T. Rakinson
A Brute among Beasts
The scream was what woke him up.
He had no idea where it came from, the noise was so loud it felt like it was coming from everywhere at once. He grabbed his ears and quickly stumbled over to the steps, trying to figure out the source. once he reached the roof of his little turret he stared through the misty fog, tracking down the direction of its owner to the bottom of the mountain. the voice seemed human, so he automatically stared in the direction of riverwood.
"oh cr**" Thomas Rakinson muttered.
The scene was terrible-looking, even from a distance. buildings, or at least what remained of them, were on fire, omniously illuminating a river turned deathly crimson from the streams of blood trickling down from the villages pathway. and the corpses.
Some looked relatively unscathed, like whoever; or whatever had killed them had been in a rush.others looked like they were fresh out of quagmire, with missing appendages, skin and, in some instances...
Thomas looked away. it was just too much.
As he sat there, trying to withold both tears and vomit, he tried guessing what may have painted such a grotesque, twisted scene.
Dragons? No. The buildings were destroyed, but the flames were too small and he would have heard roars. Vampires? It couldent have been, there was too much blood left.
Someone had to be warned. What had happened here must never be repeated. He could not- no he would not let this happen again. he would head to Whiterun and warn the authorities of what had happened here, even if someone else had.
But then he heard the scream again, and this time it was closer, on his side of the river, and he knew that he could not let the owner of the scream down. grabbing only his sword and robes he rushed out of the turret into the looming wall of fog.
He had no idea where it came from, the noise was so loud it felt like it was coming from everywhere at once. He grabbed his ears and quickly stumbled over to the steps, trying to figure out the source. once he reached the roof of his little turret he stared through the misty fog, tracking down the direction of its owner to the bottom of the mountain. the voice seemed human, so he automatically stared in the direction of riverwood.
"oh cr**" Thomas Rakinson muttered.
The scene was terrible-looking, even from a distance. buildings, or at least what remained of them, were on fire, omniously illuminating a river turned deathly crimson from the streams of blood trickling down from the villages pathway. and the corpses.
Some looked relatively unscathed, like whoever; or whatever had killed them had been in a rush.others looked like they were fresh out of quagmire, with missing appendages, skin and, in some instances...
Thomas looked away. it was just too much.
As he sat there, trying to withold both tears and vomit, he tried guessing what may have painted such a grotesque, twisted scene.
Dragons? No. The buildings were destroyed, but the flames were too small and he would have heard roars. Vampires? It couldent have been, there was too much blood left.
Someone had to be warned. What had happened here must never be repeated. He could not- no he would not let this happen again. he would head to Whiterun and warn the authorities of what had happened here, even if someone else had.
But then he heard the scream again, and this time it was closer, on his side of the river, and he knew that he could not let the owner of the scream down. grabbing only his sword and robes he rushed out of the turret into the looming wall of fog.