Thread: A Promise Fulfilled {Lady Nef x Shinyka}

He turned his gaze at long last from his piece of apparent art. When he looked away from it, it crumbled, as if representing its creator's loss of interest. He tilted his head to the side to listen to the girl speak. The girl. Yes, the girl. She was the odd one. She was terrified of him. Who wouldn't be? He was what people feared, the watchman who none escaped. Yet, at the same time, she was trying to reason with him, attempting to sway him, to move him to dropping his charge. At the same time, it was like there was something commanding about her request, like he would have to be daft to pass up such an offer. He pondered it for a second. one of his seconds anyway. It did not occur to him that the humans did not have the same time that he did, and that they probably had been kept here a while by his slow and eventual pace. He mused on that for another second, before once again, a thought occurred to him. He labeled the previous notion, prepared to spend years thinking about how much time he took to do things at a later time, preferably one when when he had the years available to muse on it. No, he couldn't be taking years to decide the outcome of this, he had not years in this situation. He finally regained his composure and addressed the group in the same way as he had addressed them earlier, taking care to show that he was indeed speaking to them, but at the same time, not singling out a single on to talk to in general. He took a few steps closer to them, aware that he was getting uncomfortable close to the humans. They were now standing closer to Death than many ever would. Yet, they were alive, another paradox indeed. After moving up to the strange procession, He raised his hands in the commanding way, the way he often did to usher things like souls and spirits. This was his stance of intimidation and control, his position of power. From around him, the air itself seemed to bend to his will, moving as he commanded it silently to. He thought for a second before weaving another piece of art, this one of the air and sky rather than the dirt and ground. Shadowy shapes began to take form around him, first forming outlines, then forming shadows and finally forming distorted images of men, men in all sorts of positions. There were those on horses, some wearing armor and some not. Some men carried bows, while others swords and lances. Some men were old, close to their natural time, and others young, sent to march to their early deaths. Some married with homes, while others, shades, expendables that would not be missed. The silent procession broke all at once, as the figures started butchering each other, the dead reverting to the air that spawned them. More followed, more men off to die after their comrades, ready to fill the niche, in hopes that less would die on one side. Yet, at the end of the day, so many would be dead that it wouldn't matter, yet so many left to follow. It was near orgasmic for him, the sight of this brutality and the knowledge of the eventuality. It would be splendid though, the many of them charging, the carvery breaking the line and the pikemen and archers mowing down the frontline. So many would die, so many would take their places, off to die in lei of their brothers, sons and fathers. It would be bliss, my heaven amongst the carnage, He said, completing his dramatic speech with several erratic hand gestures that had little meaning. Why must you take my pleasure away?