The Crimson Dawn

[Xandor]

The inexplicable and uncanny atmosphere quickly alerted Xandor as he unsheathed his claymore. His heart began to rush faster than before, his senses became more sensitive, he heard the chirps of birds that were a mile away, he could hear the small patter of mice and rats scurrying across the floor as if he was a mouse himself, and he could the smell the slightest odor that seemed out of place.

His vision became narrower, seeing through the shadows of that room that resembled a large dungeon-cell. He was readying for battle.

He slowed his walk and bent his knees, slowly making his way across the room to the door he spotted on the other side. On the western wall he saw a window, which dimly lit the room with a crimson red light.

His hands clutched the claymore even tighter, which extended near to the roof. His armor glistened red, which also gave an eerie glow when he stepped into shadow.

He neared the door, though insecure about a safe through the room. He twirled the sword in his hand and sheathed it as he was only inches from the wooden door which a small iron handle.

Being especially careful here, he put his ear up to the door, intently listening for the slightest inconsistency of sound. Suddenly, he heard something that he quickly discerened was heading his way. It was a large, clunking sound, like metal hitting stone. His eyes shot wide open and he jumped from the door's path as it shattered to pieces. Soon, a large horde of armored men swarmed into the room.

He struggled to get up, but before he could, the armored men were on their way towards him. He had a limited window of time, and he he thought, an idea struck him.

He reached for the small pouch on his left, attached to his belt and pulled from it a smaller pouch that seemed to carry a form of powder. He then threw the bag towards the approaching horde, and while it was in the air, he lifted his hand and suddenly, a small stream of fire shot from his palm to the pouch.

There was a small blast, and a blinding white light. This was his chance. In a few moments, the light wore off and the horde of men were standing still, looking around, and as they were, two of the group fell to the ground, one's head fell seperate from his body, and another was cut in half at the chest.

There was a loud clanging of swords, and the group turned to see Xandor's claymore stabbing through one of the soldier's neck.

"Kill him!" shouted one of the remaining five men.

With another fierce battle, Xandor felled two men. He retreated then to the western wall, right under the small window. The other three quickly formed a line, their swords drawn, ready to hew the intruder.

One soldier advanced, charging Xandor. He reached behind his back and pulled from a small sheath a dagger, or a short sword for halflings. Thus, as the approaching soldier drew up his sword to attack, Xandor made a clean slash with his knife, disconnected his hand from his arm at the wrist.

In shock, the soldier just stared as Xandor pulled the knife up to throw it at another approaching knight.

Felling the soldier, Xandor took the sword and finished off the soldier who was in shock.

The third soldier retreated a few steps. Xandor approached, his two sword stained with blood. "Mercy," cried the remaining soldier. "I beg of you, mercy!"

Xandor looked down at him. "Then mercy you shall recieve."

And thus, Xandor dropped his second sword, and then taking his claymore, he sliced the soldier's head clean off of his body, the dismembered head flying at least a foot in the air before touching the ground.

"May you find peace," was the reply that Xandor gave.

And then he quietly stepped over the bodies, heading to the door. The floor was covered by blood, and was not easily seen.

Once Xandor reached the door, he headed onto the next chamber.



[Edited on 15/11/2003 by Xandor]

[Xandor]

Xandor sat up with the speed of light in his bed. The moon outside was eeriely sitting in the blackened, night-charred sky, and the stars, few in number, glittered like diamonds in a cavern. Cold sweat ran down his face and back and chest. He gasped for breath.

It was a dream, he told himself. Just another dream.

He stood up and walked over to the fire which was recently lit, but had gone out sometime during the night. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He looked to the northwestern corner of his room, there his claymore and suit of armor lay, leaning against the wall.

As he sat before the fire, of which was only ashes now, he recalled what he had dreamt about. A sharp, but short pain erupted from his chest. His arm clenched his chest. After the pain ceased, he slowly lifted up his shirt to reveal a large scar from his left shoulder to his right hip.

He gulped and let his shirt fall. He stood up and walked back over to his bed, which was damp from Xandor's sweat. As he was stretching, he heard the faint chirping of birds and the quiet whinnies of his horse. He turned to look out of his window, and when he did, a blaze of orange-red shot through the window and lit his room with a crimson red color. This had reminded him of his recent dream. The crimson red room, stained with blood and flooded with dismembodied limbs and corpses.

The sun slowly rose, the mountains in the east being lit up like great spikes of light poking through the surface of the ground.

This was Xandor's favorite time of day, and often he would wake up to see this sight. He called it the crimson dawn.