The black sky smelt of burning wood, and campfires. The aging mans hair was damp. He had not hurt anyone in so long but the pressure in him was building. He loved doing it. The way it made him feel. Then again in 1581 you could kill much easier without being caught. He walked to the edge of the forest. His head pulsed, he dropped to the forest floor and began to hyperventilate. He was sweating from his forehead and his neck. He dropped his travel bag, and his remaining water spilled into the dirt as he collapsed.
When he awoke His eyes were weary, and very cold. His pupils grew tiny. He stood from the ground and picked up nothing, he walked to the closest house. A small cottage. Inside he found a small sword. And a man sleeping. A farmer most likely. He looked at him strangely and tilted his head. He cocked his head to the side and drove the sword in. He watched the blood seep out of the straw bed and onto the stone floor and over to the fireplace. He began to grin as the blood started smoking at the embers edge of the fire. The scent awakened the horrors inside him. He began to laugh. He picked up the Man, and threw his corpse into the fire and watched the clothes burn. The scent displeased him. He left out the front door and breathed in the crisp night air. "Ah what a beautiful night." he said. "It is wonderful isn't it?" a woman asked, a few feet away. "Oh yes." He answered. A perfect night to kill every man woman and child I see." Before the woman's face could go completely shocked, the blade thrust-ed into her liver and out her back. Her awe struck face and wide open mouth secreted blood onto the mans expensive leather shoes. "Elizabeth?!?!" A man shrieked, and darted down the cobble street. The killers blade was swift, it swung forward, severing the mans leg before plunging into his skull. He twirled the sword effortlessly in his pale hand, and swung it down sending the blood off the metal.
He took the mans oil lamp and shattered it in the house next to him. The house set ablaze with screams following shortly after. He put hammer between the door handles, stopping anyone from leaving the house and listened until the screaming within the burning house stopped.
Black hands slung from the windows. The Town was in uproar right now. About the fires. "Who is that man?!" "I've never seen him before!" The panicked villagers approached to ask him. Before he gave them a chance he swung his sword and rung 3 heads and listened to them thump onto the cobblestone street. The 3 dead men's wives ran up to him with pitchforks and torches, He swung down casually and severed the pitchforks along with the woman's hands. The all dropped to there knees to him crying. He walked away from them. They pawed at his coattails with their stumps begging him for help. He left them in the burning street and turned the corner.
This side of the village was ablaze far more than he had predicted it would be. Men and women, Farmers, Land owners, Merchants. All were trying to flee. They ran down the hill and into the woods, some saddled on horses. Some by foot. A shot of adrenaline went down the mans spine. He let out a shrill war cry and arched his back and breathed heavily, laughing simultaneously. He gave them a chance to run and scream for there lives. A moment later he clenched the blade and took the longest strides he had ever taken in his life. He ran after the remaining citizens, hunting them and slaughtering every last one he could find.