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Chapter 1 (The Butcher -scene 1)

He labored here for years, cutting the same chunks of meat, the same cuts, with the same angles. The grim look in his eyes has never swayed right or left, it was disengaged and unfocused at anything in particular. The lone butcher held the cleaver with finesse that resembled a refined chef’s touch, but it was much more than that. And like a symphony the blade encircled with grace around joints of the cattle’s carcass, it was as though he had done it for many years. Such finesse did not come from any butchery trade, this brutes’ skill was acquire many years ago as a mercenary for hire. He did biddings for anyone that paid coin, and the amount never mattered to him. Each job took him to a place to forget what haunted him, and each grim task was an attempt to wash those memories clean with fresh blood, but it did not help.  And after years of bloodshed, he finally had enough, but his broken thoughts would not allow him to be normal, he couldn’t be normal even if he tried. He was a brute with a short temper and he knew it, and the last person that tried to boss him around did not fare well. And that’s why the butcher’s job was perfect; he was alone in a room most days, left in a place to listen to the echoes that bounced off the chopping block with each thump.  It was a melody he played every day, a tune he never grew weary of, thump, thump, thump, it resonated his ear drums as the blades edge beat against the board. A blunt knock of a metal gauntlet pounded against wooden door, “kings guard” said the arrogant tone of Sir Duke, he was dressed in complete metal armor, and accompanied by a group of seven guards with erect spears.  The butcher glanced at the door, but did not engage his mind nor waste an ounce of breath; but what he did was continue to chop at the carcass. The pounding persisted against the door, the kings guard began to shout. The butcher was familiar with such shouts, and much like the cleaver against the block, it too was a tone that he adored, and he related to the most. The smirk on his face surfaced without question, he missed this, in fact he longer for it.  The silent taunt infuriated Sir Duke. “Bring forth the battering ram and break down this door.” The walls shook with each thud as the battering ram struck the door, and each time dust descent from above the butchers head.  The beams of light traced the fine dust fragments, and if not for the upset few outside, it was quite peaceful inside that butchering room.  

The door finally gave way and crumbled, each block that once composed the door fell at a place of its choosing. The butcher was surrounded by the kings’ guard, trapped in a room with very little room to maneuver, or was he? 

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