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| Fire Emblem: To Kill a King; My 1st Serious Fic | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 15 2005, 09:19 PM (371 Views) | |
| The Assassin {MM2} | Dec 15 2005, 09:19 PM Post #1 |
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Assassin for Hire
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OK, y'all. This is my first "serious" fan-fic, I normally do comedy. Remember, I LOVE comments. It is set in an alternate continent, using some Fire Emblem elements. You may see familiar characters late. The Continent: Firnsir. Divided into 5 countries. Incablir: The icy cold winterlands to the north. Home to the warrior berserkers. Sralan’dir: The dessert lands to the far east. Home to assassins, thiefs, and sages. Ligubir: The cruel dominant nation, ruled by King Fornaut and seperated into Dukedoms.(Our story starts here.) Diversity in classes. Jesmond: The pacifist nation of monks and pegasi. Raises diplomats and negotiaters. Dezorne: The warrior nation in a constant state of martial law. Society is based purely on honor. Ruled by the "Champion", a swordmaster known as Kimbir. Known for raising Heros and swordmasters. Chapter One: The Noble Imposter The figure outside the doorway stood tense, taking care not to make any sudden movements until the time was right. The watchers were keen, and would detect anything out of the ordinary. He would have to be in and out if he hoped to succeed with his life still intact. The mottled darkness of his robe hid him from view for now, but he was not too confident, for he knew that would change the instant he moved. The Duke had boasted that his watchers could count the hair on one’s head, and the man had no wish to test the legend. The man himself was unsure about the exact nature of the watchers. As he stood there, he reviewed what he knew in his mind, remaining vigilant nonetheless. They were magical entities, with magical eyes to match. They usual chose to act around in the forms of animals, and the Duke’s had taken the shapes of dogs. In most cases, they were summoned by the mages of the higher-ranking officials of the government. The man sighed. Filthy pigs, the lot of them. Care more for themselves than their kingdom. Rather ironic, that, while the peasants lived like them, the nobles were the pigs. The man himself stayed out of politics. He was more suited to a “quiet” life of assassination and conspiracy. A noise approached, and the man instantly stiffened, discreetly drawing himself farther into the shadows. A boisterous laughing floated down the hallway, followed by the sound of a servant being dismissed by a loud, domineering voice. The next instant the man saw him, the Duke of Arsoli. A large globe of a man, dressed in rich burgundy robes, with a crown on his head which sent reflections of golden light prancing around on the ceiling. The man was followed by a large “dog”, which was intently looking around for the faintest sign of danger. Now was the time for action. While the dog was looking the other way, our assassin threw a flat silver disk down the corridor. The dog sensed the movement and spun, growling. It then dashed off down the hall, leaving the duke alone and confused. A dark shape separated itself from the shadows, and in the next instant the man had his knives around the neck of the duke. He knew that he had less than five seconds before the watcher returned and thus would alert its fellows to his presence, who would alert their mage masters, who would in turn alert the guards. So, he quickly drew his knives across the neck of the noble, thus finishing his assigned job. To be sure, he felt for blood, and upon feeling it, was relieved. He turned around, expecting to see the Dukeless watcher disappearing. Instead, he saw it looking at him, memorizing his face, no doubt sending his portrait to its fellows. The man cursed. Upon losing their masters, watchers were meant to be returned to the nightmarish land from which they came. Either the Duke had found a way to wreak revenge upon his killer, even in death, or he had killed the wrong man. From his cloak, the man pulled his silver net and threw it over the demon, effectively trapping it. (Demons are “allergic” to silver, its freezing cold burns their essence.) Its unearthly howls rang out through the night, alerting all to the whereabouts of the would-be-ambush. All the while, our assassin knelt over the Duke, looking for the tell-tale birthmark on the back of the Duke’s neck. The man cursed again. It wasn’t there. He had killed a decoy, meant for this very purpose. The man took no more time to kick himself. He ran towards the nearest window and kicked out the priceless stained glass. He jumped through, but immediately spun around and caught the edge, pulling himself against the fortress’s rock hard wall. It knocked the breath out of him, but he paid no mind, there was a full battalion of soldiers, pikes raised, and standing underneath, waiting for the valiant escape. The assassin pulled himself in through the window to find two guards waiting for him, lances at the ready. These two were clad in the heavy burgundy armor of the Duke’s knights. The man waited for the inevitable lunge by the first of the two, and neatly sidestepped when it came. He slashed down with his dark blade, stained with the blood of the decoy, and chopped the sharp head of the spear off. The first knight stood back to let the second one attack, as they had been trained. The second knight had learned from the first one’s mistake, and he waited for the assassin to make the first move. The assassin sighed. If he must. He had long ago sighted the weak spot in the armor of the two brutes, two plates near the armpit that fit together improperly. The man, with a knife in each hand, dashed forward, feinting high with one, while driving up towards the weak spot with the other. The knight instinctively blocked the high assault, and the assassin struck him low, driving up, near one of the body’s major veins. The heavy knight collapsed towards him, arms flailing, one final attempt to stop the intruder, born of excessive indoctrination. The man seemed to disappear from under the falling knight’s massive bulk, reappearing to the side of the mountain of man. The first knight had decided to use his useless former-spear as a club, and swung the colossal bludgeon at the man’s head. The man dropped a knife, braced himself against the wall, and put the other knife into the path of the wood. It buried itself deep inside the shaft, and the momentum traveled through into our assassin, jamming his arms deep into their sockets. Yet the man held his ground, and with a grimace and an almighty effort, muscles popping, he twisted the stick, breaking the knight’s wrists. The assassin rushed over and finished the job with a blow to the side of the neck, picking up his other knife along the way. He was running down the corridor when a knight stepped out of a door to his side, and essentially hugged our assassin, pinning his arms to his sides. Five minutes later, our man was in the dungeon of The Duke of Arsoli, chained to the wall with almost no hope of escape. Almost |
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| Linkmaster_21 | Dec 16 2005, 11:58 AM Post #2 |
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Legend of LM
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very nice chapter! i'd like to see where this fan-fic goes.
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| The Assassin {MM2} | Dec 16 2005, 01:57 PM Post #3 |
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Assassin for Hire
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Woo! Thanks! I should be done later today. I'm writing two right now. I made a copy of this on Nsiders, so if you guys haven't quit, I'd appreciate comments there, too. |
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| Linkmaster_21 | Dec 16 2005, 02:46 PM Post #4 |
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Legend of LM
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i got banned three months ago.
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| The Assassin {MM2} | Dec 16 2005, 07:17 PM Post #5 |
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Assassin for Hire
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Chapter Two: The Completion of a Job In the throne room of the Dukedom of Arsoli, a servant approached his master. “Sire, the conspirator is in the dungeon. He refuses to talk despite our torture. Judging by his looks, I’d say he’s from Sralan’dir. He’s definitely a trained assassin, highly skilled in what he does. He refuses to say who hired him; in fact he hasn’t even screamed yet, however he did have a piece of parchment with the words ‘Arsoli for Nebir’ on it. Even our most… influential… informers know nothing of this Nebir man.” He ended with a bow. “Yes, yes, well, redouble the efforts of our torturers. Whatever it takes. I must send a message to the king. Mayhaps he knows something of this Nebir… or our mysterious assassin,” The Duke replied in a rough, gravelly voice. “Of course, sir. Your’s will be done.” The servant hurried off into the dungeon. The main hall of Arsoli Manor branches off into three main passage ways. The first passage way leads into the courtyard, where all hunting parties, duke-sponsored expeditions, and tournaments occur, as well as any other festival. The second leads to the upper castle, where the Duke and servants live, as well as the armory and treasury of the castle. The third leads to either the kitchens, the dining hall, or at the very end, a small set of winding stairs. These stairs spiral down into the dungeon, which lies directly beneath the Great Hall. It is rumored that in his spare time, when there are no guests around, the Duke puts his ear onto a special pipe that leads down into the dungeon. This pipe carries the screaming sounds of his prisoners up to his cruel, eager ears. The dungeon in question is separated into three main parts. There are the main cells, where all the prisoners are held, the guards’ rooms, where the guards of the dungeon stay, and finally the torturing chambers. The latter holds a terrible array of machines meant to make a man want to die. It is here that our man lies on the cold hard floor, in an interval between torture sessions, gasping for the stale dungeon air. There the man lay, his carefully woven camouflage cloak ripped into shreds. He wanted to die. He knew that. Yet he couldn’t, for his job wasn’t done, Arsoli wasn’t dead. Thus he sustained his will to live throughout the torture, and still rebelled when the guards came. He knew not to eat the food offered; it was often poisoned to cause even more pain to the dungeon’s captives. Despite the desolate and bleak conditions of his captivity, our man still had hope. First, his guards were stupid. They had failed to properly search him, and thus he still had a knife in his boot and a piece of wire for lock picking in his mouth. Second, he knew they didn’t poison the water, for they still wanted information out of him, so they couldn’t kill him. Finally, a local holiday was fast approaching. It was the custom of the region to celebrate Hero’s Day with heaps of drinking. The guards would be drunk and this would be our hero’s day of escape. Two days passed without much out of the ordinary in the life of a medieval torture-victim. The duke was kept busy with preparations for Hero’s Day; he had little time to order new tortures upon our friend. The man slept often, building his energy. He nibbled at food, eating only which the poisons had not reached. He was ready for escape. It was the night of his escape. The man focused his energy, and let the adrenaline rush. Using only his tongue, he picked the lock on one of his wrists. He rushed forward, away from the wall, letting the chain break under the strain. Chains were useful weapons. The man leaned against the wall that the door was on, out of site. Then, he waited. Dawn broke through the slits in the window, and three guards came in to check on him before sneaking out to the courtyard for the festival. As the first one opened the door, he walked right into a knife, slitting his throat and killing him almost instantly. The next guard, still groggy, saw his partner fall and walked into the room to find- no one. The last guard came in and they looked around in puzzlement while the assassin climbed down from the top of the door and out. He had his weapons and was up the stairs and into the main hall before the guards turned around to find themselves locked in the dungeon. The man moved smoothly, stealthily from pillar to pillar, never in view for more than a second. Nonetheless, an attentive watcher saw him and sent up an unearthly howl. The next second, it was lying on the ground with a silver disk through its throat. The man scooped up his disk on the run, and upon entering the Grand Hall found a battalion of mages waiting for him. In one synchronized motion they drew their pentacles for what he recognized as an Elfire spell. Elegant curses flew from the man’s mouth. In a few seconds, where he was standing would be a crater, with him a crumbling pile of ash. He waited until the last possible second, and disappeared before the magicians’ very eyes. Black filled the air where he used to stand, as if the shadows were forming themselves up. They took on the shape of the man, and walked calmly into the tangle of mages. The mages threw all kinds of attacks at it, and it disappeared almost immediately. But the distraction had worked; the man was in the Duke’s private chambers. Hiding behind a curtain, the man listened in on the Duke’s conversation. He was to speak at the festival. Perfect. Nebir had wanted the killing to cause the biggest uproar possible. Soon, he saw the blurred outlines of a giant man and a dog disappear out of a doorway, and he edged out of his hiding spot. The Duke’s chambers could be described as lavish. They could, but that would be understating it. Rich burgundy colors covered everything. The man’s mirror was tinted burgundy. Disgusting. The man noticed a burgundy-shaded window. With an exasperated sigh he opened it, looked at the crowd below, and leapt. He landed nimbly on his feet, and no one even spared him a second glance. He melted in with the crowd, and came back out of it behind the Duke’s stage. He looked interestedly at a building on the other sighed and then started and hid is face slightly. He was looking at a poster of himself. He slunk into the space under the stage and began his work. By the time the duke had come, ready to talk, our man had made himself a trapdoor directly behind the area where he suspected the duke would stand. As the duke began his speech, his voice echoing magically across the now-silent courtyard, the man tensed. He waited for the Dukedom’s motto before killing him. “…and so, I, the Duke of Arsoli, give you this festival dedicating it to justice. For Justice!” The Duke passionately yelled. At the end of that line the man jumped through the trap door, whipping out his knives, and sinking them into the Duke’s back, then dragging them down. He could plainly see the birthmark, and all the watchers throughout the stadium disappeared. A piece of paper fell out of the man’s hand and landed on the duke’s lifeless chest. The man disappeared, leaving the paper and that one line echoing throughout the stunned courtyard. The slip said, For Justice. |
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| The Assassin {MM2} | Dec 16 2005, 07:18 PM Post #6 |
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Assassin for Hire
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Yes, I am trying to make a silent character, and if you're lucky you will find his name later on. In like chapter 4 probably. It'll be hidden though. |
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| Linkmaster_21 | Dec 17 2005, 09:23 AM Post #7 |
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Legend of LM
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'nother nice chapter.
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| The Assassin {MM2} | Jan 31 2006, 03:36 PM Post #8 |
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Assassin for Hire
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K, well, I've been busy, but I've got the titles decided for the next Ch. It is split into two parts. Part one is: Payment hurts. Patr two is: Snow melts red. |
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| Linkmaster_21 | Jan 31 2006, 05:15 PM Post #9 |
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Legend of LM
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about time you make another chapter! XD lol |
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11:32 AM Jul 11