Ragged breaths filled the pitch black air, for Tygus stood in the front room of his brothers home, in which no light was lit. Small puffs of smoke emitted from his mouth with each exhale, and the wooden floor boards creaked with each slow and cautious step he took. A doorway loomed into view in his near blindness, and he pressed his back to it's edge. He stooped right, and both eyes scoured the room in search of his two targets. Redain, and Thayalengir. He gulped, sword clutched in a white knuckled, trembling hand, and he stepped into their place of slumber. The bed lay far to the left side of the room, seemingly of which was occupied by the large lumps of the quilt.
Suddenly, a burning sensation took him around the throat, and soon after he was gasping for air as he was dragged away from his victims, and denied his near promised victory. A trap? I should have guessed as such. Fool Tygus, revealing your intentions to your enemies. His eyes clenched down tight in anguish, as the steel wire around his throat bit harder with a promise of death. Soon his ankles were bashing down steps, then whirling through the night air and plummeting to a muddy garden path with a grunt and wheeze. Tygus' now vein prominent, sweaty, reddened face turned slowly to face his attacker, and surprise never took him. Thayalengir stood before him, anger flashing across his face as he threw his wirey weapon aside, in exchange for the point of a sword.
'This must be my fall!' said Tygus with mocking, arms outstretched in his kneeling posture, his breaths heavy and far in between. 'Stand aside boy, let me put an end to this!'
As Tygus expected, Thayalengir stood firm. Tygus growled, brandished his steel, and began the dance of death with his brother, tired of quips and word play. Their steel clanged and clashed, the misses of contact occasionally cutting through the air with the sound of a sharp doom. They ducked, they lunged, they gasped, they cursed, but still no blood was drawn. Eventually, they ceased to bash their blades, both too afraid to end the other. One handed, they both lowered their swords to the ground with one hand, panting with anger and exhaustion. Tygus looked up, his hazel eyes narrowing to the door of his brothers home.
'We have not yet woken your wench?' he questioned with spite, his heart heavy with the punch of betrayal.
'Turn back brother. You have not ever seen the worst of my deeds!' spat Thayalengir in menacing retort.
'The whispers of Bree name you murderer Thayalengir, that you prey on others in the streets and wilderness. How could you possibly think such words would escape the attention of Father?' he sniggered a boy's snide grin.
Thayalengir did not smile. Instead he lowered his voice and his expression darkened further. He pointed out his sword as he growled, his black hair billowing in an aggressive wind under the dark knight sky. 'Do not speak to me of Father! Only ill words should follow his very name!'
'Yet often they are ill deeds'. Tygus shot back, and with that he dove back toward the traitor, his blade knocking Thayalengir's pointed weapon aside, and thus re-engaging their physical altercation.
His heart leapt in victory. As their blades clashed to his left side, he bent low, bringing his blade about before him as he pivoted to the right, slashing at his brothers leg. He saw the flash of leather parting so that the blood could run free, and then spun around to rectify the brief moment his back was turned, to face his loved enemy. Thayalengir crumpled to the floor, his finger curled over the large gash, yet never touching. Tygus brought the bloodied blade to his face, a nasty smirk upon his face. No. I shall not slay him, for how will he know of his loss and thus discipline if he is buried beneath soil?
'You will wait here whilst I finish this'. Tygus growled with malice. He strode long strides away from Thayalengir, tucking his boot beneath the hilt of his brothers blade, and flicking it up so it would fall down the bank of the front garden. He placed his hand on the doorknob, and turned such, as Thayalengir staggered to rise behind him in the chilly night air.
Tygus re-entered the darkened home with a quickened pace, and approached the bedroom, and then the bed. Out came his blade, which he immediately plunged with force into the lumpy duvet. He felt the blade cut through thickness of furs and quilts, and also felt the cavity it caused in the wooden beams that supported the worn mattress. No screams? He stared down, panting at the person shaped covers. It was only when he tugged the blade out from the lumpy mass, and through back the covers, that an uncontrollable rage took him. The bastard replaced the wench with pillows. A cravens trickery.
He turned with vengeance set firmly in his heart, but too late, for their the shadowy figure of a man wounded stood. Their was a slash through the air, the brief glimmer of steel, and then endless cries and endless blood, dripping loosely from Tygus' eye socket. He doubled over, the wooden floor rushing up to meet him hard. He crashed to the floor, and wept and wailed as if a small child, his hands trembling over where a now sliced eyeball resided, the cut running down over and causing an orange jelly to combine with his blood. His cries were eventually muffled to grunts, as the boot Thayalengir continuously met his head. The darkened room grew darker, and seemed to swallow him whole.
Tygus awoke with a soft gasp, remembering himself as he returned to Middle Earth from his nightmare. More so a recollection. Candlelight flickered dimly upon the bedside table, and Tygus raised himself wearily, wounded from another day. Brother is dead. Brother is dead and he will trouble you no further. A fire cackled peacefully, birthing warmth to the room as his false master Aedia conversed with a friend in the chandelier lit hall. His attention was caught by his two prisoners. There they sat against the wall in chains, in their rightful place. The surgeon, by name of Favarth, who dared operate on Tygus, crying quietly at the revealed loss of his mentor, the fresh tears trickling down his cheeks. The look of someone who suffers from vengeance. Beside him, the second, and most important. The one who caused it all, the one to blame, and the one to despise. Their she sat, sobbing, shivering in defeat and despair, as Tygus had once done. He raised a hand to touch his eyepatch, and smirked slyly toward Redain.
