Archive for the ‘Medieval Times’ Category

Assassin by jameswolf on DeviantArt.com

He’d followed her for two days.

The lady who’d read his fortune claimed she’d lead him to his destiny.

He’d jumped at the chance. Who wouldn’t love a beautiful woman?

“Stay out of sight, and you’ll find the treasure you seek.”

The warning was absurd. What harm could come from such a delicate creature?

He made his move in the smoky tavern and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“You were warned,” she said.

“I seek a beautiful treasure.”

“You earned a beautiful death!”

Her knife was sharp, his life faded, and she laughed.

“These men never learn.”

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Lachrymosa by LadyAmdis on DeviantArt.com

They lied.

Her fairy-tale didn’t come true.

“One day your true love will come and rescue you from this tower.”

After ten long years, she was tired of waiting. The tower was cold and boring, and the old lady who brought food was no company at all.

She was ready with a broken bottle in hand. She waited until she heard the key in the lock and slow steps on the stairs.

“How are we today, Dearie?”

“I’m ready for a new start, actually,” she said.

The old woman screamed as the jagged bottle sliced her neck.

“Thanks for nothing.”

Thug by Rhineville on DeviantArt.com

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Drinks are complimentary, as are the victims, with all shapes and sizes to choose from: rich merchants, drunk knights, gullible tourists.

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You can bring your own weapons and murderous devices, but please pay for the parking.

 

Vengeance by Lithium-Tears on DeviantArt.com

She took the knife, sharp and polished, from her garter. Her eyes glistened in the candlelight, and her hair blew in the breeze from under the door. He slept in his large bed, his snore damp and loud. She smiled. The weapon clenched above her head in her fists came down. His snoring perished. His final grunt. His limp body stiffened under her blade. The Princess looked down at the man who raised her, the man who broke her, and the man who quenched her thirst for vengeance.

Desert of blood by Idriu95 on DeviantArt.com

Thugs burst from dunes, gripping curved blades.

Surrounded, Keila turns slowly, remembering rough games played with her brothers – hide and seek, ambush, wooden swords – a girl against aspiring squires. They taught her well. When they went to war, she followed.

The thugs circle; Keila crouches. Winds kick up. She lifts a handkerchief over her mouth, raises a blade and small shield. The thugs become silhouettes in swirling red dust.

She spins like a djin, blade biting through the shrieking desert wind.

The winds die. Dust settles.

Keila stands alone, parched. She gulps water from her wineskin. The dunes gulp blood.