I will be posting it soon, around New Years as I work on the plot and chapters.
Also, this will be edited soon as well. ENJOY!
The ocean struck the shore roughly, slamming itself against the rocky, jagged cliffs. The small town behind the ledge was bustling with some sort of cheerful commotion. There were tall, orange banners flowing in the sea breeze, and sea gulls landed on the cobblestone paths, pursuing the vendors that rushed to set up shop in the more populated town center.
Around the town's square were tall, thin stone buildings that you could only see, if you were in the crowd, over feathered hats and cheering faces. You could have also seen a young elf peering through one of the thick glass windows of the Rest for the Weary Inn.
"I wonder what they're celebrating," said the man quietly from that 3rd story room. Below, in the town square, he could watch the colorful groups of people bustling along. He observed them with dreary eyes, his bandaged hands folded around a small furry animal in his lap, a small hunting knife protruding from his fingers.
Azrael sighed, a heavy, down-trodden sound, sitting down on a wooden stool near a wobbly table of the same material. He gathered up the rabbit's legs and slowly began to cut the skin and pelt away from the body. He stared absently out the open window, the sea air flowing into his room and the blue sky doing nothing to make him feel more present in the moment. He cut away at the animal in a way that told you he had done this a thousand times before... which was quite true, as Azrael Quar was apart of the finest hunting duo in the known world. By the time he had gotten to removing the bloody organs of the animal, a sharp sound echoed downstairs, followed by a yell.
"Azrael!"
Azrael glanced around quickly, startled for a moment. He got up, pulling the chair a few inches, and whipped the door open. "WHAT?" he said even louder, and a woman who was exiting her room from across the hall jumped.
An elf raced up the stairs, his short white ponytail bouncing. He was grinning a slight smile.
"What's up?" Azrael said, a bit of venom lining his words.
"Someone's calling for you down in the Square," he said.
Azrael sighed, and went back into his room. The other elf followed him, and snapped out the window fasteners. The panes swung forward.
"Listen." he said.
Azrael sighed, but did as his brother suggested.
From in the square, a Strongfolk woman was calling: "Azrael! AZRAEL! WHERE ARE YOU, YOU ROTTEN SON OF A-" her words were cut off by an older man who screamed at her to shut up. Azrael could see the same man, hands clasped over his ears, walking up to her.
"WHAT'S HE LOOK LIKE?!" he said loudly.
The woman, who Azrael recognized as the local blacksmith, quickly answered. "HE'S GOT SHORT WHITE HAIR AND HE'S TALL AND HE'S AN ELF, BUT NOT A NICE ONE, HE'S VERY COCKY, YA SEE, AND HE'S JUST LIKE ALL THE REST OF YOUSE ELVES, HE'S AN ENTITLED RICH FOLK AND DON'T CARE THAT LITTLE OLD ME HAS REQUESTED HIS HELP FOR THE PAST FEW WEEKS AND NOW I'M AT THE BOILING POINT AND AND AND--"
"Anything else?" asked the man, who was obviously a tourist.
Everyone else knew who the Strongfolk woman was talking about and were sniggering.
