The grinning man
Alright I love anything fantasy and has swords honestly... So that is mainly what I am looking for. I will even join a group honestly. I kinda just want to get to know some people around the site and get a feel for everything. I have a few people I am starting a one on one with now actually. But one or two more won't hurt.
~So I have no limits unless you have them. Honestly I love a more mature setting. I enjoy a good battle or raid. So if you have limits be sure to tell me so I do not accidentally offend you.
~Romance is fine... But cybering is not my thing. A sex scene is one thing, but I am in this for the story.
~I guess I am what you call advanced... But I don't know about all of that. Anyways, I do not always revise my posts so I am sorry in advance. In truth it isn't hard to get the gist of what I am trying to say though.
~Hmm, another thing... Ah, please use capitalization. That is my pet peeve man. I don't know why. Anyways punctuation I could care less about and spelling... I can figure it out, haha.
Okay. I think that is it. So if you are interested just pm me or post here. I would love to make some new acquaintances. Alrighty then...
SpoilerRagnvald Jeste Daussier leaned against the wall next to the door outside the wooden building that most of the members of their small expedition group resided. Ragnvald could only stay still and cramped up for so long though, patient was never something he had acquired through childhood, and as adulthood was still coming he found no reason to make time for patience.
Idly he poured another handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth and began to crack the shells and eat the small morsel inside, almost as if the small kernel was a taunt or some sick joke to his rumbling stomach. Since the vision things had been hazy, and he had no want to throw up again.
Ragni gave a long sigh as he thought back to past days of the encounter with the other armies over the Thur Ahnkian Mountain, and still he cold feel the cold burns on his cheeks and numb pain throbbing up his arms as he swung his sword wildly as the armies fell upon each other with no warning.
The swordsman was no fool of course, or at least not on certain days, for he knew he killed his own side as well as the enemy. Unconsciously he raised a hand to his stomach, rubbing at the wound bandaged underneath his shirt. Ragni had not mentioned it of course, feeling it was of little concern. He had even tossed the idea of mentioning it to his partner... Darius.
Ragni cracked his knuckles as he looked up to the darkening clear sky. Already he knew it was going to be cold. Pulling his dark tattered cloak tighter about himself he tried to think back to the exploit up into the hills in search of the missing towns people.
In truth Ragni felt bad for the people but did not feel like risking his own ass for others he barely knew and for no coin. But he owed these people for taking him in since he had little coin and not much more to offer in work besides his martial skills and blade, and so he found himself agreeing and following his companion and their fellow towns folk.
Ragnvald followed as he ever did, unless needed to lead Ragni was content with taking orders as well as giving them. Over the past years he had seen Darius and had come to trust the large man's martial prowess as well as his intuition just as much as he trusted his own. As it went they patrolled the town and after a few rounds would make their way toward Mount Feirn and travel further up. But everything seemed to go black to Ragnvald as he made it up toward the summit next to Darius.
As it were he found himself standing knee deep in snow with twisted gnarled trees all around. The only thing besides the dark twisted trees, frigid burning snow, and himself was a large black wolf with black eyes.
The large beast only sat there maybe a wagon away, dark eyes gleaming from a full moon peaking out from behind a mask of clouds. After a moment the wolf licked its maul with a long pink tongue. It was then that the young man noticed the scarlet puddle all around the wolf. The snow was all but gone and the blood seemed to steam from the heat it still held.
Ragni was envious since he thought he could feel his own blood thicken and slow in his veins. Slowly he took a step toward the wolf, ready to drop his hands to a weapon to try and slay the beast if needed, but in a blur the wolf whipped its head up and let out a ear piercing howl, almost as if death was knocking at the door and all the candles had gone out along with the fire. Death was knocking.
Ragni blinked several times, looking fore and behind searching all around for the wolf, but nothing. After a moment he registered that he was no longer among the dark forest and snow, but standing in a dark space where he could barely see more than a horse length all around him.
After a moment he fell into a weary crouch, looking back and forth. His darks eyes fell to the cracked flagstones which foretold of a old empire maybe.
A loud clack sounded all around him and in a flash Ragnvald was standing, longsword in hand as he turned a full circle to face six men and women, three of each. All stood in a circle around him, in one hand a dark blade, and in the other a scale, balanced perfectly.
But then all was lost and he was back to the real world... Or what he thought the real world was.
Spitting another shell out Ragni ran the images back through his mind, analyzing what he could remember. Of course he knew there was more. But how was he too remember. Still he couldn't figure out how he had made it back down Mount Feirn.
After spitting out the last sunflower shell and running a dirty scarred hand across his face Ragni took a swig from his water skin. Finally he turned around to the door, placing both hands on the well worn wood. Eyes flicking back and forth, mind racing, heart thumping...
Turning back around Ragni could only take a painful gulp of air for there stood the large black wolf, same pile of steaming blood, and that same dark cold face.
Ragni scowled, with eyes wide with fear he knew this was a fight he had no way of winning. After a moment of rubbing his eyes and blinking several times in disbelief he glanced back to where the wolf stood.
Nothing was there. At that Ragni turned and twisted the handle on the door and made his way down the short hall into the common room, giving his all to present smirk and a small insubstantial wave he took a seat next to Darius.”So any thoughts on the missing town folks.”
Ragnvald Jeste Daussier was no fool though. There was no way anyone that was taken could be alive. And if there were... Then they would need to die, just like him, but not yet of course. Ragni looked to the splintered and worn floor and gave a broad smile. A real smile that made the sides of his eyes wrinkle like crows feet...
SpoilerRagnvald lay in the cold stiff snow. His body not reacting and feeling numb as he stared up at the obsidian darkness of his strange new world... It was not where he was used to, but it was familiar to him. Slowly he tried to tense muscles.
But, slowly albeit, he found that nothing was responding. Ragni felt panic rise as he heard the dark chuckle of the wolf that haunted his visions.
“What do you want now you foul beast? You already sent your spy. Now you are lonely?” The mercenary tried to rise once more but failed.
The wolf only stared down at the lifeless form of Ragnvald Jeste Daussier, letting his deep dark laughter rumble forth and shake his standing form which seemed to be drenched in scarlet blood that soaked the trampled snow beneath his strong powerful paws. “What makes you think I need anything pup, not my fault you passed out in an alley from being overly drunken. You no longer have dreams you understand. I am your dreams at leassst...”
The wolf seemed to his the last part of his word almost.
The swordsman strand and finally felt his fingers and toes and began to sit up slowly but surely. His dark gaze falling to the dire wolf beast which lurked before him, standing on the pool of blood which surrounded him with a low steam from the heat of the red substance.
“Why do you haunt me beast, what have I done...” He stood groggily, stepping from foot to foot, from side to side, weaving and leaning.
“I do no such thing pup. You but fall before my paws in prayer, for I am the spirits you once put so much faith in. So believe.”
Ragnvald spat at the beasts paws, “Well I am not your dog so leave me be. Find some other fool to praise you!”
The swords man turned on his heel and began to walk away in a zigzagged path.
“You will not turn your back on me you pitiful human! Turn and face me or you shall invoke my wrath!”
The mercenary continued to amble away, falling to his knee but surely standing again; walking off into the luminescent snow of the vision world he stood. But it soon ending as a snarl whispered passed his ear and slithering scaled forms flew past. Red sprayed the snow all about the mercenary as he was snared by thick muscles wrapping his body.
“Ahhh! Let me be you cur, I just want to be left to my gambling, whoring, and killing...” Ragni's body strained and wreathed, but he could not break the almost suffocating hold.
He closed his eyes for a time trying to make his blurry vision clear, but all that was there to visit him was a white and black snake head bobbing back and forth staring into his very soul.
They moved back toward the wolf. But it was a scene he could have lived without. The snakes large forms wreathed and twisted forth from the wolf's own jaws, the tongues flickering in and out constantly at his very face unnerving him.
“What the hell are you beast,” Ragni's words were strand as the snakes continued to squeeze tighter.
After a few moments everything vanished, water was pattering down, dripping from thatched eaves to hit Ragni square on the forehead. Slowly he opened his eyes and there the prickling was yet again and he was up, springing to his feet with surprising speed and agility.
His head seemed to crack, or feel like it, but his eyes were ever searching. There was nothing but a small dark form at the entrance to the alley, sitting, watching, and waiting.
The mercenary winced at the pain from his hangover and pressed his palms into his eye sockets, giving a large yawn as he felt the waves race over his body.
“I see at least one of you wolves is kind enough to not try and devour me or torture me... But I must say I am still wary of you dog. Not your fault or anything I am just unpleasant most of the time. Personally I think I am starting to hate my self and whatever I believe in,” Ragnvald just stared down at the pup which in turned stared back, “You don't really feel like listening to me prattle on I am sure. Sad that my only company is a wolf pup... And I am talking to you. Maybe I should start praying to the spirits again.”
The only answer he received from the pup was a sideways cocked head. “Let's go you little bastard.”
The pup let a low whimper but happily followed after Ragni, paws prancing up and down in rhythm through the wet cobbled streets.
Ragnvald pushed open the door to the Hanged Dog, his calloused hands feeling awkward on the rough surface, they were to dry it would seem, and if it was one thing he hated it was the dry feeling of his hands. A cold sweat overtook his body and he noticeably shivered. Powering through he moved through the crowd. Eyes darting all about, he slowed, turning to look back as the wolf pup yelped and danced away from a pair of oncoming boots stepping back his way.
The mercenary gave a grudging smile and bent, picking the small dark, and now wet, pup up to rest under his left arm.
“Give me a horn of apple cider... with alcohol... And three tumblers of whiskey, that table,” Ragni pointed at where Darius sat at the table.
He made it just in time to hear Darius' tale and the others bickering and not to mention Aliana's short defense against the others. But before he could make his presence known Aliana and Nox scampered off for a private discussion.
“So now we are calling each other slutswords you smelly bastard...” Ragnvald shook his head with feigned disgust of his mercenary friend, but could not hold back a smile as he pulled a chair up to the man and wrapped a arm about his broad shoulders, but alas he was not able to reach quite all the way across the breadth of the man, even with his long arms.
Ragni set the pup in his lap and placed his hands in front of him on the table, watching as one of the tavern wenches made her way over with his order.
“Here ye be good sir,” She gave a pretty smile even though she looked haggard and stressed over a full house.
The mercenary produced a gold coin and placed it in her hand, already he knew it would be a long night with Darius if they were to plan an attack on a dragon... But in truth what plan could they have. They would do it the old fashion way: Charge the fucker and hope to slay the scaly bastard from hell!
Ragni took all three tumblers in quick succession and then blew out a pint up breath.
Slowly he took a gulp of cider as he felt his mind slowly cloud and his body grow heavy from the quick burst of liquor.
“Like I was thinking to myself though, we can just do it the old fashion way. Charge, hope to kill it and move on or be thankful the godless bitch left us with a pyre... Am I right!” He downed the rest of his cider and held the empty horn mug up for another, hoping that the girlies would not tire of coming back and forth to his table.
“Also everyone has a cut from the gold.” Ragni slid a small pouch to each person around the table, each pouch held at least ten coins. He would give the missing members there cut soon enough.
Ragni let out another gust of breath and looked to each person in turn, “There is more to each persons cut but I was going to buy us all mounts in the... afternoon when I awoke. If you do not want that and provisions I will give you the rest of your cut in privacy... Until then let's drink some more maybe...”
At that another girl showed up with a mug of ale for the mercenary, and unknowingly he drained the contents, noticing the taste all to late. “Okay, so I might vomit...” The whore soldier cold only give a large grin at the prospect of throwing up over a good night soon to be in a real bed. But for now more drinking and later more throwing it all up...
SpoilerSighing, the swordsman began to eat, slowly picking apart the fish dish with his ornate chopsticks. Golden eyes darted through the back display bottles behind the bar as he watched events unfold.
What a bore lately…
A dark look crossing his face as he watched silently as the government agent killed a man. Of course he had seen deaths, but assassinations, or “executions” always seemed so pitiful. There seemed to be no skill except surprise and aim.
The young man continued to eat his food silently until looking to Serena,”After we finish we will go to a nearby inn and get a room. Hopefully no unnecessary blood with be spilled beforehand… But as long as they keep it to themselves...”
Not like a care. It is not my problem, his thoughts began growing dark.
Slowly he turned back to eating and watching. He noticed the preacher still trying to pass his message with failure. But more intriguing than the killing was the young woman… Jokull paused and looked harder, she’s blind! He shook his head and looked to the other woman; it seemed things were getting ready to light up.
I guess I might be killing tonight after all; Jokull sighed and continued to eat the rest of the fish.
Mist started to rise from the plains outside of the Port City. The only light was from the rising full moon. Shadows flickered among the fields outside the city walls. Almost blurs as the strange shadows climbed the thick tall walls. And just as quickly the Guards began to plummet to their deaths. The shadows rushed the guard houses. Still not a shout or scream. The spray of blood gleaming in the bright moonlight was the only evidence the shadows had come. And just as fast as they came they leapt onto the rooftops and began spreading out over the city.
A lone figure passed through the open gates to the city. The man pulled his strange off his aged bone colored cloak hood and glanced around. A bored expression on his face as his boot falls entered the empty streets. Mist rose about his slender figure, slowly it ebbed through the streets farther into the city.
As his boots echoed through the eerily empty street people watched through cracked shutters and doors. But they seemed to close and latch before the man’s shadow ever came close to being visible.
“Uh huh, seems like usual the populace is a bunch of cowards.”
He continued to move, his figure shrouded in the aged bone white cloak. Turning slowly to an open alley he waited. His eyes glowing a deep persimmon as they stared predator like down the dark alley.
A mocking laugh sounded from the depths of the dark portal, and slowly a figure began to shape and form, covered in a shadowed cloak, ”Hello master, you seem perturbed by my showing here. Do you not wish me to be here!?”
The man let his head loll back as a maddening laugh escaped his lips.
The white haired man shook his head slowly, ”I did not order you to be here De’Kita.” The boots began to echo again as the white haired man moved toward the open mouth of the alley.
De’Kita let out a maddening howl of a laugh.
“But lord I did not request permission. I will kill him before I let you touch him,” the feminine voice began to chuckle without control, ”Jokull Usercii the Ice Demon is my kill!”
The man stepped in close enough to the woman to peer almost through the darkness of the hood to see her face, “I will tell you what you may kill. Because last time I glanced… checked… cared to remember. I am the leader of the Ishvolk and Hand and Voice of Azurius. Or do you question our lord? Our God?”
De’Kita began to shrink back into the darkness. A nervous insane laugh began to take hold over her. “But Gestre, please… I must kill him… h-he is mine to kill. This is not fair, Gestre!”
Gestre seemed to blur and vanish. A whisper sounded through the dark alley, “I think you misunderstand me, you do not have my permission. And you have yet to beg of me what you are in want of…” The man smile as he stood behind the woman, almost looking as he leaned on her. A hand wandered over her stomach in the folds of her cloak.
“I think you should rethink how you are stating what you want.” The young man seemed far to calm as a blade appeared in his free hand. Moved over her shadowed throat and the calm alone which he held seem far too eerie in itself.
Rustling came from her figure; she was shaking with fear as his hand drifted around freely on her body. The nervous laughs can in racking sobs. “P-please Lord Gestre… Voice and Hand, of our God Azurius. I beg you to give me t-this order…”
De’Kita seemed to shrivel and fall from her once opposing stature.
The knife disappeared as well as the white haired man.
“You may have him, but first I shall speak with him. Do you understand this De’Kita?”
“Y-yes, yes I do Lord Gestre.” Falling to her knees she moved to the man and wrapped his arms around his waist.
“T-t-thank you, Gestre. My dear lover, hopefully are embrace will come again soon,” another insane laugh cracked through the air as the two vanished in the voluminous mist.
The white haired man moved back through the mists, slowly stopping at a tavern entrance. A dark look came over the young man’s usually calm face.
“Jokull, I smell you old friend… But do you I…” The strange man pressed the door to the tavern and stepped in. Wisps of mists followed and moved in behind him as he slowly closed the door.
The strange persimmon eyes glowed as they locked on to the dark brown haired man at the bar.
Ah, you dare take the girl with you… This will make matters easier with you dear sister...
The man vanished, reappearing with hood up in the stool next to Jokull.
“Keep, I will take a bottle of Oshia dark ale.” The man smiled in the shadow of his cloak hood as he softly spoke, “I smell you Jokull Usercii the Ice Demon… I also smell your girlie Serena the Chosen…” A chuckle sounded from the white haired man.
Jokull seemed to freeze, muscles tensing, his hand shattering the rising glass. Eyes began to twitch, ears flicking, his nose flaring in fear and rage as he took in the scent.
“I-I-I… smell you… Gestre Blood of the Bloody Mists!” Words barely sensible through his locked jaw. As he looked up at the man who took both mug and bottle from the keep who eyed him oddly.
Gestre slowly removed his hood and poured the contents of the bottle into his glass.
“Ah, brother it is so nice to catch your scent after so long… I see that after Elysia you just move on to the next look alike, eh? So sad she had to die… twice at that. And it seems that you were never able to save her,” the man took a long drag from his mug, “Don’t tell me… Vahni still has no clue about the two of you, does he? Even after my sister’s death, your lover. You still fear him… but it seems you have cut your chain for the time for he is not sitting here drowning in a bottle with you.”
The man downed the rest of the mug and began pouring another glass.
“It is sad, in all truth I was rather happy of the prospect of seeing him again.”
Jokull took three calming breaths, “Why are you here Gestre, this is not Nyroussia… I thought all of the relics were there!?” He slammed a fist to the bar, splinters spraying from the small gouge that the bar had acquired. The barkeep glanced over from his current customer in a suspicious manner.
“Leave now! I do not understand!”
Gestre finished the bottle of dark ale and stood slowly, “They were, but it seems there are a few who have acquired such said items. We have come to gain them. For his daughter must bless my bed and this world to kill you pitiful beings. You used to share my thoughts Jokull…”
Jokull’s stool scrapped back, barking and screeching as it clattered to the tavern floor. Most of the people quieted down to look over at Jokull and his party.
“Leave now you bastard, you killed her!”
Jokull’s blade gleamed free of the sheath in one fluid motion as he kicked the stool from underneath Gestre. A quick diagonal slash and then a spin to the floor in a horizontal finishing cut. Jokull stayed kneeling waiting for Gestre’s flesh to pill and the spray of his blood. But it did not come. A stranger stood in Gestre’s place, clutching his body. Already the coppery scent filled the tavern and soon the man could not hold any longer. He crumpled to the scrapped and scarred floor, insides spilling forth and bowels emptying.
“You bastard how could you take her, Gestre! Stop fading away from me and die!”
The white haired man smiled as he floated back, it was almost too late for him to vanish and place the man in Jokull’s path.
“I see you have been training more. That is not a pleasing thought my brother. Oh, I should tell you that De’Kita is here. And the guards are all but dead in this city… If I was you I would run. You are all dead though.”
Gestre vanished as fast as he had come.
The tavern seemed to break as screams erupted and the tavern began to empty. Jokull’s head whipped back and forth, scanning for Gestre, “Get back here!”
Pausing he glanced back, “Serena, we have to leave now, gather your things!” Panic seemed to take the swordsman as he pulled his pack on. Flicking his katana he slowly sheathed it and gripped it tightly in his left hand.
Looking to the remaining people in the bar he scowled and flinched, but it was odd for him. He was calm, collected, and never flinching.
“Anyone who wishes to stay alive for awhile longer should leave. Always stay out of the shadows and mist… they are here.” His golden eyes wavered as he read the writing in blood on the wall by the door, Ishvolk.
The wars have started again...
SpoilerThe city was lively as always. In Kynsin there was no true time to sleep. Fall was upon them and it was harvest time outside of the city. Farmers only had time to take in the crop and then come to town to drink and fuck their woahs away. Rain began to patter softly down upon the nicely cobbled streets. In the upper quarters of the town all seemed better. Every building had glass windows. Some even had stained glass windows. The buildings looked dark and ominous near the tops of their spires with the covered pitch lantern posts lining the cobbled street sent shadows up skyward toward the blackened sky.
A cloaked figure stood in the shadows of the lighted street. Slowly the figure stepped forth into the light. The dark boots spray water forth from the front of his boots as he strode forward with some almost purpose yet stayed lackadaisical, he was like a walking oxymoron. Fog flowed forth as the man let out a pint up breath. Slowly he began to sing out a tune as he walked, his breath coming out like a dragon's fiery breath.
“The grinning man
The man continued on, the small droplets of rain beading up in pellets of balls to glide down his oiled tarnished dark leather cloak. The hood was pulled up high. To cover his face in shadow. He continued onward up the wealthy street. Inside his cloak was the motion of his arms moving to become more situated on his two daggers.
“He's a Grinning
Dull blade a Sawing
His voice came out slightly more lyrical. He began to hum the tune continuously as he continued on through the icy cold night. In truth it was one of his more favored times. Fall was always nice with the turn of the colors. Spring was still to cold and fresh. Summer far to warm. And winter was to slippery for a good grip. But fall was nice. Everything was always more crisp in fall.
The man continued on, making his stride faster and more destination prone as to get there. Time was running short. As he thought on it he knew the Grinning Man would dislike his tardiness. The song was a helpful reminder most days though. Being an assassin did seem like it needed a timely manner about itself. But the man was not one for timely things. Yet the Grinning Man was a vicious force to play with. Almost like playing with fire, yet it would be a very big inferno instead of a fire.
The man continued on through the ran, the end of his boots continuing to send jets of water forward with every step, his breath continued to come out in plumes, and his black cloak sending beads of water trailing off.
It was only half a candlemark later and he was finally at his destination. He lurked in the shadows stalking back and forth from one end of the shadow to the next as he watched the house he was supposed to break into.
Only one guard stood outside the gate. He already knew two patrolled outside the house in the walled yard. Then there was two more inside the noble's house. The noble which the assassin had been sent to kill. After a moment the man decided on his plan of attack.
It took time to plan but moments to execute. The man stepped from the shadows. The guard glanced over with a half cocked head in curiosity.
“Hey stop there! What is your business!”
The man shrugged. Already he was being directly asked and not question. What was he a simpleton, some kind a beggar, a lame war veteran. A laugh escaped the blackened hood as he started forward. First a walk, then a quickening pace, finally he was at a run and the guard had turned his hobnailed boots to start scurrying in the other direction.
The man smiled as the chase began. “Stop, don't run! Address me! You wanted to know!”
The assassin fell low, his whole left thigh sliding on the wet cobbles. The guard let out a squeal as he tumbled from his feet. The assassin having slide tackled him. And as the guard fell the assassin rose like a mysterious figure from a coffin. Blades now shined bright in his hands from the rain and lantern light glinting on his blades.
“No please don't kill me sir I am-”
It was to late. The blades both took a slash at the man. One cutting the windpipe and the other straight to the heart.
“Didn't your mother ever teach you to fear the shadows boy...” And in truth he was just a lad. The assassin let him fall slack to the wet cobbles. The helmet the guard had been wearing lolling off to the side. Sad how slack the nobility was becoming if they thought that boys would keep them safe. There was still coin and this just made things easier for the assassin.
It took less than a few seconds to dispatch the next man in the yard. Carrying a torch and holding his cloak over himself to shield from rain had made him nightblind. A quick knife to the throat left the man gasping and choking in the rain as the torch sputtered out in a plume of mist and a hiss.
“They make killing to easy now a days...”
He made his way into the manor. There he removed his dripping worn cloak. It fell to the marble floor with an audible smack. Next he undid the cloth about his face. Oily dark hair was tied back, his mind still coming back to needing to cut it. His dark eyes searched the house. His night vision still applicable. Soon he knew at least one guard would come to see what the noise was. At that he removed his boots. He now stood barefoot and ready. No need to make a trail of water.
“Who goes there? Tenshul? Jarick? Is that you?” A guard rounded the corner. The main doors were just ahead. “Don't jump out on me you asses...” The man continued to creep toward the door, but slowly he drew out his longsword. The man paused as he began to here a familiar hum. Maybe something from his childhood.
“The Grinning Man
Comes a Smiling
The Grinning Man
Comes a Smiling
Men a Screaming
Men a Screaming..."
The guard dropped his blade, it panged and echoed through the house with a horrendous metal clang as it bounced and hit a few more times sending small flecks of marble up. The guard began to shake. “Please no, please no...” Words seemed unable to form as he croaked out odd sounds and breath all seemed to cease coming. The man tried to gather himself but could only give a choking sob. “God why... Please no I beg mercy from the Dark Lady!”
“He comes a Grinning
Dull blade Sawing
The guard heard the patter of water hitting marble and looked about. But as his nose caught the scent he glanced down. His breeches were soaked through on one leg and he stood shaking in a steaming puddle of his own urine. “GOD NO! ULRIC, TO ARMS!”
The assassin smiled as he ended his song. It was time. Slowly he descended upside down from the rope hook he had slung across the rafters. The ominous tune still being hummed under his breath as he dropped right behind the guard to breath it into his ear. The guards head drooped slightly, but that was only after the gruesome red smile was drawn across his neck sending a gush of red fluid across the white walls and staircase he had pissed himself by. The assassin slowly dropped down, making sure he missed the sword and piss. He gingerly tied a noose about the man's neck with his slim black rope. As he stepped away into the shadows the dead man stayed standing with those dead eyes.
“Urso?! Are you okay, Urso?” Another guard was coming now, almost throwing himself down the stairs. A light was shining and swinging everywhere in the man's panic. A glinting blade in the other hand. Finally the man made it down the stairs. But paused as he saw his friend. His arms fell limp as he slowly made his way over. But he saw the puddle of piss and the spray of blood. And as he moved closer the smell was clear. The other man was dead. But how was he still standing. Ulric felt like running but something was amiss. He was a guardsman, he needed to find out what was wrong and who was trying to kill his master.
“Urso, is this some game...” Ulric's voice came out in a croaking whisper. Then there was a ominous humming. Something from his childhood from long ago. It brought back memories of his mother telling him to eat all of his food or to go to bed. He still remember Urso pissing the bed over nightmares.
The humming continued as he got closer. “Please be alive... Brother...” A hand went out and he twisted the hanging guardsman about. But all he received was that of a red grin. The rope was making the dead man's neck slowly tear apart wider and wider.
Ulric had not prepared himself for the and kicked himself backward. Falling to fast to control he landed in a crumpled heap. The lantern fell in the distance to burst apart and start a spreading oil fire. But all that did was reveal the shadows past.
Ulric sat up on his elbows and felt bile rising in his throat. He raised his sword up. He was ready to strike out. But then his eyes landed on what the shadows had once concealed in darkness and now the flames licked out with their lighting touch. A figure stood perfectly still in the crook of a marble pillar and the staircase. He did not move yet only watched. Ulric had to admit he was a handsome figure, yet not very tall as far as noblemen went. But he was a monster in the shadows. Ulric tried to crawl backward with his elbows and pushing with his feet. His eyes flickered from the man as the oil fire spread and a pair of drapes went ablaze. But as when he looked back the monster of a man like form was gone. The humming was still present, so very present. “Oh gods, all of those stories were true... The Grinning Man really is real...”
The assassin appeared in a flash. His daggers raised, his right hand flicked the longsword free of the guards hand and he was upon him. Bearing his wait down on the frightened man. “The Dark Lady awaits you...”
The man plunged both blades down fast and hard. Either blade taking a lung as they scraped through the ribcage with minimal resistance.
The assassin stood up from the last guardsman and cleaned his daggers. After a moment of thought he looked from the raging fire and the spreading smoke and then back to the guard. His thoughts raced. Finally he decided. He picked the man up and tossed him over his shoulder and began to make his way up the slick marble stairs. Every step felt like he was walking on sticky ice. His feet were sweating. To much fun it seemed.
Ulric still lived, his lung punctured and blood feeling them. His body was numb but he could still see the blood dripping from his mouth to hit the white and black checkered marble as he was carried up the stairs. He tried to speak but his mouth would not move.
The assassin stopped at the large double doors that led to the master bedroom. He only knew this from the chair outside where the guard had sat guard after walking rounds. He dropped the guard down in front of himself and then took both daggers out to plunge into the larger man's back to hold him upright. The next step was kicking the doors in. They burst through, but only Ulric was visible. The assassin was hidden from view.
“Ulric what is the meaning of this?! And what was that noise?!” A man leaped from the bed in a night gown. He was old yet tall and still had a good build on him besides his thinning hair. Ulric did not answer, he only tried to lift his arm and wave his hand.
“Ulric... Stop this now, what is the meaning of this.” The nobleman took a step back as he noticed the blood on his guards face and around the mouth.
“What is going on dear...?” Now a woman was rising from the bed. Smoke was starting to pile into the room as more of the downstairs caught aflame.
The noble turned to his wife and hissed and waved his hand for her to stay put. “Ulric, are you okay lad?”
Nothing came from Ulric, but soon a eerie hum came out, almost as if it was coming from Ulric. And then a song,
“The grinning man
Comes a Smiling
“Ulric, stop that now it is no laughing matter...” The noble had backed all the way back to his side of the bed and had drawn out a greatsword that must have been hidden away. “I will cut you down if you force me lad.”
The song continued,
“He's a Grinning
Dull blade a Sawing
Ulric fell in a crumpled heap. The assassin pulling out his daggers with a sickening slurp and scrap of blood, bone, and pressure. “The Dark Lady sends her wishes. You should not have spoken ill of her children...”
The noblewoman tried to let out a scream but it was to late. The assassin sent the dagger in his left hand whirling through the air. It made a direct hit into her eye socket. “Well I was aiming for her throat... But a few drinks will do that to you... Yet she is dead right...” The monster of an assassin began to hum the tune aloud again.
“Put the sword down old man and make this easy... Well easy on yourself. Either way you are dead. I could throw my knife and kill you. Or run at you and take you... Either way you have no room to swing that sword... So please, be a gentleman, get a drink and I will end this quick. I already killed your mistress. And as you can tell you house is on fire... What else do you have? Children? I can kill them to for a price...”
The nobleman sighed. Sword gripped tight in his hands. The worn leather grip was familiar but it weighed far more now that he old and out of practice. But he would not die a coward. He moved quick with all of his strength and with a raise of his blade he swung down hard. But all he met was the splintering of marble and the vibration of the blade shaking out of his hands and causing his arms to go numb. The assassin was gone.
“Have we come to take your blood... Have we come to steal your soul...” The assassin let out a bone chilling laugh and then there it was. The nobleman could feel the cold steel as it hit in in the lower back several times. Already he could taste the coppery blood feeling his mouth. He coughed. It sent a blob of black clotted blood forward. “Fuck you you piece of shit. Your organization shall die soon...”
The assassin could only smile. The nobleman hit the floor, the blade crumpling with him. Almost like a old building being taken out by a gust of harsh wind. So old and powerful but so easy to crumbled if one tried.
At that the assassin walked and retrieved his knife. He cut a slit of sheet and doused it with water. Then wrapping it about his face made his way back down the stairs. It took mere seconds to put his shoes back on, wrap his face, and then don his leathery cloak. He stood there for a moment looking back into the house. The flames were growing and licking at everything. Smoke billowed like and angry dark monster looking for an escape.
The assassin kicked the doors open and made his way outside. Before leaving he dragged both guards he had killed outside into the house to lay in the dried up puddle of piss on the floor under the hanging man. After that he pulled on a glove and dipped it in blood. Then upon the marble floor in front of the doors wrote down the song he had been singing all night. This was the message all would see if they came soon enough. Otherwise the fire and dying sputtering rain would put it out.
At that he left the manor, soon after he could hear the bells tolling for a fire in the upper district. But he was already in the shadows, concealed from all prying eyes. Only his breath was visible in plumes as he hurried along still humming the nursery rhyme. It was time to go home to his employer.
A candlemark later the assassin was back in the underground making his way toward the ominously lit home of the Grinning Man or maybe the Dark Lady. Yet in truth he knew not which who truly owned the home. Only that the Grinning Man was the one who gave the coin. Either way they had both stolen the assassin's heart away. It was always nice to be loved for what you were good at. And the Grinning Man was exceptionally loving. The man shuddered as he thought of the man's smile and horse cock. He was always naked.
The assassin made it to the thick double doors and was greeted by two servants of the knife. In truth the still made the assassin nervous.
“The Grinning Man awaits you Rzurida...”
The assassin shook his head and scowled, it was not noticeable of course through his cloth covered face or hood. “Creepy little masochists...” He stepped through the large doors and made his way into the eerily lit manor. He started to make his way up the stairs and toward the back of the house where he thought the grinning man might be meditating. He had only come across the man once there. But who knew where the man would be honestly. He was a psychopathic priest in Rzurida's eyes. Of course his soul was as black as his. So why judge a man by his color when he does things of a similar like with a different flair. The nursery rhyme was still quite catching. He began to hum then tune again as he walked in search pf the man himself.
Rzurida continued on. He drew back his hood and unwrapped his face. Slowly the screams behind the doors became more audible. In truth Rzurida still had no clue if they were initiates or men and women being tortured... Maybe just rituals. Either way it was still to dark and dreary for good ole Rzurida. He was not old but he was not young in the profession of killing and assassinating. Not saying his last mission was so clean. But it was effective. He was supposed to make a message. What better message than what he left.
The assassin came to a stop as he came upon the large naked man. “I have returned from the job Grinning Man, how fair you on this quiet night...? Well maybe not quiet here.” Rzurida's hearing still caught the sounds of screams, moans, and something very different. But it was familiar. Then he stopped. He noticed he was still humming the nursery rhyme. “Any more jobs or news...?” Rzurida leaned up against a wall, trying to shade his eyes from the sconces on the wall that were dimly lit. Only a little light illuminating the area. He felt cold spikes going up and down his spine as he watched the Grinning Man's muscled back move. In all truth Rzurida feared no man or beast. Yet nothing deserved more respect than the lone wolf on the tundra plains or the Grinning Man. Both were vicious beasts who killed without a second thought. So he waited for the response, and he tried to keep his cool. His hands still stayed on the worn handles of his daggers...
The grinning man
Haha, I thought you would like that as a sample! Good stuff.
I am interested! I love fantasy rps. I'm a bit new here, so I'm trying to settle in, but I'm up for anything.
If you're looking for more partners, I wouldn't mind giving a try. Send me a PM if you're interested.
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Twilight: Making vampires gayer than cowboys since '05