zelda12
08-22-2004, 23:05
Ok, finally got round to finishing of the first bit of Death in the Shadows.
It's in rough form at the moment and if I have time to go through it's five thousand words and nine pages it will be reformed and made better.
Also the first post are the two short stories I did first.
Death in the shadows.
This is a short story about an assassin.
The wind howled outside the vast citadel. The moon was hidden beneath clouds casting eyrie shadows over the battlements as the Guards walked their sections of the wall. When the guards paths intersected they huddled together and exchanged conversation in the icy wind.
Below the wall a man dressed in dark green stood almost invisible against the dark wall watching the guards icy breath up above. Once their breath stopped to cloud the air above the battlements the man uncoiled a rope and flung it upward to one of the crenelations. Once, twice three times he missed, on the third attempt it caught. The man grabbed hold and tugged hard to check that the rope would hold his weight. Then with practised ease he quickly and quietly shimmied up the rope and over the battlements.
Inside the citadel his lordship the duke of Normandy sipped wine in his fur lined chair as he listened to his chamberlains excuses.
“B…but my lord I thought that I had caught the last of the rebels on your orders and had them put to death.”
“Do you think I would do that? Do you think I am stupid?” Cried the Duke his voice rising to a crescendo. “Do you think that I would order those men to be killed when the king has told me specifically to have them questioned to find out who sponsored them to rebel!”
As he raged at his chamberlain he arose from his chair throwing his Goblet to the floor.
“Nnno sir,” Replied the man, “it will never happen again.” as the Duke turned his back on him.
“I know.” The Duke answered softly. Then with a speed unusual for one so large of girth he grabbed his chamberlain by the lapels and spoke. “I know this will never happen again because you will never see another sunrise ever again.” With that the Duke threw the man bodily out of the window.
As the guards illuminated by the moonlight to seem like the demons of the nether as they ran forward torches held aloft to see what had happened. Then they turned their faces upward towards their lord’s window where they saw the Dukes rapidly retreating form.
Whilst this was happening the man in the dressed in dark green was stealthily making his way towards the citadel. Padding around the courtyard like a cat keeping to the shadows as he progressed towards the entrance of the citadel. Suddenly he heard a noise of a group of men as they spilled out of the tavern the whole courtyard was filled with light from the tavern as well as with the raucous laughter and merriment from inside. Dashing into the shadows the man stared at the drunken men at arms as they lurched of into the night. After waiting for a few minutes he set of again towards the entrance. Upon seeing it he started to hug the walls till he got to the scaffold stairway that led to the doorway. Outside off which stood a pair of guards. The man jumped up and caught hold of one of the pieces of lumber. Then he quickly climbed up through the scaffolding towards the deck where the guards stood. Drawing two knives as he jumped up over the side he slashed out at the first guard, slicing through his neck, splashing his dark red blood. Then he spins around behind the second guard ducking down and slicing through the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees. Standing up the man walked round to face the Guard who looked up at the mans face which was shadowed by his hood. With a quick slash the man slit the guard’s throat who fell to the floor as his blood gurgled to the floor, staining the planks with his blood.
As the duke turned away from the window he saw the door was slightly ajar. Walking over to it he slammed it shut. Muttering to himself. He turned around to be confronted by a tall figure clothed all in dark green. Hooded with a dark knife in his hand. To his horror the Duke saw it was dripping with blood. His voiced iced with fear the duke spoke up. “Who the hell are you?”
The man pulled back his hood to reveal a tanned and windswept face. It was criss-crossed with scars one, a long ugly one from his eyebrow to mouth, had obviously lost him the sight in one eye as it was a clouded over and lifeless. He had the look of a man who had seen and committed many crimes.
“I, I am your imminent demise.” As the man spoke he lunged out catching the Duke in the stomach. Slicing across he exposed his intestines to the moonlight. Then the man walked over to the sword by the chair. Drawing it from its scabbard he walked over to the Duke. With a thunk the Dukes head came from his shoulders, the man stooped down and picked it up and stuffed it into the leather bag at his hip.
The serving girl walked into the Dukes bedchamber upon seeing her lord’s body she let out a blood-curdling scream that woke the whole castle.
Off in the distance the man saw lights spring to life all over the castle. Chuckling he rode off away from the castle. The pouch that had contained the erstwhile duke’s head was now filled with the reassuring weight of a king’s ransom in florins.
Death in the Shadows part two
The three men walked down the mud-slicked streets of Bologna. The constant stream of horse and oxen drawn carts and wagons churned the streets into a quagmire that sucked at their boots as they crossed over to the tavern from which the raucous laughter was emerging onto the cold and wet street.
As the men entered the tavern they were assailed with the smells and sights common in most of the most disreputable bars in town. A combination of beer, vomit and burnt food assailed their noses. From up above in the rooms they could hear rhythmic bumping sounds from the beds up stairs. The roaring hearth appeared to be blocked because as well as the blast furnace heat it gave out billows of smoke that gave the entire tavern a smoky and hellish atmosphere.
In the far corner sat a man dressed in a black leather jacket which only just covered his chainmail which was blacked out. Combined with his black cloak and trousers he looked as if he was a member of the clergy. What distinguished him from a Dominican monk was his face. It bore the look of a man who had seen, and caused, many premature deaths. It was tanned and scared after many years of hardship and work. His eyes, or eye as one of his most prominent scars ran from his right eyebrow to his nose had taken the sight in one of his eyes which now sits lifeless, however is always moving analysing and evaluating the area around him.
The man watched as the three men entered the tavern and began to look around. His eye met that of the tallest of the three whom immediately leaned over and talked into the ear of the shortest one. The three then made a beeline towards his table. The two tall ones jostling anyone out of the way. Just before they reached the table the tall ones split apart from the short to take up station around the table that the man was sitting at. The shortest of the three came over to the man.
“May I sit down?”
The man waved his hand and answered with a short. “Yes.”
“What may I call you?” Asked the man as he helped himself to some of the man’s cheese. With snake like speed the man’s hand shot out grabbing the short mans hand in a vice like grip. Shaking the short man dropped the cheese onto the table and spoke. “My name is Guy of Brisbonne.”
“You may call me Diablo.” Replied the man in fluent French.
“I did not no you spoke French my English friend.” Exclaimed Guy.
“I am not your friend and neither am I English.” Diablo calmly replied in Arabic. Guy’s face became wreathed in miscomprehension. Sighing Diablo repeated himself in French.
“Of course.” Said Guy. “You might say we are in the same sort of profession.”
Snorting Diablo looked Guy up and down, he was short and podgy and had the look of a man who had not ridden very much in his life but his eyes his eyes they shone with rare intelligence within his fat face. “I doubt that you are in my particular profession.” Guy begins to interrupt but Diablo raises his finger to stop him. “But you do appear to have the look of a purveyor of information. I shall get straight to the point what do your employers want me to see to and when by?”
“Direct and to the point I like that.” He pauses to take a drink from a bottle he had in his robes. “There is a certain Bishop who has been rather outspoken of his condemnation of his majesty these past few months. His preaching is causing quite some unrest in the countryside among the peasants and a certain amount of the lords. He is at the moment on his way to Rome on a pilgrimage. It would be most unfortunate if he had an accident on the way. A two thousand florin accident maybe, half now half when he his head is delivered here to me at this time in two months time.” As he is speaking a broad grin cracked on Guy’s face.
“Two months it is then.” With that Diablo got up and walked out of the tavern into the now driving rain.
The sun beat down on the dusty road in Provence as the procession of monks and guards marched down the hot and dusty road. In the middle of the procession was a carriage with a large ornate cross of gold and silver on top of it. As the procession of ten guards and 20 monks wound it’s way into the wooded valley that the road went through a brief glimpse of a man dressed in dark green fleeing deeper into the forest could be seen by the observant.
Diablo watched as the column of men meandered through the valley. Selecting an arrow he drew his bow back and sighted along the arrow.
The lead guard had just reached the edge of the valley as an arrow streaked out of the woods catching the horse for the carriage through the throat. The horse went down thrashing kicking two monks causing them to fall to the ground in agony. Three arrows followed in quick succession one taking a guard in the neck and another hit a glancing blow to a monks head while the final one pierced the chainmail vest a guard was wearing throwing him back against the wagon.
One of the guards yelled out. “Protect his grace!” Quickly the guards and monks formed a circle of human bodies around the carriage that contained the Bishop.
Diablo quickly fired of three arrows in secession taking down two guards and a monk. Pulling another arrow out of his holder he drew his bow and let fly. The arrow hit a monk in the shoulder pitching him backwards. Another of his arrows caught a guard in the eye causing him to fall backwards clutching his profusely bleeding face. By this time only three of the original guards were still standing.
Diablo dropped his bow and started to run towards the remnants of the Bishops retinue. As he pounded towards them he drew two swords that gleamed unnaturally in the twilight. As he crashed into them he slashed rights slicing open the belly of one of the monks whilst parrying a blow from one of the guards with his other sword. Quickly he ducked under the blade of the guard, which he had just parried, twirling around behind the guard Diablo slashed through the mans lower back cutting his spine and causing him to collapse to the ground dead. As he did the Diablo stabbed backward catching a monk through the throat. Twirling around, he was confronted by the two remaining guards. Diablo slid the first guards slash whilst driving upward with his other sword through the guards stomach and up through his ribcage.
A sudden pain sliced through Diablo’s back as the second guards sword carves through his back. Staggering round Diablo fell to his knees. The one remaining guard stepped over to him and raised his sword for the killing blow. Diablo looked up into his eyes and with snake like speed reached into his robes and drew a dagger and plunged it up through the guard’s ribs to pierce his heart. The guard let out a short sigh before he fell to the floor.
Inside the curtained carriage the Bishop was fervently praying as he heard the screams as his monks were hunted down and killed by what seemed to him like a demon from hell from what he had seen through the curtains. As he kneeled down and clasped his bible to his chest. With a great rip the curtain was ripped back confronting him with a one eyed monster covered in blood dressed all in dark green.
“I shall pray for your soul my son.” Was the serene response to Diablos raising of a longsword used by one of the guards.
“Soul, I had a soul. Unfortunately for you I lost mine long ago.” With that he raised the sword high and brought it down. With a dull plop the Bishops head hit the ground.
The band of traveller’s wound its way through the wooded valley road. Suddenly one of the horses reared up and refused to go any further. Grumbling the driver got down to see what had spooked the horse. “Come on old girl. Wonder what’s got you so spooked all of a sudden?” With that he walked ahead for a few meters until round the bend in the road. What met his eyes mad him physically sick, the half eaten rotting bloated bodies of monks and soldiers lay all about the section of the road. The stanch made him go over to the bushes and be sick. Once he was done he noticed the decapitated body of the bishop crossing himself the man ran stumbling away from the scene of slaughter.
On the outskirts of Bologna a man dressed all in a dark green rode away from the city in his saddlebags was two thousand florins and some pieces of paper. The spy had sung like a bird before he died reflected the man as he wondered who would pay the highest price for them.
It's in rough form at the moment and if I have time to go through it's five thousand words and nine pages it will be reformed and made better.
Also the first post are the two short stories I did first.
Death in the shadows.
This is a short story about an assassin.
The wind howled outside the vast citadel. The moon was hidden beneath clouds casting eyrie shadows over the battlements as the Guards walked their sections of the wall. When the guards paths intersected they huddled together and exchanged conversation in the icy wind.
Below the wall a man dressed in dark green stood almost invisible against the dark wall watching the guards icy breath up above. Once their breath stopped to cloud the air above the battlements the man uncoiled a rope and flung it upward to one of the crenelations. Once, twice three times he missed, on the third attempt it caught. The man grabbed hold and tugged hard to check that the rope would hold his weight. Then with practised ease he quickly and quietly shimmied up the rope and over the battlements.
Inside the citadel his lordship the duke of Normandy sipped wine in his fur lined chair as he listened to his chamberlains excuses.
“B…but my lord I thought that I had caught the last of the rebels on your orders and had them put to death.”
“Do you think I would do that? Do you think I am stupid?” Cried the Duke his voice rising to a crescendo. “Do you think that I would order those men to be killed when the king has told me specifically to have them questioned to find out who sponsored them to rebel!”
As he raged at his chamberlain he arose from his chair throwing his Goblet to the floor.
“Nnno sir,” Replied the man, “it will never happen again.” as the Duke turned his back on him.
“I know.” The Duke answered softly. Then with a speed unusual for one so large of girth he grabbed his chamberlain by the lapels and spoke. “I know this will never happen again because you will never see another sunrise ever again.” With that the Duke threw the man bodily out of the window.
As the guards illuminated by the moonlight to seem like the demons of the nether as they ran forward torches held aloft to see what had happened. Then they turned their faces upward towards their lord’s window where they saw the Dukes rapidly retreating form.
Whilst this was happening the man in the dressed in dark green was stealthily making his way towards the citadel. Padding around the courtyard like a cat keeping to the shadows as he progressed towards the entrance of the citadel. Suddenly he heard a noise of a group of men as they spilled out of the tavern the whole courtyard was filled with light from the tavern as well as with the raucous laughter and merriment from inside. Dashing into the shadows the man stared at the drunken men at arms as they lurched of into the night. After waiting for a few minutes he set of again towards the entrance. Upon seeing it he started to hug the walls till he got to the scaffold stairway that led to the doorway. Outside off which stood a pair of guards. The man jumped up and caught hold of one of the pieces of lumber. Then he quickly climbed up through the scaffolding towards the deck where the guards stood. Drawing two knives as he jumped up over the side he slashed out at the first guard, slicing through his neck, splashing his dark red blood. Then he spins around behind the second guard ducking down and slicing through the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees. Standing up the man walked round to face the Guard who looked up at the mans face which was shadowed by his hood. With a quick slash the man slit the guard’s throat who fell to the floor as his blood gurgled to the floor, staining the planks with his blood.
As the duke turned away from the window he saw the door was slightly ajar. Walking over to it he slammed it shut. Muttering to himself. He turned around to be confronted by a tall figure clothed all in dark green. Hooded with a dark knife in his hand. To his horror the Duke saw it was dripping with blood. His voiced iced with fear the duke spoke up. “Who the hell are you?”
The man pulled back his hood to reveal a tanned and windswept face. It was criss-crossed with scars one, a long ugly one from his eyebrow to mouth, had obviously lost him the sight in one eye as it was a clouded over and lifeless. He had the look of a man who had seen and committed many crimes.
“I, I am your imminent demise.” As the man spoke he lunged out catching the Duke in the stomach. Slicing across he exposed his intestines to the moonlight. Then the man walked over to the sword by the chair. Drawing it from its scabbard he walked over to the Duke. With a thunk the Dukes head came from his shoulders, the man stooped down and picked it up and stuffed it into the leather bag at his hip.
The serving girl walked into the Dukes bedchamber upon seeing her lord’s body she let out a blood-curdling scream that woke the whole castle.
Off in the distance the man saw lights spring to life all over the castle. Chuckling he rode off away from the castle. The pouch that had contained the erstwhile duke’s head was now filled with the reassuring weight of a king’s ransom in florins.
Death in the Shadows part two
The three men walked down the mud-slicked streets of Bologna. The constant stream of horse and oxen drawn carts and wagons churned the streets into a quagmire that sucked at their boots as they crossed over to the tavern from which the raucous laughter was emerging onto the cold and wet street.
As the men entered the tavern they were assailed with the smells and sights common in most of the most disreputable bars in town. A combination of beer, vomit and burnt food assailed their noses. From up above in the rooms they could hear rhythmic bumping sounds from the beds up stairs. The roaring hearth appeared to be blocked because as well as the blast furnace heat it gave out billows of smoke that gave the entire tavern a smoky and hellish atmosphere.
In the far corner sat a man dressed in a black leather jacket which only just covered his chainmail which was blacked out. Combined with his black cloak and trousers he looked as if he was a member of the clergy. What distinguished him from a Dominican monk was his face. It bore the look of a man who had seen, and caused, many premature deaths. It was tanned and scared after many years of hardship and work. His eyes, or eye as one of his most prominent scars ran from his right eyebrow to his nose had taken the sight in one of his eyes which now sits lifeless, however is always moving analysing and evaluating the area around him.
The man watched as the three men entered the tavern and began to look around. His eye met that of the tallest of the three whom immediately leaned over and talked into the ear of the shortest one. The three then made a beeline towards his table. The two tall ones jostling anyone out of the way. Just before they reached the table the tall ones split apart from the short to take up station around the table that the man was sitting at. The shortest of the three came over to the man.
“May I sit down?”
The man waved his hand and answered with a short. “Yes.”
“What may I call you?” Asked the man as he helped himself to some of the man’s cheese. With snake like speed the man’s hand shot out grabbing the short mans hand in a vice like grip. Shaking the short man dropped the cheese onto the table and spoke. “My name is Guy of Brisbonne.”
“You may call me Diablo.” Replied the man in fluent French.
“I did not no you spoke French my English friend.” Exclaimed Guy.
“I am not your friend and neither am I English.” Diablo calmly replied in Arabic. Guy’s face became wreathed in miscomprehension. Sighing Diablo repeated himself in French.
“Of course.” Said Guy. “You might say we are in the same sort of profession.”
Snorting Diablo looked Guy up and down, he was short and podgy and had the look of a man who had not ridden very much in his life but his eyes his eyes they shone with rare intelligence within his fat face. “I doubt that you are in my particular profession.” Guy begins to interrupt but Diablo raises his finger to stop him. “But you do appear to have the look of a purveyor of information. I shall get straight to the point what do your employers want me to see to and when by?”
“Direct and to the point I like that.” He pauses to take a drink from a bottle he had in his robes. “There is a certain Bishop who has been rather outspoken of his condemnation of his majesty these past few months. His preaching is causing quite some unrest in the countryside among the peasants and a certain amount of the lords. He is at the moment on his way to Rome on a pilgrimage. It would be most unfortunate if he had an accident on the way. A two thousand florin accident maybe, half now half when he his head is delivered here to me at this time in two months time.” As he is speaking a broad grin cracked on Guy’s face.
“Two months it is then.” With that Diablo got up and walked out of the tavern into the now driving rain.
The sun beat down on the dusty road in Provence as the procession of monks and guards marched down the hot and dusty road. In the middle of the procession was a carriage with a large ornate cross of gold and silver on top of it. As the procession of ten guards and 20 monks wound it’s way into the wooded valley that the road went through a brief glimpse of a man dressed in dark green fleeing deeper into the forest could be seen by the observant.
Diablo watched as the column of men meandered through the valley. Selecting an arrow he drew his bow back and sighted along the arrow.
The lead guard had just reached the edge of the valley as an arrow streaked out of the woods catching the horse for the carriage through the throat. The horse went down thrashing kicking two monks causing them to fall to the ground in agony. Three arrows followed in quick succession one taking a guard in the neck and another hit a glancing blow to a monks head while the final one pierced the chainmail vest a guard was wearing throwing him back against the wagon.
One of the guards yelled out. “Protect his grace!” Quickly the guards and monks formed a circle of human bodies around the carriage that contained the Bishop.
Diablo quickly fired of three arrows in secession taking down two guards and a monk. Pulling another arrow out of his holder he drew his bow and let fly. The arrow hit a monk in the shoulder pitching him backwards. Another of his arrows caught a guard in the eye causing him to fall backwards clutching his profusely bleeding face. By this time only three of the original guards were still standing.
Diablo dropped his bow and started to run towards the remnants of the Bishops retinue. As he pounded towards them he drew two swords that gleamed unnaturally in the twilight. As he crashed into them he slashed rights slicing open the belly of one of the monks whilst parrying a blow from one of the guards with his other sword. Quickly he ducked under the blade of the guard, which he had just parried, twirling around behind the guard Diablo slashed through the mans lower back cutting his spine and causing him to collapse to the ground dead. As he did the Diablo stabbed backward catching a monk through the throat. Twirling around, he was confronted by the two remaining guards. Diablo slid the first guards slash whilst driving upward with his other sword through the guards stomach and up through his ribcage.
A sudden pain sliced through Diablo’s back as the second guards sword carves through his back. Staggering round Diablo fell to his knees. The one remaining guard stepped over to him and raised his sword for the killing blow. Diablo looked up into his eyes and with snake like speed reached into his robes and drew a dagger and plunged it up through the guard’s ribs to pierce his heart. The guard let out a short sigh before he fell to the floor.
Inside the curtained carriage the Bishop was fervently praying as he heard the screams as his monks were hunted down and killed by what seemed to him like a demon from hell from what he had seen through the curtains. As he kneeled down and clasped his bible to his chest. With a great rip the curtain was ripped back confronting him with a one eyed monster covered in blood dressed all in dark green.
“I shall pray for your soul my son.” Was the serene response to Diablos raising of a longsword used by one of the guards.
“Soul, I had a soul. Unfortunately for you I lost mine long ago.” With that he raised the sword high and brought it down. With a dull plop the Bishops head hit the ground.
The band of traveller’s wound its way through the wooded valley road. Suddenly one of the horses reared up and refused to go any further. Grumbling the driver got down to see what had spooked the horse. “Come on old girl. Wonder what’s got you so spooked all of a sudden?” With that he walked ahead for a few meters until round the bend in the road. What met his eyes mad him physically sick, the half eaten rotting bloated bodies of monks and soldiers lay all about the section of the road. The stanch made him go over to the bushes and be sick. Once he was done he noticed the decapitated body of the bishop crossing himself the man ran stumbling away from the scene of slaughter.
On the outskirts of Bologna a man dressed all in a dark green rode away from the city in his saddlebags was two thousand florins and some pieces of paper. The spy had sung like a bird before he died reflected the man as he wondered who would pay the highest price for them.