Lyla
It was a dark night, and like any dark night, something was bound to happen. It just so happened that this happening was planned. Twas the night of the the planet's new protector to be revealed, as it happens every 1000 years or so. The stars shone brightly as several cloaked figures convened at a small hidden building in the woods. These are our prophesiers, they are the ones tasked with finding the child and training it to completion. However tonight, as the wind blew the cloaks around in the wind, the main prophet, Lyla, was not in the most positive of moods. She was tasked with revealing the main part of the prophecy, what the new protector would be like.
The meeting had begun, and silence had fallen over the woods as though in anticipation of the prophecy. Lyla spoke up first. "Tonight is a very important night, we have all been trained to see the past present and future as passed down by our parents." She nodded towards the others. "But if any of you have been able to sense it, few of us will survive this night, as evil has leaked into our planet Dryme, and another will wish to take our destiny child's power for themselves." Murmuring broke throughout the group as they confirmed with each other the suspicions they had felt before hand. "Please remain calm, we must not hesitate to discuss what will be happening, as it is our sworn duty to do so." She sighed seemingly tired, and continued on with her part of the prophecy. "As we all know this prophecy of this child, is not the best, but it is my burden and pleasure to share it with you all." She breathed in deeply and began. "Inspired by hell and inspired by heaven, she will create a haven, for the planet and the galaxy, however she stands without morality." She looked around at the expressions of her fellow prophets, who are now shuffling through their notebooks filled with various bits and pieces of prophecy, all knowing their end was near.
Medon
They were not alone however, as a man, about in his twenties, was lurking outside the building. He had used all his resources to find where they had hidden themselves in the woods and was not about to mess his mission up. He was garbed in metal armor, consisting of a spiked shoulder plates, spiked shin and arm guards, with a metal chest guard to protect his rib cage. His chain mail undershirt helped things stay protected as well. His black full face mask hid his identity, and his blue cybernetic eye kept him keen, he was a formidable enemy. While this all seemed like much, (considering the psychic prophets were not all that powerful) Medon was a "leave nothing to chance" kind of guy, and such extremes seemed rather normal to him. He looked into the red tinted window designed to keep outsiders from seeing in and grunted indistinguishably, and loaded his .45 Magnum and prepared to enter the building. He decided a dramatic entrance would be the best way to go about things.
Lyla
The meeting was going as planned, each sharing their own part of the prophecy. Some specialized in what she would look like, others in how her personality would develop, still some prophesied more mundane things, like how she would walk. It was nearing the end of their meeting when a sudden crash resounded around the room. The man, whom Lyla had sensed before hand, was now standing in the back corner of the room .45 magnum at the ready, he had heard all that had needed to be said, but he had been there long enough to be known, and nobody needed to know his plan. Lyla braced herself and prepared for the worst.
Medon
Medon grinned grimly behind his mask, the 3 gas-filtering slits in the metal lower part of his mask revealing straight teeth. "So this is the proclaimed club for seers is it?" He said his smirk not fading. "I've heard about you guys, all words and no warriors." He chuckled to himself, spinning one of his magnums and catching it mid-air. He looked around expectantly, their seemed to be someone missing, but that was no object of matter to him, as he felt he had all the information he needed. "Now I know what you are all thinking," He said pacing the floor, grinning to himself. "Why kill you? I already have all the information I need just by listening in...but alas! You knew I was here the entire time!." He clucked his tongue shamingly. "I can't have that now can I? Nobody must know I was here, nobody must know who I am." He chuckled again. "That is, until I am ready...but enough talk...any volunteers for death row?" He said looking in false expectation at the quivering psychics, the leader however seemed calm, almost too calm. "Well come on now, don't be-" He was cut off suddenly as a piercing rent his mind and almost, almost, caused him to double over. Of course, Medon had not come unprepared for such, in his words, childish attack, he knew who had done it, and promptly shot the leader in the head. It was a clean shot, and only a dribble of blood trickled down her forehead, before she slumped in death's slumber.
Timothy
Late. If there was one word describe the man who was hurrying towards the building in the woods, it was late. Meet Timothy Brynatch, the latest man you would ever know. Of course, he had sensed that he might die this night if he was to attend the meeting and his trepidation only made him more late. He was also a coward. Even he admitted it himself, he was timid and afraid of much, be it spiders, snakes, and especially death. As a kid he hated riding in hover-cars because he thought them scary, that was the extent of his fear of, well, basically anything remotely threatening. Now he was late, a coward, and the moment he heard the gunshot ran in the opposite direction tripping over his required cloak. One final trip, and he fell into a crevice, which was probably for the best, as several more gunshots rang out into the night, and Medon walked out of the quaint building, just as Timothy was hidden in the crevice behind the brush.
Medon
It was done, finished, nobody knew of Medon's accomplishment or crime. All the deaths had been clean, and no fingerprints or other incriminating evidence was left. He sighed taking one of his black gloves off to look at a cut he had gotten from one of the prophesiers. Damn! He hadn't expected any of them to be carrying a knife! He sighed and healed the minor laceration with the healing magic called starsk, and walked out of building, into the starlight night. He suddenly whirled around, he thought he had heard something, he went to go check, his cybernetic eye searching the brush, but strangely enough, found nothing. He then cursed himself remembering that even if it was something, he probably could not see it, as was the magic of the forest that this building was located in. Higher technologies did not work so well here, which was the primary reason he did not bring his higher power laser gun, as it would be ineffective in the dark forest. He grunted and walked off back to the edge of the forest, where he could leave for what he called home.
Timothy
For once Timothy Brynatch was grateful for their group to have chosen the dark forest to convene on their meetings. As dangerous as these woods were, instead of scaring the living daylights out of Timothy, instead he felt almost comforted by them. Which, he noted to himself, was rather unusual for him, as he hated going in these woods. He looked up over the ledge after checking himself for any injuries of which he found none, and after waiting for an eternity, decided it was safe to come on out. He peered over ledge he had fallen over, and seeing no one, got out of crevice he was in. He decided it was best to not go into the now eerily quite house, as seeing dead bodies, he was certain, would make him puke. (After all the sight of just blood itself made him feel queasy.) He could head home anytime he wanted now that he was certain Medon, (At he thought that was something like his name.) was gone. He could just portal home and pretend none of this had never happened. That simple. But it really wasn't, as he was the only one of the prophets who was aware of exactly where the new protector would be born. There were others who were aware of her location during her older life, say around age ten, but if he could not get to her first, he would. It would be years before the new protector would be born, but now it was his obligation to find her, train her, and make certain she stayed the path. Typically it was the duty of all of the prophets, but now it was just his. Timothy sighed, rubbing the back of his dark curly haired head where he had bumped it. He had to train her before he did, or else no one else would.
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