" As wild as the Rangers of the North, as brutal as the Orcs, and as beautiful as the Elves."
Evelyn is known as many things: a warrior, a bad attitude, destruction embodied, and a person with a record of vaporizing anyone that she didn't...
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Unknown P.O.V.
A dry wind rustled through the abandoned courtyard of stone-- dead leaves billowing in a circular dance. Suddenly, a blur of darkness appeared; a figure materializing behind a pillar. It was as if it had magically been brought hither, but something hinted at the mortality of the unknown shape. Turning its hooded head, the figure glanced furtively around the scene, as if trying to detect any suspicious motion, but it seemed as though it was satisfied, as it continued to tread forwards. In the distance, the howl of Wargs was heard; the sound like ominous chanting through the dull, weak light of the dawn.
But the figure continued onwards, its cape flying behind like a sparrow spreading its wings. When it had arrived at the destination, the figure fell to one knee; its head bowed in utmost respect; as it kneeled before the white marble tomb-- like a sheath of ice. "Has the task been done?" an eerie voice sounded; like a trailing whisper from the wind.
The figure averted its eyes, so drawn into its trance, like a puppet being pulled by its strings. "Yes," it answered, the voice so cold and sharp like folded steel, "they suspect nothing."
"Good--" the disembodied voice murmured in something that sounded almost like praise, "very good. You have done well."
The figure bowed its head one more, almost overcome with emotion. "I simply do what is expected from my Master," it said softly.
The voice hummed slightly, though there was a slight iciness in the tone, "And any progress with the Stone?"
It was then that the figure looked up; its eyes not visible behind the hood. "Yes," it whispered with something like insanity in its voice, "yes, Master, the final piece has been played, and not even the foolish Alchemist can stop us now." For a moment, something gleamed red behind the darkness, but dissipated as the figure continued, with malice edged in its voice, "It is their move now."
The voice chuckled darkly, raising the hair on end of the figure, but it did not flinch. "Good, and I expect you to know your part?" The last word was curled at the ends, signifying not at a question, but an order.
The figure raised the hood of its cloak slightly; the rims of its eyes now visible-- a fiery red with narrowed irises like the pupils of inferno. "Yes," it rasped, the voice low and as dark as the veiled moon, "I will kill her."
