Blade of Regret
02-08-2006, 08:44 PM
Here's my other shorty, this one is a tad confusing...it is not finnished and I was brainstorming when i wrote it, so it is vauge but still good.
Assassin
His foot gently touched down, softly, quietly. He made no noise as he walked through the dark forest. The wind gently tugged at his cape. Another step, his fists clenched. A small doe looked up and tensed at the sight of him. Another step, the doe leaped away, rustling leaves and brush as she bolted He stopped, his hand shot the long blade that hung from his belt After a few moments silence he continued again. His face was lightly tanned, he had curly dark brown hair and deep royal blue eyes. Another step, up ahead the embers of a small cookfire gleamed through the dark mist that shrouded the wood. Another step, his mind was racing, his blood boiling, yet his heart pained him. He knew what was going to happen, it was inevitable, even if he didn’t do it, but in his heart he knew that this was wrong. Another step, the small camp came into view. All of the things he had done, all the towns he had burned, all the caravans he pillaged, all the people he had killed, still a small ray of humanity struck through the ice that had hardened his heart. Another step, he heard the snore of the watchman, silently the would be killer drew his blade. The small ring of steel rubbing steel echoed through the assassin’s head, he grimaced. After a few moments time, only the wind blowing as the indication that time hadn’t stopped, he continued his grim work. Quickly, efficiently, remorsefully he quietly sliced the watchman’s throat. Blood spewed from the wound, and splayed against the killer’s hand and doeskin tunic. He sighed and set the body on the ground. He continued, on to the tent. Step, his breath coming hard, step, his vision blurred, step, harder his hand clenched his bloodied sword, step, he glared at the tent. Slowly he lifted up the flap, a small cry escaped his lips. He had prolonged his grueling deed for this reason. He stared down at the sleeping form of his father. Tears welled up in his eyes, he turned his head and lifted the blade. Another small cry escaped his cold lips. The blade fell. It fell from the man’s listless fingers, and plunged, deep into the cold damp earth. The man fell to his knees, picked up his sword and ran from the tent, crying. There was no need for silence now, he ran as fast as he could, over dead logs and through bramble bushes. Quick was his stride, and fury built is impenetrable wall around his other, more sanicle emotions. He ran to the edged of the forest and stopped. He looked down upon a field. Not a field of corn, or wheat, or barley, but of the dead. Blood, and pitch mingled together on the fields. Bodies lied grotesquely on the ground and huge fires burned merrily through the field of battle. A large, war-torn man stepped off the field, heading toward the wood. His armor was battered and gore stained, a large axe was hanging limply in his hand. He stumbled to the assassin, calling names, most likely of his dead comrades. The assassin ran to the confused knight, lead him to the wood, and sat him down. The knight took off his helmet, and gasped.
“You ” He cried, pointing at the killer. “You, sent down fire from the sky, and sent up water from the earth. You ” He cried again, standing up, he swung his axe viciously at the young killer. “You, killed my brothers with your flame, and my people with your water. Now you will feel the wrath that I bestow on the killer of thousands.” The knight bellowed, and the axe fell upon the innocent murderer.
Assassin
His foot gently touched down, softly, quietly. He made no noise as he walked through the dark forest. The wind gently tugged at his cape. Another step, his fists clenched. A small doe looked up and tensed at the sight of him. Another step, the doe leaped away, rustling leaves and brush as she bolted He stopped, his hand shot the long blade that hung from his belt After a few moments silence he continued again. His face was lightly tanned, he had curly dark brown hair and deep royal blue eyes. Another step, up ahead the embers of a small cookfire gleamed through the dark mist that shrouded the wood. Another step, his mind was racing, his blood boiling, yet his heart pained him. He knew what was going to happen, it was inevitable, even if he didn’t do it, but in his heart he knew that this was wrong. Another step, the small camp came into view. All of the things he had done, all the towns he had burned, all the caravans he pillaged, all the people he had killed, still a small ray of humanity struck through the ice that had hardened his heart. Another step, he heard the snore of the watchman, silently the would be killer drew his blade. The small ring of steel rubbing steel echoed through the assassin’s head, he grimaced. After a few moments time, only the wind blowing as the indication that time hadn’t stopped, he continued his grim work. Quickly, efficiently, remorsefully he quietly sliced the watchman’s throat. Blood spewed from the wound, and splayed against the killer’s hand and doeskin tunic. He sighed and set the body on the ground. He continued, on to the tent. Step, his breath coming hard, step, his vision blurred, step, harder his hand clenched his bloodied sword, step, he glared at the tent. Slowly he lifted up the flap, a small cry escaped his lips. He had prolonged his grueling deed for this reason. He stared down at the sleeping form of his father. Tears welled up in his eyes, he turned his head and lifted the blade. Another small cry escaped his cold lips. The blade fell. It fell from the man’s listless fingers, and plunged, deep into the cold damp earth. The man fell to his knees, picked up his sword and ran from the tent, crying. There was no need for silence now, he ran as fast as he could, over dead logs and through bramble bushes. Quick was his stride, and fury built is impenetrable wall around his other, more sanicle emotions. He ran to the edged of the forest and stopped. He looked down upon a field. Not a field of corn, or wheat, or barley, but of the dead. Blood, and pitch mingled together on the fields. Bodies lied grotesquely on the ground and huge fires burned merrily through the field of battle. A large, war-torn man stepped off the field, heading toward the wood. His armor was battered and gore stained, a large axe was hanging limply in his hand. He stumbled to the assassin, calling names, most likely of his dead comrades. The assassin ran to the confused knight, lead him to the wood, and sat him down. The knight took off his helmet, and gasped.
“You ” He cried, pointing at the killer. “You, sent down fire from the sky, and sent up water from the earth. You ” He cried again, standing up, he swung his axe viciously at the young killer. “You, killed my brothers with your flame, and my people with your water. Now you will feel the wrath that I bestow on the killer of thousands.” The knight bellowed, and the axe fell upon the innocent murderer.