Thread: Season's End - A Prologue

It was an autumn evening with a breeze spiced with the smell of a stove burning wood drifting through the small, river-side town. The crunch of leaves trodden underfoot had become a constant white noise that permeated throughout the town on most evenings, but on cold ones like these, it had been died down early in place of the frigid silence. Instead of being a nuisance, the golden-brown span had settled into the status of decoration not unlike snow in the winter. Beautiful. Peaceful. The same could be said for the figure situated on the arching bridge and leaning against its southern railing to take in the view of the leaf-polluted river along with the town situated around it. She probably shouldve gone home hours ago, but there was no work to be done and the steady flow of the water had brought a strange sort of peace to her mind. Her mind drifted, seemingly to follow the path of the small eddies within the currents of the river and she fell into a daydream of sorts or perhaps simply a quiet reflection. She was going to be moving soon moving to the city to work for her uncle. He was a decent man from the little of him that she knew, if not a terribly kind one at times. His temper had controlled his life much more often than his sense and it would be her that paid the price for it. Still, living in the city and working as a courier for him she had a good possibility of finding a rich man that had would be caught by her natural beauty. The flame of passion! Thats really what she yearned for, and it was something she would never find here. To her, this town represented stagnation and for a heart that desired freedom and for life to move forward, living here was a death sentence. If it were even a year ago, shed probably dread moving in with her uncle, but now that she thought about it, enduring the pain of his slave-driving and occasional abuse may well end up being worth it. Her thoughts were interrupted as a shadow loomed over her from behind her. She probably was so lost in her thoughts that she didnt hear their footsteps, but the shape the shadow took had robbed her of her peace. She wasnt terribly frightened about being hurt, though after all, she knew everybody in this town and everybody knew her. She had lived here all her fifteen years of life, and travelers were few and far in between, especially in the fall. She turned around with a bit of a sigh, but the figure she looked up at was nothing like she expected. Before her had approached the very shape of death, clad in black and wielding a tool whose only purpose could be for murder. She opened her mouth to cry out in surprise, but her cry was stifled as the blade was lodged easily into her midsection, tearing through the sheet of muscle that was her diaphragm to permanently rob her of her ability to take in air. Her body lurched forward and her head craned backward in horror as she stared up at the featureless white mask of her assailant. A single red glow had been staring at her with even luminance from one of the eye sockets. As she fell, the creature caught her, holding her securely in his arms and lowering the dying body to the ground as she struggled to take in even a small ounce of air. Her thrashing rapidly subsided as her body lost all of its strength through the combination of bleeding out and asphyxiation. All that remained in the end where were wide, frightened eyes staring blankly into the white void that was in place of the mans face. The assassins head lowered, taking in the view of what he had wrought. In place of a young woman that was full of life was the corpse he had created from it, with her clothes stained with a blood so dark and rich it had appeared nearly black in contrast to her light-colored dress. His head stood still for a moment and the red glow within his mask disappeared as the eye closed. So young. Too young. She had died before she really lived, but that had become a regular sight for him now. The holy war he waged has had many such casualties, all rent asunder beneath his blade. This regret he felt it was not a new sensation. It was a bitter memory he would revisit as reflection for each life that had been spent away in his arms. Men, women, children all have felt the bite of his blade at some point. While it brought him no joy, the war would continue around him. He was a combatant and so were they. The sound of the town stirring at the strange sight on the bridge prompted him to stand up, leaving the girl to slide out of his arms and into the pool of her own blood that was soaking the wood of the bridge. It was time to go.