The Calm Before the Storm

'..thump...thump...thump...'

The soft heartbeat of a man, his life soon to be cut short.

He was currently fiddling with some clay. Above his polished large bench, stuffed with various drawers and the like, you could see a long, chiseled shelf, a lot longer than his already great bench. This shelf hadn't a speck of dust on it, and was home to a vast collection of figurines, varying from people he found interesting, to creatures he'd encountered with his experience in the military. He lived off of his sculptures, taking orders from neighbors, people he had talked and told about his little hobby at the marketplace he seldom visited, and people who just heard about him.

He'd a stubble along his strong chin, accompanied by a few gray hairs, and his face was home to two bright silver eyes, the top of his head shiny, not to balding, but shaving. A strong nose, to blend with his protruding brow. His skin bronze from the brutal sun. Although not in tip-top shape, his chest bulged out of his shirt, with broad shoulders, and long, rippling arms to compliment his strongman physique. He sported a rough, white, cloth tunic, with a pair of cloth pants with similar features to match it. He was a mammoth of a man, the average height of a man in the country of Sundin being about 5'7".

This behemoth was 6'2"!

Inspecting the clay, he seemed to have been replicating various objects around his abode, such as the futon he slept on, or the chamber pot he did his business in. After successfully copying the object, he'd mush the clay back into it's original, flattened, gray form. The speed of which he would do this was extraordinary, and the detail of these sculptures was even more so.

A master of his craft indeed.

Surveying his home, he didn't have much to his name. As mentioned previous, he owned a large, basic beige chamber pot, a shoddily made futon. He had a wooden table at which he consumed his meals, with a sturdy wooden chair to add to it. He settled a couple of wax candles all over his house, because who doesn't like a romantic atmosphere?

...

While recreating a short, waxy candle that was placed near him for the umpteenth time, he heard a knock on the wooden door to his home. He got up from his bench, stretched his body, and walked towards the door.

He cracked the door open, and saw a tall, about 5'11", lean man sitting against a wall parallel to his door. Long, yellow nails, big ears, an overbite. He was in tatters, with clothes similar to the Clay-man. He looked to be about in his 20's. Not a hair on his face, this man was just a giant, hairless rat!

Rat-boy looked up towards the Clay-man, got up, and approached him. He walked with his back hunched, making him seem a lot smaller.

"You got my sculptcha'?" asked Rat-boy, in his high pitched voice.

Clay-man signaled to the rat to give him a second. He shut the door, and walked towards his work bench, and opened one of the many drawers inside the bench. Inside the drawer was a gray cloth, and this cloth covered a figurine that was about the size of a forearm. He gently picked up the figurine wrapped in the cloth, and strode back towards the door.

He unbolted the door, flung it open, and noticed Rat-boy getting a little anxious. He was tapping his foot rapidly, and was lightly tapping his fingers on a nearby short, dirty slum wall, decorated with various graffiti. Rat-boy heard Clay-man's door unbolt, and jogged over to the doorstep.

"Where is it, where is it?" questioned Ratty.

"Let me see the silver first, Johnny," rung the Clay-man's deep voice. Johnny, with annoyance, brought out a small pouch, about the size of a palm. "It's right hyere," answered Johnny, "100 silvers." He tossed it to Clay-man, and Clay-man caught the small, hard pouch with his available, left hand. He stuffed it in the pocket of his cloth pants, and slowly brought out Johnny's figurine. Clay-man presented the cloth, and Ratty hastily snatched it out of his hands. He took off the cloth with great care, inspecting the figure. A smile appeared on his face, exposing his yellow teeth, all crooked.

"Hyey, what was ya' name again-"

SLAM!

The Clay-man had already slammed the door in Johnny's face. Johnny sighed, while stroking the figure, careful not to re-mold it. He turned away from the slum house, and walked back down the alley-way.

"Fyucking Asshyole," muttered Johnny in the distance.

...

A troop of guards, of about 10, were running tirelessly down the sandy alleyways of Venmorth, knocking on the doors of the people inhabiting these streets. They had looks of panic on their faces, and had to warn the nobles of Venmorth of an incoming siege on the town, by the enemy nation of Silarnis.

"Wait, shouldn't we be warning everyone? Why are we only warning the nobles," asked a long-faced guard, breathless.

"There isn't enough time or manpower to warn everyone, and it isn't like the slum-heads inhabiting that crap hole are of any use to anyone," responded their stocky leader, "we should only evacuate the people who are useful to the people as a whole for the time being."

This made sense to the long-faced guard. Being a town guard guaranteed you a nice, stable, lower-middle class living, with a good retirement and benefits. Why evacuate the people living in the poverty and crime ridden slums, when there are useful and important people everywhere else?

The group stumbled on the area of Venmorth where the high-class nobles lived, with large, brick mansions. The desert life of the Venmorth citizens rarely allowed grassy plant life to grow in their gardens, and the average person had a few small cacti. However, nobles and people similar to their spending range had the money and water necessary to handle the upkeep of a nice garden. You could see the bright, vibrant colors of a noble garden, with a large variety of different flowers and plants. Some even had fruit trees, enabling them to grow their own juicy, fruit. This was a symbol of wealth in Venmorth, how many fruit trees you had.

They split up in groups of two, going to all the different noble houses, pounding on doors, and hopefully getting a reply. The reactions of all the nobles were about the same, all offering different prices for a personal escort out of the town.

"...10,000 silvers!"

"...15,000 silvers for an escort out of town, how about that..."

"...I'll add another 7,500 silvers, just get us out of here..."

All the prices so tempting. On the other hand, their orders from the Mayor of Venmorth were to warn all the nobles of the attack. Going against the personal order from a mayor left the person at the mayor's mercy, anything under the sun could be done to that person. It's understandable why there was hesitation to being a personal escort when hearing these offers.

However, these nobles were getting escorted anyways. Not personally of course, but once all of the nobles were rounded up, they'd be escorted as a group away from the town, to the closest city/town to Venmorth. This was the plan, at least.

After warning all the nobles in the neighborhood, the guards were to meet up, bring the nobles to the exit of the city that was parallel to the nearest river, they'd then meet up with another, larger group of guards protecting that exit of the city, travel by ships, that were docked in case of this situation, across the river, and hopefully they'd be free from attacks.

Now, for the first meet-up.

The guards had returned together, and now had this large group of nobles with them. The nobles had taken a lot of luggage, practically everything from A to Z.

"Let's get moving!" shouted the stocky guard leader.

They were beginning the escort, when a few figures moving at incredible speeds ran across the shingles of nearby rooftops. These figures hadn't been noticed yet, and it was too late when the 10 measly guards noticed a few of the nobles had already had their heads removed. Blood staining the street, men, children, women alike. The remaining children screaming for their parents, the remaining parents screaming for the guards.

"Sh*t! Assassins!" screamed the stocky guard leader. "Men! Defend the nobles!" he roared.

The guards were no stranger to violence, but never needing to face opponents on the level of these assassins. They dealt with petty criminals, and the occasional gang, as Venmorth as whole was a relatively safe town, excluding the slums of course. Never less, they charged into battle.

Daggers stabbing men/Women sobbing quietly/A crimson mist formed.