Post by Adam on Oct 31, 2009 14:41:25 GMT -5
It materialised out of the gloom; literally. The grubby shadows thrown by Gilead's lamp dripped and shook across the wall, a subtle motion that passed unnoticed until Natalya gasped.
"Sorcery!" she whispered.
Gilead looked. The fuzzy lines of light and darkness that delineated the square were breaking up, marbling together like wet paint. Darkness ran like dirty rainwater, threads of it infiltrating the lamplight, running along gaps between cobbles and the channels between housebricks, pooling in crevices and gutters.
With an audible sizzling noise, this suddenly-liquid shadow flashed to steam. Black smoke coiled up, wisps of it drawing together, assembling slowly. Gilead’s hand found his baton. Wrenching it from his belt, he flicked the secret switch, and a solid, dagger-length blade shot out of the other end, alchemical rune-carvings glowing. Natalya had already done the same, and the two watch-officers backed away from the apparition, wary and nervous but ready to defend themselves.
Agonising seconds passed. The thing took its time forming. Any civilian would have already fled, maybe been chased and cut down. The watch-officers couldn’t do that. They had a duty to defend this city from any who would threaten it, be they common lawbreakers, armed criminals, rogue sorcerers or even rebel Night Walker wraithseers. And there’s something about such a heavy duty that hardens the heart. Natalya extracted the bell from her back, ready to ring it and alert others.
Before she finished the first swing, the smoke suddenly coalesced and came alive. A blurring limb lashed out and smashed the bell away, Natalya’s cry of surprise a sorry substitute for the ring of alarm. The bell shattered on the cobbles and was silenced.
Gilead’s perception distorted, the stillness of adrenalin closing in for a moment. The wraith hung in the air before him, a black shard of malevolence. Its torso dissolved below the waist, its legs indistinct and intangible. It was thin, almost emaciated, with long, spiny arms. Its head was a smooth inverted egg, the only feature a single blue oval in between where its eyes might be.
He was only aware that he’d attacked the beast when he felt the momentum of his stab pull him forward. The runic blade lunged at the creature’s torso – which dematerialised, the legs solidifying as its essence moved. Natalya’s strike lashed through a suddenly-immaterial arm, which immediately reformed and punched her solidly in the face, throwing her to the floor. Gilead didn’t dare look to see if she was okay. He swung with the knife again, once, twice, his strikes passing through nothing but steam each time. Then he struck true. The sigils on the blade ignited, and Gilead slashed down. Stunned by the sudden pain, the creature didn’t react in time to desolidify its body, and it was sliced in half. For a moment, the body parts twitched and fell, before it exploded softly, the shadows restoring themselves.
Immediately, Gilead turned to his partner. She was breathing, but unconscious; an ugly bruise covered one side of her face. Overcome with relief, he slumped as the adrenalin began to fade, realising that he was breathing hard and drenched in the sweat of fear.
“You have no idea how hard those are to summon,” said a cold voice from behind him.
Gilead tightened his grip on the runic blade, slowly stood up, then turned, keeping the weapon behind his back. The speaker was a man of average height, dressed in dark clothing and a battered brown overcoat. Nondescript; could have been anyone in that outfit. Gilead’s eyes were drawn to his hands; poking out from the slightly overlong sleeves, the fingertips glowed, a lambent reddish light that seemed to come from under the skin.
“You won’t be needing that weapon, proficient with it as you apparently are.” An illuminated finger twitched, and the runic blade was wrenched from his grasp, pinwheeling off to the side. Something black and mysterious stepped out of the darkness and took it.
“I am not going to kill you or your companion. I want you to deliver a message for me. Inform Captain Howells that unless the instructions in the letter he received earlier this week are followed, there will be consequences. As my presence demonstrates, I can move freely through the city, and I doubt even another seer could track me down if I was trying to hide.”
Gilead fumbled for his gun. Too slow; another shape detached itself from the night and closed in on him, snatching it from his hand. It stood next to him, inspecting the weapon, apparently quite interested; another one of the smoky creatures, this one fully solid. Then it spoke, its voice the voice of the nondescript terrorist. “Interesting. Watchmen get Rorke and Ballmer .50s these days? With a back-alley tri-shot modification. I think I’ll keep this.”
Gilead didn’t reply, inwardly cursing his own rashness. Should’ve kept it a secret until the seer turned to leave, then shot him from behind, dammit!
The wraith moved over to its summoner and casually lifted the jacket, stowing the gun in an inside pocket. The movements were natural, as if it was a part of the seer; the seer certainly showed no reaction. Gilead, like most people, knew little about wraithseers and understood them even less; their magic was a mystery even to sorcerers, and Gilead was no arcanist.
“Make sure you deliver that message for me now, would you? I’d hate there to be any unnecessary suffering because the good Captain didn’t know I was serious.” The seer gave a twisted smile. “This regime is dying, my friend, and we all know it.”
Turning on his heel, he left.
"Sorcery!" she whispered.
Gilead looked. The fuzzy lines of light and darkness that delineated the square were breaking up, marbling together like wet paint. Darkness ran like dirty rainwater, threads of it infiltrating the lamplight, running along gaps between cobbles and the channels between housebricks, pooling in crevices and gutters.
With an audible sizzling noise, this suddenly-liquid shadow flashed to steam. Black smoke coiled up, wisps of it drawing together, assembling slowly. Gilead’s hand found his baton. Wrenching it from his belt, he flicked the secret switch, and a solid, dagger-length blade shot out of the other end, alchemical rune-carvings glowing. Natalya had already done the same, and the two watch-officers backed away from the apparition, wary and nervous but ready to defend themselves.
Agonising seconds passed. The thing took its time forming. Any civilian would have already fled, maybe been chased and cut down. The watch-officers couldn’t do that. They had a duty to defend this city from any who would threaten it, be they common lawbreakers, armed criminals, rogue sorcerers or even rebel Night Walker wraithseers. And there’s something about such a heavy duty that hardens the heart. Natalya extracted the bell from her back, ready to ring it and alert others.
Before she finished the first swing, the smoke suddenly coalesced and came alive. A blurring limb lashed out and smashed the bell away, Natalya’s cry of surprise a sorry substitute for the ring of alarm. The bell shattered on the cobbles and was silenced.
Gilead’s perception distorted, the stillness of adrenalin closing in for a moment. The wraith hung in the air before him, a black shard of malevolence. Its torso dissolved below the waist, its legs indistinct and intangible. It was thin, almost emaciated, with long, spiny arms. Its head was a smooth inverted egg, the only feature a single blue oval in between where its eyes might be.
He was only aware that he’d attacked the beast when he felt the momentum of his stab pull him forward. The runic blade lunged at the creature’s torso – which dematerialised, the legs solidifying as its essence moved. Natalya’s strike lashed through a suddenly-immaterial arm, which immediately reformed and punched her solidly in the face, throwing her to the floor. Gilead didn’t dare look to see if she was okay. He swung with the knife again, once, twice, his strikes passing through nothing but steam each time. Then he struck true. The sigils on the blade ignited, and Gilead slashed down. Stunned by the sudden pain, the creature didn’t react in time to desolidify its body, and it was sliced in half. For a moment, the body parts twitched and fell, before it exploded softly, the shadows restoring themselves.
Immediately, Gilead turned to his partner. She was breathing, but unconscious; an ugly bruise covered one side of her face. Overcome with relief, he slumped as the adrenalin began to fade, realising that he was breathing hard and drenched in the sweat of fear.
“You have no idea how hard those are to summon,” said a cold voice from behind him.
Gilead tightened his grip on the runic blade, slowly stood up, then turned, keeping the weapon behind his back. The speaker was a man of average height, dressed in dark clothing and a battered brown overcoat. Nondescript; could have been anyone in that outfit. Gilead’s eyes were drawn to his hands; poking out from the slightly overlong sleeves, the fingertips glowed, a lambent reddish light that seemed to come from under the skin.
“You won’t be needing that weapon, proficient with it as you apparently are.” An illuminated finger twitched, and the runic blade was wrenched from his grasp, pinwheeling off to the side. Something black and mysterious stepped out of the darkness and took it.
“I am not going to kill you or your companion. I want you to deliver a message for me. Inform Captain Howells that unless the instructions in the letter he received earlier this week are followed, there will be consequences. As my presence demonstrates, I can move freely through the city, and I doubt even another seer could track me down if I was trying to hide.”
Gilead fumbled for his gun. Too slow; another shape detached itself from the night and closed in on him, snatching it from his hand. It stood next to him, inspecting the weapon, apparently quite interested; another one of the smoky creatures, this one fully solid. Then it spoke, its voice the voice of the nondescript terrorist. “Interesting. Watchmen get Rorke and Ballmer .50s these days? With a back-alley tri-shot modification. I think I’ll keep this.”
Gilead didn’t reply, inwardly cursing his own rashness. Should’ve kept it a secret until the seer turned to leave, then shot him from behind, dammit!
The wraith moved over to its summoner and casually lifted the jacket, stowing the gun in an inside pocket. The movements were natural, as if it was a part of the seer; the seer certainly showed no reaction. Gilead, like most people, knew little about wraithseers and understood them even less; their magic was a mystery even to sorcerers, and Gilead was no arcanist.
“Make sure you deliver that message for me now, would you? I’d hate there to be any unnecessary suffering because the good Captain didn’t know I was serious.” The seer gave a twisted smile. “This regime is dying, my friend, and we all know it.”
Turning on his heel, he left.