The Black Hound

Writing Sample

⬥⬥⬥Forward thrust, back-slash, riposte. Both men were evenly matched in the art of swordplay. The assailant- their stalker from The Forgotten Knight Corlat came to recognize- was perhaps more veteran of the two. The broad Ala Mhigan, festooned in heavy steels, was no stranger to this sort of argument, this flavor of martial combat. For all of his mass, all of his broadness, the swordsman was as quick as a viper, countering each of Rithrin’s blows with his longsword. But there was a ferocity in the man Corlat shuddered at: the desperation in him that Rithrin spoke of was palpable now, writ plain in every growl, every sword-stroke, every cursed move that guided his movements.
More animal than man. He reeks of desperation and fear. Aether dragged through a mire of misery.
⬥⬥⬥

• by Danpur

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• Behind the Alias

• Voice Claim

Black was always his color whether it was stained in glinting onyx on ornate steel, or the pitch in his heart. The swordsman carried himself like the vestige of professional violence with the scars, and the steels, and the cold to match. Whether it be contending against his sharpened greatsteel and the brutal manner in which he swung it, or the thunderous roar of heavy plated steels as he entered the fray, any sane individual would make way for his coming, lest they feel the cold kiss of his iron, and the hot burning of his rage.
For he had winter in his eyes, and they brought icy contempt for those unfortunate enough to draw his ire, and it always seemed little effort to summon it.

But there had been a fire behind those eyes once, a fire that rivaled the burning hearts of young aspirants, eager squires and impressionable recruits. But where was that fire now? Surely it had been swept up by the icy cold leer and the blackness in his heart. Where was the life? The hope? The summer? Had it all been ripped away through years of war, sorrow, and woe? Or was it ever there to begin with? Was the dog just playing at being man? A cruel mummer's farce at domestication? And, importantly: did the Black Hound care enough to find that long lost flame? Intransigence is like poison to a man, and Ryker had drank deep of that foul toxin.