Die Writing

Lord Kuerich

Posted in Ezra Haley by erdaron on July 26, 2011

Aside

Man, what if I actually put one of these categories into a full story. That’d be something.

Enter

The heavy door creaked and swung open before Lord Kuerich. His tall, gaunt stature and movements, so precise they seemed mechanical, gave him a marionette-like appearance. His manner was exact and deliberate. Commanded, the guards left and closed the door behind them.

Ezra could just barely see him in his side vision. He tried to turn his head, but the restraints and the searing pain in his neck stopped him.

Slowly, gracefully Kuerich walked into Ezra’s view. He set down his doctor’s satchel. Something sharp and metal clanked inside. Then he carefully sat down and directed his gaze at Ezra. Kuerich was stretching, savoring every moment of the long pause.

Panic was rising in Ezra. He could feel it come up from his stomach. A churning, suffocating ball of fear was filling his chest.

“My name is Kuerich. What’s yours?” He sounded polite and gentle. He gathered his hands, leaned back in the chair, and smiled.

“Ezra… Ezra Haley…” Words came with a struggle.

“Right. Pleasure to meet you, Ezra.” Kuerich continued to smile and leaned forward, studying Ezra’s eyes. His expression was focused, as if he meticulously studied an artifact rather than a living person. His long fingers vaguely traced over Ezra’s facial features in midair.

“Are you frightened by me, Ezra?” The boy said nothing, and Kuerich smiled even wider. “You are rather frightened. That fear… this panic.” He pointed at Ezra’s chest. “It is quite alright, though. You have every right to feel this way. I am a frightening creature.”

Kuerich sat on the edge of his chair, leaning even further forward, just inches from Ezra, his long fingers almost touching the boy’s face. Ezra shut his eyes, tried to sink himself into the hard back of his chair.

“My my my…” Kuerich mumbled to himself and stood up. He closed his eyes for a second, and began to slowly gesture, speaking quietly in an ancient tongue. His fingers left traces on the air, lines of thin black smoke. In a few stroke, he wove a symbol. Its lines solidified for a moment, and then the symbol dispersed.

Smoke began to pour out of the sleeves of Kuerich’s robe, pooling around Ezra’s legs, climbing up his body. The boy struggled helplessly in his binds.

“Time to rest, young Haley,” Kuerich uttered. Ezra began to lose consciousness.

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