Dead Men Tell No Tales
Oct 11, 2012 20:54:12 GMT -6
Post by Diego Liberatore on Oct 11, 2012 20:54:12 GMT -6
Someone was on to them. For the first time in five years, they had been discovered. Now it was his job, his purpose, to protect. Diego donned his Assassin's robes and slipped out of the den, the line of black ink burning in his mind. Their names had been crossed out, thrown away like unwanted trash. Their location had been determined, their names assigned. Death was coming. He had to warn them.
Horses lifted their heads to observe him as he passed, but none could carry him to where he needed to go. Their hooves were too loud, their bodies too large, too noticeable. Diego longed for their speed, but had to go without. And so he set out like a shadow, painfully slow and silent. Down the alleys, over the rooftops, until there was nothing but open fields. The moon shone brightly upon him, exposing him to the sleeping world. He kept to the edge of the land, making use of what small cover he had. As pastures gave way to forested paths, he quickened his pace, turning like a madman through the labyrinth. At the opposite edge was a small shack, unnoticed by any but he who knew it was there. Diego thumped the door twice.
"Who's there?" demanded one gruff, raspy voice.
"Diego!"
A crossbow aimed at his face. "Liberatore? Where's your mark?"
Gritting his teeth bitterly, he jerked down the collar of his robes, revealing the only tattoo he owned. A small scar lay close to it now, where the city guard had managed to cut him. There was no time for this.
"Getting into fights you can't handle?" he laughed, opening the door fully to let him in. His eyes scanned the area behind Diego, searching the woody trails for followers.
Diego scrambled into the house quickly, shutting the door behind him.
"Take my horse. May the Father of Understanding guide you." said the man as the door burst open, and Diego stumbled out. Behind the little shack was a pepper-colored horse, smaller than most, but stocky. Diego climbed up onto his back and spurred the poor, sleepy creature into a gallop. The shadows of the night darted past them in a blur, but the ride was short-lived. At the entrance to the mountains, the beast halted, refused no matter how relentlessly it was spurred. It panicked, it's hooves jabbed anxiously at the ground. Diego could have strangled it if he had had the time. He dismounted and let it go on its way, broke into a sprint.
Tucked away in one of the mountain crevices was a small, grey stone cottage. It was sad, to see his family reduced to such low levels of living. The windows were all dark, the curtains drawn. No smoke rose from the chimney - the inhabitants had long since gone to bed. He threw his weight against the door, but it was locked. So he began to pound on it heavily, praying for one of his family to open it. They were so close, just beyond the wall. "Padre!" he yelled, moving down the side of the hut to knock on the window. "Padre!"
There was a small stir, voices whispered. A candle illuminated one window, veiled by the curtain. It extinguished as quickly as it had appeared. Quiet footsteps shuffled behind the door. Then one voice, one quiet, nervous voice, spoke softly through the door. "Diego?"
Horses lifted their heads to observe him as he passed, but none could carry him to where he needed to go. Their hooves were too loud, their bodies too large, too noticeable. Diego longed for their speed, but had to go without. And so he set out like a shadow, painfully slow and silent. Down the alleys, over the rooftops, until there was nothing but open fields. The moon shone brightly upon him, exposing him to the sleeping world. He kept to the edge of the land, making use of what small cover he had. As pastures gave way to forested paths, he quickened his pace, turning like a madman through the labyrinth. At the opposite edge was a small shack, unnoticed by any but he who knew it was there. Diego thumped the door twice.
"Who's there?" demanded one gruff, raspy voice.
"Diego!"
A crossbow aimed at his face. "Liberatore? Where's your mark?"
Gritting his teeth bitterly, he jerked down the collar of his robes, revealing the only tattoo he owned. A small scar lay close to it now, where the city guard had managed to cut him. There was no time for this.
"Getting into fights you can't handle?" he laughed, opening the door fully to let him in. His eyes scanned the area behind Diego, searching the woody trails for followers.
Diego scrambled into the house quickly, shutting the door behind him.
___________________________________________
"Take my horse. May the Father of Understanding guide you." said the man as the door burst open, and Diego stumbled out. Behind the little shack was a pepper-colored horse, smaller than most, but stocky. Diego climbed up onto his back and spurred the poor, sleepy creature into a gallop. The shadows of the night darted past them in a blur, but the ride was short-lived. At the entrance to the mountains, the beast halted, refused no matter how relentlessly it was spurred. It panicked, it's hooves jabbed anxiously at the ground. Diego could have strangled it if he had had the time. He dismounted and let it go on its way, broke into a sprint.
Tucked away in one of the mountain crevices was a small, grey stone cottage. It was sad, to see his family reduced to such low levels of living. The windows were all dark, the curtains drawn. No smoke rose from the chimney - the inhabitants had long since gone to bed. He threw his weight against the door, but it was locked. So he began to pound on it heavily, praying for one of his family to open it. They were so close, just beyond the wall. "Padre!" he yelled, moving down the side of the hut to knock on the window. "Padre!"
There was a small stir, voices whispered. A candle illuminated one window, veiled by the curtain. It extinguished as quickly as it had appeared. Quiet footsteps shuffled behind the door. Then one voice, one quiet, nervous voice, spoke softly through the door. "Diego?"