The Damned

The Blade that Bid Farewell

"Time, as with everything, is just an illusion, created by humans to better understand the world around us..."
--Sovereign

He awoke as the twisted sight of a sun was setting in the distance. The orange glow filled the sky, shades of pink covered the clouds. He sat up, his cot folding and bending to fit his movements. The rotting walls of the wooden house creaked, as the cool breeze brushed through the air. "Jesus Christ.... Lawrence you need to stop sleeping on the floor..." Lawrence said to the empty room. He stretched his arms and cracked his back. The silence was filled only by the soft creaking of the walls and his heartbeat. He stood, his scared chest being exposed to the cool breeze, he reached around and grabbed a shirt and coat off an old bag. He put them on in the respective order, before dawning his glasses. Lawrence rubbed his forehead for a moment before reaching out toward the wooden door, it creaked open revealing a Silver Moon rising from the east. He stepped out the brown knee-high grass brushing against his legs, leagues and leagues of this grass covered the land, not a tree in sight. He turned grabbed his bag and started walking, his eyes were filled with emptiness, no reason for his wandering.

Distantly as he walked came the sounds that rang like a scream to the ear. A tribal hunting march, a steady beat of the drums. Rat attat, rat attat. As if in reply to the sharpness came the bitter howls of the hunters, their voices flew through the air like ghastly spirits. Although the sky was dark, the moon and the stars sitting out in the void, the night was far safer for travelers, aside from the occasional hunting party. Lawrence had seen the danger of a Tribal hunting party before and knew best to avoid the sounds of the distant people. He instinctively reached down for his sword, with one swift clear movement he unsheathed his weapon. He pressed forward, the sounds of the Tribals grew distant, but as he did a sharp cry was sounded, two of the men had found him. Lawrence positioned himself ready to fight. The first man lept toward him with catlike reflexes, Lawrence dodged, and swung his sword, but missed his flying target. As the first man was recovering the second man sprinted quickly toward Lawrence, he positioned himself for a parry. As the second man swung his curved sword toward Lawrence, Lawrence twisted the blade and pushed the second man into the first one, his sword piercing the first man. As his back was turned one of the children from the hunting party jumped onto his back stabbing him sharply in Lawrence's shoulder. Lawrence reached around and threw the young child to the floor, a sharp crack rang in his ears. The man, who had been pushed earlier, pulled his sword out of his comrades chest, and steadied himself. Lawrence gave him no Time to recover however, sliding in from the side and slashing the man's rib cage. Lawrence stopped, and started to turn toward his victim when in a flash of red and silver, was knocked out cold.

When Lawrence came too, he was tied up against a large tree trunk. He shifted his arms against the ropes and the trunk. He was shirtless, his shoulder wound, cleaned and patched. He looked up and saw that he was at a base camp of some sort. The Tribals were dancing and singing songs of the hunt. Young children danced and played with sticks. Some women sat cooking, many others danced and played instruments fashioned from natural materials. He leaned his head back, as Lawrence did, a Tribal approached him. Lawrence looked up at him. The Tribal squinted and kicked him in his ribs. The man leaned down, and looked him in the eyes.
"Shruck nuk?" The Man looked at Lawrence.
Lawrence looked back and tilted his head. "I don't speak Tribal."
The Tribal rose and called out something, A woman walked out of one of the tents. She quickly walked toward the men, she bowed before receiving orders from the Tribal.
She squatted down and looked Lawrence in the eyes. "What is your name?"
Lawrence looked her up and down before answering. "Lawrence."
She had short hair that hung loosely, a single braid coming down in front of her face. She wore a shirt that completely covered her top, and one of her arms. Her other arm had a leather band around her upper arm. She wore a kilt with eccentric designs, underneath she had on silk tights. On her feet knee high leather boots. "I am BurstGahlm. What brings you to these lands?" She asked standing up.
Lawrence looked at her. "Just seeing the sights, hoping to trade my goods with other merchants." He smiled weakly. "I didn't mean any harm."
BurstGahlm kneeled down and looked him in the eye. His gray eyes reflected her image back to her. She stared for a moment before standing and turning toward the other Tribal. She said some words before walking to the fire to join in on the festivities. The man leaned down and slowly ran his finger over Lawrence's neck. The man got up shouted something insiting a similar yell from the rest of the tribals. He walked toward the fire and partied. Lawrence fell into a trance waiting for his inevitable death.