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Rated: E · Short Story · Fantasy · #1702585
There is one who watches the village at night.
The Human Watcher


The night was dark and the forest loomed over the sleeping town in a forbidding gesture. The night's air was warm; a contrast to the eerie silence that hung in the mountains that the forest covered.
It was an old forest; full of mystic magic and sorcery. You couldn't walk down the paths without passing something out of the ordinary and yet people lived there. Granted, those who resided inside the forest were of magical persuasion themselves, but even then they would be surprised when something seemingly ordinary would turn out to be dangerous or wondrous. It all depended on the day, as some of the inhabitants would say.
The village that resided in the forest that night was one of the few that harbored humans. It had been years since the forests had abounded with the human race; a population that became the minority after the Reformed Church of the Creator had led their campaign against all things that pertained to the White Rider. Back in that time, the beings with magic flowing in their veins had been persecuted by the human race and many of them lead hunts to destroy. To protect themselves, the creatures of magic went into hiding and made an effort to avoid all human contact. Years later, when the few humans who had willingly gone searching for them and in so doing inquired after the truth of all things, the human population had increased until finally they reached a certain minority. Many of the older families that had strong ties to the magical beings of the forests went to live in the forest villages and cities so as to better mingle with what had once been five hundred years ago before the Reformed Church had any influence on the governments of the five lands.
This village was in the mountains of Harlborghue, which was in the forests of Faervyr, which was in the land of Gilthinal. At the entrance of this village sat a lone woman of a slim figure, but lethally built. Her hair was as red as the flames of the fire at which she sat near and her eyes glimmered with a green hue in the light of the flame. Her name was Samarai.
Samarai was a human and one of the best weapons masters in the village. She protected the village during the nights when the elf-hunters exhausted themselves to the point of death and needed to rest for an indefinite amount of time. She made sure that the village stayed safe and she held that position with pride.

Author’s note:
This is a sort of small thing that I put up just to kind of get my writing out. It’s more of a drabble about one of my characters in the book that I’m writing to kind of capture her character.

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