Open Question: How could I improve "Where Mortals Fear To Tread"?
The stranger rode through the gates of the city with a determined frown upon his scarred but not unhandsome features. His ebony steed trotted proudly under him and his hand rested easily upon the ornately fashioned hilt of the sword which hung by his side as he slowly made his way into the heart of the sprawling township. He had travelled long and far, but his quest would soon be over he told himself. Thank the gods!
He directed his mount down the narrow, uneven streets of the crowded market place, his dark, smouldering eyes, like fiery embers, staring hard at each trader, obviously in search of someone. Those that noticed his piercing stare shuddered and quickly averted their eyes, pretending, unconvincingly, that they were unaware of the stranger's gaze. "Pity the man he's looking for", they thought to themselves.
The stranger, for his part, as if ignorant of the eyes which fixed on his back as he passed, continued to wend his way through the swarming populace, until, eventually, his attention was arrested by an elderly, cadaverous individual, who was stooped over a stall with a variety of menacing instruments displayed upon it. There was congealed blood on the instruments, and also on the stallholder's threadbare habiliments, and when the stranger noticed this, not for the first time since he had begun his mission, he trembled inwardly.
He dismounted and approached the man, who, regarding the stranger with interest, drew back the flap of the tent behind the stall, entered, and beckoned him to follow. The stranger cautiously obliged and stepped inside. He scrutinised the gloomy interior at great length and studied the stallholder nervously.
"Are you Korath?", he at last demanded from the man, who in comparison to the stranger seeed almost like a dwarf, although, in truth, he was of no mean stature. There was hesitation in his voice, and the stallholder, sensing this, allowed a contemptuous sneer to flicker across his vulture-like features. "And what if I am?", he enquired softly, unintimidated by the other's height, his sepulchural tone sending an icy chill of fear down the stranger's spine. "I seek a man named Korath", said the stranger edgily, and then, injecting bravado into his voice, "and from the description I was given, or, I should rather say, extracted......". Here he faltered, as if, from somewhere far away, an unpleasant remembrance, long suppressed, had suddenly resurfaced in his mind's eye. Recovering quickly from his momentary pause, however, he went on, "......from a whelp now dead, you appear to be he whom I seek!"
As he spoke, a black servant, at least equal to the stranger's great height, and almost twice as broad, entered the tent bearing the various strange implements that had been exhibited outside, and set them to rest upon a rough-hewn, bloodstained wooden table. The stallholder edged his way closer to the bench, trying to conceal his furtive manner with a casual air, but the stranger, with a sudden look of fear and anger, swept the man's legs from under him with a powerful kick. "Your actions betray your identity!", he thundered. "I was a fool to come here!". "Do you truly believe you had a choice in the matter?", the stallholder cackled, picking himself up from the floor.
The stranger, puzzled by the man's words, momentarily stood undecided in his actions. The stallholder, taking advantage of this weakness, shouted a command in a strange tongue to the ebony servant, who instantly moved towards the stranger in an attempt to subdue him. However, the stranger, now galvanised into frenzied activity, drew his mighty sword from his side and beheaded the servant with one fierce, swift stroke. The bloodied torso tottered for a moment, and then, like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly severed, fell to the ground, a lifeless husk.
Unnoticed by the stranger, however, the stallholder had meanwhile crept around behind him, withdrawing something from under one of the folds in his robe as he did so. There was a sudden flash of movement as a vicious bludgeon cleaved through the air towards the stranger's unprotected head. The next moment, consciousness was racing abruptly away from him, to be replaced by the fearful, terrifying clutch of an all-enveloping, icy darkness.
When the stranger came to, he found himself reclining on several cushions of a luxurious purple velvet, which, although oddly at variance with the other, rather spartan, trappings, were spread of the floor of the tent. For a moment he wondered where he was, and then, remembering, a look of dread flashed through his eyes, but disappeared when he realised he was alive and unhurt. The emaciated visage of the stallholder appeared before him, nodding benignly. "Is it done?", the stranger asked, incredulously. "It is done!", replied the man called Korath.
The stranger rose to his feet and removed six gleaming gold coins from a well-worn leather pouch which hung from his belt and tossed them onto th
Oops! Ran out of space.
The stranger rose to his feet and removed six gleaming gold coins from a well-worn leather pouch which hung from his belt and tossed them onto the table. "One for your services, the other five to replace your slave", he said, nodding in the direction of the corpse, which still lay, undisturbed, where it had fallen. "A thousand pardons for my disrespectful behaviour earlier", begged the stranger, "some demon must have possessed my senses. I...I just lost my head". "As did my servant", said Korath, good-naturedly.
"I trust you won't reveal my cowardice to anyone", continued the stranger, nervously toying with his cloak in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. "I swear by Krell, old one, that it was totally unlike me. Usually I'm quite stout-hearted. A curse on my head if I'm lying to you!". "Never fear", soothed Korath with a twinkle in his eye. "Even the bravest of men fear a visit to...the tooth-extractor!".
He chortled inwardly to himself as he handed the stranger his recently removed molar and watched him depart.
Absolutely no t/ds from me...period.
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