Shades of Red Options

[ShogunSniper]

this is my first attempt at a fan fiction. i wrote this in school while i was bored, and spoofed it up for my submission here. im not sure if i will continue it, and this isn't really a complete entry. it feels quite like an unfinished intro but just deal with it.



I wait in darkness. Tme flows through me like a river without substance. Hours pass. Minutes. Seconds. All meaningless to me. Most would say my career, my reason for shrouding myself in shadow, is to kill. Though, the wise understand my job is to disregard any number of things. I disregard my fear of darkness. I forget my guilt. I turn my head to moral reasoning. I shrug off questions, comments, compliments, insults. I ignore the passing days, and they ignore me.

When time moves without you, no natural end to your life can be seen. This is the case with me. I don't bother myself with the concern of dying of old age or passing away in my sleep, less it be by poison. A cold, dark blade through my chest, or an arrow lodged in my throat are things I must keep an eye on in nature's stead. These are the instruments through which death will reach me. And since such forms of mortal awareness are all inflicted by men, it is only logical that if I need not fear age, then all that is left to cower from is the wraith of man.

With only human ambition to be done in by, I have concluded my life and my purpose to one simple truth: Serve those more powerful than myself.

If you hold swords against a man who you cannot kill, you will not kill him. This is my logic, yet scores of aspiring heroins do not grasp this idea, and ultimately die by my steel. No matter how you look at it, see me as a killer or a disregarder, I serve the powerful. The powerful need jobs done. They pay the Black Hand. The Black Hand pays me.

I am an assassin of the Dark Brotherhood.

I make my living off of disregarding, forgetting, head turning, shrugging, and ignoring. End's meet is made by killing. I kill people like yourself. I kill the intelligent. The stupid. The big. Small. Strong. Weak. Brave. Cowardly. Among all the diversities of Nirn, I sow a common trait. They all die silently in the darkness.

~~~

They call me Sadril. I was birthed in the Nordic town of Bruma. My skin is ashen, my hair silver. I am a bastarde. One would assume, however, that since my mother is of the racial majority of my hometown, that my father would have to be Dunmeri. In fact he was.

Long lost bedtime stories tell me that I share my father's name. They tell me of his cunning and wits and of his cursed blood, which he also blesses me with. Though a father who abandons his own kin and crimson is not worthy of the few thoughts I keep on the tip of my mind, and so he remains among the things that I am paid to forget daily...

[canis216]

A Dark Brother eh... this ought to be an interesting departure from our more Morag Tong-ish types here. This is an intriguing beginning, please keep it up.

[minque]

Hey! Nice to see you among the writers of this forum! You have a good start here you know! And I´m thrilled to learn more about Sadril.....

[Lord Revan]

Well, well, well, time to see how Sadril is when he wasn't partially insane..... or was he like that when he was young too? Can't wait to find out Shogun

[The Metal Mallet]

You certainly know how to develop a mood Shogun. You're introduction was written quite well.

I second canis' thoughts about Sadril being a Dark Brotherhood Assassin. It'll be neat to see the more ruthless assassin at work here. I hope you decide to continue on with this story.

[ShogunSniper]

thanks all. ill add another installment soon. though i plan to take it in a different direction. the above was written in first person, present tense. there is a lot i want to convey about my character and i find it hard to do so in first person, and present tense is just plain out hard for me to write in so i'm probably going to change it to third person, past tense.

anyway, thanks.

[Lord Revan]

Welcome to the club of thrid-person writers, Shogun. As far as I know there aren't many of us........ Oh, well it doesn't matter, continuing to write Sadril's origin story is more important than whether it's in first or third person.

[treydog]

You have an excellent beginning here. I, too, hope you will gift us with more of your work.

[Zelda_Zealot]

Wow, I really like this begining. Please, keep it up!

[ShogunSniper]

Chapter 1: In the Air of Death


The blackness embraces those who embrace it...

Quietly, I waited, cloaked in the dire shadow within the home of a man I did not know and did not wish to know. All was silent. A silence so pure and soft that it seemed to deafen me. Even the air around me dared not move, for fear of playing the slightest whisper to my ear that may disturb me. The small specks of dust, visible in the painted blue moonlight that shone through a nearby window, did not even stir. They hung, motionles, as if stopped by time itself.

I crouched in the dark corner of a shack in the middle of the wilderness, north of Kvatch. This is where I was informed my target would dwell, and this is where I waited for him. The sun had disappeared for hours, and yet the Altmer man who I was to submit to the void remained away from his home.

Away, until, loud as thunder, through the still air came the sound of a key greeting the only lock within miles. My sword, a simple steel katana, glided out of its sheath with a satisfying slither as I instinctively readied a lethal lunge towards the door.

The latch clicked.
My stance raised slightly into a more mobile one.

The door cracked open, and the once still dust particles stirred and buzzed to life; as if foreseeing the doom to come.
My muscles tightened.

I said no prayer to Sithis asking for protection as I took a single leap--half step, half jump-- for that was all it took to cross the shack and get to the door still in mid-swing. The timing of my attack could not have been more perfect. The thrust slipped just past the opening door and plunged deep into the chest of whoever was on the other side.

My dance of death was choreographed so flawlessly that only a sliver of my figure was visible from outside the door. Even then, that sliver, my right shoulder, was still cloaked in the blackness of the hovel. My target probably did not even know that he had been slain. After an eternity of supporting my blade and my kill's lifeless body, I peaked around the door to inspect the corpse.

Rather than being satisfied, I was disturbed by what clung to my grey steel. An Altmeri man was my target, though I found the terrified expression of an Altmeri woman on the end of my sword; her face twisted and distorted by the pain and fear of the end.

Most Dark Brotherhood assassins lack compassion toward their kills. Any honor they may have is saved for their brothers and sisters; and even then, they are quick to betray in the name of the Night Mother and the Dread Father. I was different from most, but not by much. Yes, I was the embodiment of the cold murderous persona of an assassin, simply lacking in other areas of the Dark Teachings.

Yet, for reasons that were at the time beyond me, I felt a ping of sorrow for the accidental death I caused. A feeling i had never experienced before then. However, the emotion was shallow and fleeting for a glint of moonlight caught my eye just beyond the dark veil of the treeline and brought me out of my trance. The moon, being low in the sky and behind me, on the opposite side of the house that the entrance was on, had fatefully cast a gleem of light on the broadhead of an arrow racing towards me. I quickly withdrew myself behind the door, though was not fast enough. The arrow struck through the left shoulder of my most recent victim and stuck into my right shoulder.

The shock of being hit surprised me to the point of dropping my weapon, though any sound it may have made was deadened by the cadaver that still held lifelessly, even vengefully, to it.

I pressed lightly against the door for cover, trying to compose myself. It may surprise you to know that I, working with the Brotherhood for years, had never been wounded while carrying out the will of Sithis. This explains why I went into some amount of shock at the arrow protruding from my body. After a few deep breaths, my mind snapped back to reality and my left hand, without even being told to do so, ripped the arrow from my shoulder. I cringed, but did not dare make a sound. Silence and darkness were my only true allies, yet I had just been betrayed by them both.

I went back to doing what I had been doing all night. I watied, and listened. Each passing moment, each spark of thought illuminating my head seemed to last hours, yet I knew it took me only seconds to decide to reach around the door and feel for the handle of my sword. An assassin is nothing without his tools. I had been told this, and dutifully ran it through my brain, though I did not strongly support it.

At this point, I was sitting against the ajar door. It was being held open by the corpse now stuck in the doorway. I reached behind me, to the other side of the door with my left hand and slowly felt around for the unmistakable hilt of my katana. Slowly, my hand inched.

Further...

Further...

My fingers pulling it slowly like a blind, crippled spider searching for its web. My arm began to cramp and ache as I stretched even more. Finally, I lifted my hand for one final reach, one final grasp at the air; though I did not find my weapon.

Instead my hand fell upon the face of the Altmeri woman, still warm and full of emotion; full of pain. The feel of her smooth, creamy skin under my fingers flashed the bone-chilling image of her young, beautiful, dying profile in my head. Her gaze of death struck me hardest; deep black pools of innocence, staring into my own. Asking: "Why me? What did I do?" It came upon me violently; my mind's eye unable to avert itself from the paralyzing waves of pain her horrified face caused in me.

Though her death was not all I relived...


This post has been edited by ShogunSniper: Mar 9 2007, 01:22 AM

[ShogunSniper]

i suppose its a bit short... maybe awfully long for what little happens in it. whatever. enjoy

also, my resolution is maxed out so if the font is way big or way small please tell me.


This post has been edited by ShogunSniper: Mar 8 2007, 05:44 AM

[Zelda_Zealot]

i suppose its a bit short... maybe awfully long for what little happens in it. whatever. enjoy

also, my resolution is maxed out so if the font is way big or way small please tell me.

It is kinda small, if it were bigger I would take the time to read it right now (Sorry but I am supposed to be actually doing stuff), I promise I will read it when I get home though.

EDIT: Just finished reading it. I like it a lot! I really love the way he killed that Altmer woman, very good idea!


This post has been edited by Zelda_Zealot: Mar 8 2007, 05:52 PM

[The Metal Mallet]

I like how descriptive your writing is, it gives the reader a good picture in their head. That detail is perfect for narratives.

Basically, I'm enjoying this! Do continue!

[ShogunSniper]

thanks for your support.

im bored as hell, and i wrote a lot at school so i may have another addition up by tonight.

[jack cloudy]

Neat, I like that vamp. I also like your style of writing. Very descriptive, with the dust floating in the air.

[ShogunSniper]

There are some things in life man is not meant to see. Man should not see his own death before it happens; though tales of the odd ability of foresight do exist. Man should not see into the thoughts of others; and still stories of telepaths spring up very often. Man should not see the entire life of the person who he had just slain. Though at the time, I was convinced it was some sort of hallucination, I had in fact experienced such a fate.

After her agonizing portrait ceased to block my thoughts, I began to see other things. Old memories. Memories that did not belong to me. Memories of the Altmer whose face my hand rested upon flooded through me in brilliant flashes of light. Heavenly light. From what I could tell, key moments of the young woman's life were blurring through my head. I saw, in her life, some happiness, but mostly sorrow. Death. Death of loved ones. Death of the people whom she lived with in her early years.

I saw blackness. An overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. Helplessness. At first the images were fuzzy, sound muffled. I couldn't make out what was happening. Then...

Murder, I saw. Murder and rape... She was raped.

Guardsmen.

Legionnaires.

Those who bore the trusted emblem of the Empire were the ones committing these sins against their own people. Imperial Guards; they killed her family and raped her. I felt her pain so clearly and so sharply. I felt her burning questions, her lost hope, her lost purity.

Her screams.

Unanswered pleas for mercy resounded through my head and echoed through my hollow conscience. I was terrified. For the first time I could remember I felt fear. Not my own, but her's.

The woman--no... The girl's life, for she was much younger than I realized, contained no love. All she knew was sorrow, and yet I saw through her eyes how kind she was to others. How polite and pure her thoughts were through her daily life despite her past. The shallow, fleeting prick of pity I felt when I first saw this victim of my savagery struck me again. Deeper, this time.

Her final memory, of course, was that of my katana running her through. Though she had not seen it coming, she had been aware of her own demise after all...

Slowly, and with a new sense of pain and true agony, I resurfaced. Everything in the barren dark shack came back into focus. Cold beads of sweat ran down the side of my face, catching the now yellow moonlight as they dripped from my shaven chin. My breathing was hoarse and heavy; it would seem I had just awaken from a nightmare. The hard, unmistakable thud of an arrow striking the door I was using for cover brought me that much closer to the situation at hand.

Startled by the projectile hitting mere inches from where my exposed hand rested outside of the door, I withdrew my arm, feeling the soft facial features of the girl pass over my finger tips one last time. On its way back, my left hand ran across the handle of my sword which I worked so feverishly to locate moments ago. Or had it been hours since I reached for it? Regardless, I grasped it, tightened my grip and pulled hard, trying to free it from the Altmer's rib cage. My hand slipped from perspiration, but slowly the blade came loose.

Having been through the stasis I just experienced, the grotesque sucking sound that accompanied the liberation of my katana from the dead caused me to shudder, if only slightly. I shuddered not because of a faintness of stomach, but rather because I felt I knew the person from whose corpse I was pulling a piece of steel from. When you know someone personally, it makes their death all the more real.

I had gotten to know Ardarume better than I ever wanted.

~~

Some amount of time had passed before I decided that my predicament required action to be solved. I looked about me for anything that could help, but instead saw only what could not. My right shoulder served as the spring at the head of a river of blood. A river that cascaded to the floor and mixed with Altmeri blood. Namely, the crimson of Ardarume. I jumped to my feet, startled once more by the reminder of the atrocity I created.

I shook it off, and went into my logical reasoning mode. One archer out front. Accurate and sharp-eyed; a professional. I was expected so their may be others with him. The place is probably surrounded. I have no choice but to run for it... I sighed as I reached the grim conclusion; the first audible sign of emotion I had made since I entered the shack.

I looked towards the window I had once crouched by. The moon was getting lower and, opposite the window, on the entrance side of the house the sun crept up from behind the horizon, singeing the black sky orange along its edges. Now or never. I hated the phrase, but thought it appropriate as I dubiously lined myself up with the window, sheathed my katana and took the single required step to cross the shack before leaping out the window, arms covering my head.

The shattering glass broke the silence of early morning. That, however, was the only thing that would go according to plan. Once I hit the ground, my momentum carried me into a single roll before I was up on my feet sprinting. If you ignored the blood now dripping for my lacerated arms, the entire act would have been quite graceful and skillfully executed. My sprint too, was well formed and inhumanly fast. No archer could possibly hit a target moving as quickly as I am. This thought was not of arrogance, but of simple fact.

Famous last words.

A small hail of arrows fell upon me. Fifteen, twenty even rained down and peppered the ground along the trajectory I was running. Though through the first volley I remain unscathed. The second came, and at this point I could see the arrows were being fired from the treeline surrounding the shack. It were as if the house was designed so it could be ambushed, with nothing but open field to sprint across before any cover could be reached.

I ran hard and avoided the now constant rain of death as I closed in on the woods.

Thirty meters. An arrow whistled by my ear as my chest began to tighten, perhaps warning me of my doom to come.

Twenty meters. an arrow finally struck me in my right calf.

Stumbling towards ten meters and the torrent still fell.

I, at long last, made it, though I almost wished I hadn't. For this time, the flawless dance of death was directed towards me. Three archers, clothed head to toe in black, spun from behind each of their respective trees that provided them with cover until the perfect time to strike. I could have taken them, though their bows were already armed, taught, and aimed. They fired simultaneously, and all three struck me. I was in too much pain to tell where I was hit. I was not in too much pain to come to a conclusion, to the irony of the way my life had been delivered to the void. I forgot it, though, being too engulfed in my final moments to bother with such trivial things as one's 'manner of death.'

Forever, I lied in the grass, just feet from the cover of the treeline. Icy dew soaked through my clothing and reminded me of my own mortality in an odd, metaphorical sort of way. The sky turned a lighter shade of blue with each dying gasp. My head felt empty, and still the image of Ardarume's dying smile remained burned on the back of my mind.

I spent my final moments contemplating how dew got to be all over the ground without any rain the previous night. As the edge of my vision tinted black I could not even recall who I was, or even what had happened. I heard footsteps crunching in the leaves, not towards me. No. Who would walk towards dew? So cold and wet. But, away from me. My killers had to have been so confident in their techniques of assassination that they would not even inspect their supposed dead target. This kind of reasoning was beyond me at the time, for I was still wondering why the stars disappeared during the day. All the blood I lost made me a little light headed.

As the darkness encroached on my vision further, like a plague across the lense of my eyes, I heard more crunching from the woods.

Blackness took me completely, but the crunching of leaves grew louder.

Step. Crunch...

Step. Crunch...

The sound grew until it became a distorted mass of noise. A scream. The screams of Ardarume which still pulsed, trapped in the emptiness of my heart. They were all I could hear, but eventually, they too became quiet...

This post has been edited by ShogunSniper: Mar 9 2007, 01:20 AM

[The Metal Mallet]

Wow, this is quite dramatique stuff you're writing here Shogun. It makes for a very enjoyable read.

Maybe whoever is approaching Sadril killed the hunters, that could explain the screams. So maybe Sadril might get lucky and survive this incident... I hope so, or this story has ended WAY too soon!

[ShogunSniper]

thanks a lot. i was a little worried that this addition was not so good.

as for the story. it will continue definitely, but that is all i will say as im sure you prefer it.

[Mazelure]

Now this is a story! Good stuff! Good stuff!

[ShogunSniper]

thanks. im writing more now... i cant seem to pull myself away from it for some reason.. its like a drug.. i cant stop writing.

is this normal?