The Death of Nobels

The Deaths of The Nobles

Thirst is far more painful than hunger . Thirst will keep you in constant agony and will kill you much faster. Sarah realized this as she wavered in and out of consciousness. She had not know true pain until she had run out off water, however hard she had tried to ration it. Sarah crawled forward on her bloody, cut palms, hoping that she was nearing a stream. She thought that she had lost consciousness because she did not remember stopping, nor did she remember seeing the ground this close to her face. She thought to herself that she had to keep moving, but she lacked the energy. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she fainted once more.

Thomas Morton the Third was riding through the woods on his usual mid-day ride. His tunic fell perfectly over his broad chest as he bounced gracefully on his steed. However, in contrast to his beautiful horse and perfect clothes, his face radiated hatred. His small eyes narrowed at any passing bird, and his plump lips curled into a snarl at any skittish squirrel. As angry thoughts continued to pass through his mind, his horse stumbled. A loud crunch, followed by a squelching sound, was heard soon after.

Thomas forced the horse to stand still after it had recovered, and moved the horse to the left. Thomas jumped gracefully off of the horse, on the opposite side of the noise. His face was contorted into a mask of annoyance. Thomas looked at the body that was once occupied by Sarah Morton Hingus. He felt little remorse for murdering her. She was, in his perfect opinion, too happy and too kind to deserve to live. Also, he reasoned, she was clearly dying of dehydration. Her once clear, smooth skin was dry and wrinkled, and her nails appeared to be beyond brittle. Therefore, Thomas Morton the Third easily mounted his mare and rode home to his palace.

Meanwhile, a bold knight anxiously paced in his quarters. He had not seen his wife in four months, and yet his stress and concern for her had not dwindled.

Thomas barged into the room, " I could not find Sarah, Alexander." Thomas's face was deceivingly arranged into an expression of grief. Alexander could not control his tears. His wife was still gone, and he had given up all hope. He ran past his brother in law and found his way into the stable. Thomas's ugly eyes followed him as he left the room.

Alexander entered the stable breathlessly. Oh why had he let his wife go on a long walk in the woods alone? It was the fourteenth century! Anything could happen to a lovely young woman in the forest. Alexander was in such distress that he did not notice the bloody hoof print leading to Thomas's horse. He did not notice, at first. Alexander was an intelligent man, even when he was almost blind with sorrow. He also wanted to find something to redirect his mind, and he understood that the source of the blood could not have been far.

So Alexander Hingus the Seventh traced the blood into the woods to the source. When he found it, he cried. His wife was dead, and she had been within less than a league of the castle. Alexander wept and wept and sobbed. He held his wife's wrinkled, bloodied body to his chest, when he realized who had killed her. He gently lifted up her body and brought her to her chambers in the castle. He carried her under a league to the castle and up countless flights of stairs. While he ignored the ache in his arms, he could not ignore the ache in his heart as he sought revenge.

Thomas was waiting for Alexander when he entered his room. Alexander drew his rapier and demanded Thomas fight him like a gentleman. Thomas agreed. The two men faced each other, but disregarded a salute as Alexander waved his sword wildly. Thomas defended himself, and the knights both fought viciously.

Sometime later, a servant entered the room and was shocked at what she saw.  The knights were both dead on the floor. Both were killed by the other's sword.