Post by Son of Marth on Jul 14, 2008 23:26:06 GMT -5
Here is a short story I wrote.... Its an idea that popped into my head some time ago, and I jotted it down and worked on it for about a week and a half non-stop.... so here it is, enjoy.... Review if you want.
The night was dark, the sky, pitch black. Not a star could be seen in the velvety expanse of nothingness. It was raining, but not storming, just a light drizzle carried on the ice cold breeze that whispered through the plains. There was nothing but grass on the flat expanse of land. The two figures stared each other down for hours through darkness that was thick enough for them to sever with the very blades they held in their hands.
CLASH! Her blade crossed with his, forming a perfect X between the two. She had been waiting for this duel for as long as she could remember.
There she stood, barely even five feet, at the mere age of seventeen years. She wore a white gi with blue hemming. Her long, blonde hair hung loose, flowing freely in the wind. Her frozen blue eyes held a strong glint of cold-hearted hatred powerful enough to turn the flames of hell into ice.
She clutched a katana in her right hand, while concealing a dagger within the palm of her left. It had been three long years since she had last allowed her face to be seen, which wasn’t unusual for people in her… profession.
She stepped back and studied her opponent, a young man whom she knew nothing about, except for he was twenty-seven, his name was Seth, and that she had a beef with him that she wasn’t going to let die.
Seth was six feet tall; he wore black leather pants, paired with a black vest spotted with shades of blood-red. His dark brown hair hung just above his eyes, which were an intriguing blend of red and brown. He brandished a typical straight blade, which he handled with both of his hands, unlike the katana she wielded with a single hand.
Seth charged at the girl, and immediately the two swords crossed again forming another X, letting out a sparking the process. She wasted not a single second in flinging the dagger with deadly accuracy. Of course, the paper thin edge of the dagger pierced through the skin on his chest with ease, missing his heart by less than a centimeter. He winced in pain as his beating heart pounded against the sharpened edge of the knife, but he refused to back down.
She could not understand him. Her name had become taboo. The faintest whisper of the words “Angel of Death”, which was so often used to avoid saying her name, struck fear into hearts of even the most battle-hardened knights. The idea of meeting her drove many near the point of insanity, fed by the fear of the death blade would unquestionably bring. But this boy, this young man, who was barely even finished with his basic military training, stood before her without even flinching, refusing to show her any sign of weakness.
She charged him this time, for it was her turn to attack. Seth readied his sword to defend against her strike, but she was to fast for him. It was over in the blink of an eye, the upward slash left a huge, deep gash across his chest and stomach.
As Seth fell backward, the wind blew his vest off, and she gasped in horror at what she saw. She held back tears as her mind flashed back to the day this boy had killed her father.
She had been only five years old, forced to watch helplessly as the two swordsmen dueled with each other. Her father didn’t have a prayer from the beginning, and so she could do nothing as he laid there, blood seeping from twelve separate wounds. Her memory sped through the five years of training she had endured, in which her teacher had constantly claimed she was a prodigious swordfighter. He must have been right, seeing as how she slew her teacher at the age of ten.
As the unpleasant memory of her life altering day slowly crept up on her, she remembered the mercenaries she had joined, and how she became commander after a very bloody battle against a group of bandits. They just happened to be the very same bandits who murdered all her friends years before.
As Seth took his last breath, she let a few tears slide silently down her cheeks; she stared at the strange, yet painfully familiar symbol on his stomach and began to relive her first encounter with him three years ago.
She remembered it all too well, her troops lying on the ground dead, bloodily slaughtered. Somehow she managed to escape. That night she vowed to never show her face again, donning the garb of a ninja, though she was ashamed of what she would become---a murderer for hire, a mercenary who would handle any business no matter how…..dirty. She was an assassin and in time , she would become the most feared assassin in the world.
Her heart began to pound as the words repeated in her mind, she had tried to shake them many times, but this was the one person she could not kill. No matter how hard she tried the words still followed her… She ran, and ran, and ran… but never got away. She could not escape it, she could not escape herself. She was and always will be, Angela Christianson, The Angel of Death.
Staring at Seth’s lifeless body, she removed the top half of her gi, revealing a short lavender vest that allowed her stomach to be seen baring the Christianson family crest for all those to see.
All these years, she thought she was alone and now, because of her own blade, she truly was. Angela broke down crying, an onslaught of flashbacks brought to the forefront of her mind the faces of all the innocent people she had brutally, and heartlessly, murdered and slaughtered over the years. The memories were too much… sobbing and screaming, The Angel of Death impaled herself on her own katana.
With her last bit of energy, Angela positioned herself next to Seth, glanced at the symbol they shared on their stomachs, and passed away.
Angela and her brother could finally rest in peace, no longer alone.
The night was dark, the sky, pitch black. Not a star could be seen in the velvety expanse of nothingness. It was raining, but not storming, just a light drizzle carried on the ice cold breeze that whispered through the plains. There was nothing but grass on the flat expanse of land. The two figures stared each other down for hours through darkness that was thick enough for them to sever with the very blades they held in their hands.
CLASH! Her blade crossed with his, forming a perfect X between the two. She had been waiting for this duel for as long as she could remember.
There she stood, barely even five feet, at the mere age of seventeen years. She wore a white gi with blue hemming. Her long, blonde hair hung loose, flowing freely in the wind. Her frozen blue eyes held a strong glint of cold-hearted hatred powerful enough to turn the flames of hell into ice.
She clutched a katana in her right hand, while concealing a dagger within the palm of her left. It had been three long years since she had last allowed her face to be seen, which wasn’t unusual for people in her… profession.
She stepped back and studied her opponent, a young man whom she knew nothing about, except for he was twenty-seven, his name was Seth, and that she had a beef with him that she wasn’t going to let die.
Seth was six feet tall; he wore black leather pants, paired with a black vest spotted with shades of blood-red. His dark brown hair hung just above his eyes, which were an intriguing blend of red and brown. He brandished a typical straight blade, which he handled with both of his hands, unlike the katana she wielded with a single hand.
Seth charged at the girl, and immediately the two swords crossed again forming another X, letting out a sparking the process. She wasted not a single second in flinging the dagger with deadly accuracy. Of course, the paper thin edge of the dagger pierced through the skin on his chest with ease, missing his heart by less than a centimeter. He winced in pain as his beating heart pounded against the sharpened edge of the knife, but he refused to back down.
She could not understand him. Her name had become taboo. The faintest whisper of the words “Angel of Death”, which was so often used to avoid saying her name, struck fear into hearts of even the most battle-hardened knights. The idea of meeting her drove many near the point of insanity, fed by the fear of the death blade would unquestionably bring. But this boy, this young man, who was barely even finished with his basic military training, stood before her without even flinching, refusing to show her any sign of weakness.
She charged him this time, for it was her turn to attack. Seth readied his sword to defend against her strike, but she was to fast for him. It was over in the blink of an eye, the upward slash left a huge, deep gash across his chest and stomach.
As Seth fell backward, the wind blew his vest off, and she gasped in horror at what she saw. She held back tears as her mind flashed back to the day this boy had killed her father.
She had been only five years old, forced to watch helplessly as the two swordsmen dueled with each other. Her father didn’t have a prayer from the beginning, and so she could do nothing as he laid there, blood seeping from twelve separate wounds. Her memory sped through the five years of training she had endured, in which her teacher had constantly claimed she was a prodigious swordfighter. He must have been right, seeing as how she slew her teacher at the age of ten.
As the unpleasant memory of her life altering day slowly crept up on her, she remembered the mercenaries she had joined, and how she became commander after a very bloody battle against a group of bandits. They just happened to be the very same bandits who murdered all her friends years before.
As Seth took his last breath, she let a few tears slide silently down her cheeks; she stared at the strange, yet painfully familiar symbol on his stomach and began to relive her first encounter with him three years ago.
She remembered it all too well, her troops lying on the ground dead, bloodily slaughtered. Somehow she managed to escape. That night she vowed to never show her face again, donning the garb of a ninja, though she was ashamed of what she would become---a murderer for hire, a mercenary who would handle any business no matter how…..dirty. She was an assassin and in time , she would become the most feared assassin in the world.
Her heart began to pound as the words repeated in her mind, she had tried to shake them many times, but this was the one person she could not kill. No matter how hard she tried the words still followed her… She ran, and ran, and ran… but never got away. She could not escape it, she could not escape herself. She was and always will be, Angela Christianson, The Angel of Death.
Staring at Seth’s lifeless body, she removed the top half of her gi, revealing a short lavender vest that allowed her stomach to be seen baring the Christianson family crest for all those to see.
All these years, she thought she was alone and now, because of her own blade, she truly was. Angela broke down crying, an onslaught of flashbacks brought to the forefront of her mind the faces of all the innocent people she had brutally, and heartlessly, murdered and slaughtered over the years. The memories were too much… sobbing and screaming, The Angel of Death impaled herself on her own katana.
With her last bit of energy, Angela positioned herself next to Seth, glanced at the symbol they shared on their stomachs, and passed away.
Angela and her brother could finally rest in peace, no longer alone.