The Last Of Our Gods

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Summary

Everyone has a story, but Arthemissia's story was never supposed to take such a turn. War didn't use to be an option, but they have wronged a child of no name and no mercy.

Genre:
Fantasy / Action
Author:
C. C. Kat
Status:
Ongoing
Chapters:
2
Rating:
n/a
Age Rating:
16+

Prologue

It's common knowledge that angels are short. Everyone knows it, similar to how everyone knows that we breathe air and that an angry lady with a frying pan is not someone to cross. Of course, it would be terribly rude and beyond foolish to make a comment on such a kin's height, most of them taking deep offence in such an insulting act. Though it would be rare for them to react violently even in the face of such things, somehow, the mistake is never repeated. No one knows how, given those who have lived through mocking an angel's height refuse vehemently to speak of the experience and no angel would ever admit to anything of the sort most dodging the subject upon it's very appearance.
Arthemissia thought of this observing silently from a corner of the counter as some drunk fool mocked an angel on the other side of the pub. She didn't bother attempting to break up the two, enjoying the show and knowing it was none of her buisness. Until either of them would do something to disturb the place or the workers, she would just watch silently from the sidelines, partially beacuse she was too tired to care, and partially because she was sitting much too comfortably in her tall wooden seat, with one hand drapped over the counter holding her head upright and the other clasping gently the cold surface of her glass. Every now and then she would lazly take a sip, eyes glancing around the establishment silently analizing and judging customers and workers alike.
To oval room was lit dimly by a few green lamps placed all over the plank walls and smelled of alcohool and furs. From time to time, a new scent would breeze past her and whether it was the scent of sweat, plants, blood or spices, somehow nothing ever seemed out of place and she rejoiced in it. Dark wooden boards creaked below her chair softly as she shifted, motioning the brewmaster for another drink, knowing that if she tried to yell for him her voice wouldn't have been heard over the constant buzzing of chatting and loud adventure songs that were shouted by merry drunks.
Her gaze returned to the spot the angel had been previously sat only to discover it was now empty. In his place stood the man who had mocked him before , silently meddling with his mug of beer, and taking large gulps. A low chuckle reverberated in her chest, noticing how he shook like a leaf and was doing his best to melt into the chiar. He had learnt his lesson, she concloded with a stange sense of satisfaction.
Themis silently praised the god Althar for such a peaceful night, ready to soon finish her shift and return to her, oh so dear, bed. The bright green coat draped over her shoulders made her stick out like a sore thumb, but she could not do anything about it, the coat was part of her guard uniform. Though she could not say she enjoyed the attention it was a good thing her presence made people be a little more tamed tonight. Less drama, less work, she smirked.
Her mind slipped once again into memory lane bringing her to the first time she had arrived in this wretched town seven years ago. As the woman stared on with galssy eyes at her drink, thoughts ran wild within the walls of her mind, filling her with sorrow and shame for the sheer stupidity she had acted upon in her younger years. Kamaris had recieved, at the time, a frightened teenage girl, with broken dreams and a broken mind, who still knew nothing of the world.
A shout snapped her out of her thoughts and she turned her head with a 'why-now-god' expression. One of the girls that worked at the pub - Kate was her name, if Themis remembered correctly - visibly flinched away from a large man, before her hand connected with his face audibly.
- Don't you dare touch me!
Her words had no effect on the intoxicated man as he grabbed her wrist forcefully, making the empty tray she was carrying drop onto the floor with a thud. His face turned and ugly shade of red and he started spewing uninteligible words at her face, while gesturing around wildly.
Themis took this as her que, using the fact his back was facing her and strode to him, kicking him in the back of the knee hard. He toppled down like a brick, letting the girl go in the process and she quickly scurried away. She gave him a sharp look, hand resting on the hoister of her rapier and teeth clenched in an annoyed scowl.
- Get up! she sneered coldly. Keep your hands to yourself before I remove your tater-shaped head from your shoulders.
The man shuffled back to his seat grumbling and muttering under his breath, shooting the woman dirty angry glances as she returned to her spot at the counter. No one even batted an eye at the interaction, knowing fully this was withing her right as a guard. Besides, as the unspoken law of Kamaris told, no one wants a hero and you should mind your own buisness. Those who stayed quiet and kept their heads down lived relativley peacefully, so heroes in sarch of trouble didn't thrive in this city. The place for heroes was the Capital and those of their kind who came to the city either learnt to live a quiet life, or went away (one way or another) .
Her left eye began burning up just as she was about to take her seat and she took a large step to the side, narrowly dodging an empty flying mug. The object broke upon contact with the wall and Themis cursed under her breath. Withouth even hesitating she turned around and marched down to the man, pulling out her blade. The man took a step back, his eyes widening comically as the cold metal grazed his neck, making him flinch ever so slightly.
- Get out, scum! But before that-
She picked a small pouch full of coins from his belt with her blade throwing it on the counter before the brewmaster with small smug snicker. A few seconds later her fist connected with his face and sent him stumbling down. Themis didn't care anymore afterwards, placing her weapon in it's hoister and going back to her drink with and exasperated groan.
Just as she downed the final few sips of wiskey someone sat down next to her, trying, and failing, not to seem interested in engaging with her in a conversation. Her irritation grew.

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Eureka: Awesome story you got here! I like how the plot is going. If you have some great stories like this one, you can publish it on NóvëlStår, just submit your story to [email protected]óvëlstar.top or [email protected]ōvëlstar.top

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