The Chronicles Of Death

Prologue: Seven In All, Six Are Present

Note: Some people say this is too descriptive, but it needs to be. What these "people" look like plays a part later in the story

 Prologue: Seven In All, Six Are Present

       Black chain-mail hung off the back of one chair, shimmering like black glass and jingling as if a thousands tiny bell were attached. One of the women sat in the chair, her hands expertly cleaning away the crimson blood on her claymore. Working leisurely, she hummed a quiet song and rocked her body back and forth.

       As she leaned forward a lock of light brown hair fell from behind her ear. She didn't seem to notice or care and continued to clean. Long pale fingers reached out and brushed it away, lingering only for a second longer. She glanced up, startling ameythyst eyes peered towards the owner of the hand. Smiling and content, she went back to work.

     Snow white porcelain and painted lines of black for the mouth and eyes had  greeted her, a dainty mask hid the man's features. Above and around a blanket of black shrouded his face, his hair loosely hanging. His black robes gave him the sense of elegance, a refinement beyond beauty. He shifted and it seemed like he faded into the shadows. For a moment longer he glanced at the woman, and when he was satisfied he turned and sat back, his tall and lean body cushioned by silver pillows.

      Next to him, a man was picking at his fingernails, obviously bored. When he finished he began to comb through his blood red hair, raking through as one would rake dirt. He took a second to braid it into a rope and once done, he checked to see what else he could do. For a moment it seemed like he would fix his clothing, but no fingers touch the stark white cloth, and he merely finished picking his nails.

     His emerald eyes flashed as he looked around. He focused for a moment and then closed them. Resting his head on his arms he promptly fell asleep.

    Directly across from him was seated a third male. His luminous pale blue eyes, much like smokey quartz, buzzed with thought. He opened his mouth on more than one occasion, only to promptly shut it and return the unspoken words back to his mind. Absentmindedly his fingers twirled the large brown curls that hung in waves , his other hand tapping away at the armrest. A book opened halfway was placed in front of him, the words fading away under the dim light of the room.

      Beside him sat a beautiful woman, radiant and shining as if she was gold. Her platinum hair trailed behind her, reaching her ankles and curling against her heels. Fiercely glaring at the man wearing the mask, she almost growled. Her hands clenched and she watched him, her sapphire eyes never leaving his head. Dislike was written on her face.

     Trying to distract her, the man with pale silver hair and argent eyes plucked at her sleeve. She noticed and turned to face him. A softer more gentle expression met him, her kind eyes and soft mouth pouting.  He bit his lip, unable to fight her sadness, and then nodded his head. She turned again to face the masked man. He shrugged his shoulders apologetically towards the object of the woman’s ire and sighed.

     They sat together at a large mahogany table. This was the new normal and peace between them was fairly difficult to maintain. The table told the story for them as if it was the proof of their meetings. There were deep gashes and scars that ran through the wood, all from a time before,  a record of the time they'd all spent together. The table had seen  fights and blood, anger, hatred, and even tears over the course of its existence. It had been thrown, tossed, and even burned, but it suffered through and continued to be the place for them to meet

     Seven large chairs made of the same wood and cushioned with silver velvet were positioned around it, and all but one were filled. Each person sat for minutes with out speaking to another, each busy with something else.

     There was only two women. One with shortly bobbed light brown hair that hung in waves and the other with flowing golden tresses. They both had the same eyes, gentle and strong. The golden haired one was always smiling, her soft sweet mouth never frowning. Her counterpart had a grin plastered on her face and above that there were wicked eyes. They seemed to give the notion of always being in control, like she never let herself be caught unaware. Softer and slightly more feminine, the golden haired woman had a gentle and serene face, something that caught others unaware. The two of them were the most at ease with each other. One could call them best friends, but that was a mortals way of putting things, and they were not mortals.

      They were immortal, never dying and eternal. Like the sun rising and the sun setting, they would continue on long after a human died. It had been some time since their conception, they barely remembered who they used to be and why they had could keep living on. Perhaps it was a thousand years, or maybe a hundred thousand, they had no way to be sure. LIfe wasn't truly life to them and it had ceased to be so many years before. They couldn't  remember the first time they'd all met or even the first meeting between them. All they knew was that it had always been. There they all met, to speak, to fight, and to maintain peace, the lady knight, the golden goddess, the nightmare, the shadow man, the priest, and the warrior of words.

     When the day was done and goodbyes had been said, they  vanished,  all but  the man with the mask and the woman with the sword. They stayed still, content to be in each others presence, and not wishing to disturb the silence. After a minute the man pulled away his mask, revealing a face more beautiful than any other, and eyes the shone like stars. With his mask gone, he showed a gentle smile, a smile only for the woman. They embraced for seconds, and when they pulled apart he too vanished, leaving her alone.