The Book of Living Myths

(Right, as I've said before, I would start write a book... this is what I managed on some hours. I'm going to try get more time with it whenever it's possible. I hope you'll enjoy it - feel free to mention if you find some things rather silly via the MP system (no posting here). Oh, and... ™!)


"...As for your punishment? Not even death will be kind to you..." Blood shook his head, his hands up on his head with the fingers almost clawing into his skull. The one single memory to never forget and to live with, yet the one thing he wishes he could forget and not think about. But each time something happens to him, something bad, it shows up. The sound of a steam was heard, as the train he was kneeled down on began to move. It was dark, but too crowded just yet. It was either to choose on doing it in the dark or doing it without the crowd. Wasn’t it for all the lights on the walls it wouldn’t be anything to choose between. The train began to move up to its high speed, leaving the metro station far behind, giving the opportunity for Blood to make his move. With a deep breath, gave out the mutters as he made his way to slip down and jump through the window to be able to enter the train: "Let’s dance…"

The window broke, with only few people in it but still too many to see him as he landed on feet at the floor, kneeled down. Slowly, to rise up, he looked around in the train section. Five… four witnesses that won’t stay for much longer. One who the target is. All of them looked shocked at Blood, while he turned around on his heel, watching a man with a suitcase. Slowly, he began to walk towards him, his hand reaching for the blade on his back. The man suddenly rose up; throwing the suitcase at him as he quickly attempted to make his way towards the door to reach to the next train section, Blood ducking under the suitcase and reaches one of the “witnesses” while grabbing his shirt. "Hope you’re not afraid of flying…?" He threw him across the train with an incredible strength, the man beginning to shout as he flied towards the escaping man to make him fall downwards with the other one on top of him. Blood quickly stepped towards them, without hesitation, drawing his blade to make it face downwards while letting both his hands hold it – everything became black - as both a shout and a shriek was heard. The light came back, the other three looked with widen, frightened eyes at the bodies that just been impaled by the sword. Blood looked over his shoulder, his eyes staring coldly while everything became dark again…

The next day arrived. News has been told that the police had found yet ‘another’ crime scene, with four people dead inside a train section. They forgot to mention the amount of ashes, typically… The sun had just come up now that its morning, as Blood still lied in his bed, refusing to get up despite all the steaming sounds outside. It all ended as the shouting began: "Hurry up, laddie! You can’ be sleepin’ in such a wonderful day like this!" Blood gave out a heavy sigh, having the feeling to almost kill himself because of how tired it was. The shouting continued, before he finally managed to get up, unlike his long ears that were bending down. The shouting finally stopped, with a frown on Blood’s face. "Tch… dwarves… all too loud." He began to do his normal “good-morning” activities with the start of his breakfast, not containing much more than a bottle of cheap whiskey and bread. But, it was clearly enough for him. Blood is apparently one of the extremely few elves who are ever capable of drinking something alcoholic, some people even calls him out of the amusement an elven dwarf because of all the drinking he has done.

The breakfast itself was followed up by a very short shower, basically just to jump in, count to thirty and then jump out of it, making him shake his body before even touching his towel to start dry his body, spending some “extra time” to adjust his short black hair. Only darn reason to get that shower was to get rid of each night’s work, just to let it get cleaned off his body and down into the sewers. It’s only bothersome enough that his memory won’t be ridding of it. What’s worse is that the clothing is something he just doesn’t wash each day, leading to him spending more of his time inside until it’s near midnight when work is about to be done. It’s doubtful that he would want anyone’s attention to ask what’s up with all the blood stains, unless it would be ‘fun’ for him. Problem is that the word didn’t exist in his world. Never did, never will. But at least he couldn’t stay bored, even his home had things for him to do. His own little world, that home… what he did was pretty basic, painting. His way to earn any kind of money. He wasn’t known for one of the best, simply because of that he spends too short time with such things before work starts, as for the materials he has are rather limited. Still, it was something he could relax with. Each painting he made was the things of his wishes he had he could have lived with instead... It could be a man on his farm taking care of his hard yet peaceful work, it could be about a zeppelin exploring the world, and it could be a man together with a woman. Anything. Anything but what ‘he’ was doing. But then again, he should know by now to stop being selfish despite that he remains that way. There are more than just him who have it like this… so many others, but no one had it like him. They don’t know what’s so… special with him. And they can be happy they do not have this ‘specialty’ like him, since if they would, they would be just like him. The sudden sigh he made broke the moment instantly to continue with his work, his eyes looking over to a book. The Book. Shaking his head, he threw several papers he would have used over it to not be able to see it, forcing himself to go back to his painting. It was a special book to him which he always wanted to rid of but never could as it was too important to him, far too important. It contained everything about what he and the ‘others’ was. It was a torture to live like that, but it had to be done. None had a choice from the day they was born up to now, because if they would, they wouldn’t exist. The hours went, hour after hour, Blood’s mind almost more focused on the book he wanted rid of rather than the painting. The sun has reached the top it would for the day, shining through Blood’s window to cover his back, making it look like it was withered, coated in ashes.

Knockings was heard at the door, as Blood stood up and quickly pulled over the curtains to not let any light in, soon enough staring at the door while it opened. A short, yet muscular, long beard man peeked inside, looking at Blood. "Seriously, start buy some clothin’, I won’t make it a habit to see you like that, laddie!" Yet hearing that almost every day still wouldn’t be able to convince Blood to bother it as he stays inside either way. "Ye’ better eat somethin’, or does “Your highness” wish it up here as always?" Blood only stared at him with his cold, dead looking eyes. Dead looking, yes, as he was counted as ‘partly’ dead. The dwarf laughed to himself, before stepping inside with a tray in his hands, holding a bottle of wine together with simple meat. "Well prepared, no?" The dwarf placed the tray on a table next to Blood’s painting, looking at it with a smile, giving a nod before heading to the door again. "Ye’ should try get more inspiration so you can sell them paintings for more." The door closed, as Blood stared at the food, shaking his head as he sat down, reaching for the tray and begin to eat what he got. "Inspiration, hmph… nothing to get inspired here in this forsaken city…" As the daily routine continued, the voices of the women outside his window were heard, ‘sadly’ because of his better hearing. Most of it was always one thing they seemed to never get tired of, his look. He frowned, nothing special for him to bother. He was at the size of any other ‘ordinary’ elven male, perhaps somewhat more muscular. Unlike other elven males though, he still looked somewhat rather more a ‘tough looking guy’. His eyes were jade green, his skin was smooth, yet his chest showing scars and stitches of like a man who would have seen battlefields over and over and made it back home. A necklace was hanging around his neck, a silver chain which has an elven female head on it, with opened mouth, with fangs. One thing they would never know, thankfully, is if the sun would reach him. He would look like a man who’ve been burnt and ashes is what is left to cover his body, his eyes that would be blood red. Pointless was his thought. He kept thinking that anyone could look like him, apart from the sun part, if everyone became ‘useful’. Something he was tired of to be. And when it came to women there wasn’t much of a surprise – uninterested. They were all in the way of a man’s work and would only cause trouble. Yet that is what Blood always wished for. Something else than ‘this’… Three more days before next delivery. Blood muttered, looking over to the painting he was working on. If only he had more time to work with it before the work he would need to get ready for yet again. Daily routines. The hours passed as his clothing up time was ready. Apart from the bloodstains, it contained by a simple black t-shirt, a black long leather coat that reached down to his feet with the red mark on its back and sleeves of the Are'sain, blue jeans, boots and black leather gloves, together with shades that was ‘attached’ at the coat’s upper pocket. Last of all; His sword that was placed on the back until it would get into use. His only ‘friend’. It was made out of silver, far from being shiny because of the age. The blade has a text that goes along it, but is far from readable, again because of the age. Stepping towards the door, slowly, Blood took a deep breath before muttering out the words: "Let’s get the show on the road…"