Respite

 Rene's:

 http://www.bzpower.com/board/index.php?app=blog&module=display&section=blog&blogid=398&showentry=115078

Lloyd's:

 Katar groaned, placing his head in both hands. He was screwed, and he knew it. This was merely the calm before the storm. According to the survivors of the battle, the Chantry forces (as per their reputation) had obliterated the host sent against them. They would be out for blood now, Katar knew, and their eyes would be squarely set of Akkad itself—and with the King dead, he was now responsible for its defense. He looked down at the reports from the armory and laid his head down on his desk. The vast majority of the weapons that had been in the city armory had been taken to equip the King’s army, and those were now scattered across the carrion-birds’ feast. His manpower was hardly better, only a hundred men. Maybe enough to hold off a besieging army until the King returned, but neither the King nor any of his men would be returning now. He really only had one option to avoid the utter destruction of the city, and that was to surrender. Politically, that would have unpleasant consequences, but alive and out of a job was better than employed and dead.

He stood up, looking out at the starry sky above. Meteors flashed across the sky, and Katar could not help but imagine some Chantry Adept calling down such fire from the skies to burn Katar’s home to ashes. He grimaced and decided it’d become far too late for him to do any reasonable work. He pinched the wick of the candle, killing the flame which danced there, and departed.

He arrived at his personal quarters shortly thereafter. For a Captain of the Akkadian Guard, his room was noticeably sparse, with the exception of a tapestry hung next to the door. The figures of a man and his wife, as well as three children, were embroidered there. The man carried the youngest boy on one arm, and on the whole it was clear that the family was content and happy. The tapestry itself was clearly old, with small signs of home-done repair around the edges. The colors had begun to fade, preserved only by the eternal shade of the indoors. Katar allowed his mind to go back to more pleasant days.




Just think…Once I’m dead no one will even remember their names. The grim thought came unbidden to his mind, reminding him of the looming fate which awaited him. He tried to banish it from his mind, but it would not leave. I wonder who will do the deed? The Chantry, for being a retainer of the King? Or the court, for surrendering to the Chantry?

He shifted to lay facedown on the straw mattress, the sheet doing little to ease his discomfort. There was no respite here, not for him.

Evan's:

http://ashardofdream.wordpress.com/2012/05/04/respite-from-pain/

Grant's:

 Too Many Steps

Having been on the chase for so long, the small feline patters his footsteps into the nearest pipeline. His fur is wet and soggy, and he’s been running for too long without food. Very hungry, the small cat cautiously sticks its head out from the hole. The rain is pouring down on his head, but he checks and sees the tall scaffolding around him, the fence that encloses the construction site … and the stray dog that’s taking steps though the mud.

The dog’s eyes look evil, and narrow. It’s just as hungry, the cat knows.

Breathing in and out, he retreats back into the small steel pipe and curls up into a ball right near the center of its length.

Slowly shutting its eyes, and tightly, it listens for more than the constant downpour of rain, drumming a repeated echo and rhythm as it hits the metal.

Slosh…

The cat reopens its eyes, hearing something unnatural in the rain, beyond his small sanctuary.

Slosh…

And right outside, he sees the feet of the Dog as it walks by, one leg soaking wet with muddy fur, the other bare with bite marks. For a moment the cat doesn’t breathe, just watches with its yellow eyes, still as stone.

The canine moves on.

And when all the cat can hear is the rain pattering, it slowly recloses its eyes and begins to breathe again. He thinks about how dry it is here, and safe. There aren’t too many places like that. So for the moment, he decides to rest. Maybe he’ll even sleep, for as long as he can.

Velox's:

The campanile struck midnight. Six hours left. Six hours until I would be killed, executed. Executed because I had done what only others dreamed of doing; killing all those annoying politicians who thought that they were always right, that they were above everyone else.

I showed them they weren't. I struck out against them, laying a powerful blow to the political system of California before I was caught by that lowlife detective.

Just thinking of his name, the friend caused a burning rage to fuel inside my being. One mistake. That was it, just one ###### mistake. I allowed myself to enjoy my work a little too much. Decided to go further than just simply killing them.

And it had cost me. Cost me my life, my work. I knew it was my obligation to rid the world of those corrupt beings, but he stopped me. I hated him for that. He was just too stupid to understand the importance in what I did. The necessity of my actions.

Of course it didn't change that much. I had followers, many, and they excitedly took up what I had left behind. Riots were started, more people killed, and most importantly: the world understood that something could be done against the politicians.

But I needed more time. More time to work with my successor: a young man who had visited me several weeks before. After only five minutes I knew he was the one. The one to continue my legacy.

So I bashed my head against the wall of my cell repeatedly. Those morons, needing their prisoners to be in perfect health before they were able to be killed. So I continued until there was a large gash in my skull, the wound bleeding profusely. Now I had a little more time before my execution. To prepare my disciple for his future work.

55555's:

Phil walked up to the bed and closed his small suitcase, clicking both the locks into place. He left out his Glock, he didn't plan on needing it.

He was going on a holiday. He needed a break after all he'd been through, some time to relax and recover from the toils and worries of his work.

"We haven't had a vacation in a long time, eh Rocky?" he said aloud, speaking to his Great Bernard. He didn't have any family anymore, and no one in his line for work could think of stating one, his dog had to fill that gap.

He smiled as he recalled the conversation he;'d had with his secretary. 

"What are you going to do on your vacation, Lieutenant?"

"Nothing Marcie, absolutely nothing."

Phil was just going to relax, get some sun, and read some books he hadn't had time for. If that.

An hour later he was at the airport, boarding a plane for Elsewhere, Preferably-With-A-Beach, England.

The flight was smooth, smoother than many he'd been on, though those were for other reasons.

Phil stepped off the bottom step, silently happy at arriving on these foreign shores. This was out of his jurisdiction, he'd have no choice but to get some rest. He wondered where he could go to retrieve Rock. The wind swept the runway, the clouds were breaking up, and the sun was beginning to shine through.

And suddenly, he realized something was wrong.

He had been looking past the stewardess at the entrance to the terminal, and she had suddenly stiffened. He watched her face closely, slowly realizing what was behind him.

A voice spoke. A hammer cocked.

"You won't leave this country alive, Lieutenant White."