The pieces were laid out in front of him. All in order and ready to be assembled. He had finished filing off the last metal shavings and the scrolling of the handle was complete. Seraphin was pleased with how it had turned out. Of course, that was about the only thing which he was pleased about. Since he arrived in the town, he had only been met with superstition and violence. The oaf which had somehow been a friend to Lorrimor, hadn't helped. Whoever saw it fit to teach that man to fight would have done the world a service by teaching him to read instead. Perhaps this crisis would have been avoided.
Of course, Seriphin could have helped with matters. He should have insisted on entering the false crypt by night, after all, he was skilled at not being seen, and had taken to doing most of his business by the shadow of nightfall. Some cleric of Pharasma he was, even blessed Naderi would have had more tact.
Perhaps his service of the drowned lady had altered his perception of the dead. Naderi was used to dealing with haunts and specters, and even abided by them; this was in stark contrast to Pharasma's tennants. There was always confusion in Seraphin's service to the gods, if a cleric such as himself didn't have the answers, then how were the common folk supposed to?
He began to assemble the pieces one by one.
All that was to be done was continue. He knew that the small party of Lorrimor's friends meant the town no harm, even that lummox Alec. He would press forward and help purge this place of the evil which seemed to have completely infested it. They would find these haunts and save the people of the village, even if they killed him in the process. It was Pharasma's will that he succeed.
He hammered the barrel into place, and tightened the firing mechanism, pulled back the hammer, aimed and...CLICK! The pistol seemed to work the way it was supposed to. He thought it was beautiful, a beautiful instrument of death, faster than sword stroke or crossbow bolt and thunderous to boot. Who said that death was supposed to be beautiful? He'd seen people die many times, but death from a bullet was exotic, explosive, at once gruesome and clean, instantaneous.Unless you missed. If it came to it could he do the job now? He'd helped so many others, he hoped he could find his heart a second time.
There was a creak coming from down the hall, he heard the pitter patter of feet, bare feet heading toward the front door. It was most certainly the lady of the house. Naderi would be pleased if he soothed this woman, Kendra of her father's passing. In truth it would not trouble him at all, the woman was beautiful. Her sorrow touched his heart like the cold tip of a dagger, he loved it. He imagined Lucina when he saw Kendra cry; her long black hair shrouding her face like a coal colored wedding veil. Perhaps he would help her to bed this evening, or find her flowers about the town, there were so few beautiful things within this town, it would be terrible to allow her to wither with the rest of it.
AAAAAAAAA!
The sudden shriek brought him to his feet and out of his reverie, with a thud the pistol fell to the ground. Unloaded, it was no use, he flung the door open and ran downstairs nearly naked. What horrors awaited him at the precipice of this house, their only stronghold?
No comments:
Post a Comment