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Taste of Vengeance

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1 Taste of Vengeance on Mon Dec 29, 2014 6:15 pm

Rhaevnn Xeno

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'She had begged me not to do the deed. Even though everything had been planned so well and had been executed so perfectly, she begged me not to satisfy my revenge for my deceased daughter. Oh, my sweet, sweet daughter…'

Lisk stood at the edge of a wet stringy field, the beginnings of frozen rain falling onto to his exposed long hair and proud, coated shoulders. Winds howled through the tall trees that surrounded his muscular frame, as if urging him to move forward over the dripping, drooping stalks of tall grass and churned, frozen mud before his booted feet. Baby blue irises scanned over the landscape before him: dark silhouettes of buildings loomed upward, who hid in the grey shadows of the steady pattern of falling rain. He could see smaller figures, desperately trying to escape the approaching storm. The vampire inhaled; his powerful sense of smell spared him no detail. The musky, wet smell of moist straw mingled with the clean fresh smell of rain-covered forest plants filled his nose as pale hands reached behind his neck to grasp dark fabric and pulled the hood over his already damp crown. Anything, man or beast would have been insane to travel through this approaching storm; anyone could see it would be a maelstrom that would be village gossip for days to come. But Lisk was neither man or beast tonight. He was a wraith, a nightmare, a vengeful spirit.

Tonight, he would murder a murderer.

Stepping out of the cover of thick foliage and onto the frozen mud, Lisk’s feet made no sound. The squish of mud, the crunch of ice, the splash of unavoidable puddles, the swish of grass, or the expected sounds of heavy breathing were not present as the avenging vampire sprinted across the small plane as silently as the grave. He concentrated, focused on the sole goal of raiding the towering stone keep that was swiftly becoming larger with every booted stride.

The vampire’s adversary gave the appearance of being a lowly lord, only commander of a handful of farmers and an armed force that could not rival most surrounding claims to power. However, this assumption of power was proven false, as Lisk had discovered years ago. Power dripped from the walls of the fortress: the lord was power.

The small line of crude, wooden huts stood sentry over a twelve foot wide path, its muddy surface also well churned by the day’s previous commute of farmers and traders. Alone, the dark wraith traveled upward to the village’s master, his uncanny pace never ceasing, never hesitating. Tears of wrathful grief had begun to spill unwanted onto his beautiful terrible face as Lisk continued to move forward. The keep was usually well guarded, but not tonight. The walls that were usually lined with three or four would only be watched over by the weary and cold eyes of a lone soldier, begging Time to end his vigil soon.

Hand over foot, Lisk climbed the rough surface of the stone barrier that blocked him from his revenge. The wall was gritty under the hand, slippery and wet to the touch. But speed would not be affected by any natural defense the keep’s wall had to offer - no sharp stones would cut, no handhold would not offer itself to the vengeful wraith. Fate had decreed death tonight.

Lisk was inside the wall, no guarding eyes noticing the speeding shadow that had dropped from the battlements with the grace of a skilled acrobat and had slithered its way to the heart of the fortress. Again, the vampire climbed, the tears for the lost and the murdered coursing down his face like a pair of streams as he scaled a forbidding tower. Rain mixed with salty liquid, blinding Lisk - but he climbed. Could he have saved them? Perhaps if he had been quicker to shield his wife or more cautious where safety had been assumed? He could have, both daughter and wife. Why was the world so cruel, taking and taking and taking? Why did the world have to steal the two loves in his life? A snarl twisted his lips as Lisk continued to climb, grief and a broken heart pushed aside for a vengeful anger, for swift justice. The handholds were becoming more and more difficult to find, the carefully cut stone desperately trying to prevent its master’s attacker from ascending into a point of entrance: a window. But memory does not fade from those who remember the important, whether it be memories of lost loved ones or paths once traveled - Lisk entered the keep.

The window’s thick glass swung open with a small squeak, the iron grating protesting as the vampire entered the stone halls. Torches’ flames danced with large shadows, both light and darkness flickering this way and that. With the slightest boot-tap, Lisk climbed from the window’s stone sill and landed on the ground, eyes looking to the right and to the left. And now, the vampire, who had traveled with such speed in such a short of a time, walked. Boots carefully made their way down a long, wide carpet, following memory’s whispers. He was not crouched, nor was he tip-toeing through shadowed, silent halls. He walked, tall and proud, moon-white hands twiddling with the pommel of the sheathed blade that swung at his side.

There it was - the thick, oaken door, symbols carved into his hide with exquisite perfection and the love of a master craftsman. The vampire paused at the door, staring at the symbols and carvings before him, the voice of his wife haunting him from all those years ago. Was she right? Would he regret this action? Would revenge be better if left in hands of Fate? But Lisk’s face twisted in hate and anger - no, no the lord would pay in full. With a gentle push, the heavy door swung open and revealed the room’s occupant: the lord’s child.

He was similar in age to Lisk’s daughter - three years old was such a precious time. The infant slumbered peacefully, oblivious to what his parent had done, or what had been decided weeks prior to this night. Images of the little girl’s beautiful face, silky hair sprawled about her innocent head like a small dark cloud surrounding a moon flooded Lisk’s memory as the vampire’s blade was unsheathed soundlessly, the long dagger gleaming by the room’s candlelight. ‘She did not deserve to die so young, so precious…’  Happy, long gone memories flooded Lisk’s inner eye as the angel of death hovered over the child’s bed, looking at the infant boy from head to toe as the lord’s child slept, unaware of consequences yet to befall him. ‘For my daughter.’ Then suddenly it was over with the vicious, swift arc of the arm, the plunging blade, and the sharp crack of bone. The strong smell of blood rose in the air as Lisk removed the weapon from the child’s head, wiping it clean on the bed’s sheets before looking up to the next course of actions. Tear filled eyes looked at the disfigured child, but did not see a corpse. They saw a child, her skin as pale as the silver moon, singing and giggling, dancing in circles as she expressed her life-fulfilling joy to a lonely father. Suddenly, Lisk’s eyes snapped upward, looking to a winding stairwell of stone that was present, its worn steps ascending into the next room.

Death advanced.

Again, the executioner stood over a bed, though its occupants were now a woman and man, lord and lady of the land. Lisk’s face had become of that of a monster only found in nightmares, his skin stretched tight over his skull like a drum, and giving the vampire a terrifying, death-like appearance. Pupils became pinpricks as eyes had become eclipsed by red. But the dagger had been sheathed. With another sudden action, Lisk hands shot out, dragging the woman out of the comforting warmth of her bed and into the air with a terrified scream. Instantly the man woke from slumber, sword already drawn. But the steel’s defense would be in vain, as wife and vampire were already near an open window, a storm of frozen rain and wind whirling and howling outside the protective barriers of the keep. “Release her!” The lord would shout, an angry, shocked expression stamped on his bearded face. Lisk said nothing, holding the woman above him, hands clenched about her well shaped throat, her blond locks dangling gracefully, her body echoed her hair. “Release her!” The husband shouted once more taking a pace forward. But he stopped as Lisk took a pace towards the window.

“Who are you?”  asked the lord, voice still shaking with the same emotion that remained on his face. A voice, full of bitterness and hate, answered the questioning man:

“I was a happy man with a happy life. I was the father and husband that fled from you for a decade. I am the nightmare you have created. And I am the last face your wife will see.” Before the lord could respond, the vampire threw the woman with all of his unnatural strength out the window. Lisk swiftly moved to one side as the lord ran to the window in vain, a hand desperately grasping thin air as his wife’s screams faded into the wind and dizzy heights of the keep. His mouth hung open in silent shock, the sword hanging loosely in his hand. Lisk began to walk away, but the man snapped out of his shock, grabbing Lisk’s shoulder as he advanced the vampire, his voice screaming like a wounded animal. “Death to--!!” But the sentence was never finished. With a tremendous blow, Lisk turned and struck the lord of the keep, sending the man to the floor as a crumpled heap of flesh.

Silence reigned in the keep now. Lisk stood at the edge of a wet stringy field, the beginnings of snow gently descending on to the muddy surface the vampire had raced across only an hour before. Winds howled through the tall trees that surrounded his coated shoulders, calling him to return into their protective arms and many secretive hiding places, where the vampire had waited the hour prior his actions. Lisk would answer their calls, but for a moment more, the vampire stared at the dark blot on the horizon, quickly fading with dusk’s approach. Had not his wife loved the snow? To sing in its gentle descent on the ground and on her long, dark locks of silk? Her ghost danced before the vampire’s eyes as he slowly turned from the fading scene and into the forest’s cold comforts, a grim smile playing on his lips. The lord of the keep would soon know his suffering or so said a single lined note that had been written and left in the unconscious hand of the world’s newest widower.

'Vengeance is sweet.'

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Just a little story about Lisk (some of you know of this character from the past, buuuut, yes). This particular segment of Lisk's life was a few months after he lost his family to his archnemisis and decided to come claim vengeance. Hopefully you enjoyed! :3

http://goinghobbitstyle.tumblr.com/

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