Lakyr
The Dark Lord of Laziness
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A shortcut, that was what the dark alleyway was supposed to be. It was getting late, and the young man wanted to get done and get home. A shortcut. It was usually better to stay on the main streets, but he’s taken the narrow alley before. To save some time, it was good for that. But he wasn’t feeling right. Everything felt darker, houses were looming over him to his left and right, he had no space. It wasn’t a straight way, neither a really short one. How long has he been walking through here now?
After rounding another corner he saw three featureless figures. He stopped dead in his tracks. The feeling of wrong from before now had a grip on his whole world. Two of the figures were holding knives, the other one was pressed up against a wall. It was stabbed in the guts once, twice, and thrice, then slowly slid down into a scrunched up sitting position with back against the wall.
The now bleeding figure was looking over at him, mouthing a word but too weak to make a sound. A moment later the other two turned to look at him with their empty faces. Their only visible feature were their wicked, toothy grins. Their eyeless gazes found the bag slung over his shoulder, the trademark of his job.
“He’s just runner boy.” The figure that had used its knife spoke, it had a dark voice. The words seemed to echo through his mind. “Right … well, keep moving runner boy. Nothing to see here.” This one was closer to him, the voice wasn’t as deep, but mocking. The words were pounding through his head, burned themselves in. The figure motioned him to keep moving with its knife. He was frozen for just another second but it was an eternity in its own right, to him that is. The bleeding figure's hand reached out and he tried to say something again, mouthing the same word as before, but then a boot was rammed into its stomach and instead of talking it coughed up blood.
“Don’t mind that guy.” The dark voiced figure followed this up with a laugh, as the one to its feet was still fighting for breath. Something inside him snapped and he started walking again. Don’t get involved, just get the fuck out. And never use this fucking shortcut again. He wasn’t looking as he walked by, tried to be fast, but was immediately paralyzed with shock as a hand seized him by the shoulder. “Here, for your troubles.” The mocking voiced figure snarled and pressed two coins into one of his hands, then it let go of his shoulder.
He tried to wash the sleepiness out of his eyes with the bucket of water next to his bed. So long ago and it still haunted him, somehow. More than the other things he’d seen through the years after that evening. He put his clothes on groggily as he still sat on the bed and yawned as he got up. At least it wasn’t the dream he had for the past two weeks again. Not that it was getting old, no it was as vivid as the first time he had it, every time. But he was still getting tired of it. This dream wasn’t nice either but it was familiar. He understood it. And he’d gotten used to it years ago.
He stood up and walked towards a window to push the curtain aside and look outside. The sky was covered in clouds, with the early morning sun barely peeking through them in hues of orange. He yawned and his breath fogged up the glass. At least it wasn’t raining.
Turning away from the window he sauntered over to the basin and the mirror. He brushed a streak of his wet dark hair out of his face, leaned forward, and rested his hands on the wood as he viewed himself in the mirror. The beard, albeit a bit messy, was still fine and he really didn’t feel like shaving that morning anyway.
He took a step back and stretched, which resulted in a satisfying cracking of his joints. Then, he grabbed his messenger bag and headed out of his room, through the hall and down the stairs. He was currently permanently renting a room in a pub and even though this might not sound like a perfect living situation, he was quite happy with it. The room was nice, it was easily affordable for him, he knew the staff well, and he would spend a lot of his evenings there anyway. Sure, The Three-Legged Dog might not sound like a particularly nice pub, and it certainly wasn’t a fancy place, but it was rather quiet with friendly air to it. That was to say, he had barely seen any fights there since being a regular and that did mean something in the city of Yhord.
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Note by me: Hey, if anybody actually read this ... thanks, I appreciate it! So, I honestly have no idea why exactly I'm posting this here, probably because I'm hoping for some kind of feedback (I'd really fucking appreciate it if you could provide any). Please know that this is very much a first draft, have barely read it over, not really changed anything except for typos or some grammar mistakes that I found, so if it doesn't read that well this is probably why. This is a story I want to be working on, so depending on if there's any interested in it on here or not, and if I can be bothered to do so, I might keep updating this here. Updates will come whenever I feel like I kind of wrote enough for a post again, so yeah. Anyways, thanks for reading, even bigger thanks if y'all care to leave any feedback.
A shortcut, that was what the dark alleyway was supposed to be. It was getting late, and the young man wanted to get done and get home. A shortcut. It was usually better to stay on the main streets, but he’s taken the narrow alley before. To save some time, it was good for that. But he wasn’t feeling right. Everything felt darker, houses were looming over him to his left and right, he had no space. It wasn’t a straight way, neither a really short one. How long has he been walking through here now?
After rounding another corner he saw three featureless figures. He stopped dead in his tracks. The feeling of wrong from before now had a grip on his whole world. Two of the figures were holding knives, the other one was pressed up against a wall. It was stabbed in the guts once, twice, and thrice, then slowly slid down into a scrunched up sitting position with back against the wall.
The now bleeding figure was looking over at him, mouthing a word but too weak to make a sound. A moment later the other two turned to look at him with their empty faces. Their only visible feature were their wicked, toothy grins. Their eyeless gazes found the bag slung over his shoulder, the trademark of his job.
“He’s just runner boy.” The figure that had used its knife spoke, it had a dark voice. The words seemed to echo through his mind. “Right … well, keep moving runner boy. Nothing to see here.” This one was closer to him, the voice wasn’t as deep, but mocking. The words were pounding through his head, burned themselves in. The figure motioned him to keep moving with its knife. He was frozen for just another second but it was an eternity in its own right, to him that is. The bleeding figure's hand reached out and he tried to say something again, mouthing the same word as before, but then a boot was rammed into its stomach and instead of talking it coughed up blood.
“Don’t mind that guy.” The dark voiced figure followed this up with a laugh, as the one to its feet was still fighting for breath. Something inside him snapped and he started walking again. Don’t get involved, just get the fuck out. And never use this fucking shortcut again. He wasn’t looking as he walked by, tried to be fast, but was immediately paralyzed with shock as a hand seized him by the shoulder. “Here, for your troubles.” The mocking voiced figure snarled and pressed two coins into one of his hands, then it let go of his shoulder.
------
He tried to wash the sleepiness out of his eyes with the bucket of water next to his bed. So long ago and it still haunted him, somehow. More than the other things he’d seen through the years after that evening. He put his clothes on groggily as he still sat on the bed and yawned as he got up. At least it wasn’t the dream he had for the past two weeks again. Not that it was getting old, no it was as vivid as the first time he had it, every time. But he was still getting tired of it. This dream wasn’t nice either but it was familiar. He understood it. And he’d gotten used to it years ago.
He stood up and walked towards a window to push the curtain aside and look outside. The sky was covered in clouds, with the early morning sun barely peeking through them in hues of orange. He yawned and his breath fogged up the glass. At least it wasn’t raining.
Turning away from the window he sauntered over to the basin and the mirror. He brushed a streak of his wet dark hair out of his face, leaned forward, and rested his hands on the wood as he viewed himself in the mirror. The beard, albeit a bit messy, was still fine and he really didn’t feel like shaving that morning anyway.
He took a step back and stretched, which resulted in a satisfying cracking of his joints. Then, he grabbed his messenger bag and headed out of his room, through the hall and down the stairs. He was currently permanently renting a room in a pub and even though this might not sound like a perfect living situation, he was quite happy with it. The room was nice, it was easily affordable for him, he knew the staff well, and he would spend a lot of his evenings there anyway. Sure, The Three-Legged Dog might not sound like a particularly nice pub, and it certainly wasn’t a fancy place, but it was rather quiet with friendly air to it. That was to say, he had barely seen any fights there since being a regular and that did mean something in the city of Yhord.
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Note by me: Hey, if anybody actually read this ... thanks, I appreciate it! So, I honestly have no idea why exactly I'm posting this here, probably because I'm hoping for some kind of feedback (I'd really fucking appreciate it if you could provide any). Please know that this is very much a first draft, have barely read it over, not really changed anything except for typos or some grammar mistakes that I found, so if it doesn't read that well this is probably why. This is a story I want to be working on, so depending on if there's any interested in it on here or not, and if I can be bothered to do so, I might keep updating this here. Updates will come whenever I feel like I kind of wrote enough for a post again, so yeah. Anyways, thanks for reading, even bigger thanks if y'all care to leave any feedback.
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