I looked at the features today and ended up coming up with a story. It is a mere work of inspiration. I saw no rule against that at the time of writing. I'll try to write this in a way that resembles what a real DF game would be like, but eh.
Part I - At The Hands of Irony
The breath flowed from me like the blood of so many of my former targets flowed from their bodies, after begging me for quarter in vain hope that they might get lucky, that by some small chance they might inspire mercy in me. They begged for the cruelest things; they begged that I bring them back to my civilization, it's castle, my home, and that they be whipped a thousand times daily by a switch soaked in blood and water, that they be placed in shackles and a brace then displayed before the entire castle, that they go through so many tortures that it sounded as if they already were being tortured, that they were already being given the foulest of all punishments before death. They begged for so many things, like they were a spoiled child being punished for taking one too many sweets. Then I would only proceed closer to them, giving them the upmost terror as they tried with all will to escape, an effort stopped by wounds. Then, when I came close enough, I would draw my steel longsword, and reply to their cries for mercy. "You've done the damnedest deeds, more so than mine could count for, and beg for mercy... I couldn't count how many times you're repeating the actions of others. And do you know why?" I would say, before positioning myself close to their face. "It's not 'cause of being raised where it's lucky I can write well at all... It's because they all yet to realize somethin'..." I would say before raising and positioning my sword. "It's because all who are alive to beg have soiled my reputation, a reputation only I keep track of, because I'll be damned if you know who I actually am. No one should, and the fact you're alive tarnishes my reputation. They've all accepted the worst torture the moment they angered my nation. THIS is mercy, releasing you from all of the torture and torment!" I would say, before delivering a final blow that would end them.
I suddenly snapped back from the recollection of how I would kill survivors by a sharp shreading pain to my back. I had apparently just struck the ground, but my armor had miraculously saved me. I jerked up in reaction, not believing I had just lived through all of that and a blow that should have killed me. Then a horrid image came to me, the end of a sword. I closed my eyes soon after seeing it, a reaction I never dreamed of having to an enemy, but for a moment I thought I was dead. After reopening my eyes, I saw my target, Edrich Elvenwood, standing there. I stared at him for a moment, in as much surprise as I was when I learned that despite being an elf he was as strong as a dwarven king. He only pointed that damned sword at me, that damned wooden sword that my sword could never slice and angered me that I couldn't. I didn't believe this, and I could swear he was just mocking me before killing me, but to my shock he extended his hand to me. I saw this as a chance, and I grabbed his hand. I let myself be pulled up close enough to stay on my feet after what I was planning, and rocketed my hand to my scabbard. To my horror, nothing was there. Then, the next thing to happen felt like a deliberate insult. I saw his wooden sword fly across the room like an awkward, nougat bird, and then I felt sick as he slammed his fist into my stomach. I almost fell to my knees before his fist flew into my chin with such force it should have broken it, and then I felt an intense pain in my groin that caused me to fall to actually fall to my knees. He then kneed me in the face before pulling me up to my feet, spinning me around, and forcing me to the wall, his hand on my neck. "Armok, how is he doing this!?" I thought before Edrich began to speak. "You daft fool, I really had more respect for you, as far as I can respect a damned gutless fucking fairy like you!" He said, before turning me around yet again and what I believe to have been a square punch to my temple that felt like a thousand volcanoes erupting in my skull. He seized me by the collar and began to scream in my face. "Oh and don't give me that 'Oh I'm so fucking great, so damned bloody good so I have to kill everything just so people won't know how damned bloody PATHETIC I AM.' shit because we both know it's a load of cave spider web!" He screamed, before giving me another kick to the groin. I'm not sure what was going through me, but for the oddest reason I couldn't help but feel irony in the fact I was being beaten and insulted by a foul-mouthed, unusually skilled elven leader of a large organization of bandits. I was almost finding humor in it, though the kind of humor you find when near death. He spinned around and threw me to the floor, and before I knew what the hell was happening anymore I was on my knees with chains on my wrists. Then he was suddenly right in front of me. I didn't know what was happening, though I guessed that I was in shock. But then I slowly saw the floor come closer and all went dark. This time my eyes weren't just shut, but I wasn't dead. All that was there for the time was darkness, and my thoughts.
So, that's the end of the first part. For those of you who read through it, thank you for at least doing so. I'll probably write a new part later, not sure when but it'll be soon. If this part sucked, that's because the beginning of a story isn't my strength in writing.
For those who are TL;DR, why the HELL are you in a section for stories?
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Topic: Inexistant - Story of an assassin (Read 808 times)