Death in the Shadows

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.

Okay here’s the thing I’ve been toying with an idea about this for about six months now it'’ not a great plot in my opinion but it’s Diablo’s first real story not just the two short ones that I’ve so far posted.

This story is set in Marseilles and involves one of the many gangs that controls much of the smuggling in the city. The Gang in question being the La mort têtes. Or the death heads. (Please correct my French if I’m wrong as I’m doing it at school still. So any help would be welcome in my spelling and tense and stuff, in French that is.)
Part One

Chapter one
As Diablo walked through the great trading city of Marseilles even he could not feel some awe at the greatness and wealth of the place. A wealth born of trade and extortion and off death and conquest. Although competing with Genoa, Marseilles had helped to furnish the crusade that marched to the Holy Land to drive the infidels from the birthplace of Christ. Snorting at the thought of those great failures he continued walking towards the docks, where his next client was waiting.

As he reached the docks his senses were battered. The smell of salt and fish was all pervasive. Men cried their wares to the great throngs of people. The sailors unloaded all manner of objects from the ships tied up on the wharf. The entire scene had an air of organised chaos as the merchants counted up their profits and handed out the wages to the sailors and dockmen who then had their money taken by the many harlots and cardsharps that haunted the docks or put their sovereigns in the tavernkeepers hands. Along the fronts of the Dockside stood the huge warehouses of the large trading houses and of the smaller independent merchants. It was here that the small warehouse of an independent merchant by the name of Pierre Douches. It was also here that Diablo set his beggar bowl and wrapped himself in the dirty rags of someone who did not require them anymore.

For three days Diablo watched the house cataloguing the routine of Mr Douches. Making the plan of his demise. So it was that on the fourth night when all the staff had left the warehouse but Pierre, seizing his moment Diablo threw off the stinking robes that he had disguised himself with and began to nimbly scale one of the buildings bordering Douches’ warehouse. Jumping up Diablo grabbed one of the beams jutting out of the front wall. Heaving himself up onto it, he drew two long knives and plunged them into the wall above his head. Pulling himself up Diablo wedged his foot into one of the cracks in the bleached plaster that covered the building. Diablo then brought his other foot so it was resting on one of the knives. Precariously Diablo reached behind his back under his Dark green cloak to pull out a rope. Looking upwards he flung it up over one of the protruding decorative gargoyles As the end of the rope fell down to earth, over the gargoyle, the knife that Diablo was standing on gave way pitching him downwards.

Chapter Two
Pierre was hunched over the large ledger totalling up the takings for today. Then the candle, by which flickering light he was writing, was blown out by a sudden gust of wind. Muttering to him self and vowing that he would get an assistant to do this for him he bumbled around in the dark to find the flint and tinder to re light the candle. Pierre finally achieved it when he heard a large splintering sound resounded from downstairs. Jumping Pierre ran to the door and dropped the bar.

The four muscle of La mort têtes walked along the mist strewn dock side towards Douches’ warehouse. The tallest of the three, Jacque, spoke up. “So we go there and collect the money this Douches owes right.” The shortest and incidentally the smartest, having more Brain cells than the number of pair’s shoes the number of pairs of shoes being one, Jean replied. “Did you not listen to the boss, we go in trash the place then take anything of value, then we collect what he owes the boss.”
“But what if he doesn’t want to pay?” Asked Pascal. The final of the four, Charles, drew one of his many knives. “Well then we practise our aim with our throwing knives.” He said setting of raucous laughter among his companions.
Through the mist they made out Pierre’s warehouse. Through unspoken agreement they all broke into a trot towards the door. By the time they reached it they represented a speeding juggernaught and the door gave little resistance as they crashed into it.

Cowering behind his desk Pierre listened to the bar on his door start to splinter from the rhythmic pounding that it was receiving from his would be killers. Sitting behind his desk quivered Pierre, as the bar finally gave way a wet patch could be seen spreading across his trousers. Four heavily tattooed and muscled mort têtes that seemed to be barely able fit through the door. The largest of them whose knuckles seemed to drag along the floor behind him walked over and bodily grabbed Pierre. “Mr Ranceu wants a word with you.”

Chapter Three
Diablo woke with a start to find that he was not, as he had thought he would be, lying on the hard wet cobblestones off the Dock front. But instead was lying on a mattress in a bed, and to his horror that his clothes were draped over a nearby stool along with his weapons. Before he could get out of bed a young woman walked in, she was tall with black hair and green eyes with a lightly tanned skin. “So you’re awake then?” She asked coldly. “Yes I am awake.” Answered Diablo. “Good.” As she spoke she drew a long dagger and lunged at Diablo. Reacting quickly Diablo’s hands shot out one grabbing the wrist that held the dagger the other hand grabbed her shoulder and pulled her over so he was lying on top of her on the floor.
“Let go of me.” She cried out.
“I will release you when you tell me two things. One, who you are and two, why did you just try to kill you.” Was Diablos reply. She returned the favour by spitting in his eye.
“That was the wrong answer, I’m wearing no clothes I’ve just woken up to find an attractive lady trying to kill me in a place I know nothing about for a thing I know nothing about, so could you please oblige me by answering my questions?” Lamented Diablo.
“My name is Marie Douches, you are in what used to be my fathers house, the reason I want to kill you was that two days ago my fathers body was found outside his burnt out warehouse.” With that her grip on the knife slipped and she slowly began to sob. Levering himself of her he sat down on the bed and felt the back of his head. With a hiss of pain he quickly with drew his fingers, he then gingerly felt again and was rewarded by finding a huge swollen and sore bump on his head.
“How long have I been unconscious.” Wiping the tears from her eyes Marie answered “Three days.”
“Three days!” Exclaimed Diablo. Shaking his head he spoke up. “Why would you kill me, I didn’t kill you’re father I was unconscious at the time as you may of noticed and by the way who undresses me!”
“I wasn’t trying to kill you, I was trying to stop you killing me.”
“Why would I try to kill you.”
“Hah. You the great assassin, you were sent to kill my father, I know that much.”
“If you know I was sent to kill your father why didn’t you just kill me when you found me.” Replied Diablo.
“I didn’t kill you when I found you because you’re the only chance I have of catching and killing my fathers killers.” As she spoke Diablo looked into her eyes and saw the deep burning desire and hatred that lurked within her soul. But at the same time their was great pain and sorrow their.
“I shall help you find your fathers killers and I will provide my services when I do.”
“I have no money to pay you.” burst out Marie. Holding his index finger out Diablo continued. “I was going to say, in thanks for looking after me these past days.”
Nodding Marie said. “I’ll leave you to get changed and then we’ll start our search.”
“We?” Asked Diablo a quizzical look on his face.
“We.” She answered then made to walk out of the room. At the door she turned round and said. “By the way I undressed you and by the way I’ve seen bigger.”
“Bigger?” Stuttered Diablo.
“Yes bigger scars.” Explained Marie barely concealing her grin.

Chapter Four
Diablo turned to Marie, “You’re sure he’ll know.” He said looking at the man that was walking through the busy market place buzzing with the activity of the sellers buyers and bystanders all shouting with each other, hawking their wares to the passers, haggling over the prices of their wares, or just standing there in the large groups of women gossiping. The man in question was a short man dressed in expensive velvet cloak with gold rings on his fingers and a large chain around his neck.
“Of course I’m sure.” She said putting her hands on her hips and glaring at Diablo. Sighing Diablo put up his hood and walked into the thronging mass of people that pervaded the Market place. Muttering under his breath Diablo said, “Like she was sure about the other six.”

Diablo slipped through the crowds towards the man. As he neared one of the alleys Diablo grabbed him, putting his hand on the man’s mouth and his arm round his neck, then dragged him into the alley. Drawing a dagger Diablo grabbed the man by the neck and pushed him up against the wall. “What do you know about the murder of Pierre Douches?”
“Who?” Stammered the man.
“The trader who was found in his burnt out warehouse.” As Diablo is talking Marie walks into the alley and slowly draws a long thin dagger.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.” Answered the man quivering.
“You see I think that you do know some thing,” as he berates the man, the man could see Marie leaning against the wall sliding her finger along the knife. Diablo leaned forward and spoke into the man’s ear. “You better talk to me, or else I’ll let her do the questioning and the last person she questioned was singing soprano in the cathedral choir.” Then Diablo leaned back and asked the man again. “What do you know.” The man looked into Marie’s eyes and then back into the shadowed face of Diablo.
“Okay I’ll talk, I’ll talk. I heard something about it, okay. Just before his body turned up two men turned up and told me not too chase any murders by the docks for a few days.”
“Who were they.”
“They didn’t say.” With that Diablo drew back his knife threateningly. “But I think I know who it was,” burst out the man, “One of the men had a tattoo, It was of a skull wreathed in flames.”
Gasping Marie said, “That’s what we need.” and walked out of the alley back into the Market.
Diablo relaxed his grip on the man. “Thank you for your help.” He said to the man. Quickly with striking snake speed he brought his dagger up and across the man’s throat. Diablo stepped back and watched as the man fell to his knees clutching at his throat, as if to keep the blood in that was gushing over his coat and rings and chains turning it all into an off red colour. The man slowly toppled over onto the duty alley surface, almost immediately a pool of blood began spread out from where he had fallen.

On the edge of the market Marie was walking away when Diablo materialised beside her as if from nowhere. They walked along the side streets to wards Marie’s home for a way until Diablo spoke up. “So what did the tattoo mean?”
“That tattoo meant that it was La mort têtes that killed my father.” She answered in resignation.
“What’s La mort têtes mean?”
“La mort têtes is one of the largest gangs in the city they control most of the smuggling in and out of the city.”
“So?”
“So, so. That means that you wouldn’t be going against one man as I thought you would but a virtual army. Not even you would do that without being paid.”
“This gang is very large?”
“Yes of course it is.” Replied Marie in exasperation.
“So it’s likely to be rich?”
“Well yes, of course it is. But…”
“But nothing, I will get my pay from them and return your fathers fortune.”
With that Diablo turned round And started back towards the market place. Soon Marie lost sight of him so sighing with resignation started walking back to her house.

Chapter Five
The streets of Marseilles baked in the sweltering heat and bright sunlight of a midsummer’s day. Through this sweltering heat strode Diablo, heading towards the docks. As he neared it he started to look out for the skull wreathed in flames that would signal that he had found his target.

Louis Ranceu head of la mort têtes was sitting in the hall where his erstwhile throne was situated. In the cavernous hall with a vaulted ceiling and high windows through which streamed dazzling light that illuminated the white sand stone, from which the building was made from, that gave the entire room a dazzlingly light air. Around Louis stood his captains who were recounting their takings for the day. All of a sudden a huge resonating crash resonated from one of the high windows. Looking up the men saw an exploding halo of glass flying inwards, through this halo they could see a man dressed all in dark green flying through the thousands of shards of flying glass.

Diablo slowly rose from the crouching position that he had rolled into upon landing. Once fully erect he started to slowly walk towards the shocked group of men in which lurked Louis Ranceu, as he walked the glass underfoot crunched below his feet. The man he assumed to be Ranceu spoke out.
“Who by God are yea.”
Diablo immediately replied. “I am El Diablo. I am the reaper of souls. I am the keeper of the dead. I am the Angel of Death and I have come for you Louis Ranceu!”
With those words ringing around the hall Louis screamed out. “Guards! Guards!”

As Louis was screaming, Diablo continued his inexorable march towards him. Looking between themselves the six men surrounding Ranceu started to run towards Diablo. As the group of men charged forward towards Diablo drew a short and a long sword from beneath his cloak, each one glinting evilly in the bright sunshine that contrasted the great evil about to be created in the hall. When both swords were unsheathed Diablo began to sprint towards the six oncoming men.

When he reached the first one he ducked under the mans clumsy swing with his cudgel and stabbed through the mans spine whilst at the same time swing the long sword behind him to catch the second mans sword whilst it was swinging towards his back. Twirling round Diablo brought his short sword up into the second mans stomach. As he collapsed blood and stomach acid falling onto the floor with him close behind. With the two men on the floor Diablo turned to face the other three men who began to circle around Diablo. With a burst of speed Diablo threw his short sword over arm towards the third man, it smashed into the man’s trunk with such force that it threw him backwards to the floor dead instantly. With his other hand fee he drew a short throwing knife which he threw in one smooth motion at the leg fourth man. Diablo then ran towards the man who was now clutching at his leg, as he neared the man Diablo raised his sword over his head and brought it down on the man’s skull, shattering it instantly.

Turning round, to face the two remaining men, Diablo sheathed his sword and slipped a pair of chain mail gauntlets onto his hands. Redrawing his sword Diablo started to walk slowly towards the two men who remained. Breaking into a run Diablo hurtled towards them. As he reached them the first of the men swung his sword directly at Diablos head. Diablo reacted quickly ducking under the first mans swing whilst parrying the second mans slash. As he parried the mans slash Diablo brought his gauntleted fist into the mans face turning it into an instant bloody mess. Whilst the second man stumbled backwards hands clasped to his face, Diablo pirouetted on the balls of his feet around, carried by the momentum of his punch, to slash his sword through the first mans exposed stomach left open by his wild swing at Diablo. The whole incident had taken less than four seconds. Sheathing his sword Diablo went over to the man who he had punched, who was stumbling around blinded by the copious amounts of blood that was gushing the multiple wounds on his face and head that Diablos gauntlet had caused. Upon reaching him Diablo firmly clasped the man by both sides of his head and jerked sharply, he was rewarded with a distinct snap. Slowly the man fell to his knees then on to his back.

Louis watched as the man dressed all in dark green, decimated six of the seven best fighters in Marseilles. The scene that was left after the man had finished of Pascal was nothing short of a hell on earth the six men were all on the floor with blood everywhere spreading as he watched covering the entire floor of the hall in a sickly red covering. Retrieving his short sword that he had left in Michael, he started to advance towards Louis. As he did clouds covered the sun plunging the hall into deep shadow, with the hall in shadow Lois could barely see the man, but he could hear his footsteps coming closer and closer. Then a new sound could be heard alongside the sound of the man’s footsteps, it was the sound of many running feet.


Chapter Six
In the shadowed hall stood Diablo listening intently to the ever growing rumble of the hard footfalls of the many men he could hear running to the one and only entrance of the hall. As they burst through the door a the clouds momentarily parted just as Diablo drew his two long swords, illuminating him in a halo of light that reflected evilly of the twin blades that he held outstretched at his side. The effect was instantaneous, before twenty of the men had entered through the door they had all stopped dazzled by the angelic like appearance of Diablo his head upturned to the ceiling bathed in the bright sunshine that streamed through the windows. Lowering his head to face the men who had so far entered the hall Diablo cried out in a huge booming voice that vebrated around the hall. “Die!”

With the echoes of this still verberating round the hall Diablo started to run towards the still dazed group of men, as he was running past each of the windows the clouds would break flooding in the light to cover Diablos face. As he ran this kept on happening to seem as if he was running with the light towards the group of men, who still were not moving.

Only as Diablo reached the men did they start to act. But by then it was too late as Diablo slammed into the front two, decapitating one with the ferocity of his first blow, the second went down as Diablo ploughed his sword through his stomach snapping his backbone snapping it in two and at the same time splitting the man in half as Diablos sword went out through the mans back cutting him in half. Then he was in between them slashing left and right lost in the frenzy of the bloodlust that came over him. One man came at him with a huge axe swing it around his head, Diablo used one of his swords to check the axe whilst plunging the other up through the mans stomach then out the top of his ribcage. Leaving the sword there Diablo grabbed the axe from the mans limp hands. Then pivoting on his heel Diablo threw it over arm at a man who was charging towards him with a spear, the axe hit him square in the chest flinging him back wards into three men.

Whilst Diablo was causing havoc, with those guards that had so far entered the hall, the rest of the guards had ran into the hall. Diablo slashed across the man last of the first group of guard’s chest spraying blood everywhere. When he looked up he saw that about one hundred of Ranceu’s men, armed with all manner of weapons from wooden beams to six-foot long broad swords, were arrayed in a large circle around him. Among these were about four archers two on each side of the circle. Through this circle strode Ranceu the look of fear wiped from his face, in it’s place was a haughty look of amusement.
“Who are you?” Ranceu asked.
“I have no name.” Answered Diablo.
“Who sent you?”
“I am sent by the dead.” As he spoke Diablo could see Ranceu’s face turning from amusement to anger.
“Well be sure to give them my regards,” turning round he spoke to the guards, “Kill him.” With that he strode back to his throne, at the end of the hall.

Diablo’s heart was thumping inside his chest as he surveyed the guards arrayed around him. Reaching into the folds of his cloak he brought out two throwing knives and in the same fluid motion threw them at the two archers on one side of the circle whilst ducking down to the ground to feel the arrows from the other two archers whistle overhead. Four men went down two guards from the arrows and the two archers from Diablo’s knives. Standing up Diablo drew his sword and started to run towards the two remaining archers who were frantically reaching for their arrows. Just as they had got the arrows onto their strings when Diablo went into a roll coming out of it just two feet from the archers legs, swinging his sword Diablo chopped of the fist archers legs. Whilst bringing the swing up to catch the second archers stomach. Tearing it open and spilling its contents to the brightly shining floor.

Ranceu watched as the man in dark green tore apart his finest men. Ranceu watched as the man somersaulted over two men slicing open their backs then swinging around to decapitate two more men. As he watched the carnage unfold Ranceu’s joy, at getting to witness this man’s demise, turned to fear and as the guards were slowly cut down. Diablo was overcome with the bloodlust, which coursed through his being filling him with a fury unequalled in his lifetime he cut about him wildly with his sword. He felt invincible un-killable he felt as if he were God himself as the men fell before his swords like wheat to the scythe. He lost count of the number of men that fell beneath his blades. Finally only one was left of the guards that had originally stood in his path, as Diablo advanced toward him he fell to his knees as if to beg for his life. Seeing this Diablo was inclined to spare him as he looked barely over fourteen years of age, but the bloodlust still had its claws deeply imbedded into his heart and mind so he raised the sword he held in his hand raising it high above his head he looked into the boys eyes and saw the fear and pleading in his eyes. The rage was still with him so to, the still sane part of, his minds horror he brought down the sword to the crown of the man’s skull smashing it apart with a sickening crunch.

Ranceu watched as the blood covered man advanced towards him through the piles of men, some still alive adding their groans to sickeningly scene that covered the hall. The guards lay there, their lifeless eyes all, or so it seemed to Ranceu, staring at him. Their blood was mingled all over the floor giving it the air of a huge red lake. Walking through this walking on the blood as if like the lord walking on water, was the man dressed all in dark green. He was covered in blood, some of it his own, his cloak and clothes were slashed in several areas and Ranceu could see the blood coming out of those areas yet still he came on as if he were not hurt at all.
“Please, please. I’ll give you money jewels anything just don’t kill me.”
“You will die but you will do it with a scrap of dignity that you lacked in life.”
As Diablo spoke he plunged his sword up into Ranceu’s gut and twisted. Ranceu coughing up blood, his body was twitching in his death throes. As soon as he stopped twitching the rage left Diablo and with it gone the pain overcame him and then the blackness.

Part Two

Chapter Seven
The blazing sun beat down as the troop of horsemen in chainmail rose a cloud of dust as they rode down the dusty animal track through the plain of golden corn that was gently waving in the breeze. All of a sudden a man broke cover from the corn by the side of the track and started running to the barely distinguishable smoke that rose over the small hamlet in the distance. The leader, distinguishable by his ornate helm that he wore, shouted at the lead rider in Arabic. Yelling the man shouted and dug his spurs into his horse’s flank. The running man ran as he had never run before he could feel his legs turn from jelly to lead weights as he pounded along the dirt track. He could hear the pounding of hoofs growing behind him. Suddenly his foot caught in a pothole sending him tumbling forward head of heels. Then lying there he saw the horsemen drop his lance. Closing his eyes he awaited the punch as the lance pierced his chest. The horseman watched as the man he was chasing fell, seizing his opportunity he dropped his lance and drove it through the mans neck impaling him to the ground.

The village was a hive of activity preparing for the upcoming harvest. The villagers were all busy doing the various jobs. Out side the blacksmith, the blacksmiths assistant was sharpening the sickle’s and scythes. Inside the blacksmith could be heard shooing the horses that would be drawing the wagons. One of the young women could be heard shouting for her child. Spotting one of the other boys she cried out to him. “Miguel have you seen my boy.” He replied by shaking his head.

A young boy of about five years old was playing in the corn with a stick slashing about him like the knights and men at arms that passed through the village. When the yells began. “Moors, Moors.” Hearing the screams and yells of his elders the boy began running towards the village when he reached the edge he stopped dead in his tracks. What greeted his young eyes was chaos the Moorish horsemen were riding down the men of the village slicing off heads and spearing them with their lances wherever they found them. Two of the horsemen dismounted and ran towards the blacksmith. Just as they were about to burst in the boy’s father came out wielding two of the forge hammers.

He struck out with his first hammer catching the fist Moor straight in the head crumpling his skull. His next swing caught the second Moors upraised sword arm shattering it causing it to hang limply by his side. Then with a huge cry the boy’s father brought both hammers together on the Moors head crushing it with a sickening crunch. He then ran forward to smash down wards on another dismounted Moor who was chasing some of the women of the village. Turning around his father caught sight of the leader of the raiders who drew his sword and pointed it at his father and dug his spurs into the flank of his horse. Dropping one of his hammers the boy’s father took it two handed and awaited the charging horse. Just as it was upon him he side stepped to the right, away from the Moor’s sword arm, and brought the hammer down onto the back of the horses head. With a cry the Moor was somersaulted of his dying horse, hitting the dirt heavily, winding him. As the Moor was lying there the boys father walked over to him and raised his hammer, but before he could strike a Moorish horsemen plunged his spear through his fathers back before riding back and slashing open his throat. As his father hit the dirt the boys eyes welled with tears and he began to cry. “Father, Father.”

I really can't be bothered to do this anymore so if you want mods you can close it down unless anyone asks me to keep it going. If I want to carry on it's all on disk so feel free to delete this thread.

A shame; I only just got time to read it and I did feel it was an improvement over the original. But if your heart isn't in it then there is no point in forcing it.

If I get a chance I will probaly carry on, but my heart has gone out of writing in the past two weeks for some reason.
When I get a chance I'll carry on and continue of from the early years.