Dypes The Soul Keeper. (2)

Epilogue

Smoke left the sealed room and escaped by an old window at the side. More than ten people stood around holding their breath hoping their experiment had succeeded. The room the smoke left was dark and gloomy. As light emerged into it runes of blue spread across the floor and up the wall, inside a large slab dead in the centre. A moan erupted out of the room and a figure rose up from the slab. It was thin, slim and held his head. Still shadowed the figure jumped off his slab and walked towards the light.

"Sire." Shouted all the men as they kneeled.

A large smirk spread across king Coext new young face. "I feel forty years younger."

Standing outside the snowy climate a tired Fure looked down at a fresh mound of dirt. A grave but whose grave? A simple stick was exposed out the ground and a little dried tear stayed held on her face. Looking up at the dark sky that promised snow she looked straight passed the clouds. What she was looking at could not be seen by normal eyes, she was seeing and hoping for a future but whose future was she hoping for and whose grave was she mourning.

Sitting in an old inn a hooded figure sat away from everyone else. The tables were old but not damaged and the air inside was dank and awful but it was shelter. In the inn the atmosphere was moody as no one was having a good time. A large group of men all wearing pieces of oddly matching armour, mercenaries probably, one of them eye balled the figure and walked over. Slamming his hand on the table he spoke.

"You look suspicious, let's see your face."

The figure still shadowed by the hood didn't reply and ignored the brute. This annoyed the man, he moved his pig face to that of anger and tried to swing. A hand leapt up to block and hold the mans. Shocked he stared at the figure, his friends behind him all watched. With a great clench the figure crushed the man's fist, he yelled in agony and as his friends stood up to help a voice shouted out.

"Stop!" the men turned around to the voice. "You idiots are no match, and besides all they did were defend themselves." The voice belonged to a bald headed man with dopey eyes. "Leave him to cry over his lose. My name is Set and on behalf of my men sorry." His voice was sincere and he had a joker's mentality but deep down he held skill. He sat on a chair leaning back with one hand on his four sword hilts. The figure just nodded "good, good let's forget about this, we need to get moving anyway." Standing up he walked towards the exit with his men, a few held and took the man with broken hand. As he walked out he waved goodbye to the figure.

Outside one of his men argued with him. "Why didn't you do anything?"

He replied with a great smirk on his face. "Because I don't know who would have won." Walking forward he continued to speak. "It's one thing to go against an unknown opponent, it's another to go against a person who can crush a man's hand with his own, plus you all are idiots." His men all looked at him some confused some angry at being called an idiot. "I could feel it, they are wrapped in magic. It would have been a hell of a fight; unlike you I have fought mages. The key is ambush. Fighting a mage head on his dangerous, even for me." Turning and walking backwards as he spoke to his men. "Let it be a lesson for you, sometimes a victory is a retreat."

Sitting inside the inn the figure smirked underneath the hood and placed some coins on the table before getting up and leaving. Outside he walked forward almost without purpose or aim just forward. Looking up at the grey sky the smirk was still on the persons face. He walked for almost on hour before a voice was heard screaming at him. It was high and far away a figure in the distance waving arms wildly. The smirk grew even bigger and a purple spark of purple enveloped the eyes.

"About time you caught up. We have things to do lass."