M
Mid
Guest
The sun was out, beaming through the leaves upon their heads. One would say it was more than humid today and a few of the men sweltered under their armor however, it was not their job to complain. They were to escort what one would call Human Cargo or Prisoners, to the Valon wall.
It wasn't truly a wall, but a very long jailhouse that from the distance appeared to be a wall. Most folks that went in never came out unless it was in a coffin. No one has ever successfully escaped from this hell and many men feared what lies within these walls.
Two men rode on horses while a driver steered two Stallions along the path, his wagon was built like a giant bird cage. Within it were two men, one old and the other a drunk, a young boy with a chipped tooth and a woman whose mane kept her face hidden.
The drunk kept his hands clasped together and sang out of tune, his foot tapped to a nameless beat while the old man chatted with the teen about current events. The woman kept herself towards the far corner; her mess of hair touched her bare shoulders while her hands held tightly to each other, chained as they were. The clothes she wore would have made someone think she was once of high ranking, either that or a thief with all the dirt and tearing she was covered in.
After a while the drunk stopped singing and the old man grew quiet, they sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Then the drunk turned to the woman, his face flushed, "Ey, you! Wha's your story, love?" He questioned, inching closer to the female. "Didja hear me?" His voice rose slightly as she did not answer nor acknowledge his existence.
"Murder." The old man replied causing his male companions to look at him in shock. "She killed the Princess with her bare hands." With a reserved look, he nodded in her direction. "That's what they say anyways."
"B-but…" The teen's jaw remained open as he pondered this news, "That would mean she's—"The wagon jerked to a stop and there was a shout, a warning and then a yell. The drunk jumped up at the commotion, in an attempt to get a better view.
"What's going on, do you see something?" Standing up, the old man held his hands together nervously.
It was a moment before he got a reply, "Yeah…someone in black is pointing to the sk—"He fell backwards, landing against the older man as an arrow stood proudly from his right eye socket. The young boy screamed, "Oh god we're gonna die!!!" and shook the bars frantically as his older companion managed to stand again and attempted to calm the boy.
The door creaked slightly as it opened and a tall figure stood before them, a black cloak covered the person's face while a silver pendent rested against their breast.
"I seek the one they call The Rose Killer."
And it was this that made her react. Standing up proudly, the blue eyed woman stared the hooded person down. "I am the one they call The Rose Killer. I strangled a nine year old girl with my bare hands and I would do it again." With a grin, she titled her head, "I am Miranda De Love."
It wasn't truly a wall, but a very long jailhouse that from the distance appeared to be a wall. Most folks that went in never came out unless it was in a coffin. No one has ever successfully escaped from this hell and many men feared what lies within these walls.
Two men rode on horses while a driver steered two Stallions along the path, his wagon was built like a giant bird cage. Within it were two men, one old and the other a drunk, a young boy with a chipped tooth and a woman whose mane kept her face hidden.
The drunk kept his hands clasped together and sang out of tune, his foot tapped to a nameless beat while the old man chatted with the teen about current events. The woman kept herself towards the far corner; her mess of hair touched her bare shoulders while her hands held tightly to each other, chained as they were. The clothes she wore would have made someone think she was once of high ranking, either that or a thief with all the dirt and tearing she was covered in.
After a while the drunk stopped singing and the old man grew quiet, they sat in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Then the drunk turned to the woman, his face flushed, "Ey, you! Wha's your story, love?" He questioned, inching closer to the female. "Didja hear me?" His voice rose slightly as she did not answer nor acknowledge his existence.
"Murder." The old man replied causing his male companions to look at him in shock. "She killed the Princess with her bare hands." With a reserved look, he nodded in her direction. "That's what they say anyways."
"B-but…" The teen's jaw remained open as he pondered this news, "That would mean she's—"The wagon jerked to a stop and there was a shout, a warning and then a yell. The drunk jumped up at the commotion, in an attempt to get a better view.
"What's going on, do you see something?" Standing up, the old man held his hands together nervously.
It was a moment before he got a reply, "Yeah…someone in black is pointing to the sk—"He fell backwards, landing against the older man as an arrow stood proudly from his right eye socket. The young boy screamed, "Oh god we're gonna die!!!" and shook the bars frantically as his older companion managed to stand again and attempted to calm the boy.
The door creaked slightly as it opened and a tall figure stood before them, a black cloak covered the person's face while a silver pendent rested against their breast.
"I seek the one they call The Rose Killer."
And it was this that made her react. Standing up proudly, the blue eyed woman stared the hooded person down. "I am the one they call The Rose Killer. I strangled a nine year old girl with my bare hands and I would do it again." With a grin, she titled her head, "I am Miranda De Love."