Archive-name: Fantasy/tojade.txt
Archive-author: The Reaver
Archive-title: To Jade Eyes
The winged, obsidian giant kneeled outside the house, gazing
in through the uncovered window. His long, flowing hair, white
as new fallen snow, caught the soft light of the moon. The enor-
mous wings, the color of his hair veined with streaks of silver,
were folded close along his well-muscled back. His hands were
guantleted in leather, fingerless gloves. The light coming
through the window from inside the house glinted off of the sharp
metal spikes that lined the knuckles. His feet were shod in much
the same way with soft leather boots, spiked with the same
strange gleaming black metal. Other than these, his only attire
was a simple loincloth held around his waist by a wide, thick
leather belt. From this belt hung a large black sword,
sheathed in a scabbard of gleaming, emerald, green scaled hide
adorned with a row of five unknown gemstones. His eyes were the
eyes of a creature of darkness. The dark red irises were wide,
allowing none of the white surrounding them to be seen. The
pupils were oblong, almost cat-like.
He stared intently through the window, content that the
smaller creatures within could not see him. He was careful that
none of the light from within fell directly upon him. He
remained motionless, drawing no attention. His breath was steady
and controlled. He made no sound as he watched. His large
pointed ears were turned slightly toward the glass and he
listened carefully as he studied the creatures playing games
inside the room.
He wondered at the music that fell upon his ears. It was
slightly odd, like nothing he had heard before. It was a mixture
of sounds. He could make out the twangs of plucked strings, of
different thicknesses and tensions. He heard the fingertips of
the instrumentalist clamp and slide across them. He heard the
steady pounding of sticks on stretched skins. He could make out
the subtle click as a stick once contacted the edge of the in-
strument. Along with these obsolete, almost primal, sounds came
the steady influence of frequency controlled, perfectly pitched
notes. The music didn't make sense to him, yet it was not
against his liking, merely different from that to which he was
once used to listening.
As the music flowed through his body, his eyes took in the
scene unraveling before him. `Mating ritual?' he questioned
himself. Within the room, he could make out two males and three
females. `Humans,' his mind recalled. `Men and women....woe
men...the woe of men,' he laughed within himself. Some things
were the same in all the dimensions. `The females run the show
and let the males think they do...' Actually, each of the sexes
appeared to be taking an equal part in the display. They
appeared to be taking turns feeding themselves with various
fruits and other foods placed between each other's legs. They
went slowly, spending more time licking each other's bodies than
gorging themselves. Much of the repast seemed to be going to
waste. Whatever it was they were doing, it interested the giant
greatly. He suddenly became excited at the prospect of joining
them.
`Wonder how upset they'd be if I just walked in on them?' he
thought to himself, jokingly. He knew that this planet was not
yet aware of the dimensions that surrounded it. He thought back
quickly to the books they had given him to study before his
exile. After a few moments, he suddenly smiled as he remembered
one of his favorite characters from the literature of this
planet. He moved slowly into the yard, careful not to disturb
anything. When he was satisfied that his movement had not been
noticed, he bowed his head in concentration. A thick fog slowly
condensed upon his body, conforming itself to his vast form. The
fog slowly changed, reshaping itself, becoming smaller, churning
heavily. Within minutes it abated.
"Shit!" one of the men exclaimed as he stood and ducked into
the hallway, followed closely by the others. "Who in hell is
that?"
One of the women quickly throws a thin robe around her body
and steps over to the door. Opening it carefully, she looks at
the stranger standing before her. She never speaks a word. She
lets her eyes frame the question that the stranger knows she
wishes to ask. She looks at the man expectantly, studying his
features, his body.
He is tall, well over six feet, and somewhat thin. He is
handsome, yet in a rugged sort of way. His face is the face of
one who enjoys the outdoors. His skin is the ruddy color of one
who has spent his life mostly outside. He wears a short-sleeved
cotton shirt. His muscled arms sprout from wide, solid
shoulders. His pants are made of faded blue denim. The knees of
which are worn through in spots. On his feet are a pair of old
leather hiking boots. The boots appeared to be well worn, the
seams at the soles split at a few places. They were stained by
the dust of many a road. In his hands he held a six-pack of beer
and a bottle of wine. Her eyes once more directed themselves to
the stranger's pants. `Yes,' she thought to herself, `They are
well-filled.' She once more looked into the man's eyes, asking
the unspoken question.
"I'm new around here and I was pretty bored. I heard your
party and decided to see if you could stand to be a little
hospitable to a man that's trying to fight his way out of the
depths of depression." He smiled as he said the words,
indicating that he was in no way serious, about anything. He
smiled and looked at the woman, waiting for her reply.
He looked at her intently, letting his gaze travel from her
feet upward. Her legs were firm and sexy, exposed by the
briefness of her robe. She seemed to be well curved, adding to
his excitement. He looked into her face. His eyes suddenly
locked with hers.
Her eyes, beautiful, intelligent eyes, bore into his own.
He could lose himself in those eyes. Indeed, he had already felt
the danger of falling into them. The mirrors of her soul, he
liked what he saw. Calculating eyes, eyes that knew what they
wanted and had the will to take it. Intelligent eyes, eyes that
looked beyond the surface, to strip away illusions, to see
reality. Fearless eyes, eyes that quickly determined what could
or could not threaten. Warm eyes, eyes full of life and the
desire to live it to its fullest. Beautiful eyes, eyes of jade.
"What's your name?" she asked, becoming interested in the
strange man at her doorstep.
The man thought quickly. `The dark man...the clown...the
walking dude...no wait, that's it.' "Randall," he replied,
"Randall Flagg. But my friends call me The Reaver."
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