Epilogue: “Negotiation tactics"
January 18th Year: Shadow Sun
Entry note.
“Kyann himself has told me to keep a diary of the next few days’ events. “Making a change” he said. By the way he says it, I’m not too sure if I should stand and watch myself be killed, or run towards our very persecutors and be killed there. He is insane, his very name is said to evoke order in his armies and chaos in the towns. “Archer...Archer...Archer” you can hear it everywhere you go, from the towns to the west to the cities in the East. That man is a living, breathing, abomination and Kyann wants to fight him! Well, that would certainly be a first if he even kills one of his guards.
I must go, everyone is ready for battle”
The Night felt Darker than usual, something was missing, as if the dark itself was hiding a secret from itself. The twilight mist rolled along the floor between the short, dry blades of grass.
The wind stood still as the torch fires by each tree house simmered quietly. The curtain tents blended with the darkness and smell of the days’ earlier catch could not be smelt on the fire. The smoulders of camp had died but the spirit of the villagers was jumping in their veins as their hearts beated soundly, but the night was still. Not even the night prowlers could be heard if they were walking through the dense forest canopy.
The male villagers hung from each of the trees branches by their hands, looking down on their enemy. Their blood dripped onto the forest floor like water dripping down a leaf. Each tribal tattoo barely visible between each laceration indented on their skin and their long think hair covering their faces like a veil of shame.
“Commander, what should we do with them now?”
From the opaque darkness a somewhat crowed gallery of soldiers emerged a cloaked figure. Thin and ominous in appearance, it embraced the darkness as the twilight mist collected against its cloak with each ghostly glide forward it took.
Stopping just behind the speaker, it extended its finger, pointing directly at the short, bloodied man which hung from the shortest branch of the tree before him.
“Where... is... Kyann” The cloaked being hissed as it spoke, adding mysticism to the creature’s already long list of frightening qualities.
“I’ll never tell you... you BARBARIC MONSTERS!” he spluttered, hanging helplessly from the branch as his limp body swung from side to side.
“Cut... him... down” A cold gust whipped in from all angles and filled the atmosphere around the camp. The helpless prisoner coughed and spluttered out his own blood, some going into the thinner strands of his own hair as the droplets trickled down his face and a collective bubble splattered the floor below him.
“Yes Commander” one of the younger recruits rushed forward, paused to salute the cloaked commander and marched toward the bloody and broken figure.
The recruit reached behind him, retrieved his dagger and slit the rope above him, causing the helpless individual to fall to the ground with a convincing thud.
“URAAAGH!”the cold forest floor ran along its victims skin, the cuts and punctures being smeared with mud as the prisoner rolled in agony and despair.
“Would barbarians end your suffering?” chucked the recruit, standing over his body, with his feet only centimetres away from his face. If his comrades were to break their silence, it would be to applaud his wordplay as the prisoner rolled in the mud still squirming.
“Kill me, but you won’t find Kyann” screamed the prisoner
“Fine” The cloaked commander retracted his finger and arrows embedded themselves in the individuals destroyed body. The few traces of blood left in his system squirted outwards from the impact of the many arrows, spraying the floor directly in front of the commander.
The commander stepped forward in the blood before shifting down onto one, invisible knee, indenting his hand in the blood before licking it off with a small, menacing chuckle.
“Six, message Archer... I’m ready to fight again”
The cloaked figure must have gained energy from the very blood of this victim. Six did not respond.
“Six?”
The commander barked, swinging his head over his right shoulder, glaring at his guards.
His guards were gone.
“Greetings, Kyann, it seems you were kind enough to drop by”
The commander was rewarded with a silence and the invisibility of his opponent.
“It is very rude to ignore guests, Kyann, so I guess I will have to ‘draw’ your attention”
The commander lifted his arm and aimed it at another hanging villager. its hood hiding its menacing smile and sinister thoughts.
‘BANG’
The bullet ripped through the air whistling as it punched violently through the over hung leaves of the forest canopy
“uh!”
‘THUD’
a body dropped to the floor, its legs dislocated and arms broken as the figure lay on its side, helpless as his hands were still tied together and his face laid flat in the muddy carpet of the forest.
In appearance it did not look human, its presence merely replicated a life sized ragdoll, complete with the same amount of care and respect given to it by the Commander.
Silence returned to the circle of chaos and noise of the event before being broken by the dawning sound of “Arrooooo”
The wailing howl of dogs and wolves swept through the camp like a euphoric wind of foreseen destruction, swiftly followed by the rumbling footsteps of horseback and rolling stampede pack animals ripped through the darkness and mist reminiscent of an earthquake, hurricane, tsunami, tornado or any other unstoppable natural phenomenon as the vibrations caused each of the small torch flames to drop onto thier wooden balcony’s of the attached tree house, setting the camp ablaze.
The stampede of animals rumbled through the flames and trampled the shadowed commander, with the horse knocking him down initially, then a dozen rabid wolves and hounds ripped at his face, limbs and cloak.
One by one the once tied and captured prisoners fell from their allocated branches and landed strategically on the floor below like the renowned ninja’s of the Asian legends or the Man-Spider of the Jamaican tales and gathered round their fallen brethren, gathered them both almost silently and dispersed into the night, running through the flames.
The Commanders screams for mercy were faint in comparison to the dogs barking and the wolves terrifying tearing jaws and drool. A small patter of feet entered the enflaming circle of dread and chaos and approached the rabid hooligan like behaviour of the pack, still tearing at the cloaked Commanders helpless body.
“K. K.” The new ghostly figure clicked with the side of his mouth, calming the pack and signalling them to stop. He stepped forward, through the dispersing pack and stood over the Commander.
“W-w-what have you done? ... W-w-who are you?!” The Commander quivered, using his right sleeve to hide his face and his left arm to pull away, pushing at the dirt to prop itself away with both of his torn and shattered legs.
A Deep voice penertrated the Commanders ears.
“Not the man you’re looking for...Commander”
The figure smiled smugly as the fire crackled long enough for the horrified commander to catch its mysterious and calculated predator.
The figure stood over the commander, hood up, hiding his eyes and protecting the left and right sides of his neck. His shoulders were capped with dragon scale the rest of his body was covered to toe in a white outfit with the trimmings and stitching purple, a simple crest of a shield, with a purple dragon encircling itself, devouring its own tail. A silver breastplate made of the finest dragon scale protected his lungs and chest. The tight fitted sleeve was covered by a gauntlet which ran up both sides of his forearms.
Across his waist was a bandolier, each pouched filled carefully and considerately with a knife, lock picking equipment and what appeared to be a silk cloth. His back – a sword, complete with a curved hilt and a dragon spiralling around, the edge had a mushroom top but the blade was covered by the brown leather holster.
From the waist down, the front leg had another pouch, larger than the bandolier’s pouches, but like the holster, it too was brown. The kneecaps and shins, again – covered in dragon scale but his feet were almost as if his feet were wrapped in leather, the underside of his toes were reinforced with some sort of gripped material and the same at the heel and Achilles, but the Achilles protected by dragon scale.
“YEATES?! ...WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” hollered the commander, holding his sleeve across his face. “Business”
“Archer will have your head for this!” stammered the commander, gripped with fear.
Yeates kicked the shattered arm of his victim, forcing the commander to lower his petty resistance,
at this, Yeates extended his right arm, aimed it at the empty, dark opening of the commanders hood, and pressed into a small indent on his gauntlet.
A long, whining sound of an unravelling reel whistled as an open claw propped open, descended into the hole, crunched against the skin and skull of its helpless target , forcing the victim to whale an unprecedented scream of pain, before Yeates, ripped back his arm, reeling in the chain. A solid tearing of bone was heard and the cloaked commander fell back, the head whistled forward and the hood covered the ground.
Holding the hair of his victim, Yeates transfixed his hidden eyes directly into empty abyss the lifeless wrinkled head of the commander.
“Only after I have yours”
Yeates killed the Commander.
Lets get down to business. . . I thought that was awesome! I couldn't find anything wrong with it so no nitpicks. Yayaz :B <--- that's a spongebob face. See it? Anyways, keep doing what your doing and happy writing 
