Post by grrman on Oct 30, 2006 22:57:36 GMT -5
Old one. I go back to it a lot to look for original ideas.
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One foot in front of the other. A simple process, but it was a tiring one. Mentally, if not physically.
It wasn't necessarily freezing- but cold enough to feel the wind repeatedly try and pierce the few shallow ravines of my armor. I was actuallu quite thankful my armor was capable of insulation, or I probably would have been forced to carry a blast furnace around on my back. But still, moving at a steady pace kept one's warmth at an almost consistant medium. But cutting through the air at ridiculously high velocities, only to land at a dead stop, and once again reach such high speeds, could not be considered constant- not in the least. But that wind was howling now, seemingly in quite a rage at not having the luxury to chill my blood. Oh, I make enemies ever so easily.
Animate, as well as inanimate. I was becoming too tangible a figure, now. Children were to be inside before dark. People always traveled in groups at night- preferrably armed ones. The night watch had shorter shifts, and town patrols had increased in size and amount. Oh, these people didn't know who I really was, but times had been demanding. More bodies, more absences, more disappearances of valuable objects. Criminal organizations had begun to become more and more inconspicuous to avoid prolonged scrutiny, but even then, the authorities had become very, very paranoid- a number os syndicates had already been purged.
Not that I was losing my edge. Not at all. Merely that there had been a leap in murders- mainly important figures, not just your basic trivialities- so they had increased enforcement. Considerably. I could slip through the many tatters in their armor, and continue business as usual- but then, if figureheads began dropping left and right, and half the noble quarter of Varrock had been reduced to smoldering ashes, well, that'd send the city into panic- and give me a long pause in my career.
So, playing the spectator seemed to be plausible. Plausible enough, at least. Let them kill themselves, have a few rival organizations fall, have the noble houses become secure of themselves again- well, it was a simplisitc enough, and there seemed to be no loopholes. Pinpoints of failure shone through, put in such times as these, well, better something that could be molded for differed use than something that'd strangle you if you attempted to change it.
One building after another, I leaped from rooftop to rooftop, continuously monitoring the streets below- well lit, I noted- and eyeing all the empty space around me. I wasn't being paranoid, or fearful; after all, the one who looks before he leaps lives the longest. And a long life span is something hard to come by when I'm in the vicinity. This includes myself as well, unfortunately.
Ah, but my philoshophical thoughts were shoved roughly aside when I noticed something coming toward me at a high speed, small, yet becoming steadily larger. Pointed, and spinning at a rapid pace. I turned in midair, so I faced this object, and as I hit the next rooftop, rolled to a stop, still facing it. Surprisingly, it was aimed very well, whatever it was- it followed my path of downward descent quite well. Whoever must've thrown it must be moving as well.
And that thought was confirmed as a throwing knife crafted for aerodynamic flight thudded into the chimney about two feet away from me. And was followed by another, that fell by my feet.
I scanned the surrounding area, crouching low to the rooftop to become naught but a malicious shadow, and plucked the knife out of the ground. Hmm. It was purely black, from the blade to hilt- but the blade glinted too oddly to be of black steel. No... it had been painted. Either that, or mixed in it's creation. It was runite, no doubt about that. But I had little time to speculate as a number of knives flew easily through the air towards me.
Depositing one of the throwing knives in my inventory, I caught another in mid-flight, and then one more, and let the rest go by as I moved quickly out of the way. I began to advance- I was in the noble's quarter now, there was quite a bit of space for manuevering- and moved deftly between chimneys and tiles. I didn't see my assailant, not yet. Either he had left the area, or was-
No time for thought. Action, yes, time for that.
I crouched low to the tiles of the roof, canceling all sound but that of the night air. My pulse was slowly beginning to quicken, and I could feel my blades slowly beginning to protrude from my flesh- but I restrained such feral instincts, and let my mind do the work. The sound from the streets, and from inside the manors melted away... replaced by nothingness. Nothingness, straining to become something. I knew I was hearing something, but I couldn't focus on that one pair of footsteps. Too much bloodlust shone through that field of nothingness, that void of soon to be shattered concentration. I couldn't lose myself in madness- not now, when I needed clear and reasonable thought, not wild impulsives brought on by unbridled insanity. No, not here. Not now. It was there, just ramming itself so hard again my mind, that need to kill, to bring satisfaction, to feel my blades easily glide through metal and flesh alike- more maddening thoughts. I could feel it, coupled with adrenaline, streaming through every vein, turning my blood to green fire, filled with the desire to let it spread, to let it consume the all of me, to let me be whole, and pursue what I truly wished to do-
Something bounched off my left pauldron with a soft metallic clang, and skittered along the roof. I opened my eyes- when had I closed them?- and looked out. Oh, everything seemed sharper now, as if in broad daylight. I needen't any caution- oh, I could just taste that apprehension in the air, of my predator. Oh, the scent of it maddened me- there they were, in the clutches of fear, just waiting to be torn to tatters... Yes, that was it. That urge to kill, magnified, into something... more. Yes, the need. The reason to kill.
I could feel it- the beating of my enemy's heart. Smooth, as if it had been trained for such scenarios as this. Of chase and death. It was close, so close. Just out of grasp. Had to touch it- feel it- cluth it, just feel it reverbrating in my gauntleted fingers. Yes.
My eyes focused. I could see again.
I moved forward, blackened blades clutches precisely. As if sensing my advance, my opponent approached as well. Oh, yes. That burning flame behind my mind swelled in intensity, threatening to overcome my mental barriers.
Clothed entirely in black. That much was easy to see. A billowing black cloak gathered and departed fitfully around his legs, to return to his back, to the wind. As the curtain of midnight was brushed aside by the frigid wind, I saw that he was adequately armored for a foe as I- full platemail, greaves, gauntlets, pauldrons. Two blades were sheathed across his back, and rows of throwing knives were belted to assorted limbs- his left thigh, the right forearm, the left upper arm. The only thing seemingly out of place were the soft boots. For masking footsteps. Of course.
All of this was registered in less than a heartbeat. I effortlessly threw both knives at him, just like that- and with precision like thunder that followed lightning, he drew his blades with the quickest of movement and deflected them, letting the throwing weapons clatter to the roof. He suddenly charged, and in time not measureable by human means, my blades suddenly sprouted from my forearms, each one a good two feet long. I could just see the veins of green fire flowing through their crystalline green surfaces.
It was an strangely long duel, for my enemy seemed to want to get a feel for my techniques and movement. Of course, I used this awkwardness to my advantage, slashing and stabbing in erratic and questionable methods, exercising forms of combat I previously thought unnecessarily flashy and ostentatious. Half the game was the installment of fear in the enemy's mind. But he was a capable fighter- those black, gleaming blades, veiled in night, moved with flowing easiness, yet lethal precision. They were surprisingly sharp-one of them had the nerve to glance off one of my arms, but I could still feel the sting of their cut. My armor and I had an intimate connection, and such things offended me. But still, form after from of masterful combat, he raised his longswords in a blatantly open position, arms stretched wide, for a strong blow. It was obviously to give me an easy blow, for an easy deadly strike on his part, but I was caught up in the fight- an opportunity for blood, at that moment, was the opportunity of a lifetime.
One of my grimmer strikes- dragging my blades painfully into the abdomen, then letting serrated edges bud from the original blades, and dragging them out of my opponent's corpse. I followed through, foolishly- and my foe used my exposed position to his advantage. Quickly angling his swords for a downward stab, he plunged his swords into the area right to the sides of the spinal cord- in an attempt to paralyze me. Mu armor's outrage and pain echoed through my mind, and, just as his blade's almost penetrated my back, a multitude of green crytsalline sprouted forth from my wounds. Blades now stuck in my armor, my foe tried in vain to quickly pry them loose before I could make use of his vulnerable position, but to no avail. Straightening to my full height, despite the wails of protest from my armor, I easily slashed him across the right clavicle.
He stumbled backwards, attempting to regain his balance, trying to keep from doubling over in pain or simply tumbling over- and while he did so, I expelled those shadowy blades from the space between my shoulderblades, and observed them while my adversary was coping with his wounds.
Yes, those throwing knives were runite, but those blades were of different make- much different. This was not conventional metal, here, in my grasp. From the hue of their gleam, they were most certainly dragonite. But they were not the form of your everyday dragonite longsword. The hilt was too ornate, the blade too sharp, too beautifully crafted and weighted. And as the thoughts "dragonite metal" came to my mind, lo and behold- the black color melted away and was replaced by a brilliant crimson, almost as shining as crystal. And as I thought "black metal", they became shrouded in black once again. Odd blades, those.
I threw them to my enemy's feet, and watched for a few more moments as he struggled against his body's plea for rest. He soon fell to his hands and knees, and, after some time, forced himself to his knees. He clambered at the blades in front of him, and pulled them to himself. He looked up, fury bubbling behind that full plate helm.
"I'll let you live," I growled darkly, illuminating him in the majesty of my terrifying voice. "Tell your employer you failed." With that, I promptly left.
With my assailant staring after me in absolute anger.
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One foot in front of the other. A simple process, but it was a tiring one. Mentally, if not physically.
It wasn't necessarily freezing- but cold enough to feel the wind repeatedly try and pierce the few shallow ravines of my armor. I was actuallu quite thankful my armor was capable of insulation, or I probably would have been forced to carry a blast furnace around on my back. But still, moving at a steady pace kept one's warmth at an almost consistant medium. But cutting through the air at ridiculously high velocities, only to land at a dead stop, and once again reach such high speeds, could not be considered constant- not in the least. But that wind was howling now, seemingly in quite a rage at not having the luxury to chill my blood. Oh, I make enemies ever so easily.
Animate, as well as inanimate. I was becoming too tangible a figure, now. Children were to be inside before dark. People always traveled in groups at night- preferrably armed ones. The night watch had shorter shifts, and town patrols had increased in size and amount. Oh, these people didn't know who I really was, but times had been demanding. More bodies, more absences, more disappearances of valuable objects. Criminal organizations had begun to become more and more inconspicuous to avoid prolonged scrutiny, but even then, the authorities had become very, very paranoid- a number os syndicates had already been purged.
Not that I was losing my edge. Not at all. Merely that there had been a leap in murders- mainly important figures, not just your basic trivialities- so they had increased enforcement. Considerably. I could slip through the many tatters in their armor, and continue business as usual- but then, if figureheads began dropping left and right, and half the noble quarter of Varrock had been reduced to smoldering ashes, well, that'd send the city into panic- and give me a long pause in my career.
So, playing the spectator seemed to be plausible. Plausible enough, at least. Let them kill themselves, have a few rival organizations fall, have the noble houses become secure of themselves again- well, it was a simplisitc enough, and there seemed to be no loopholes. Pinpoints of failure shone through, put in such times as these, well, better something that could be molded for differed use than something that'd strangle you if you attempted to change it.
One building after another, I leaped from rooftop to rooftop, continuously monitoring the streets below- well lit, I noted- and eyeing all the empty space around me. I wasn't being paranoid, or fearful; after all, the one who looks before he leaps lives the longest. And a long life span is something hard to come by when I'm in the vicinity. This includes myself as well, unfortunately.
Ah, but my philoshophical thoughts were shoved roughly aside when I noticed something coming toward me at a high speed, small, yet becoming steadily larger. Pointed, and spinning at a rapid pace. I turned in midair, so I faced this object, and as I hit the next rooftop, rolled to a stop, still facing it. Surprisingly, it was aimed very well, whatever it was- it followed my path of downward descent quite well. Whoever must've thrown it must be moving as well.
And that thought was confirmed as a throwing knife crafted for aerodynamic flight thudded into the chimney about two feet away from me. And was followed by another, that fell by my feet.
I scanned the surrounding area, crouching low to the rooftop to become naught but a malicious shadow, and plucked the knife out of the ground. Hmm. It was purely black, from the blade to hilt- but the blade glinted too oddly to be of black steel. No... it had been painted. Either that, or mixed in it's creation. It was runite, no doubt about that. But I had little time to speculate as a number of knives flew easily through the air towards me.
Depositing one of the throwing knives in my inventory, I caught another in mid-flight, and then one more, and let the rest go by as I moved quickly out of the way. I began to advance- I was in the noble's quarter now, there was quite a bit of space for manuevering- and moved deftly between chimneys and tiles. I didn't see my assailant, not yet. Either he had left the area, or was-
No time for thought. Action, yes, time for that.
I crouched low to the tiles of the roof, canceling all sound but that of the night air. My pulse was slowly beginning to quicken, and I could feel my blades slowly beginning to protrude from my flesh- but I restrained such feral instincts, and let my mind do the work. The sound from the streets, and from inside the manors melted away... replaced by nothingness. Nothingness, straining to become something. I knew I was hearing something, but I couldn't focus on that one pair of footsteps. Too much bloodlust shone through that field of nothingness, that void of soon to be shattered concentration. I couldn't lose myself in madness- not now, when I needed clear and reasonable thought, not wild impulsives brought on by unbridled insanity. No, not here. Not now. It was there, just ramming itself so hard again my mind, that need to kill, to bring satisfaction, to feel my blades easily glide through metal and flesh alike- more maddening thoughts. I could feel it, coupled with adrenaline, streaming through every vein, turning my blood to green fire, filled with the desire to let it spread, to let it consume the all of me, to let me be whole, and pursue what I truly wished to do-
Something bounched off my left pauldron with a soft metallic clang, and skittered along the roof. I opened my eyes- when had I closed them?- and looked out. Oh, everything seemed sharper now, as if in broad daylight. I needen't any caution- oh, I could just taste that apprehension in the air, of my predator. Oh, the scent of it maddened me- there they were, in the clutches of fear, just waiting to be torn to tatters... Yes, that was it. That urge to kill, magnified, into something... more. Yes, the need. The reason to kill.
I could feel it- the beating of my enemy's heart. Smooth, as if it had been trained for such scenarios as this. Of chase and death. It was close, so close. Just out of grasp. Had to touch it- feel it- cluth it, just feel it reverbrating in my gauntleted fingers. Yes.
My eyes focused. I could see again.
I moved forward, blackened blades clutches precisely. As if sensing my advance, my opponent approached as well. Oh, yes. That burning flame behind my mind swelled in intensity, threatening to overcome my mental barriers.
Clothed entirely in black. That much was easy to see. A billowing black cloak gathered and departed fitfully around his legs, to return to his back, to the wind. As the curtain of midnight was brushed aside by the frigid wind, I saw that he was adequately armored for a foe as I- full platemail, greaves, gauntlets, pauldrons. Two blades were sheathed across his back, and rows of throwing knives were belted to assorted limbs- his left thigh, the right forearm, the left upper arm. The only thing seemingly out of place were the soft boots. For masking footsteps. Of course.
All of this was registered in less than a heartbeat. I effortlessly threw both knives at him, just like that- and with precision like thunder that followed lightning, he drew his blades with the quickest of movement and deflected them, letting the throwing weapons clatter to the roof. He suddenly charged, and in time not measureable by human means, my blades suddenly sprouted from my forearms, each one a good two feet long. I could just see the veins of green fire flowing through their crystalline green surfaces.
It was an strangely long duel, for my enemy seemed to want to get a feel for my techniques and movement. Of course, I used this awkwardness to my advantage, slashing and stabbing in erratic and questionable methods, exercising forms of combat I previously thought unnecessarily flashy and ostentatious. Half the game was the installment of fear in the enemy's mind. But he was a capable fighter- those black, gleaming blades, veiled in night, moved with flowing easiness, yet lethal precision. They were surprisingly sharp-one of them had the nerve to glance off one of my arms, but I could still feel the sting of their cut. My armor and I had an intimate connection, and such things offended me. But still, form after from of masterful combat, he raised his longswords in a blatantly open position, arms stretched wide, for a strong blow. It was obviously to give me an easy blow, for an easy deadly strike on his part, but I was caught up in the fight- an opportunity for blood, at that moment, was the opportunity of a lifetime.
One of my grimmer strikes- dragging my blades painfully into the abdomen, then letting serrated edges bud from the original blades, and dragging them out of my opponent's corpse. I followed through, foolishly- and my foe used my exposed position to his advantage. Quickly angling his swords for a downward stab, he plunged his swords into the area right to the sides of the spinal cord- in an attempt to paralyze me. Mu armor's outrage and pain echoed through my mind, and, just as his blade's almost penetrated my back, a multitude of green crytsalline sprouted forth from my wounds. Blades now stuck in my armor, my foe tried in vain to quickly pry them loose before I could make use of his vulnerable position, but to no avail. Straightening to my full height, despite the wails of protest from my armor, I easily slashed him across the right clavicle.
He stumbled backwards, attempting to regain his balance, trying to keep from doubling over in pain or simply tumbling over- and while he did so, I expelled those shadowy blades from the space between my shoulderblades, and observed them while my adversary was coping with his wounds.
Yes, those throwing knives were runite, but those blades were of different make- much different. This was not conventional metal, here, in my grasp. From the hue of their gleam, they were most certainly dragonite. But they were not the form of your everyday dragonite longsword. The hilt was too ornate, the blade too sharp, too beautifully crafted and weighted. And as the thoughts "dragonite metal" came to my mind, lo and behold- the black color melted away and was replaced by a brilliant crimson, almost as shining as crystal. And as I thought "black metal", they became shrouded in black once again. Odd blades, those.
I threw them to my enemy's feet, and watched for a few more moments as he struggled against his body's plea for rest. He soon fell to his hands and knees, and, after some time, forced himself to his knees. He clambered at the blades in front of him, and pulled them to himself. He looked up, fury bubbling behind that full plate helm.
"I'll let you live," I growled darkly, illuminating him in the majesty of my terrifying voice. "Tell your employer you failed." With that, I promptly left.
With my assailant staring after me in absolute anger.