Author Topic: The Whispering Scythe  (Read 494 times)


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Re: The Whispering Scythe
« Topic Start: July 26, 2017, 11:16:37 AM »

The Whispering Scythe

"Don't you think it's about time, you know, to really stick it to 'em?'' A brief pause. ''Don't gimme that look! You know it's the right thing to do. Go on, stick it to 'em.''

The Whispering Scythe

''Hey Chief. Yeah, you, Bonehead. I'm bored. Why don't we go kill something? You know, something a wee bit more challenging than killing prisoners.. Go on, you know you want to. I'll be sharp, you do the swinging. It'll be fun!''

The blade of the scythe seems to momentarily shine brighter as you look at it. As if it is doing the scythly equivalent of a smile.

The Whispering Scythe

''Oi! Boring guy, yeah you. Look at me when I'm talking to you. Geez, what does a bloodthristy scythe have to do around here to get a drink of blood? Don't gimme that, but we killed monsters, crap. Humans! That's where I'm at. Warm, juicy Human blood. When was the last time you killed some humans eh?''

The Whispering Scythe

As morning' first light casually falls upon the sheen of the scythe you can't shake the feeling that the thing is smelling the air somehow. An awkward revelation that is only reinforced by the unmistakable sound of someone taking a deep breath in the far reaches of your skull. ''There's big prey beyond the horizon chief.'' The Scythe's slow voice informs you. Like a great feline beast observing quarry yet invisible to the eye but somehow knows is about.

''Yeeep, you better prepare and get your wrist loose. No, not in that way! You damned pervert!'' The blade takes on a slightly darker complexion. ''I meant you better ready yourself for bloodshed. Daimons are afoot. Ever hunted Daimon before Chief? Of course you have, I can smell their stench on you.'' You get the feeling the Scythe is looking at you. ''When was the last time you bathed, last year? Git to scrubbing boy, I don't want your Daimon tained hands on me!''

Like a scornful lover the Scythe remains uneasy in your grip for the rest of the day, always shifting off balance no matter how hard to try to properly wield it. Often quipping about your dirty mits and sausage fingers.