Simon
Posted: Sun Jul 02, 2006 12:21 am
Simon was not what one could call a handsome man. Some might go so far as to say he was quite ugly...Simon didn't much care. He was a tall man, wide as well, with a bald head and piercing blue eyes. No one really noticed the beauty of his eyes, since his round face was nearly bisected by a horrible scar; the result of an accident in his childhood involving his father, a scythe and too many cups of rye. The wide white mark crossed from his left temple to just the right side of the deep natural cleft in his chin.
He had begun visiting the Broken Dagger some three weeks earlier, sitting alone, drinking naught but water, and saying nothing...to anyone. He would have seemed disinterested to most who saw him, to those who even noticed his arrival. You see, dispite his horrible features, Simon had a way of just not being noticed. Children and animals seemed to be the exception to the rule, though neither seemed to bother looking at him for long.
Water and bread with cheese. The same thing every evening for Simon. He sat, drank, ate, watched. Nothing more. Often times he would remain, even as the last of the patrons would stumble home, or slump over in their chairs near the hearth. Remaining until the last crumb was nibbled, and the last drop of water drained from his cup. Come morning, he would be gone, though, if asked, no one would really remember when he left, or if they even saw him.
Last evening, Simon had brought with him a large duffel. Perhaps it was a bag he always carried, who could know? After all the patrons had finished their evening routines, and the Dagger was as empty as it was likely to be, the silent man rose, bringing with him the large bag, as he moved up the stairs.
He paused briefly, before the door that he had watched the Wolf enter on many nights. From within the bag Simon withdrew his prize, attaching it firmly, and somehow quietly, to the door of One Ariane Carnath-Emory, with a dagger she would recognize as the twin to the one Fawn had wounded her with some weeks before.
For the first time since he had come to the Dagger, an expression that could have been a smile twisted on the ruined features of Simon Griswald as he walked away.
When she awoke, or returned, depending on her activities the night before, Ariane would be greeted by the present left hanging on her door.
A swan, it's graceful neck broken, it's eyes removed. Wired into it's slack beak was a twisted ruin of another bird. If one looked close enough they would note it was a Nightengale, also missing the eyes. Tucked beneath the wing of the swan was a sheet of parchment, four words scrawled across the surface in what could only have been blood.
"He is Mine now."
He had begun visiting the Broken Dagger some three weeks earlier, sitting alone, drinking naught but water, and saying nothing...to anyone. He would have seemed disinterested to most who saw him, to those who even noticed his arrival. You see, dispite his horrible features, Simon had a way of just not being noticed. Children and animals seemed to be the exception to the rule, though neither seemed to bother looking at him for long.
Water and bread with cheese. The same thing every evening for Simon. He sat, drank, ate, watched. Nothing more. Often times he would remain, even as the last of the patrons would stumble home, or slump over in their chairs near the hearth. Remaining until the last crumb was nibbled, and the last drop of water drained from his cup. Come morning, he would be gone, though, if asked, no one would really remember when he left, or if they even saw him.
Last evening, Simon had brought with him a large duffel. Perhaps it was a bag he always carried, who could know? After all the patrons had finished their evening routines, and the Dagger was as empty as it was likely to be, the silent man rose, bringing with him the large bag, as he moved up the stairs.
He paused briefly, before the door that he had watched the Wolf enter on many nights. From within the bag Simon withdrew his prize, attaching it firmly, and somehow quietly, to the door of One Ariane Carnath-Emory, with a dagger she would recognize as the twin to the one Fawn had wounded her with some weeks before.
For the first time since he had come to the Dagger, an expression that could have been a smile twisted on the ruined features of Simon Griswald as he walked away.
When she awoke, or returned, depending on her activities the night before, Ariane would be greeted by the present left hanging on her door.
A swan, it's graceful neck broken, it's eyes removed. Wired into it's slack beak was a twisted ruin of another bird. If one looked close enough they would note it was a Nightengale, also missing the eyes. Tucked beneath the wing of the swan was a sheet of parchment, four words scrawled across the surface in what could only have been blood.
"He is Mine now."