The figure was wearing a pair of torned and tattered robes with the hood pulled down. The figure only carried a long stick, which he had strapped to his back.
Suddenly the figure stopped, lifted its head and drew back the hood. It revealed the pale face of a young man, with long white hair. A pair of glowing ice-blue eyes was nearly hidden behind the stripy hair. He had a troublesome wrinkle on his forehead but it disappeared as he looked out over the desert. Far away a small settlement was seen, and the young man gave the slightest hint of a smile.
"I hear you, they are finis..." His voice trailed off as a dust storm began, but oddly enough the young man didn't seem particularily bothered by it. Instead he started moving towards it, slowly but with a steady pace.
Karach Tûn had never been particulary keen at living so close to the "Dead Zone", but since no harm had come, except for a few odd sandstorms, he didn't bother. His ancestors had created the small village around a rather needed oasis, and had decided to keep it alive, by any means possible. Karach knew he was doing something to help others, because from time to time, a trading caravan would consider moving through the Dead Zone, get stuck and be in desperate need of help and water. They were suppliers of both. Of course the little village would be quickly forgotten by the traders, and no king would ever pay them any notice, but he felt that they did something good, and for some, that was payment enough.
Right now he was looking out at the rather harsh sand storm that was building up in the distance. He could bet his mother that it would enter the town, sooner or later, and that they would probably have to stay inside for maybe a day or two. That didn't bother Karach much, but the figure moving towards the village did. At first Karach had considered it a mirage, for no man, sane or not, would walk right through a brewing desert storm. However, the figure only moved closer, and Karach finally realized it was no mirage. The figure was a small bit ahead of the storm, but still close enough to be in real danger. Karach decided that, heck, life wasn't worth living without some risks, and swiftly jumped down from the watch tower. He warned everyone of the coming storm and brought with him a few men. As soon as the came out of the village the wind struck them. It was hard, and from where the figure was it would probably be unbearable. Karach shook out all the thoughts from his mind and set on saving the figure.
"That guy must be insane." One of the men, Jarac Heing, pointed out.
"Probably, but he's out there, alone." Karach replied. "No matter how foolish a man is, he doesn't deserve to die."
"Well, at least not alone." Jarac sighed. Karach wanted to snap back, but what Jarac had said was true. They should be happy if they would even make it out there alive. Bringing back the man ("How can he still be standing?" Karach wondered) was a different story entirely.
"Okay, men. We've got a maniac out there with a death wish. We're here to make sure he doesn't get it, or at least make sure he doesn't bring us with him. Got it? Right, keep together and all that."
The following fifteen minutes was the worst time Karach had ever experienced. They managed to reach the young man nearly without problem. He was carrying a large stick on his back and wore a dark and very worn cloak. The hood was down, so they couldn't see the face, but guessing from the shape of the figure, it was probably a man. The man wasn't very hard to lead back to the village, as he kept walking in whatever direction they dragged him, but the sandstorm grew stronger and stronger until they could barely see their own hands in the storm. Amazingly enough, and with the help of the gods, they managed to get the man back to the town. It seemed their luck had turned...
"You were lucky, son." Karach said as they came back to the village. "Thank the gods we managed to find you out there.". The figure only nodded slowly, as if he wasn't listening to Karach. Then, with one motion, the figure drew back his hood. The young man looked at Karach. His piercing blue eyes seemed to shine, much like oil mixed with water.
"You are... done." He said with a cold, clammy voice.
"I... I guess so. Listen, we just saved your life out there, and if you're going to be rude then..."
"Forgive me, you must have misunderstood. What I mean is, you are finished. Your task on this world is over, and therefore you are no longer needed."
"What do you mean? Are you insane!" Karach felt slightly nervous over the young man. He talked with calm and collectiveness, but his words was that of a madman.
"I am clearing the path. A´Khu cannot pass through life. More than your lives will be in danger if you oppose me." The young man unhooked the stick on his back. "Forgive me, but I must."
As the morningsun slowly rose, shadows grew thinner and were in some places replaced by light. The young man, sitting on a rock, looked down in his hand. He was holding a small, handmade doll. He stared at it, as if there was nothing else in this world. His stick was resting in his left arm, and there was complete silence. Then the doll flew high up in the sky together with the stick. One circular move with the left hand made the young man catch the stick some moments before the doll began falling down. With a nearly silent hiss the blade of the scythe fell out of it's socket and slid through the doll like a knife through warm butter. Two parts landed next to eachother, and the wind carried it's stuffings, together with the stench of blood.
No one would remember the little village, and no king would pay it notice and the bones would be buried in sand long before anyone could find them. And the oasis would disappear, no longer having anyone taking care of it.
---
great A´Khu, Death Spirit and lord of lies and deceit, was cursed, 1000 years ago, to walk the land of man and to find the answer to the question that has never been asked. As of yet, the mighty spirit has gotten no closer to solving his task. A Death Spirit is only able to pass through dead things, and therefore A´Khu must have a constant trail of dead things to sustain his very limited powers. A Clearer is a human, or rather, was a human before being cleansed to serve a Death Spirit. The Clearer lives only to serve his master, but may retain his free will and mind. They are in all ways Immortal, as they don't age, but they can be killed. However, each Clearer wields a weapon crafted from the spirits of their victims, and the older a Clearer gets, the more powerful he gets. A´Khu, the only known permanent traveller of the living world have employed countless of Clearers, and they are all recognizable from their ice blue eyes and the scythe, said to have been forged by A´Khu himself.
The current Clearer, of whom this short story was about, have only recently changed. His already blond hair turned white as snow and his green eyes have now turned ice blue. Like his preceeders he is completely ungrazed by natural hazards like heat and cold.
Right, so where do I want to come? This story takes place in Fuki, the world of my RPG that I'm developing (a bit of problem with my change of computer, though) and is meant to give the reader a bit of warning to what kind of creatures he can encounter. Also, I'd like to make a contest. I have to add another character to the game, so if anyone wants to enter (the current chars are: me, Rydia, Kotoki, Archmage, Ash, RED, Vulture and Rube). The contest is this, make a RPGM2K compatible spritesheet of the current Clearer. If you wish, make a mugshot. Post it here or send me an e-mail. I'll wait until... chirstmas... until I announce the winner, I'll accept applications up until the 1st September. Remember, RMPM2k compatible, which means walking up, down, left and right, bonus points for sheets with different emotions and stuff. Remember, the scythe looks like a normal stick when sheathed.
Edited by: [url=http://pub30.ezboard.com/uchristianc.showPublicProfile?language=EN>ChristianC</A]
at: 9/28/02 4:01:21 pm
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All on a summer’s day;</center></td>
And took them clean away.</center></td></tr>
And beat the full sore;</center></td>
And vowed he’d steal no more.</center></td> </tr><tr><td colspan=2><center>More nifty Nursery Rhymes at 
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at: 6/10/05 16:58
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