Inside Zzorhn's Mind

 The horses hooves slashed through the air, narrowly missing the man's throat. Only the nimbleness of the leather-bound warrior with decades of practice could have dodged that kick from the powerful warhorse. The dirt and dust flung into the air, hung low like a choking fog. A loud whinny in anger brought a tight smile to the lone warrior;  He heard the attack from behind, before he seen it. Two massive front hooves came crashing down from above! The charging horse lashed out, pawing at the air trying to hit the man, but found empty space, as the nimble fighter sidestepped and brought a hard wooden pole cracking down across the front forelimbs of the majestic animal. He broke out grinning, “You missed Reazghul”, he announced, only to barely jump out of the way as the huge head of the warhorse arced upwards with tremendous force. The fighter back-flipped away from the charging beast. Two more of the massive heavy horses attacked without warning, flanking the fighter who was arm...

 The fly buzzed loudly in the hot summer sun. It circled and landed on the old man's faded blue dress pants. He barely noticed as he sat quietly watching the crowd; the hum of the old fighter planes overhead drowned out the gasps of the spectators and the squeals of the children. It was a magnificent, sunny, summer day in Tillsonburg, and wispy white clouds slowly sailed by on a endless carpet of blue. The gathered ensemble craned their necks to watch the aerial acrobatics in absolute amazement as skilled pilots expertly demonstrated the finesse of the Canadian vintage airplanes overhead. The fly started to pester the man sitting in the wheelchair. He tried vainly to chase it away, but his wrinkled hand was too slow. Many years ago, he may have been nimble and quick, but now his hands were gnarled into a claw by arthritis, and spotted by age. The bothersome insect buzzed his face and it was all he could do to purse his lips and blow, trying to shoo the fly away. No one noticed ...

 The old chair creaked. It had seen better days, but it matched the rest of the shambled room; mortar crumbling from the stonework, the windows were yellowed, and the straw in the mattress probably not been changed in weeks. The weary gambler shifted in his chair again, causing the chair to groan in protest again. It was late. Tonight had been tough work, and the candles were burning low, making it hard to count the coins on the table. The bottle on the table was nearly finished. Clink, clink, clink. The coins fell through his leathered fingers with practiced ease. A smile broke his face; a well-rehearsed grin, that carried years of experience. He had done well. He heard scratching coming from the old oak door. Quickly he scooped up his earnings, and deftly tossed them into the corner behind the bed. Drawing a slender dagger, he crept towards the door. He stood still listening, his breath suddenly loud and annoying. The room was silent. Then he heard the scratching again, f...

 She stared across the narrow street, and muttered. “Good. It's busy”. Glancing down at her dress, she began to fidget with the little bow in front. The bow never stayed where she wanted. Rolling her eyes, she thought to herself, “Of all the details that might go wrong tonight, and I'm worrying about a stupid, white, lace bow on the front of my dress”. She glanced in the store window, and tried to smile. It seemed so wrong! Blonde? Blue eyes? And a dress?! Ta'Anar blanched at the spectacle. The fact that she was human even seemed wrong! Still, this was the perfect disguise. Just what her employer wanted. “Make it public. Do what you do best!”, she remembered. He was very clear on the fact, that it “Didn't matter HOW he dies. Just send a message”. The message; that was all she was really bring paid for. Any number of individuals could have easily killed the “firya”, but it needed to be done right. With finesse. She stared at her reflection in the wondow, and mutter...