Vicious88
07-02-2009, 08:11 AM
Moving silently in the shadows of the forest, he watched the man walk the beaten path, confident in his stealth. The man would set up camp soon, likely in the clearing up ahead that had been popular with so many travelers to Veldamere, and with the unrolling of the sleeping back, would come the theif's chance. The reason he'd been silently stalking the man who'd unwittedly entered into his section of forest.
Finally, the clearing came and the travel stopped in the midst of it, weighing it in his mind. The traveler lowered his hood, allowing the theif lurking in the thick brush of the forest to see his long white hair and world-weary face. The traveller lowered his bag to the ground slowly, which only increased it's value in the eyes of the theif, and from it, the traveler unrolled a blanket and began to prep a place to lay for the night.
Once his blanket lay folder ever so percisely, the traveller reached into his bag again and from it pulled some ancient tome and began to read. The theif had never seen such a book, but was sure it would be of value, or else there'd be little reason for such an old man to weigh down his travels with it. The thieve knew the traveller would only read with the little daylight that remained, as he had made no effort to build a fire, so rather than watch the traveller read what would soon be his book, the thief silently sat in the bushes sharpening his knife, and waiting for night to fall.
Soon the sun was too dim for the old traveller to read any longer, so he put the tome back into his bag and layed on his blank with his arms crossed beneath his head staring up at the sky.
The theif watched and waited, for in this silence he knew the traveller would soon be asleep.
Then, without even so much as the sound of the wind changing its direction the traveller spoke, "If your intent is to take my life, it would probably help you to have a weapon."
The theif's eyes widened but he made no sound, rather, he silently moved his hand to his hip only to discover his knife had vanished.
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There are those who torture themselves in effort to live just a few more torturous decades. Denying themselves the simple pleasures of life for the sake of calories, grams, and verital other un-seen things which will all somehow come together to help them live longer so long as they keep to the rutine. It's interesting, that... I'll never know why it is people fear death. The dead aren't too bothered by it. It's the living who suffer, and yet we all strive to live forever. And I, unfortunately, am the one man unlucky enough to do so...
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The voices wouldn't stop... Constantly they screamed... Reminding him that he belonged here, that these wall were the only things protecting him. But Harvey couldn't tell reality from fantasy anymore - couldn't tell if the life he remembers living, the life of a normal man who worked too hard for too little, was ever really his or not. It all felt so real, and still felt real when he layed down at night, but the asylum around him stood to prove otherwise. The past was becoming more and more fuzzy, and Harvey still couldn't remember how he got here... But there was one thing of which Harvey was sure -- these voices in his head, didn't exist before he arrived.
It was the injections -- he was sure of it, but he had no way to prove it, and even if he had, Dr. Locher was in no position to take the accusations of a madman. And simply knowing the source didn't paint a picture grand enough to explain the reasoning. Every twisted smile that was cast at Harvey, ever push of the plunger than sent the drugs into his veins, ever examination that was done to him in this padded prison was corsing with a sort of evil that not even his most far-fetched accusations could not account for.
Whatever he was now part of was more diabolical than anything he could ever have imagined... Or perhaps, as he was coached into considering, he might just be crazy.
Finally, the clearing came and the travel stopped in the midst of it, weighing it in his mind. The traveler lowered his hood, allowing the theif lurking in the thick brush of the forest to see his long white hair and world-weary face. The traveller lowered his bag to the ground slowly, which only increased it's value in the eyes of the theif, and from it, the traveler unrolled a blanket and began to prep a place to lay for the night.
Once his blanket lay folder ever so percisely, the traveller reached into his bag again and from it pulled some ancient tome and began to read. The theif had never seen such a book, but was sure it would be of value, or else there'd be little reason for such an old man to weigh down his travels with it. The thieve knew the traveller would only read with the little daylight that remained, as he had made no effort to build a fire, so rather than watch the traveller read what would soon be his book, the thief silently sat in the bushes sharpening his knife, and waiting for night to fall.
Soon the sun was too dim for the old traveller to read any longer, so he put the tome back into his bag and layed on his blank with his arms crossed beneath his head staring up at the sky.
The theif watched and waited, for in this silence he knew the traveller would soon be asleep.
Then, without even so much as the sound of the wind changing its direction the traveller spoke, "If your intent is to take my life, it would probably help you to have a weapon."
The theif's eyes widened but he made no sound, rather, he silently moved his hand to his hip only to discover his knife had vanished.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
There are those who torture themselves in effort to live just a few more torturous decades. Denying themselves the simple pleasures of life for the sake of calories, grams, and verital other un-seen things which will all somehow come together to help them live longer so long as they keep to the rutine. It's interesting, that... I'll never know why it is people fear death. The dead aren't too bothered by it. It's the living who suffer, and yet we all strive to live forever. And I, unfortunately, am the one man unlucky enough to do so...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
The voices wouldn't stop... Constantly they screamed... Reminding him that he belonged here, that these wall were the only things protecting him. But Harvey couldn't tell reality from fantasy anymore - couldn't tell if the life he remembers living, the life of a normal man who worked too hard for too little, was ever really his or not. It all felt so real, and still felt real when he layed down at night, but the asylum around him stood to prove otherwise. The past was becoming more and more fuzzy, and Harvey still couldn't remember how he got here... But there was one thing of which Harvey was sure -- these voices in his head, didn't exist before he arrived.
It was the injections -- he was sure of it, but he had no way to prove it, and even if he had, Dr. Locher was in no position to take the accusations of a madman. And simply knowing the source didn't paint a picture grand enough to explain the reasoning. Every twisted smile that was cast at Harvey, ever push of the plunger than sent the drugs into his veins, ever examination that was done to him in this padded prison was corsing with a sort of evil that not even his most far-fetched accusations could not account for.
Whatever he was now part of was more diabolical than anything he could ever have imagined... Or perhaps, as he was coached into considering, he might just be crazy.