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Library :: The Death of Strad

By Blake


Every bit of comprehension I ever had was eliminated as soon as I sheathed my weapon into the back of his neck. At first it interested me, how his body convulsed and shook. As soon as his blood began spilling out and the erratic shaking came to a stop, I realized that he was dead and that my dirk was placed in his throat. My heart stopped for what seemed to be an eternity, and I stared into his awfully pale face; for what seemed to be an eternity. And when this eternity ended I, with out touching my weapon ever again, got up and ran.

Everything was such a blur during my marathon, and nothing seemed present. I didn't even notice where I was headed, I just ran away from him, or I should say his now lifeless corpse. Slowing up I began to recognize the alley, which I had presumed was a street, but was actually an alley, which in point presided not too far from my flats. I felt a sudden security wash over me that enabled me to consider what just happened. The first conclusion I drew was that it was a mistake, and that I should forget about it. Besides, what's done is done and the dirty bastard deserved it. Which brought me to my second conclusion; it was his fault not mine. His arrogance is what did him in, not my long knife. And with that I spat on his memory. You see in my town and with our society there can not be a time when you allow one to shove you around, which is exactly what he tried on me. I'm a human who is very tired of elder-races thinking they are much more important than my humanish history.

I was sitting in the tavern drinking my ale, and sipping my soup, when a dwarf, who I believe had the name of Strad, entered the place of business. I didn't really take much note of him, only that he was broad shouldered and quite plain in features. A certain mood curdled the gaiety of the room as he paced the panel floor to the counter, and with an angry tune he barked out his order to the bartender, "Give me an Ale keep." And with curious intentions I spied upon him. It wasn't until I noticed his loathsome glare that I finalized my stare. Focusing my attention back on to my soup, I began to stir it lazily with a piece of barley bread. After a bit I noticed him standing before my table. He was, of course, closer to me and I could see an evil tone sparkle in his coarse eyes and sneering lips, which were accented by his high-cheek bones. The sneer in his lips increased as he cursed out, "What's your problem?" I wasn't exactly sure what to say, I didn't know what he exactly meant, so I replied to him with a simple, "Nothing." Which he smirked at and said, "Your one of those idiot humans?" He moved his face four inches closer to mine, and four inches away from mine and continued, "Aren't you?" It was as if he was declaring it and not questioning it, his rhetoric didn't offend me, it was when he poured his drink into my soup that I was truly angry.

I stood up quickly, the blood rushing to my head affecting my aggression. I swung my right fist into his gut. It was stiff and I didn't seem to do any damage, my then quick witted move and second impression was to try again. And it wasn't until after he swatted twice, a good one-two, that I realized I should fall down. So I did and he began laughing and went to drinking my ale. A group of men in the tavern helped me out the door, and it was once I was away from the glow of the door that I said, "I can go it alone from here." Limping from the pain in my rib cage, I sat my self down in the shadows. I spit out a small amount of blood from my swollen and stinging lips. His first hit caught my right rib cage, and his second busted up my lip and nose.

After a bit my eyes caught sight of the bastard dwarf leaving. It was then that I noticed my dirk, then that I swore him dead, and then that there seemed to be no turning back. So you see this is how Strad's death became my first murder. Believe me, there were were plenty more to follow it.

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