10.21.2011

Art: 032/100 Themes - Night

"Niche." Night. - 32/100 Themes. Back at it. Just to show that Rivek actually can be kind of bad-ass and doesn't exist solely as my whipping boy. I want him to be a blend of strength and weakness, morality and amorality, human and animal.
 
Rivek held his dagger against the shivering man's throat. "Come on, now, did you really think I wouldn't notice?" 

The main flailed. Rivek tightened his grip on the other arm, digging his nails into the nerves of the wrist to keep his victim's sword hand wrenched to his back. He laughed.

"A shameful, black-blooded, outlaw rogue like myself wouldn't notice a man in a soldier's uniform following me out of a bar?" 

He pressed the blade in closer, but not enough to draw blood, just enough to keep his catch from moving. The man drew his head back, bringing his ear closer to Rivek's lips. 

He whispered, "What do they offer you? For bringing back the head of the dark mage, hm? Money for a new whore every night? Fame enough that people cheer every step you walk? Or, oh - I know - a way out of the army? I'd want that one, myself." 

The man grabbed Rivek's knife arm with his free hand, but Rivek just kneed him in the side. It was enough of a distraction that Rivek was able to push him up against a wall and pin both his arms. However, he had been a little careless with the blade, and a tiny rivulet of red was running down from his throat. 

Rivek licked his lips at the smell of iron. His stomach churned, but he knew this was not the place. "None of them is really worth it, if you ask me." 

"They offered me a good salary. And a way to reclaim what's ours from you border-thieving squatters. Unscrupulous squatters who'd dare hire heretics to protect their stolen land." 

"I threaten in jest," Rivek frowned, "I was planning on letting you go, but you have me slowly changing my mind." 

"I do it because your kind shouldn't exist." 

Rivek sighed, "You Heilmdorans. Always wanting more and talking about your high morals. I would have been more impressed if you'd said you simply desired a crop of farmland where you can have a pretty wife and two rosy-cheeked little girls." 

Rivek stepped backward, as if to let the man go. His hands dropped to his sides, and he immediately proceeded to wip the dirt off his uniform. The soldier rubbed his wrists, and Rivek caught a glimpse of metal in the man's palm. He stepped aside, as if to let him pass. 

As the man stepped in front of Rivek, he threw out his arm in a low swoop, knife aimed squarely at his abdomen. Rivek stepped back, so the momentum of the thrust carried the soldier forward. As he tripped, Rivek caught him by the collar of his cape and lifted him to his knees. 

"Sorry, mate. I'm afraid I can't let that one slide." With one swift motion, he slid the blade across the man's throat, releasing a gushing torrent of red blood.  "And here I was, simply trying to be a good sport and change your mind on that genocide thing." 

"No worries," he said. "I'll make it quick." He brought the knife down. The man's hands went to his open throat. Rivek had no difficulty finding the space between his ribs, and the plunged the blade through his back and into his heart. 

As much as he wished he could hold onto the body and absorb its last dying gasps of energy, he let it drop the the ground. Only a fool would continue to wander town with a shirt soaked in blood. He watched it spurt out like a dying hose, flowing freely from the fear-fueled heartbeat. His mouth watered. 

When the flow stopped, he knelt down and signed the Lady's Blessing with his left hand. He'd send the man to peace, but only on his terms. Alisian terms. 

His stomach rumbled again. After all, it had been quite a long time since he had eaten something like this. No one was looking. One taste wouldn't hurt. 

He licked the bloodied blade of his dagger, relishing the taste of iron and salt and energy. No sense letting a perfectly good kill go to waste.

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