| Take A Bite; The Big Apple | |
|---|---|
| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 8 2013, 01:28 AM (106 Views) | |
| Wolfy | Aug 8 2013, 01:28 AM Post #1 |
|
The Dying Breed
|
It was like flying through a painter's canvas. Air rushing, whistling in his ear, colors of all sorts blurring by as he sped along without a care in the world. Huge forms raced by, but they paid him no mind and he remained vigilant of them. While not malicious, if one of the beasts moved suddenly in his path it would surely mean the end of his life. Echoes of high-pitched squeals sounded around him, whispers and hollers of people as he passed by astonished that someone could be so reckless. Red jumped out at him, commanding him to stop, but he knew that time was of the essence and halting now meant the end to his quest and surely his reward for fulfilling the missive. Not hesitating, not even thinking, just acting on pure instinct he moved through a stampede of metal and plastic, narrowly missing death by fractions of an inch. Screeching and numerous shouts followed after him, but non would be able to keep up. A grin on his face, he turned down the bright stretch of pavement known as 28th. Hopping off of his bike, almost too ecstatic from his rush, he put his kick-stand up and strolled over to the waiting women in the white apron. Pulling his shoulder-sling bag around, he retrieved the small parcel from within and handed it over. A quick signature and exchange and his job was done. "Have a good day, Ma'am!" Ever polite in the traditional 'I'm done dealing with you' New-Yorker fashion, the store owner retreated back to her establishment. Alan pulled out his phone to call back to his operator for more pick ups, but there was a text message awaiting him from a "Jiggles". A slight shift in his demeanor was evident as he opened the awaiting message and scanned its contents. Central Park... No problem for an expert bike messenger. In one smooth motion he put the kick-stand back up, swinging his leg over, he was already peddling down the rode at a rapid pace. Many people have trouble understanding why people become bicycle messengers. The pay isn't worth the risk of self-injury. Every trip is a gamble of the rider's life, but in New york, when someone needed to get something from point A to point B, and fast, courier was the only means available. The blond-haired man riding away was of a unique sort of breed. Fearless in that he could read traffic, and understand people, maneuver himself quickly enough to avoid danger, and at times seem like he was a ghost in traffic. One of the best at what he did. But it wasn't the only job he had. Riding up on the park, trees whirling by as he found the bike path inwards, he descended deeper into the designated area. No matter the time of day, there were always people in the park. Either families enjoying the sunshine during the day or the less savory types during the night, but little did either of them know what really could be lurking in the park. Locking up his bike at one of the racks, he moved into the nearby bushes, kneeling in the dirt and opening his bag. A normal bag by most people's standards, and just when it looked like his hand couldn't find any more room, he reached further in, and retrieved a golden object about the size of a 17" computer monitor. Next came a pair of jewel-encrusted gloves that he immediately slid on. After that was a long, curved knife which he strapped to his hip. Last but not least was a hooded leather vest. Clearly it had seen some wear and had been patched numerous times. Regardless of the heat, he put it on over his form, zipped it up and put the cowl over his head to hide his face. He whispered something barely audible, and the golden box he had retrieved morphed and unfolded into a glorious compound bow. Taking it up, he reached a hand under his hood and clicked the bluetooth headset attached to his ear. "So...what exactly am I dealing with? You were a bit vague." "Feral forst troll...big, hairy. Tink gordilla, but on steroids." "Great." Alan Mathas was more than a simple bike messenger who lived in a small apartment in New York City. Alandriel Maethas was a Neo-Warden, a protector of the waking world from everything fantastical. A great force rushed by him, knocking him onto his back. Quickly recovering, he turned just in time to see a big fur-coverd beast charge at a family playing frisbee. Most people seeing this would be screaming, shouting for them to run away as fast as they could, but it wouldn't make a difference. They couldn't see this monster threatening them. Monsters from the outer realm existed on a different plane than most human could see. Drawing his fingers back from the bow all the way back to his head, like he had an arrow in his hand, he let go, a sudden burst of white energy forming and striking the beast in the thigh, making it fall face-first into the dirt and grass. It turned to see the offender and Alan drew the string back once again, his gloves glowing, and another arrow being created. It howled at him and clamored to its feet, immediately picking up speed and ignoring the wound it had just suffered. "What's the containment protocol for these things?" He asked, not having encountered this animal before. "There isn't. Rabid beasts are put down." There was a moment of acknowledgement and he loosed the ethereal arrow. Since it wasn't of a physical form, it didn't make any noise as it impacted the berzerking creature square between its eyes. The momentum sent its head flying backwards and its feet into the air, rolling until it came to a complete stop. A jostle of his wrist and the mechanical bow folded back into the same form as when he retrieved it. Standing over the troll, he turned it over and examined it. A smoking hole in its head where his arrow had hit, but what got him was how much it looked like a normal troll. Actual trolls, normal trolls were just like anyone else in the waking world. Their physical features were different, and they were a good bit stronger than the average human, but they were civilized. Somewhere this troll had reverted back to the days before it had developed. It was scary to think that it was so simple, that it was just buried away in all of us, waiting to rear its head once again. Luckily for Alan, his bloodline had one of the longest histories in all of fantasy. The Elves were one of the longest living races and had been around for almost as long as the fae or dragons had been. Hand reaching up to pull down his hood, he looked at the happy family still blissfully unaware of how close they were to death. One of the children, a red-headed little boy looked over to Alan for a moment, staring right at him, but then turned away to continue laughing with his siblings. Humans in the waking world couldn't see beings from the outer realm. Even half-bloods like Alan were all but invisible when he so desired it, but there was the rare instance that children could see the things that crossed over, and were the reason for children seeing boogeymen and monsters hiding in their closets, but only children held that kind of belief in things thought to be fake. Only those with the imagination and the belief in the impossible could catch glimpses of what was really around them. It was better off them not knowing. Not knowing that when someone went missing that it wasn't another human responsible, but a spider queen that had liquified their loved one, or a warg shredding them into tiny, indistinguishable bits. Sometimes it was impossible to save them all, but Alan tried his best to keep families smiling and enjoying their lives. "I'll coollect the boday soon. Most guud work, Alan." One more day, another creature off the streets. New York was big, though, and Alan was just one half-elf. Things would slip through the cracks and people would die. The life he lived was not an easy one, the responsibility one he bore proudly in honor of his grandfather, but he knew there would be a time when things had to change. One couldn't protect the waking world. It would require many to swear the oath and take up the duty. Tomorrow was his day off. Perhaps he would pay a visit to the outer realm, away from the loud business of the bustling city. Sometimes it was better to get away from the noise every once in awhile. |
| Faded from the pages of History... | |
![]() |
|
| 1 user reading this topic (1 Guest and 0 Anonymous) | |
|
|
| « Previous Topic · The Waking World · Next Topic » |
| Track Topic · E-mail Topic |
2:19 PM Jul 11
|







2:19 PM Jul 11