Loss of Perfection

[Darkwolf]

"Aye, they must"

Dragoth stood just outside the large building, just on the other side of a magificently decorated stained-glass window. The wind blew as the night sky was lit by a HALF moon. He calmly drew both of his blades, pitch black with the red markings of evil written upon them.

He took one and struck the window, leaving the shards to shatter forth as he jumped from the upward part of the buiding clear to the floor. The carpeting was again, excellently decorated. Candles flickered vigorously as the windy night air whipped them around. Dragoth sheathed both his blades and bowed to his opponent. This man was what he was waiting for, an excellent opponent indeed. He whipped his black hair back and locked eyes with the man.

For a moment, all was silent. The room's calmness itself led Dragoth to feel bad, such a calm and quiet place. Too bad it had to be the site for such an amazing fight. He sighed and said "Do we need to further tear apart such a magnificent building, or shall we go into the night?" For once, Dragoth seemed to respect one of his opponents. He would not attack the man, he wanted a good fight for once. All seemed still. He waited for his honored opponent's reply.