RE: TERRARIUM - Round 1: Apocalypse
08-26-2017, 08:02 PM
(This post was last modified: 08-26-2017, 08:25 PM by One.)
A thin black blur, the arrow whipped through the air in a deadly precise line, buzzing its way towards Zakam’s left eyehole as if it were a crosshairs --
-- and a slim bronze blur intercepted it, inches from its face.
“It is a misdemeanor to deface Church property,” said Zakam, matter-of-factly. It loosened its grip. There was just enough time for Zakam to hear the word "What --" echo in its head, and then the arrow dropped from its fingers.
It never hit the ground.
Zakam snatched the black arrow out of the air for the second time in ten seconds. The ragged youth at the other end of the alley, wide-eyed already, now looked ready to bolt. He clutched his bow with white knuckles, the string still vibrating.
“Please stop,” said Zakam.
In its fist was a sudden absence. The youth stumbled backwards, the arrow once more somehow in his hand (Zakam stared at its empty palm curiously), stammering “Boss, boss, we have to go --” and then stopped, stooped, the pose of a man frozen halfway through breaking into a sprint. His head angled slightly towards the arrow, as if listening. His eyes did not leave Zakam.
“Would you care for some refreshment?” it asked, patiently.
The youth’s eyes flicked down in horror towards the broken corpse at Zakam’s many feet.
“Yes, it is an unfortunate thing,” it said, completely misunderstanding. “I have tried to notify the proper authorities, but alas, this disreputable city has no sensible lines of communication.”
Zakam clasped its upper pair of hands together with a soft click. “May he rest easily, with the knowledge that his blood shall not go to waste. Hail Ydanius.” It dipped its head in brief benediction.
Still facing the youth, still with hands clasped, Zakam began to scuttle backwards, taking up its customary position behind the food cart. It waited for the youth to answer. Corn was at stake.
-- and a slim bronze blur intercepted it, inches from its face.
“It is a misdemeanor to deface Church property,” said Zakam, matter-of-factly. It loosened its grip. There was just enough time for Zakam to hear the word "What --" echo in its head, and then the arrow dropped from its fingers.
It never hit the ground.
Zakam snatched the black arrow out of the air for the second time in ten seconds. The ragged youth at the other end of the alley, wide-eyed already, now looked ready to bolt. He clutched his bow with white knuckles, the string still vibrating.
“Please stop,” said Zakam.
In its fist was a sudden absence. The youth stumbled backwards, the arrow once more somehow in his hand (Zakam stared at its empty palm curiously), stammering “Boss, boss, we have to go --” and then stopped, stooped, the pose of a man frozen halfway through breaking into a sprint. His head angled slightly towards the arrow, as if listening. His eyes did not leave Zakam.
“Would you care for some refreshment?” it asked, patiently.
The youth’s eyes flicked down in horror towards the broken corpse at Zakam’s many feet.
“Yes, it is an unfortunate thing,” it said, completely misunderstanding. “I have tried to notify the proper authorities, but alas, this disreputable city has no sensible lines of communication.”
Zakam clasped its upper pair of hands together with a soft click. “May he rest easily, with the knowledge that his blood shall not go to waste. Hail Ydanius.” It dipped its head in brief benediction.
Still facing the youth, still with hands clasped, Zakam began to scuttle backwards, taking up its customary position behind the food cart. It waited for the youth to answer. Corn was at stake.