TotW 133- A Brief Respite

[Dark Storm]

A Brief Respite

5 Keywords:

- Night
- Spider
- Brow
- Solitary
- Desolate

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[☩Lord Inquisitor Derpy Hooves☩]

298 wordsWROOOOOONG!

A Brief Respite

“Hans,” whispered Dunnel as he shook Hans’ sleeping body. “It’s your turn to take the watch.” “Really? It’s already that time?” replied the drowsy Hans. Dunnel’s brow narrowed. “Well alright then. You get some sleep.” Pleased with Hans’ response, Dunnel left the tent. After Dunnel left, Hans got his boots on, grabbed his shako, his green greatcoat and his musket and left the tent. As he walked towards his post he donned his greatcoat and fitted his shako on head. He easily identified where his post was, the location was illuminated in gold light. After Hans walked past another block of tents he saw his comrades who would be sharing this watch with him. “…and then I said to him ‘You arse, that’s no wench that there’s a spider!’” said a man with a hearty voice, the two men around him were laughing. “He just stood there looking at…oh looky here, it’s our good friend Hans. Hello Hans.” “Hello Doric,” said Hans, “Fred, Theo.” Hans said acknowledging the other two soldiers. “Come to share the morning shift with us Hans?” said Theo. “Morning!” Hans scoffed. “If it wasn’t for your fire and that burning village behind us, the night would be darker than black.” They all laughed. “Shame what happened to Solitary.” Doric remarked. “Which battalion?” asked Fred. “I heard it was the 12th Battalion. Poor bastards. They will probably have nightmares for what they did to that village.” Hans said. “Gods, if this war ever ends the entire country will be desolate.” “Well Fred, just be glad our battalion has not been forced to torch a city or execute innocent civilians.” “Dammit you guys. Stop it with your depressing attitudes. Be glad you are alive, I sure am. Be glad for this respite from the war, however brief it may be. Now shut up so I can finish my story!”

[Shankbot de Bodemloze]

Exactly 500 words

A Breif Respite

We all know those kinds of people. The ones who hide in the night, striking out at anyone they want. Spinning there lies like a spider spins a web. The ones who live a solitary life staying away from society, arriving at a village during the dead of night and leaving before dawn, why, because that’s who they are. Yes, you know who I am on about... Ninjas, And tonight I was going to kill one. I looked up at the full moon, its light guiding me along the desolate plains towards redemption. I wiped the sweat off my brow, it wasn’t cold – I was just nervous. If I succeeded it would be the first time ever that someone had beaten a Ninja at his own game, killing. I took a swig from my wineskin to calm my nerves, and then began to run across the plain. It stretched on for what seemed an eternity, never-ending, never-changing like an ever spinning wheel; until finally I caught a glimpse of what I was after, my prey. I slowed down, getting ready to sneak up on my target. I moved one foot at time making as little noise as possible, progress was agonisingly slow; it had to be otherwise all my previous efforts would be in vain. I prayed for patience, a patience that would allow me to complete my task. My target was resting in an abandoned shrine, probably left over from an age when farms dominated this land. I was within 10 meters to him when whatever gods there were decided to cast me down, one of my feet landed on an unseen branch creating a snapping noise that rang through the silent night like a tigers roar. The sound caused the resting Ninja to stir, I cursed to myself, I had to act now before he awoke. I hurled myself towards the target abandoning any attempts of secrecy, crashing into him causing the ground to as we began wrestling on the ground kicking up clouds of dust, disturbing the peaceful night. The advantage of surprise was gone, and the Ninja pushed me to one side smacking me in the stomach. I keeled over, my head spinning as I tried to regain my senses and contain the pain. Needing a brief respite, I looked up and saw the Ninja had withdrawn a blade from somewhere. This wasn’t going to plan. I withdrew my blade and launched a full blown set of attacks on him, but he was too quick and stepped to one side. The sudden absence of a target caused my momentum to carry me to the ground, and as I tried to break my fall the blade flew out of my hand, spinning in the air and landing 20ft away. My hopes of redemption were dashed as I saw the blade was out of my reach. The Ninja walked slowly up to me, a smirk appearing on his face, as he picked up my blade. “Goodbye,” he whispered.

[Ybbon]

mine, mine, mine, this spot is all mine!

The Sentinel

A Brief Respite The ghosts of Samurai long since dead inhabit the deep shadows, flitting between them, disappearing as they creep through the silvered trees and grasses, hiding under the moons brightness. An Ashigaru stands sentinel, moonlight glinting off the lacquered plates of his armour. Watching through the most desolate hours for the gleam of a spear tip, an achromatic flash from the deepest umbra of the forest edge as if a stray moonbeam had searched through the sinister domain of the woods spirits, hunting with the speed of the fastest predator to catch and illuminate the unwary enemy. With the moons light shimmering off the grasses, waving with the winds caresses, a shape is seen a little too hard and symmetrical to be a stone. He puts a hand to his brow to shade the light, can he see a movement in the grass? A shadow detaching itself from the night? And then he cups his ear, listening for the gentle clink of harness and strap, a weapon carelessly held tapping an armoured leg, a brief admonition whispered on the breeze. Slowly, like a spider traversing his web, the Ashigaru identifies the anomalies in the dark, a helmet here, a bow there, a spear being lowered. Brief commands rustle through the stalks of grass before him. Slowly he waves his Captain forward, pointing out the movements that don't match the winds disturbance, the sounds that don't belong in the night. With a surge and a clamouring alarm, men are called to arms, running feet and crashing of weapons, the battlements are manned, bows strung and shields hefted. The attack is discovered and repelled. The casualties are light on the castle walls and the men stand down. Another few hours for the Ashigaru to stand solitary sentinel through.

[Arbitrary Crusader]

Brief Respite

Ahh…the night is sweet mistress, who smiles upon me during my time in this wretched place. I for one appreciate her, and cherish these moments together. I however do not appreciate this desolate rock. Ugh, why must I be place here? Never had our enemies venture this far into our realm, let alone heard of this place. I look around the environment on the top of my watchtower, after all… It’s was my job. The ocean slowly crashes the rocks at the beach with such calmness. The sound when it makes, such a soothing sound! Always put my mind at ease. The sky with its stars and the beautiful moonlight, rival the shine of my sword. Never had I felt so in solitary, when on this place. I thought about it. Alone? Hah! I have the night mistress. Oh, mistress how I love you! Like a spider enjoying it preys after devouring it, as one odd American soldier would say. Oh, night mistress! Whisk me into your arms; wipe my troubles, loneness, hardship from the sweat of my brow to the cold depth of me’s aching body. Take me and show me the stars and planets with your infinity knowledge of the universe. Let us dine in the moon, have a radeo-I think that how the Americans would pronounce that strange word- on a rouge Asteroid. Let us make love till the sun come up, even invite the moon to join in. Let us….Err…Let us…. Oh, what a SHAMEFUR DISPRAY! *Sigh* I need a wife.

[Heiro de Bodemloze]

THE DESERT

Spoiler Alert, click show to read: 

The desert was not a welcoming place. The days were hot, while the nights were cold as ice. There was no water, only sand. Sand as long you could see . . . and when you had seen all that, there was still more. Not even spider dwelled in deserts for long. The desert was only for the snakes, the ones who hide.

You could not find any more desolate place than this, this foulest of places. When you wiped your brow for sweat it was already soaked by the time you could remove your hand.

There was no place more solitary than the desert. None will live here at their own will. None will spend their lives in the sandbanks. When one lives there, it is because one will not be in the society. One might be mad, other might be haunted.

In the desert one cannot trust anyone; the ones you would meet would be strange and evil. When one travels in the deserts, one has to be careful. Or one might come into the wrong followers. In the deserts there are only snakes, and those are dangerous things, perilous at times.

Deserts are nasty places.

[Schrödinger]

No Respite

Howling mournfully, Wolf felt a chill sweat trickle down his brow, surely looking like a sickly milk in the unearthly glow of the moon. It haunted him, glimmering so unnaturally. All of his muscles contracted and he screwed up his face in excruciation as, helpless, he sent another howl into the night. Miles away from the nearest soul, but only a few hundred yards from the nearest of the rest of the army, Wolf felt his throat contract and his heavy legs groan under his weight as he shuffled in a brief zephyr that whispered cruelly of the oncoming winter. Scuttling on the ground beneath him was a spider, casually, he moved a paw and crushed it into the ground, grinding the luckless arachnid into oblivion. Again, he glanced at the moon and could not help but let his mouth do its awful thing, his limbs thrust unnaturally back as he felt the queer contortion that had become so familiar. It was full and round and it hovered like a balloon. It always seemed to Wolf as if the moon was on the verge of falling and crushing him. Crushing the world. Crushing everything. Hatred gripped him as he howled again. Behind him he heard more howling from deep within the woods. He did not like others howling any more than his own, solitary, howling. The pain and the dislike mingled with the scent of cold steel and sweat in the arm, the taint of smoke and spilled blood and desolate widows. In front of him, a man of metal lumbered out and hauled down the front of his lower garments. Wolf let loose his most primal growl of all. The moon taunted him and made his head throb evilly. The stench of steel was so strong. The bloodlust in him was everything. Wolf leapt.