Part 1-Chapter 1
This Novel is set in the City and surrounding area. The time frame is almost one year to the date of the Mechanists Destruction.
12:05 a.m. The City: Market Square Mist swirled and strangled the shadows of blackness that shrouded dark and forbearing buildings. Darkness ruled the night and flowed in sheets over the hazy lights of the city. The cheery melody of moving water seemed unfit in for such a time.
Two men stood under a dimly light lamppost. Their elegant clothing made it obvious these men didn't belong where they were in the dead of night.
"Were is he, Lamon, as ye may know I don't enjoy these surroundings." The man gestured in a sweeping manner of the area. A woman stood in dim corner making provocative gestures to a man that was eyeing her eagerly. "Damnation, this is horrid… I don't know how thee convinced thyself to come here."
Lamon was leaning against the post when he cracked a smirk. "Are ye scared Master; scared of a beaten hoar, scared of a drunken beggar? Master, be assured-ye have the best." He reached inside his cloak and pulled out large dagger. "I just don't pick my teeth with it". He turned and strode towards the street scum who by now had slipped farther into a darker part of the alley. Lamon trailed them but kept his Master in sight-he didn't want to lose his most valuable client.
Master Carshal watched as his bodyguard slipped into the alley. The black swallowed up the glint of Lamon's blade as he faded into the night. He leaned forward: wanting to here is subordinate at work…silence- except for that of the stream that ran through the middle of the square. After a minute he began to get tired, he never really stayed up this late. He yawned and set the canvas bag he had been carrying on the slick cobblestone. The contents banged against each other with discontent as if becoming aware of the value. He suddenly became concerned with a stain on his burgundy tunic. He licked his thumb and tried to rub it off only to cause it to spread more so. "Damn", he was becoming frustrated. Why is he so unlucky, getting a stain on his newest tunic. Not mention the cost of the tunic-10 gold pieces. Hopefully the wash woman can get it out. His eyes began to close when the sound of footsteps startled him. "Lamon", he cried uneasily high that of a man that senses something amiss. He turned to face the fountain whereas from the sound seem to have originated. The footstep continued-they seemed to ricochet from every corner of the Market Square. A hoarse yell broke the rhythm of footsteps. Everything was still. "Who goes th-there." A shaky and perplexed Carshal called to the unknown. Silence answered him back. He slowly slipped his hand into the bag trying to find some thing that he could use as a weapon. His hand grasped a blunt metallic scepter of some sort and he pulled it out. "Come on now friend, I shain't hurt thee"-whispered Carshal. "Ye little bastard playing tricks on me." His breathing began to show his fear. In response to his remark the darkness seemed to move towards him in a surreal motion. Carshal back up towards the lamppost; trying his best to stay within its yellow haze. Yet the black swam toward him in even darker. He didn't understand how black can become blacker but it did-blacker than a murderers soul. Within seconds the darkness overtook him, smothering him: racing above him to extinguish the dimming lamp.
At the last second of light Carshal spotted a flying of silver light towards him. His pathetic and worthless live rushed before him as the silver light speed closer and closer. The silver light, which seemed to have no source ripped through him. The sickening sound of broken flesh rattled through the air. The demonic black quickly swallowed the sound: hide what had happened; hide the dire destruction of worthless souls. There was nothing to see that night. Nothing to see or hear…
Authors Note: This novel is written in several "parts"-this obviously being Part 1. Each "Part" consists of several chapters. I hope you enjoyed this small chapter of Dire Accusations and the more yet to come. Please email your comments and/or ideas to Jher749685@cs.com. Thank you for reading. -Beholder
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