course, this was on purpose. He loves seeing the prey confused and disoriented. Of course now, it sounds as though there are steps all around him. To the north, then to the south. Then to the east, and north again. The warrior may try to seem battle-ready and brave, but the terror can be seen easily in his eyes. In the quivering that travels through his legs, up his arms, and makes his sword rattle back and forth in his hands. He's alone.
They cannot. They will not.
The sword hits the ground with one clanging bounce. The warrior stands with his quiver gone, a blank look on his face, before he falls forward to knees, then face, three arrows riddled in a perfect straight line up his spine. It's quiet, and still. The hunter then walks out of the trees. His cloak ripples just above his ankles as he observes the death-filled came site. From another area comes a wolf of black fur and red eyes. His companion. He has done well this day. He will have a good feast on the flesh of these warriors. But wait... a sound? The archer... He remains alive. He's bleeding, and breathing labored, not dead yet from the arrow that went through his stomach. And he's completely unaware. The hunter can only grin.
They cannot. They will not.
He takes a few quiet steps behind the fallen. He is trying to use a tree with his bloody hands to prop himself to stand, slumping onto the tree, lightheaded from his loss of blood. Perfect. The predator's bow is raised, and the wolf nearby bears his jaws as if to smile. The doomed breathes his final loud breaths, before all is silenced. An arrow pins his head to the tree, dug deep into the bark. The hunter chuckles, his voice raspy and dark. He looks to his wolf, and then around at the fallen bounties. He smiles widely to himself.
They cannot see me. They will not find me.
He is Silent Death.
THE END
~ Scy
Original Short
By: Scy Storm
ssbs.furrynet.com
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Bored, and testing my creativity and writing ability. Now if only this would work for my actual projects.
INEVITABLE DISCLAIMER: Death.
They cannot. They will not.
He repeated these words in his head over and over as he sped through the dark of the wilderness green. He takes necessary steps from side to side to stay out of any area the sun would shine directly upon him in a large amount. Though, he really need not worry about anything seeing him, namely those he was sent to get. His steps are longstrided, stepping over and through whatever attempts to block him on the ground. That, and they remain completely silent.
They cannot. They will not.
His clothing could not be any more suited for this wilderness. His clothes a comfortable linen and soft leather, all fitted snug to his body. What is normally colored white in the clothing he had dyed a deep green, with the rest - including the leather - deep shades of brown. And over all of this, a deep green hooded cloak. A special hood, too, that he had prepared specifically to be rather dark in what it conceals. He can't remember a time when he ever let down his hood while in any environment outside of a private inn room. He doesn't want to see their faces, why should they see his?
They cannot. They will not.
Like it would be any much of a surprise to them that he is an elf. He's perfectly at home in the wilderness, and well moreso with his training. Same goes with his proficiency with his bow. Ah... his bow. Rarely in his life has he ever encountered a one, elf or not, that could best him at archery. And if he did meet such a one, he would eventually best them. He has all the reason in the world to have his ego.
They cannot. They will n-...
His constant mental note to himself is interrupted, by a sense. Empathic. His ally has found something. His eyes dart around momentarily, his pace slowing, before he takes off again in a near straight line, this time not bothered by running through sunny spots. He just runs, eyes locked forward, moving only to sway by a tree. Then abruptly, he leaps into one of the trees. He lands inside with very little sound, only a soft rustling of the leaves falling down. He stays still for a moment. Dead still. Quiet, even in mind. Listening to the sounds around him. He can hear them. They are not far away.
They cannot. They will not.
He ducks his head down low and darts his eyes, before leaping again, out of the tree he resides and into another one several feet away. Once again, little to no noise, just the movement of the branches. He stops dead and listens again. It seems they are unaware. He crawls to the other side of the tree, and looks outside of the branches. He can see them. Several yards away, with only a few trees partially obstructing his view. He grins wickedly.
They cannot. They will not.
The warriors. Foolish warriors. Taking whatever quest any random passerby wishes to give out. And what do they want? Gold? Enchanted items? There are much better means of getting them. Such as... sending a bunch of poor saps on a useless quest? He almost chuckles. This is fun no matter now many times he does this.
They cannot. They will not.
He can hear them talking. About what they were promised for completing this task. Gold, fame, glory... a new sword? Hmm... This warrior seems to really love the idea of getting a new sword. And he's got a good line of sight. That one will have to die first. He reaches both of his arms behind his back, pulling off his bow, and 3 arrows from his quiver. His legs hook onto the branch he's on as he drops down, hanging from the tree, locking his arrows into his bowstring.
They cannot. They will not.
The sword-loving warrior smirks and laughs at a comment one of his partner makes. Then, it was all over. Three arrows come out of nowhere and pierce him, two in his midsection and one to the side of his skull, the arrow protruding out the other side. Before he can even hit the ground, the ranger has hit the ground and ran, speeding silently and circling a pathway around the encampment. The warrior's friends are up quickly, brandishing blades and bows, and looking to where they saw 3 mysterious arrows fly. But they will not find him. For he is now behind them, lurking in the dark shadows of the wood, three more arrows knocked.
They cannot. They will not.
The arrows zip through the air, one each striking the remaining three warriors. Two of them yelp in pain from the shots, but the other one falls to his knees, dropping his bow and grasping the arrow as it's sticking out of his stomach, red with his blood. The two others turn quickly, and see nothing. Once again, he is gone. He has zipped to another spot in the dark of the wood. Oh, he could drop them while running, but it's so much fun to see them look around confused before getting it. He waits in silence with but a single arrow knocked and pointed.
They cannot. They will not.
He waits for one of them to turn their head towards him in their idiotic scanning of the wilderness. And one does. He can almost see the arrow just before it hits him, and turns his world into blackness. His comrade turns to see him fall, an arrow lodged in his forehead, the tip of it sticking out the hair on the back of his head. Blood trickles from both entry and exit wounds. The last warrior brandishes his sword high and stares at where the arrow came from. He calls out for the firer of it to come out and fight him. But he gets no answer.
They cannot. They will not.
A soft rustling. The billow of a cloak snapping on the air. The warrior heard this from another direction. Of course, this was on purpose. He loves seeing the prey confused and disoriented. Of course now, it sounds as though there are steps all around him. To the north, then to the south. Then to the east, and north again. The warrior may try to seem battle-ready and brave, but the terror can be seen easily in his eyes. In the quivering that travels through his legs, up his arms, and makes his sword rattle back and forth in his hands. He's alone.
They cannot. They will not.
The sword hits the ground with one clanging bounce. The warrior stands with his quiver gone, a blank look on his face, before he falls forward to knees, then face, three arrows riddled in a perfect straight line up his spine. It's quiet, and still. The hunter then walks out of the trees. His cloak ripples just above his ankles as he observes the death-filled came site. From another area comes a wolf of black fur and red eyes. His companion. He has done well this day. He will have a good feast on the flesh of these warriors. But wait... a sound? The archer... He remains alive. He's bleeding, and breathing labored, not dead yet from the arrow that went through his stomach. And he's completely unaware. The hunter can only grin.
They cannot. They will not.
He takes a few quiet steps behind the fallen. He is trying to use a tree with his bloody hands to prop himself to stand, slumping onto the tree, lightheaded from his loss of blood. Perfect. The predator's bow is raised, and the wolf nearby bears his jaws as if to smile. The doomed breathes his final loud breaths, before all is silenced. An arrow pins his head to the tree, dug deep into the bark. The hunter chuckles, his voice raspy and dark. He looks to his wolf, and then around at the fallen bounties. He smiles widely to himself.
They cannot see me. They will not find me.
He is Silent Death.
THE END
~ Scy
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