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Post by James on Jun 26, 2010 3:11:07 GMT -5
Entry One [/center] Crouching beneath the window’s sill, he looked to the blades in his hands, and then upward to the night’s sky. A brilliant full moon overhead lit most everything, from rooftop to tree branch to each blade of grass, with a silver luminescence. And with not so much as a wisp of a cloud cover to hide his movements, he knew to his soul this night was not auspicious for such bloody work.
As if there was a choice. As if this one perfect moment in time would ever come again.
Mikael had been shadowing his target for the last few weeks, trying to discern a pattern to exploit for the kill required of him. Underneath the pale radiance that sought to reveal that which fought so hard to hide, Mikael sneered with faint disgust. Patterns, as was drilled into him through years of rigorous training, were traps – slender ruts in the well traveled road that filled people with a false sense of safety.
Eventually his vigil had paid off – the man always relaxed near dusk in his modest home, thinking himself secure under the protection of the local crime syndicate. However, not even that threat was enough to deter Mikael from his bounty. He had worked hard to prove his worth to the guild and this last job was all that separated him from the end of his apprenticeship.
He inched closer to the window sill, able to hear the corpulent man’s breath as he wheezed and ate like a starving wolf, smacking and chewing loud enough to fill Mikael with disgust. A slight feeling of nausea overcame him as the horrific smell of the man’s unwashed body combined with the food to leave a film of what felt like grease lining the back of his throat. He would be glad when the deed was done and far away from this stench.
Before he could heave himself through the window and complete the mission, a loud thud sounded out in the silent night, freezing Mikael in place. A surprised gasp came from his target as the sound of boots clicked on the wooden floor, quickly followed by a soul chilling voice.
“Salvren,” the ice cold voice said, cutting into the tense atmosphere like an icicle, “you’ve made an enemy of someone very, very powerful. You’re being targeted.”
“What?” the fat man replied incredulously; Mikael could almost imagine the man’s eyes bulging in their sockets. “Bu-but I’ve been careful! I- I did everything you told me to do!”
“Regardless,” the other man said, sounding almost amused at the blubbering coming from a grown man, “we need to move you. Out of the city.”
“Out of the city? But I just bought this house!” the man paused then and even Mikael could feel the atmosphere grow colder as the silence grew longer. “V-very well. Do I have time to pack?”
“No, we leave, now.”
Boots clicked again, coming closer to Mikael’s position. He tensed and then quickly stepped away from the window, gracefully sheathing his weapons as he all but glided out of the alley, turning the corner to avoid being spotted. No cry of alarm rang out as he strode into the street, to his relief – only the sound of the window he had been under shutting broke the night’s quiet. Torches flickered intermittently along the street as if competing with the moon’s radiance.
Underneath the warm glow, two armed men stood guard at the door to the target’s house. That would be a problem. He quickly scanned the surrounding houses, picking out a wooden sign gently swaying in the wind on the opposite side of the house from where he stood.
Dark, supple gloves reached down to pluck a small, loose stone from the ground. Grinning, Mikael pulled his arm back, aimed as best he could, and threw the rock as hard as he could at the hanging sign. A sharp, cracking retort and the slight squeal of metal rubbing against metal broke the silence of the night. Both guards turned to the sound, their hands reaching for the swords sheathed at their belts.
Mikael pulled his cream colored hood over to hide his features, the cloth gently rippling in the night wind as he passed the distracted guards. His soft leather boots hardly made a sound as he swiftly made his way across the broad avenue, seeking the dark alleyway on the opposite side of the cobblestone street. It offered some protection from the wan glow that shone down on the city, granting everything an ethereal quality. As soon as his form was enveloped by the darkness, he reached to the wall nearest him and climbed. The building’s construction offered ample hand and foot holds, enabling Mikael to launch his body up the wall like an ant.
His breath came hard as he reached the top, leaping from the last hand hold to grab onto the slightly staggered roof. The gloves on his hands caught the lip with ease born from years of repeating the action again and again. He pulled himself up, his muscles more than willing to comply, until his head poked above the rooftop to look at his surroundings. Seeing nothing of interest, he threw an arm onto the slate and heaved his body up the rest of the way, crouching as he peered down into the street.
The two guards moved as the door opened to reveal a man in a dark cloak who looked around quickly before motioning to someone behind him. Mikael’s target, the fat merchant, nervously exited his abode, his piggy eyes moving back and forth in their sockets, starting at every shadow. The slender man in the dark cloak turned to the guards and whispered something. Mikael stared intently as the man’s lips moved, picking out the words ‘archers’ and ‘rooftops’.
At those words, Mikael flicked his eyes from his target to his surroundings, roving across the roofs of the surrounding houses. Directly across the street from him, a shadow moved across the moonlit clouds; one of the archers. Noting in his mind the general area the man was in; he continued his surveillance, picking out four more men interspersed across the rooftops, two on each side of the broad promenade. The closest to him was laying down, his crossbow and attention pointed toward the street.
Whisper quiet, Mikael moved in a crouch across the top of the house he was on, flinging himself across the small gap of an alley and landing with a slight crunch of slate. The archer didn’t even hear Mikael as he lightly stepped toward the man’s position. Mikael shook his head as he pulled his daggers from their cloth-padded sheaths, disgusted with the inattention the crime syndicates’ men seemed cursed with.
Adrenaline ripped through his body like fiery ice as he kneeled and stabbed both his daggers into the man’s neck in a smooth motion. The man’s arms instantly reached up to his neck, as if he could stop what was occurring, dropping the crossbow. Acting quickly, Mikael gritted his teeth and pulled his weapons in opposite directions, decapitating the archer and silencing any chance of a betraying yell. The deed had only taken a few seconds, though it had seemed longer to the assassin, his mind recovering from the time distortion of adrenaline. He watched for a few moments as the archer’s hands and fingers twitched in their death throes, muttering a prayer under his breath.
Mikael, still on his knees, sheathed his daggers swiftly and reached for the crossbow, which had fallen slightly to the side from the dead archer’s movements. He looked over the side of the roof and noticed his target moving away from his position at a brisk pace. The overweight man waddled as if the action of moving were foreign to him, reaching every few seconds to dab a cloth to his sweating scalp. Mikael had only a few more seconds before the man was out of range of the crossbow – he’d have to hit the target the first time to have any chance at completing his task.
Noting that the bolt was already fitted into the crossbow’s firing mechanism; he aimed it carefully just a few yards above and ahead of his target to adjust for the distance. A cold, dispassionate feeling engulfed him in the few seconds before he pulled the trigger, his eyes wide and unblinking – the exact opposite of adrenaline’s spiky presence, yet achieving the same effect. Time slowed to a crawl. He stared down at his target, watching as the man reached up with excruciatingly sluggishness to dab at his sweat-stained skin.
His finger tightened on the trigger - the world fell silent, as if watching in quiet awe. Mikael breathed in and pulled his finger back on the firing mechanism. He could almost see the air being sliced in twain as the bolt rocketed through it toward the man. He let his breath tumble out, feeling his heartbeat in his neck.
And then time sped up.
The man in the dark cloak yelled, his eyes locked on Mikael’s position as he pointed and gestured, not even watching as one of the guards crumpled in a heap, the bolt having ripped through his neck and continue on to hit the fat man in the side. Mikael knew the wound was not mortal - a bitter taste rose in his throat at the thought of failure as he cursed his bad luck.
“Assassin! Bring me his head!”
Mikael threw down his crossbow and jumped up to his feet, watching as the remaining three archers twisted around and took aim at him. He leaped forward into a roll as the bolts whipped past him, ricocheting off the slate around him, coming up in a run. He didn’t even think as he sprinted over the rooftops, leaping across small alleys and wider streets without failure. To think would bring second-guessing decisions into his thoughts, which would end up with his body splattered on the sidewalk. More and more crossbow bolts filled the air about him, accompanied by arrows as shadows disengaged themselves from the rooftops all around.
He leaped onto a chimney, using it as a platform to launch himself on top of a higher roof, skidding a few feet and almost falling as he came down on the diagonal surface. Ahead of him, a shadow leaped to its feet and nocked an arrow in the blink of an eye. With a fluid movement even quicker than that of his foe, Mikael reached onto the bandolier of throwing knives that ran across his chest, drew one, and threw it, all the while still running at full speed.
The dagger embedded itself in the man’s chest, skewing the arrow’s course as it leapt from the bow and into the air. Mikael whispered a prayer in between breaths as he ran past the man, paying the proper respect to the dead even as he ran for his life. Something moved to his left in his peripheral vision, transforming his expressionless face into a frown. Involuntarily, he shifted his eyes to get a better view before instantly reverting to their previous position. However, the moment of inattention cost him, his right foot encountering only empty air as another small alley impeded his way.
His eyes widened as he fell, reaching out his arms to catch something, anything that could stop him from ending up with a broken bone - or worse. He grunted in pain as his hand seized onto a window ledge and almost ripped his arm off; yet gravity had not finished its work. Mikael’s hand slipped from window and he once more fell to the earth, though slower, allowing him to position his feet to impact a large, wooden post sticking out perpendicularly from the side of a house. He came down hard on it, his legs folding under him and then extending to bounce off of the wooden post, his hands reaching into the air above him to catch hold of a thin, metal rod.
His supple, leather gloves caught hold of the rod, making it easy to swing his body forward onto a stack of boxes. He lithely ran down them, using the boxes as a makeshift staircase to bring him down to street level. Once his boots hit the cobblestone, he dropped his hands to his knees and breathed hard, the fear and adrenaline from the fall still coursing through his system. Mikael recovered quickly, standing up again a few moments later, looking up to the rooftops around him.
Yells and the sound of feet slapping against the slate roofs reported into the night, enough noise to wake the dead. Ahead and above him, he watched as several dark figures moved across the light, cloudy horizon on a course past him. Mikael breathed a sigh of relief and moved to the mouth of the alley, peering around the corner to see armored guards carrying pikes marching away from his position, egged on by the archers that ran across the rooftops. He’d have to stick to the alleyways, then.
Only the sound of steel leaving its sheath warned Mikael of his predicament – he dodged to his right, something short and sharp digging into his left arm. Hissing with pain, he twisted, trying to dislodge the grip on the weapon, to no avail. The dagger simply slipped out from his arm, followed by a gush of blood running out of the wound. Irrational thoughts of what the blood would do to his cream-colored outfit rushed through his mind, along with more serious ones of pain and anger at being caught unawares.
Mikael brought his unwounded arm up in a block, catching his assailant’s wrist on it, stopping the dagger from piercing his flesh again. Kicking out with his foot, Mikael caught the man in the chest, driving the breath from his would-be killer’s body with a grunt. The man stumbled back a few paces into the bright moonlight, his features revealing him to be the man with the icy voice and dark cloak.
Drawing his right dagger with a flourish before the man could recover; Mikael narrowed his eyes and struck out. His blade rushed towards the man’s chest, but his foe made no move to block it – Mikael’s eyes widened as his weapon was deflected away by a hard metal beneath the man’s cloak. Instead of jumping back and into his opponent’s dagger’s path, Mikael brought his head forward and hit the man’s nose with a crack. Pain and flashing lights danced through his mind as they made contact, snapping the man’s head back and giving Mikael time to retreat and form a plan. However, before his thoughts could even churn to figure a way to win, the man across from him laughed.
“Quick thinking, assassin,” the man said icily, the effect somewhat ruined by the blood running down from his nose. “As always, I am amazed by your order. I never expected you to kill that blubbering fool, but I thank you for it. He was an annoyance and a liability.”
Mikael shook his head, the cloth whispering around him as it followed the motion, disgust at such callow behavior toward the dead. They deserved reverence, regardless of who they were in life. Crouching into a fighting stance, Mikael thought quickly as the man waited for an answer, knowing the man would not wait for long.
As he looked to his surroundings, he noted something that could possibly help him. A desperate plan formed in his mind as he rushed toward the man, his dagger flashing as he lashed out. His foe danced back out of reach and kicked, performing the same move Mikael had only a moment ago. Cursing himself for a fool as he staggered back, he brought his dagger up in a parry, catching the man’s weapon on his own. The two blades shrieked against one another as they disengaged, only to immediately impact one another again as Mikael brought his dagger down in a slicing motion.
Their battle flowed and weaved, their daggers flashing in the moon’s light as they parried and blocked. Twice Mikael managed to break through his opponent’s guard, a light gash opening up along the man’s leg and a small hole in the man’s side steadily leaking blood. Neither of the wounds were mortal and his foe gave as good as he received, nicking Mikael’s hand as the two blades disengaged awkwardly and puncturing one of Mikael’s shoulders.
However, Mikael’s mind churned endlessly, maneuvering the man into the position he desired. The only problem was he needed a moment to implement his plan. A shadow moved over his opponent’s form, the signal that Mikael needed to disengage quickly, distracting him slightly as his eyes moved to find the rope holding up the heavy box above them.
A sensation of cold heat he would never forget for as long as he lived coursed across the right side of his face. The blade bit deep into his flesh, glancing off the cheekbone and slicing up into the eye and across his forehead. A white flash quickly followed by a rushing darkness disoriented Mikael as he lost his vision in that eye, panic and adrenaline causing him to flail out with his dagger, forcing his foe back. Bringing his hand to his face, Mikael dropped his dagger as time slowed down.
His left eye picked out the grin of victory on the man’s face as he raised his dagger, eager to claim victory, so very slowly. Mikael reached into his bandolier with his wounded hand and drew out a dagger, the speed at which he did so at odds with the rest of the universe around him. A breath crashed into the silence, echoing in his ears before being drowned out by the blood rushing through them.
Bu-bump.
He aimed, holding his weapon by the blade with his gloved hands.
Bu-bump.
He flexed, the throwing knife flying out of his hand to spin slowly in the air. The light sparkled off of it, deadly and beautiful as it cut through the rope supporting the box above them.
Bu-bump, bu-bump, bu-bump.
Time sped up at a breakneck pace, Mikael throwing himself to the ground as far as he could, landing on his wounded arm. A sickening thud echoed in the alley, droplets of liquid splattering his face. He raised himself up onto his left elbow, grimacing in pain as he held his right hand to his eye, looking at the results of his last ditch scheme.
The shadows of the alley covered most of the scene, but light danced dully off a dark liquid that pooled in the cracks between the cobblestones. The box had shattered to pieces on the bottom, the rope that had held it unspooled around it in a haphazard fashion. Mikael picked himself up weakly, his muscles shaking with a combination of fatigue and relief. He took his right hand from his eye and stared down at it, noting the blackness that occupied what once would have been sight, a feeling of sadness washing through him at the loss. Blood ran down his chin and hand, so he tore a strip from his robe and bandaged his eye as best he could, along with the wounds in his shoulder.
With that finished, he walked to the box and laid his good hand on it, staining the wood with the imprint of a bloody hand. Mikael sighed, closing his eyes and whispered into the night.
“Requiescat in pace. May thy soul find the judgment thee deserve.”
Mikael’s task was finished, if the words the man in the dark cloak uttered were true. He’d make sure, and report in the results of his findings. Presently, the clatter and ringing of armor warned him of guards approaching – it was time to leave. With a slight smile, he ran down the alley and into the night, content with his lot in life. |
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Post by James on Jun 26, 2010 3:11:59 GMT -5
Entry Two [/center] Crouching beneath the window’s sill, he looked to the blades in his hands, and then upward to the night’s sky. A brilliant full moon overhead lit most everything, from rooftop to tree branch to each blade of grass, with a silver luminescence. And with not so much as a wisp of a cloud cover to hide his movements, he knew to his soul this night was not auspicious for such bloody work.
As if there was a choice. As if this one perfect moment in time would ever come again. With his target so unprotected, it didn't matter if he could be easily spotted.
For my family, Tanen thought as he sheathed both of his blades and opened the window quietly. He climbed through and landed softly inside the house. He closed the window behind him, and turned back to study his surroundings.
He was in the kitchen, as he had planned. If he remembered correctly, the doorway on the left side of the kitchen led to the main hall. There, he would find the stairs. If all had gone according to plan, there would only be one guard in the entire estate, and he would be in front of Lord Angran's room. He had to lure him away from the bedchambers of the noble. Tanen could take care of him easily then.
He moved to the kitchen door, which was half closed. He swung it open, and it made a loud, creaking sound. Tanen waited there in the darkness for several minutes, then heard the thumping of footsteps upstairs. He could see a light approaching in the main hall. The guard had a lit torch, and was yawning as he searched the shadows. For a moment, Tanen wondered if he should let the guard live, but quickly dismissed the idea. No. The guard knew the risks, knew what he had signed on for. It wasn't Tanen's fault he had been tasked with guarding an evil, despicable man. His six years of training had taught him one thing: no mercy. He would show no mercy to anyone this night, not even this poor bodyguard.
As the man approached the kitchen, he stopped, and Tanen realized he was putting his torch in a torch holder. He remembered there being one next to the kitchen. This was almost too easy. Tanen readied himself, confident that he wouldn't need to pull out his blades for this kill. He was hidden in the corner next to the doorway. It wasn't an ideal location, but Tanen wasn't worried. The guard took a step into the kitchen, making the mistake of looking right first, and Tanen was upon him. He threw one arm around to cover his mouth and the other latched on to the back of his head and he twisted. With a snap, Tanen knew the man was dead.
And without even making a sound, he thought, gently lowering the guard to the ground. The look on his face was one of mild confusion and terror. The poor man hadn't had enough time to properly register what was even going on. He dragged the guard back into the main hall and through a door on the left. It was here that the noble, would let his arrogant friends hang their coats and such when invited over for parties and the like. Tanen dragged the man to a cabinet against the wall and opened the doors. There was nothing inside, as he had anticipated. He stuffed the body in, and closed the doors tight. He debated whether he should use a bar or some other device to stop the cabinet from opening, just in case, but decided against it. Too much work. There was enough room in there for a corpse, and if the noble was murdered, it wouldn't matter if the guard had slipped out. No one would be getting here for a few days, anyways.
As Tanen moved back into the main hall, he remembered how hard it was to contain his excitement when his contacts had told him that the noble, Lord Angran, would be staying at his estate alone. It was as if fate itself had learned about his righteous goal, and had decided to help. Perfect. Usually, Angran wouldn't leave his house without the protection of at least a dozen elite guards. He had wanted a quiet vacation, away from people and the city. It would be the worst mistake of his life.
Tanen stepped carefully up the stairs. He had been here a few days before, and remembered that one of the first few steps creaked a bit when stepped upon. When he had learned of the visit, he decided it would be best if he scouted the place out before anyone got here, to plan his course of action. If memory served, the bedroom would be on his right, two doors down once he got to the top of the flight of stairs.
Once he reached the summit, he moved on to Angran's bedchambers. This was it. He pulled out one blade and put his hand on the doorknob. After all this time, he would finally have his revenge. Angran would pay for what he did to Tanen...what he did to his family. He turned the doorknob, and moved into the room, blade in hand.
It was empty.
Tanen checked every corner, every space, but Angran was nowhere to be found.
Damnit! I'm so close...where is that bastard?
Somewhere else in the estate, obviously. He had to be. There were other rooms...the study! It was just down the hall. Angran would always spend as much time as he could in his study. He would surely be there.
If he wasn't...no, he would be. Why would there be a guard upstairs if he wasn't here? His contacts were never wrong. They had informed him of Lord Angran's doings for several years now, and they had always been right. Tonight, Lord Angran would be brought to justice, and he would at last have revenge on the traitorous, cowardly bastard.
As he left the room, his mind wandered back to that fateful day...
***
Seven Years Ago
The bag was ripped off of his head, and Tanen, gasping for clean air, was met with a bright sunshine peeking through the canopies of tall, green trees. The light was blinding at first, after having been in darkness for so long, and Tanen was forced to shield his eyes. He could hear his wife, Aura, gasping for breath as well, and his lovely daughter, Ruba, crying. He began to study his surroundings as his eyes adjusted to the sweet, sweet light.
They appeared to be in the middle of a forest, though Tanen couldn't guess where he was. He felt so confused and disoriented. He had been unconscious for most of the trip. Attempting to find his bearings, Tanen stared upwards. The sun was coming close to being just above him. It was midday, then. It was around midnight when the armed men had arrived at his estate on the plains and captured him and his family. They had slain their guards, then they had taken him and his wife and daughter hostage...Tanen was frightened. What would they do to them?
“Hey!” he shouted at them, as they threw Aura and Ruba against a nearby rock. “Get your dirty hands off my family! You'll answer for this!”
“I doubt that very much, Lord Alridge.”
His hands and legs bound, Tanen found it difficult to turn to face the speaker, but he didn't need to. He knew the voice...but it couldn't be...
“Angran?”
The noble stepped forth, in front of Tanen, so that he could see him clearly. Yes, it was Angran Balran...his frowning face, his black hair and beard, his piercing green eyes...but why?
“What...what are...”
“What am I doing here?” Angran said for him. “Why, I am merely observing the procedures. I shall be gone soon, I expect. I have other matters to take care of.”
Tanen had known what was going on for quite some time, but had been denying it. A coup...but this couldn't be. Why would his old friend, his most trusted friend, pull a coup on him?
“Why...why would you do this, Angran?” Tanen looked frantically from him to his wife and child. They looked terrified. Ruba screamed and cried still, while Aura just stared at Tanen, tears coursing down her cheeks.
“Please, you have to see this from my perspective, Tanen. Think of how much more powerful House Balran will become if House Alridge were to simply...vanish. You would do the same, given the opportunity.”
“You lie!” Tanen shouted at the top of his lungs. “You were my friend, Angran! But now I see...you are nothing but a sniveling coward, watching and waiting for the right moment to strike.”
“And you are nothing but a fool!” Angran shouted back. He was angry as well, and, turning to his men, he barked, “Kill them all!”
With that, he stormed off, mumbling under his breath. The guards went to Ruba first, hoisting her to her knees. She cried out, “Daddy! Daddy!” Tanen struggled against the ropes as hard as he could, but they would not budge yet. A knife! There was a knife in his belt. He could barely reach it, and only the tips of his fingers touched the hilt, but it was there, at least. He pressed up against the ground, and tried to move the knife's scabbard closer to his fingers.
Ultimately, there was nothing he could do. One of the soldiers kicked him in the gut and halted his efforts. He could only watch as another man pressed a knife against Ruba's neck, and slit her throat.
No...no, no, no...nononononononono! He couldn't...no...this couldn't be happening. Horror gripped his gut as he saw the blood gush from Ruba's neck, and then her screams suddenly stopped. “No...No! NO!!!” he screamed. “You heartless, hell-spawned bastards!”
Aura was crying full on now, her frantic voice going, “She was so little...just a little girl!” Tanen continued shouting at the soldiers to stop, pleading them to stop, but they moved on to Aura next. No, not her! They couldn't...they wouldn't! He continued to wiggle his hands around furiously, trying to loosen the ropes...yes! He could feel them becoming less tight, more freeing. Quickly, if he could just...
Aura's screams of pain tore at his heart, and then, she went silent too.
Tanen stopped shouting, stopped begging, everything. He stared, open-mouthed, at the two crumpled bodies of Ruba and Aura. The soldier with the knife came towards him next, but he didn't move. Not yet. A strange feeling began to take over him. No tears ran down his face, no sobs escaped his throat. Instead, he felt his chest heaving, his veins rushing, his heart pumping. An icy chill descended upon his body. He suddenly felt all emotion leaving him, save one.
Rage.
It was not the frenzied rage that had been upon him moments before, however. Now, he felt more focused, more concentrated. With another glance towards his slain family, and one look at the soldier looming over him, he acted, with cold, deadly purpose.
***
His life from then on had been shaped by that cool fury that nestled within him. Tanen's purpose in life was clear, ever since that moment: Kill Angran. He was here now, and nothing, absolutely nothing, would stand in his way.
Tanen had escaped his ropes, and killed a few of the soldiers before grudgingly fleeing into the woods. He had fallen off a waterfall, and had succumbed to unconsciousness. He was assumed dead, and Angran told the King that the Alridges had been traitors to the nation. Tanen wandered between villages, taking on a new name and identity. Though he was decent enough at combat, he wished to become better, much better, if he were to one day face Angran. He joined a group of assassins, and was taught by a few masters at the blade. He honed his skills for six years, never missing a day to practice, not for illness or any other reasons. If his masters could not teach him, he taught himself, and continued practicing. Never did he contemplate stopping, or taking a small break. His rage nurtured him endlessly, giving him enough strength to complete the grueling training.
Tonight, his anger and fury would be sated at long last. Even if his skills would barely come into use, they had hardened him over the years, and, in more ways than one, they had prepared him. He was ready.
He moved down the hallway, towards the study. As he approached, he heard Angran's familiar voice call out, “Well, what was it, Boran?” Angran obviously thought he was the guard. He had to do this quickly. He didn't want to alarm Angran. He turned the knob and pushed the door open, entering the study.
Angran was seated at his desk in the middle of the room, hunched over a book. He looked up at Tanen with confusion and then said, “Wait, who are you? Wh-” Tanen rushed him before he could finish. He leaped atop the desk and kicked Angran in the side of the head. The noble fell of his chair and Tanen jumped off the desk, pulling out his blade and smacking Angran in a different place on his skull with the hilt. Angran stopped moving. He was unconscious.
Tanen stared down at the body of the old man. His black hair was now graying, and his skin more wrinkled. Tanen was about the same age as Angran, but he had not changed much physically since the death of his family. Short brown hair, blue eyes, fair skin. No, age would wait until Tanen was done with this man.
He hauled Angran off the wooden floor and propped him up on his chair. Tanen had brought rope along with him. He used it to tie Angran to his chair as tightly as he could. It was only fitting, to do to him what he had done to Tanen seven long years ago.
Angran hadn't been hit too hard both times, so Tanen was confident he would awaken within at least a half hour. He spent the time seated on the desk and studied his blades, and sure enough, Angran woke. He coughed and wheezed, and looked up at Tanen. “Well, what do you want? Money? Information? Someone wants me dead?” Angran looked calm, all things considering, and his tone sounded as if he, not Tanen, were in charge here. This angered Tanen, but he would not let it show. Instead, he got up from the desk and stared into Angran's eyes.
“I'm hurt that you don't recognize me, my old friend,” he said coolly. Angran looked more closely at him, and after a few moments, he realized who he was talking to. He paled, and sweat began to pour out from his forehead. He was losing control fast.
“T-Tanen?” he stuttered. “But...you're...”
“Dead?” Tanen finished for him. “You first.”
“Please, Tanen...I...”
“You what? You didn't want to do it? You're sorry for my loss?” Tanen spat on the ground before Angran's feet. “No excuses from you.” Angran's look was pleading as Tanen spoke.
“I...I know I can never be forgiven for the...for the atrocities I've committed. Aura was dear to me as...”
Tanen punched Angran in the face. He stood there seething for a few moments, then, his voice rising in volume, said, “Don't ever speak that name again, murderer.”
Angran nodded, showing that he understood. He recovered from the blow and ignored the blood pouring out of his nose as he said, imploring, “Please, Tanen, I know what I did was wrong. I've had so much time to myself, and I realize...I am a horrible, horrible man, who will no doubt be met with gladness by the Gatekeepers of Hell. However, I truly and honestly wish to make it up to you. Please, let me...”
“If you want to make it up to me, then you will have to make as much noise as you can when I cut your throat,” Tanen declared, unwavering in his intent.
“Please, Tanen, I will do everything in my power to be a good man, until the day I die. This I swear to you.”
Angran was getting hysterical. This was disgusting. The man finally had to come face to face with his past, and he couldn't handle it. He was weak. “Perhaps you should have thought of being a good man before you had my wife and daughter slaughtered.”
“Is a man not allowed to have regrets?” Angran asked, his eyes locking with Tanen's.
Tanen could not longer contain himself. “Regrets!?” he shouted. He stepped behind Angran, grabbing his hair and pushed his blade against the noble's throat. His voice went back down to a whisper. “Your regrets won't bring back my family.”
Angran's final plea turned into a gurgle as Tanen's blade cut into his neck. Dead. At last.
And with his death, Tanen felt the rage, the cold, purposeful rage subside from him as well. He felt a wave of sadness wash over him. Taking a good, long look at the corpse of Angran, he fled from the house, and into the night.
He could hear thunder in the distance as he got as much distance between himself and Angran's estate as he could. Dark clouds were fast approaching. It was not the same sky he remembered leaving when he entered the estate. Much had changed since then.
Slowing to a walk as he crossed grassy fields, he contemplated what had just occurred. Angran was dead. He couldn't believe it. For seven years, the only goal he had in life was to be the one to slit Angran's throat. For six years, he trained non-stop to make himself ready for anything that would stand in the way of him and his prey. Rage had raised him for all those years, and all of a sudden, in one move, it had abandoned him. Tanen felt the weight of all that had transpired fully now. He had not cried once since Aura and Ruba died, but he was sobbing now. He was empty, he had no purpose, and so he allowed himself to cry for what he had witnessed.
What would he do now? He thought briefly of hunting down every single person involved in the slaughter of his family, but he...he just didn't have the heart. Nothing seemed to have meaning anymore. Tanen felt as if his life had just reached its final chapter. Like many of the heroes and adventurers he read of in books, his journey was done at last. But did the heroes and adventurers ever feel like they had lost so much? Did they ever feel this empty?
Not like this, they didn't. But then, he was no hero. Tanen thought he would feel righteous once Angran was dead, but instead he was lost. He had become so focused on one path that now he had no idea where others were, or where they led.
The first drops of rain fell, and lightning streaked the sky above. Tanen, however, did not feel the storm. He no longer felt anything but all his regrets and overwhelming sadness. He realized, only now, that this was his fault. His emptiness would be eternal.
He had lost his purpose. |
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Post by James on Jun 29, 2010 3:07:10 GMT -5
Entry One's Reviews [/center] This was definitely a solid story, technically excellent and very well-written. Grammar and punctuation seemed near flawless. The only thing I would say, is that I personally found it difficult to feel very much for the main character, one way or another. Certain sections in the middle also seemed to drag, with a bit over-much detail in the fight sequence - though that is very much a subjective thing for this reader. *** Grammatically and mechanically this piece looked pretty good. I had some issues coming to terms with your style which led the first couple of paragraphs to read a little strange. Long sentences that didn’t really need to be long were distracting. But once I got used to it, it became less troublesome. Watch out for repetitive adjectives, you made mention to how the cloaked man, who had a voice like ice, spoke icily. In fact, I think less adjectives would have been an asset overall in this piece. Detail is great in most respects, but when you are writing scenes which are fast paced, your writing needs to reflect that pace. You spent a lot time on details which didn’t need to be noted to get your point across, they took up space and slowed down and otherwise high-speed story. It felt padded and bulky when it should have been sleek and sinewy, like the character involved. Could have used some trimming, IMO. *** Excellent vocabulary range! Torches flickered intermittently along the street as if competing with the moon’s radiance. < Awesome scene setting! Love this bit. It occurs to me: What does Mikael look like? We haven’t really had much description near the beginning. Only clue I have are the leather boots and hood. I would have appreciated some more tension, perhaps. It seems like Mikael isn’t scared or nervous enough. It’s like he doesn’t even need to worry. Maybe this is intended but it would have made the story more “edge-of-seat” if there was some threat to him, rather than him just managing to avoid everybody. This story has a very “Assassin’s Creed” feel to it. I like it! The running scenes are very well paced and the action is good. I could see what the character was doing step by step. Also loved the “Bu-bump” bits. The sound of his heart pounding. Perfect! Only complaint: the dude was being chased by allsorts. I doubt he would have had time to bandage his head and shoulder. I doubt after that amazing and fast-paced fight he would have even thought about it. I did like that he paid respects … but he still needs to get out of there. |
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Post by James on Jun 29, 2010 3:08:39 GMT -5
Entry Two's Reviews [/center] I liked the way this one flowed, for the most part. It had a good pace which was interrupted partway through with a flashback. The pace of the flashback was fine, but the transition was blah. “Seven years ago. . .” You could have done better than that. That’s the kind of transition you use when you’re beginning a new chapter. In a story of this length I can’t help but feel that it would have been more effective to just leave that out. The sentence right before it: “As he left the room, his mind wandered back to that fateful day...” Drop the ellipsis and transition that right into the flash back, wouldn’t have interrupted the story so much and would have allowed you to avoid using “***” to get back into the story later on. That said, it was nice to see some reason for his actions, despite how misplaced they may have been. I couldn’t help but feel like the character should have felt a little guiltier for the fate of his family. According to the story, he knew a coup was brewing and did nothing to stop it, and his family wound up dead as a result. I was surprised to never see that little tidbit make its way into his characterization. The dialogue seemed a little forced, but considering I doubt any of us have ever gone on a murderous vengeance quest, that’s to be expected. I think you could have spent a little more time not just on explaining the character’s emotions, but reflecting it in their word choice and body language. But ultimately, I got what you were getting at, even though it didn’t hit me emotionally the way it could have. Well done. *** The beginning felt very “This, then that, then this.” I feel you could have broken up a lot of that with descriptions of the room, Tanen, the reasons for this target … just general stuff. You also missed the description of the main character. There was a lot of missing descriptions. What did the guard look like? Apart from the horror look on his face when he died? Is Tanen fit and able? Or a bit porky? All stuff for pulling in the readers. There’s not really anything so far that has pulled me into the story. Which is a shame to say because the story is a good one! The part after the first asterisks started off good. A little description. You told us Tanen was frightened – which I think in this case I wanted to see him scared. Excellent emotion when they killed Ruba and Aura. I loved that you turned Angran into a sniveling baby towards the end. A good ending as well! Him contemplating all that had happened and seeing now that the rage was his fault. *** Another story flawless in both grammar and punctuation - or at the very least, nothing I found that detracted from the overall piece. I enjoyed the story, and enjoyed the main character's vendetta-driven purpose. The one place I thought could probably have used some more "oomph" was the sequence where the man's family is being killed. More feeling, more emotionally devestating detail - especially since this is the whole crux of why he is doing, what it is he does. |
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