The finale.

the last part of Forrest ( i decided not ask you lot and compromised with this)

The barrier collapsed under the ferocity of the assault, Forrest sheathed his katana and drew his pistol. He emptied the clip in to the first giant; it kept coming. He dived to his left to avoid an axe swing, rolling back to his feet in one fluid motion. He drew his sword.
His first strike hit the northerner in the chest but the huge man came on, twisting his body free of the cold steel. Forrest ducked the axe the blade whistling just above his head, and then he sidestepped a down swing that left the axe imbedded in the ground. He sent a slash over his opponent’s belly he was respond with a huge punch to the jaw that sent him back.
The huge tribal drums of the northern army beat out their bounding rhythm, the hordes of men marched forward to their tune.
Forrest stood, still dazed from the punch around him his comrades were dying, the attack form the north never ending, he parried a wild thrust and sent the tip of his sword to severe the attackers artery, the giants were all dead now, evening the playing field. He levelled the blade to shoulder height pointing it at an opponent form his lips a primal roar escaped as his charge hit home, he gripped the delicate blade two handed swinging with all his strength, splitting opponents in two. He didn’t feel the blades sliding into him at first, the knife in his thigh, the arrow in his stomach, his strength poured from him and he feel onto his knees, then pitched forward.
The cool mud padded his fall, his sword limp in his hand, the dark crimson of his blood pouring into the drenched earth.

The gun ship sailed down the river, the miniguns on its deck ripping into the savage ranks felling scores men with the pull of a trigger. The attack was repulsed and the southern army poured over the makeshift bridges the invaders had made, ripping into the survivors with their blades. The northern army was annihilated; there all or nothing attack lay bloody in the soil around the river. The southerners gathered their dead and wounded and moved back to the city.

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She sat in the mansion, the chez langue felt oddly hard to her, as she focussed her thoughts on the trivial. News of the victory had arrived two days ago, but there was no word of Forrest. A servant entered without the customary knock her face unreadable.
‘There’s a visitor miss’ she turned and left, Stephanie followed her, her mind filled with images of sullen faced generals with death certificates, she turned into the hallway.
A man stood silhouetted in the door way.

Forrest V

ok, the first part of the last half. i'm gonna post a questionaire abot how this should end soon, i have three endings atm, and i need to choose which one is the final ending, but ill post the other two as well.

The jeep stopped t the barbed wire fence that circled the southern perimeter of the defenses that guarded the river. Forrest stepped out; he was dressed in grey combat gear, helmet visor down, hiding his blue eyes from the glare of the sun, as well as providing protection against the dust that filled the air. He walked forward towards a man in the uniform of the council’s army, the officer saluted.
“Mornin’ sir, Lt Jones,” he moved to shake hands, Forrest obliged,”I’m to show you to your quarter’s sir.”
Forrest gave a small smile, “lead on Lieutenant.”

The barracks was a cramped concrete affair, filled with bunks and storage lockers, Forrest left his men to adjust themselves as he was escorted to the officer’s quarters. He never got there.
The siren wailed, men spilled from the surrounding barracks, Forrest dropped his bag and followed the rapidly moving column of troops. The soldiers were heading north to the river, past the defense lines. The dust filled air burned his lungs but he continued to run, he checked the clip of his pistol, full. He was one of the first to reach the outer line of defenses, the makeshift walls of sand bags and sheet metal that defended the bunkers and concrete walls behind. Forrest stepped back in disbelief as he saw the river come into sight.
Hundreds of barges were making their way across the placid water; aboard the floating platforms were thousands of northerners. Forrest felt a sickening jolt of fear; this was the reality of the war he’d caused. Bullets whizzed passed him thudding into the defenses behind him.

A hand dragged him back behind the protection of the barriers, the first barge reached the shore and the northerners disembarked. The first men off were giants, the pair towered above their comrades; both wielded huge axes and ran forward at the defenders.
Forrest’s ears rang as the automatic rifles the troops carried opened fire; one of the giants went down but the other on kept running. Then Forrest saw the danger. The troops were concentrating as all their fire on the giants and the rest of the northern force was allowed to run to continue their run to the defenses.
He swore then drew his katana and leapt over the barrier, the southern fire stopped, and others followed his example, the grate of steel on steel sounded as bayonets were dragged from scabbards. The familiar weight if his sword calmed Forrest as he leant, to one side to avoid a club swung at his head, he swayed back and sent his blade slicing forward to slice the northerners jugular.
He weaved through the first wave of attackers, slicing and parrying, never losing his momentum. Another siren sounded and the defenders fell back to the defenses as more barges landed. More giants disembarked, eight in all, all wielding the huge axes, the southerners opened with a volley at the troops that milled around the giants feet , this was more effective, but then the giants charge hit home.

Forrest IV

ok i have decided where this is going now so in my free periods i'll try and get it done.

The blades clashed, the grating sound of steel on steel, and then the combatants drew apart. Both were shirtless their naked torsos dripping with sweat, minor cuts and slashes covered their bodies.
Forrest began to circle his opponent, his katana shining blue in the clear morning sun. This work out had freed his mind from the troubles of his normal life. He loved the life his wealth and status provided but he hated the intrigue and scandal that it brought with it. He wanted a simple life, free to do what he pleased without worrying about how people judged his actions.
To sell his life and buy somewhere outside the city a little estate in one of the new developments to the east; but the war made this impossible.
To the north men were dying and the council had deemed it his fault. They’d sent him a message that morning; he was to mobilize his personal guard to the front line and personally command them.
His trail of thought drifted, as he launched a new attack, a swift thrust, easily parried, but the riposte sent his blade to stop just touching his opponent’s throat. They bowed to each other and Forrest left to shower.

His stripped off, his sweat soaked leggings, grabbed a towel and stepped into the shower. The warm water soothed his tense muscles and stung the little cuts down his chest, and the gash on his left shoulder. He stepped from the shower feeling revitalized, and fresh. He walked to the bed room where his mood sank. At the foot of the bed, lay his bag – packed. His scabbarded Katana lay next to it, his pistol on the bed. Tears pricked at his eyes but he blinked them back, as he felt hands on his shoulders and lips on his neck. He drew her round and drew her close; he could see the sorrow in her eyes.
‘I’m coming back, I promise.’ He kissed her,’ I’m coming back and then we’re leaving all this. All the lies and politics, it’ll be just us.’ He forced a smile, and hoped he’d sounded convincing.
They spent the night together, a passionate night as both knew it could be their last…

The next morning he piled into the jeep with 5 others the rest of the men following later in an APC. He was going to war.

Forrest III

ha ha post Number 40!
ok this is sort of hhalf of the third part but it has a definate end point which the next bit doesn't have yet so here it is.

He woke, surprised not to find himself by the side of a crater. He was at home; lying in bed. She sat over him, worry showed on her face. He could see the dirty streaks down her face where she had let the tears fun. He tried to speak but the effort hurt, she saw his eyes open and relief flooded her countenance.
She embraced him, causing a rush of pain to his ribs that he ignored.
‘I thought you wouldn’t make it.’ She was crying again, the tears ignored and flowing free. He smiled, and then passed out, his vision blurring.

He spent the next three weeks in bed; he’d broken two ribs and suffered a major concussion. Stephanie sat by him as often as she could but she was the only visitor admitted by the estate doctor. In the second week he began to walk round again and by the end of the third he was training his body and beginning to come back into the businesses. All this time the war had been raging in the north of the city, the southern defenses were pushed to breaking, the northerners kept coming back with renewed numbers and better tactics. The guild had suffered heavy losses in an attack on the same day as the car explosion.

Forrest was in the gym, working out. He felt stressed; tomorrow night was his first public appearance since the accident. He had to attend a ball held by the leading parliamentarian. Forrest needed his influence on his side, the story of the skirmish in the bar had leaked and now he was being blamed for the current trouble. As he knew he would.

He dressed that night in his usual black, the shirt tight fitting but soft, his katana buckled at his waist. She was on his arm, the black ball gown flowing onto the tiles of the atrium.
The powder on the top of her breasts made her pale skin all most white, he kissed her, composed him self then they entered the hall.

The long tables were arrayed in two columns with an open space for dancing in the centre; they found they’re seats, suitably close to the head of the table and awaited the gong for the first course.

The meal was a dull affair not Forrest’s taste at all, the food was all delicately arranged and in small portions that left one feeling unsatisfied. He did manage to talk with several of the parliamentarians but they were all the old school of thinking and his views clashed with theirs. All in all the night was a disaster and he was glad when the clock struck eleven and he could leave without seeming rude. He made his goodbyes, feigning his recent injury as a reason and went home his mood soured.

Forrest: The Club (part II)

heres part two.

The estate was a large period house surrounded by landscaped gardens. The perimeter fence was made of steel bars, reminiscent of the last century. There were also the machine gun turrets hidden in various bushes and in ornaments in the houses architecture.
The interior was minimalist, with modern takes on period furniture in most of the rooms.
He awoke just before midday, he kept his eyes closed and allowed memories to flood into his head, and his senses to take hold.
A smile slowly crept to his mouth as he felt the weight of her head on his chest. He opened his eyes, and gazed at her face, a look of contentment on her face.
He kissed her and felt her muscles stir, her smile broadened as they gazed into each others eyes.
He leant in for another kiss, and there was a knock at the door, he swore.

He shouted an acknowledgement, kissed her fleetingly, showered quickly and dressed. The spring day was cold; the chemicals belched out form the factories out side the city blocking much of the heat. In the Atrium there were three guards and a man, whose face was distraught, and Forrest knew he wasn’t bringing good news.

They moved to a sitting room, he sat on a sofa and indicated they sit opposite. The man began to speak, but Forrest paid little attention he regretted his decision not to shave the nights stubble irritated his skin.
He drifted in and out of listening; the man was relaying something about an attack in province A. He nodded to the first guard, the man was allowed to finish then escorted out.
‘Go and deal with it and only bother me if it’s important.’ He sighed and went upstairs; he’d shave then go back to bed. His meeting with his brokers wasn’t until this evening, but he’d get some practice in the armory before then.

He went back upstairs, the attack playing on his mind. Northern gangs in province A, beyond the river, that was scary enough, but to have crossed the barriers set up by the guild in the two miles of no mans land on the south bank of the river. He knew there would be messages demanding more of his soldiers and others blaming him.

She was just getting into the shower, as he entered the bed room. He followed her, allowing his mind to leave the immediate problems. They washed each other, the heat of the water and the soft touch of her hands on his back took his mind form all but the here and now.

He stepped from the shower feeling invigorated. He shaved feeling cleaner; he dressed again, and loaded two extra pistols, strapped on his sword and took a dagger from the rack on the wall. The speed at which the northerners had responded made him feel uneasy.
His retinues of guards were waiting by the jeep; he nodded to them as he got into the car. He needed to see Vladimir. He knew Vlad would blame him; no doubt he had already relayed last night’s events to the guild. Forrest cursed as he realized what he’d done the night before.
He gazed out of the window the houses and offices of his province rushing by. His family had built this province from the dust of the revolution; they were built to his taste, minimal and tidy. He knew when they’d passed into Vlad territory as the architecture became more gothic following am early style the pale man was fond of.
The roads in this part of the city were narrower, the light obstructed by the looming walls of the buildings. So his driver failed to notice the three men on the balcony.

The explosion echoed through the streets. The jaguar was lifted from the road and flipped onto its roof. The metal crumpled and steam hissed from under the bonnet. The wreckage sat in a huge crater that had blossomed in the tarmac.

He struggled to move under the wreckage, the body of the driver lay next to him. He didn’t need to feel his pulse to know he was dead, the half severed head told him that. He grimaced and kicked at the seat that now trapped his left leg. It shifted enough to allow the limb to move. His chest hurt, a cold stabbing pain, but there was no wound so he assumed he’d broken a rib in the explosion.
Out side the wreckage emptied clips into the balcony, the other two lay on the ground beside the jeep; one injured the other dead, a rifle round buried in his skull.
Forrest, let out an involuntary sigh of relief as the crumpled door was prized open and dragged him free. The danger no passed the adrenaline fled his body and he fainted, lying by the side of the road.

Forrest: The Club.

Ok, this has been sitting in my head for a while, its was in spired by a dream i had and a film (equilibrium) and several friends are the base for characters. So here it is.

The Club.

The whole area that used to be the docks still smelled of fish, even after the restoration and the blood spilling of the 30’s revolution. It was still a place of trendy bars and gourmet restaurants for the younger generation. This wasn’t his sort of place but tonight he needed to make himself seen.
The warehouse was a plain concrete building of the mid 20th century. It was bathed in the blue glow of the neon lights, strung around it.

The car pulled up at the curb, in front of the club. He’d picked the car, he liked it, he’d always liked discreet cars and this was as discreet as it got, a black Jaguar. Forrest got out, his trench coat catching in the wind as he moved to the other side of the car. He opened the door a sly smile on his face as he took her hand and helped her out of the leather seat. He nodded and the driver moved off. He was joined by two figures from a black jeep, similarly dressed in black with long coats. All three carried black hilted katanas; the two who stood behind also cradled automatic rifles in their arms; his bodyguards and friends he rarely ventured from his estate with out them.
He leaned over to her and whispered something, she smiled and walked ahead. He watched her go, the red silk of the dress hugging her, the neon lights reflected on her pale skin. He twitched his hand in specific way; the pair nodded and followed him in. The bouncer looked at his face then the swords and rifles. The rifles were handed over and the guards frisked. Then they were waved in. He wondered if they’d have taken the .45 calibre he had in his shoulder holster.

In side, strobes and spot lights illuminated the drab interior. The smell, of fresh sweat and perfume were choking but he ignored it. He wound his way through the people dancing, to an area of sofas and lounges. She’d sat her self in a circle of sofas away from the rest, the other occupants vacated as they saw him approach. He lent forward and kissed her as he sat and she leaned into him, the guards stationing them selves inconspicuously at the edge of the ring of seats.

The first of the guests arrived. Vladimir, he was a shorter man, pale, his suit a loose fit, his long hair tied back. The woman on his arm was shorter still but resplendent in black velvet, laced at the cuffs and around her breasts. He nodded and sat on the sofa to the right his companion, draped flirtatiously round his neck.

The next to enter were a trio of women, all members of the Placida Assassins guild, their outfits a perfect match, a strapless dress, with floral detail around the edge of the chest, tied at the waste with ribbon and the Placida insignia round their necks.
They stationed themselves on the couch next to him, the glint of steel throwing daggers showing through their tights.

The seven exchanged in small talk, the guards were invited to sit and Vladimir’s were dismissed and moved away from the group.

He lent back and relaxed, pulling her closer to him, allowing the words of the others to wash over him interjecting when needed or an interesting point was raised.
Between the parties here, Vladimir, himself and the guild they owned the south side of the city, and all three worked well in running and policing their sectors. But the boundaries between the north and south were shifting. A new power was growing in the north; the gangs that had been warring since the end of the revolution were uniting under one banner and now pushing south.

That was why he’d chosen this club; it was neutral like the rest of the docks. There was more chance of the opposition causing a scene here. He wanted a brawl, and if he didn’t start it all the better.

The three Placida, were making their good byes, as he zoned into the convosation, he stood and hugged all three then sat down, Vladimir did the same moving to sit opposite him.
The talk moved to the situation between north and south, Vlad’s face lined with concern.

‘Why here?’ his voice was calm but his eyes betrayed his emotion. ‘You know they’ll cause trouble if we’re in neutral territory, and my guards were stripped to just they’re swords as I see were yours. You think Katanas will help us in a fire fight?’
‘Shush’ he was perfectly calm, ‘if they make trouble the law in the docks means we can kill in self defence and yes katanas will do. Relax,’ he clicked his fingers, ’champagne?’

Their drinks were brought, and the waitress left. Though it was late the club was still full, and would be till late morning, many of the people in the city lived relaxed carefree lives, in the south at least.

The doors at the rear of the ware house swung open, several figures blocked the haze of the spring dawn. He analyzed that at least three had guns and all carried a sword or a similar makeshift weapon, and had a gang tattoo from the north down their right cheek.

Vladimir’s guards faded through the crowd to his side swords drawn and his guards stood ready at either side of him. Vlad stiffen visibly in his seat, his companion showed no signs of concern. Vlad’s hand strayed to his hilt.

He stood, a sickly smile on his lips, she followed him, her hand in his. They stepped on to the now empty dance floor.

‘Morning Gentlemen, can we help?’ His voice was calm but his muscles tensed with the possibility of action, and he felt sweat on his palms.
‘I doubt it, but you can let us help our selves.’ The group snorted a laugh at the badly made joke. He examined the speaker, a round man, his hair groomed to perfection dressed in what currently passed for the height of the northern fashion. In his dirt stained hand he clutched a crudely adapted gun. He raised it up until it pointed at Forrest’s head. He released Stephanie’s hand she step side ways and he forward.

‘I’d be careful with that,’ another step, ’it’s dangerous.’

He saw the finger squeezing the trigger and dropped to a prone position, his hand gripping his swords hilt, the bullets blazed overhead to shatter the three spot lights leaving the strobes as the only source of light. He stood and swept his blade from the scabbard the light from the strobe making the movement seem slow to all who watched then the biting steel snaked out to severe the speakers head.
He felt the press of Stephanie’s hands on his shoulder and allowed the blade to hang by his side. Most of the group stepped back except the two with guns who moved forward taking aim.
A knife flashed from the seating area taking the first man through the eye, he recognised the hilt as one of Vlad’s. The second gun was at his head to fast for him to use the sword. The shot came.

The northerner fell back, the .45 bullet gone through his heart. He turned and kissed her as he took the gun from her hand and replaced it in his shoulder holster. The guards moved forward blades rising to attack; he and Vlad joined the fight, though many of the northerners had run.
The chilling cold light of the strobes made the fight harder, with the sight of both sides being distorted. Dawn flooded through the open door proper as the last man fell; Vlad’s blade still in his chest.

The two men looked at each other; Forrest drew Vlad’s blade from the corpse and wiped both blades on the man’s shirt. He handed it back hilt first.

Both men and there guards sheathed their swords and left the club their woman on their arms. This meant war, but it always had Forrest had just speeded its arrival.

Gaheris III

I don't like this part as much but its all going to get edited soon anyway.

The night was dark; all was still in the high passes of the mountains. Nothing stirred, no creature disturbed the stillness.
He lay swaddled in his cloak, the night rapping its long grasp around him, but the blackness didn’t trouble him. He let the world flow through his other senses; the dew on the damp grass was the strongest smell, but not the only one that reached his nose. The faint smell of berries and the fox camped under the lip of a rock some way off.
Sound also filled he silent night, but sound audible only to him, the beat of an owls wings as it stalked a shrew, the trickle of water from one leaf to another, and the gentle rustle of the zephyr through the grass.
He rolled on to his side and closed his mind to the images that flooded in and the sensation of the soft grass below him fade. Now was a time for rest and calm, but he was always so amazed at the beauty in nature, beauty that was rarely reflected in humanity.

His thoughts wondered, and his senses stopped drinking in the delights of the still night.

He slipped in to dream, a realm he had never felt comfortable in. His dreams were always twisted memories or visions of horrors that could come to pass. Even as a child his dreams were a private hell he slipped into at night, one where none of his skills could save him from the machinations of that other world.

He sat up right the cold sweat of fear, soaking his jerkin. The night flooded back into his senses. The whisper of the breeze, the smell of the dew, the cold of the sweat. He was awake, back in reality.

It sat in a crevice in the rock, is empty eye sockets blackly fixed on where the human sat. The power he radiated was immense; it could feel the energy pulsing from him awakening the lust to feed.
Limbs grew from the black form of his body, long spidery limbs; they spread down the rock face, easing the bulk of the Ergen, down into the small valley.

Exhaustion gripped Gaheris, he allowed his head to slip back towards the folded cloak, his senses deadening, slipping into a deep dreamless sleep.

The Ergen was close now, its shadowy limbs snaking towards the sleeping man.
Gaheris awoke his senses still dead to the chilling night. Visions filled his mind.

He rolled, coming to his senses, the shape of the Ergen distorted to his mind, its movements unpredictable. His visions told him where to avoid danger but not what he was avoiding. He stood in the guard position, his hand straying to his belt, where his scabbard should be.
His sight compromised, his other senses reached out for the Ergen, his could hear the heavy falls of its legs, nor smell its scent. He felt powerless against it.

Fear filled him, like it never had, he ran. Scooping up whatever he could as he did, the Ergen, following at a slow but stead gait, its limbs absorbed back into its body, it was now more humanoid and following on ‘foot’.

Gaheris ran that night, stricken with fear, his life confused in his head.

The Note

This is a little self pitying, but hey see what you think gaheris three on the way.
To appease Jo and for Steph.

He read the note again, the fifth time since he’d found it. He no longer looked at the words, he knew them by heart, but she had written them.
His heart skipped a beat for her, he thought of her all through the day and at night she invaded his dreams, a phantom; so sweet, so vivid, he could almost feel her next to him.
He stared out at the beach, the flowing golden sand and the sea calmer than he’d ever seen it, the serenity filled him with peace.
He held the note to his heart, his eyes filled with tears, the irrational tears of love. He shook his head; he was so happy but she wasn’t here and he wanted to be with her.

He stood the note still clutched in his hand. They had met such a short time ago but he couldn’t remember a time before her, it was as though she had always been there.
He wanted her with him, wanted to hold her to feel her kiss, the magic of the time they’d spent together filled his mind. The memories of her touch, her kiss her embrace…

He walked along the sand, the rough grains grated between his toes as the swash gently lapped his feet. The soft breeze brought the smell of salt to his nose, and more thoughts of her to his mind.

Gaheris II

Ok, Gaheris part II. NOt sure if this is it, i want to put more desvription in it.... oh well
TJFNW

Gaheris II- The Legend Continues.

He was travelling north, his heading unknown, his mind full of thoughts and memories. His mind focused on the image of the blood soaked warrior, black standard raised high the eyes of the snake motif mocking him from the hill top as the raiders marched away.
The stink of burning flesh clinging to his nostrils, the screams of the dying in his ears, filling his head with the sound of suffering, the torment was too much to bare, an attack on his body.
He’d blamed himself, he should have been there, should have protected them, not off on some campaign.

Gaheris came back to reality, the self hate burning stronger than before. He preferred to travel alone, companions always thought him a hero, and those who didn’t know him saw him as prey.
He assumed that was the intention of the four men that blocked the road ahead of him, he was prey. All looked poor, their weapons a mix of axes and rusted swords. Images flashed into his mind, images of a fifth.

He ducked the arrow from his right and rolled to a ready position, sword levelled in front of him, all his senses scanning the five men.
They encircled him, pacing slowly, their steps heavy,
‘Ho friends, how may I help?’ He forced humour into his voice.
The man from the bushes spoke ‘There’s a tax for this road, you haven’t paid’
The circle became tighter; the stink of the individual men became one.

A flash of a sword swing in his mind, he dived forward thrusting his blade up. The man's swing missed him by an inch, the air whistling in his ears; it was repaid by a vicious stab to the gut. He swept his sword clear of the flesh and turned, his dark cloak catching the wind.
Two of the men stepped back; the familiar fear filled their eyes. The cold sweat of fear filled the air and the acrid urine stench.

The other two came forward, one the archer from the bushes. In his mind he saw him feint then swing left. He side stepped to the right, and then sent a heavy slash into the bowman’s neck.
His head fell to the slush covered path, the other man turned to run, but Gaheris’s sword went down slicing the muscles of the man's legs. He fell crying out in pain to the floor. The blind fighter gripped his sword in two hands and pushed all his weight on to the mans heart. The blade crushed muscle and bone in its path, the impact jarring his arms.

He cleaned the blade with the archer’s tunic; the rough material grating slightly on the polished steel, and continued his walk, the other two raiders having long since gone. He felt oddly remorseful that there would be no more death; he went back to his memories.

Gaheris

Gaheris: The Legend Begins.

The three of them stood on the mountain side, the party of raiders they’d been tracking for the past few days had given them the slip. Dakar looked out over the valley, his club in hand, he couldn’t see any tracks; they’d been covered in the fresh snow.
The red bearded, towered over his two companions, Jahro the archer; the best bow man for miles around, Dakar had along side him in many battles, then there was Gaheris the new addition the blind sword fighter they’d found in the city. His skills as a fighter were immense despite his disability; he seemed to know where his sword and his opponents were with some sixth sense.
The moon light glinted from the snow; Gaheris looked up, his dull pupil less eyes bright, ‘To the East, they ride for the mountain pass.’ His voice was calm but had the edge of excitement.
The giant and the old archer looked at each other their, thoughts clear. There were no tracks, no possible way he could have seen their route or even the pass from here it was many miles to the east.
Gaheris began to run, gaining speed down the wide path, his companions followed weapons ready, alert for the first sign of danger.
Jahro reached the bottom of the track first; the wind caught his long hair, grey before it’s time, the feint smell of saddle sore and sweat reached his nostrils, the blind man was right.
The three split up, Jahro ranging ahead through the trees to the side of the track, staying hidden, while Gaheris and Dakar took the road.
Dakar moved slightly ahead, his club ready in hand, his other hand strayed to his beard a sign he was nervous. His foot steps crunched in the pact snow, the small sound was like a drum to Gaheris.
He’d been born with glazed eyes, the pupils to faint to see, but it had not affected him. He’d still been able to see; at first he’d wondered why people assumed he couldn’t see, but as he grew older he began to realise other people used their eyes to see h used his mind.
Gaheris could see everything; he had learned to stretch his sight so he could see all about him for miles. Then the sight changed.

It happened one day during practice at the academy. His father had sent him there to be taught by the monks. He was a fast learner; he excelled at military strategy and was moved to the academy from the monastery. The academy was a lot les academic than the teaching of the monks. The pupils learnt sword play and wrestling as well as logistics and tactics.
The day his sight changed had been a cool summer’s day; he had faced his opponent, a new boy big and muscled, who wanted and easy fight against the ‘blind boy’. Gaheris had accepted he was angry at the boy for judging him because of his eyes.
The stood facing each other in stance. The boy attacked, Gaheris blocked with the perfect and delivered a riposte as the boy stepped back. The fight continued, Gaheris blocked each cut and countered perfectly. After the bout one of his friends had asked him how and Gaheris told him,
‘I could see where he was going as well as where he was…’
He could see the future.

Through out his life Gaheris tried to advance this new power but to no avail. He could only see the future in battle, as the knot in his stomach tightened and the blood lust took over, he could see his opponent’s moves.

He’d become a mercenary after he graduated, fighting in many campaigns, but this one was the worst.
The Anwariad raiders had come from the north, over the mountains and begun raiding towns on the border. It was in one of these raids he’d met Dakar and Jahro.

They arrived at the mountain pass a little before dawn. From their high vantage point they could see the raiders; they had stopped to camp in the valley bellow. The trio ran the snow thicker as they started into the valley.
Dakar was tiring, the giant not used to the long distance, but he hid it well from his companions. Jahro still ranged ahead, an arrow notched to his bow, his hunts mans eyes scanning the surrounding scree and trees.
The group continued their march into the valley, Gaheris’s mind wandered, he thought of that first raid, the screams and all the blood…

The Anwariad raiders had come south for provisions for the winter, their crops having been ruined by the freak autumn frost. Gaheris had been travelling north to a temple when he’d seen the smoke; he kicked his horse into a canter. He reached the village too late.
All around lay the dead and dying. He explored the streets, many soaked in blood. He rounded a corner and felt the pressure of a blade against his throat.
‘It’s a blind man, Dakar. More your level.’ The voice was calm and unworried
Another voice spoke up, ‘Jahro you scoundrel lower your sword, the Anwariad kill their disabled.
Gaheris spoke, ‘true giant, I am no Anwariad and I thank you for removing your wizened friend’s blade.’
Both men looked stunned, Dakar spoke,
‘You see blind man??’ Jahro made his way to Gaheris’s rear, sword raised.
‘I see,’ Gaheris swung his sword out, it tripped the old hunter
He turned, and blocked the swinging club of the giant. The two stepped back, their faces a mask of horror.
‘How?…’ the hunter’s voice was laced with fear.
Gaheris moved to a log and sat down,
‘Perhaps you should tell me what took place here first’

The wind picked up, the sides of the valley offering no protection from the harsh elements. Ahead Gaheris stopped, he raised a hand, and they were near to the raiders’ camp.

The two warriors had told Gaheris how the raiders had ridden in to the village and begun to slay the villagers. They had started to burn the houses, the two had arrived too late to really help, they had killed a few but others had made their escape.
‘We follow then.’ Gaheris’s voice was hard, his blank eyes narrowed with anger.
The two warriors could see the hate there…

They crouched in the undergrowth surrounding the camp, all the time staying down wind.
Jahro crawled to where Gaheris and Dakar lay in the snow,
‘I count twelve, two are by the horses.’ The old hunter nodded to where they beasts we stabled.
‘No my friend,’ Gaheris looked puzzled, ‘there are more…’ he trailed off, something was blocking his vision.
The block cleared as soon as it had arrived. He shook his head.
‘Gaheris?’ Dakar’s voice was laced with concern.
‘I, I am fine. There are twenty of them. Another eight patrol the roads.’

Jahro crawled away, heading for the valley’s track.
He saw the eight on the road, the blind man was right again. He pulled back his bow chord and fired. The raider fell, his heart pierced. Another arrow, another dead the missile stuck in his throat, his sword hit the floor as his body fell. The sound echoed through the valley, startling birds.
The raiders turned, many drew weapons, and they split up. One moved to the corpse, he was the first to die, another heart shot. They were closing on him, no time for accuracy now; he spread the contents of his quiver on the ground, twelve shafts, not enough.

The first man he saw got a shot to the belly, the next the chest, but to far from his heart.
More raiders came from the camp, their faces a mask of fury. A huge shape moved to the raiders left, past the camp. A huge club swept two of the men aside, with the sickening snap of breaking bones. The raiders stepped back many turned to fun from this behemoth, behind them was a blind man, the front raider ran at him, but the man swung and stepped forward, seeming never to touch the raider but the man feel, choking on his blood.

There was chaos in the camp the three stood back to back, weapons high, Dakar blocked a two handed swing, Gaheris’s sword swept out to kill the wielder, while Jahro held his own on the other side his two short swords death for all who stood before him.

Gaheris moved from the circle, his mind flowing with the other combatants’ moves, he felt powerful as his blade stole the lives of those he hated.

He remembered the night two years ago when he’d gone home. The village was burnt, the marks of the raiders everywhere.
He’d vowed to kill as many of the people as he could.

‘How strange’ he thought, as he stole another’s life, ‘the ease with which you could destroy some one.’
The visions flooded away, he knew the last enemy had fallen.
The others approached, Dakar was unhurt, and Jahro had a shallow slash over one forearm.

They moved to the camp, the smell of cooking meat filled their noses, mixed with the stench of the horses and the unwashed tents and bodies.

The sights Gaheris could see, hidden to the others sickened him, Jahro went to open a tent,
‘Do not brother, there are none alive here.’ The blinds mans voice was soft
‘I hear a cry…’ Gaheris looked at the old man; his mind scanned the surrounding area.
‘West, in the forest, she is running.’ The three broke into a run, Dakar taking the lead the man’s huge legs crushing roots and weeds underfoot.
They caught up with her, not far from the foot of the mountains.
The giant scooped up the woman. He looked at her, she was weeping, her fists hitting his huge chest, their impact having no effect. He held he close, her delicate frame trembling with sobs.


They set up camp, Jahro went and raided the Anwariad camp for anything useful, he returned with some dry food and a pair of winter blankets.
The girl clung to Dakar, the attention making the giant uneasy. She was a wild looking creature, hair dishevelled, dress torn and the burn of hate in her cold green eyes.

She fell asleep quickly, he exhaustion gripping her pulling her into sleep. Dakar looked at the girl sleeping at his feet, Jahro spoke,
‘Where’s she from??’ His voice was quiet and cold as ice.
‘The village, she lived with her grandmother, they killed her.’ The giants faced showed concern, ‘What ails you old friend?’
‘You should have seen the camp, it was sickening. Women raped, girls murdered, savaged. Those weren’t men they were beasts.’ His voice had risen nearly to a shout.

‘Calm your self.’
Gaheris had been silent until then, lost in his memories, the memories of that night. He was always like this after a fight, morose, still. The faces of the men he’d killed filled his mind.

‘I leave you in the morning.’ He spoke barely above a whisper, ’I was glad of your company, but I must return to my quest.’
Jahro looked at the blind man, ‘What is your quest? I for one would not be averse to aiding you, and Dakar here is always up for a scrap.’
‘No,’ his voice was firm, ‘no, I must go alone.’ He lowered his head, hiding his face from their gaze, ‘You should take her to Tevar,’ he nodded in the girls direction, ’let her rest, get her healed, get her settled.’
Dakar got up, ‘Shall we see you again, friend?’ He emphasised the last word, with out meaning to.
‘If the fates deem it proper, come now we should rest.’
The pair awoke at mid morning, the blind man was gone, his tracks blended with those of a thousand other creatures and covered by a fresh sprinkling of snow.

Suvari.

K this gets a little wrong towards the end so yeah(three in one day i'm on a roll)
Its not brillent but its been a shit day.
Suvari.

She had run hard but they had followed her even through the forest two of them had dismounted and tracked her through he wind trees. But here was a dead end no escape so she turned to face them the first died as he rounded the corner an arrow through his heart.
The second raised his shield and ran on.
They’d been following the girl since the village, she’d caused them real problems they needed all witnesses dead so none could testify to the council what they’d done. The country had been in disarray since the duke’s assassination. The cavalry had been raiding the village for supplies but a few of the men had wanted more than food. They had heard the scream. Jahred had raped one of the women, the villages men went beserk the fight was quick and bloody, the lost one man and slaughtered the village, all save the pretty girls. This young girl had not been among them, she had attacked from the rear her arrows taking down another two men. Many of the men had given chase, but others had stayed to enjoy the pleasures of war.

She dropped her bow and unslung her shield his blow glanced from the polished metal. With her free hand she drew a short sword. He looked at her the flowing blonde hair, the tight bodice, every inch a warrior. Their swords met, she felt the strength in his arm, he was no mercenary like the other men she’d fought he was a soldier.

He parried her thrust with his shield, but didn’t send one of his own he wanted he alive, wanted that body. He sent a wild cut at her shield edge, she moved to slowly and it was torn form her grasp. Her return cut clanged on his helmet blurring his vision, but she was his. He swung out with his shield catching her under the chin, she was sent sprawling over the floor; he picked up the unconscious girl and slung her over his shoulder.

She came to on the back of a horse he hands were bound and some one had removed her armour and weapons. Her jaw hurt and her breasts were sore. She felt violated. She looked about her many of the young women and some girls from her village were in a similar situation to her. Matha from the tavern was clutching her torn dress weeping, trying to cover her naked flesh.

He saw her stir and sit up in the saddle he drew his horse up along side, she looked at him with disgust and fear. He grinned the defiance was leaving her he would break her soon have her begging for his touch.

The soldier who’d captured her left her side, he sickened her but her heart felt for him he had not raped her, yet at least, and she was still alive perhaps they were to be servants.

They stopped that evening. He went and helped her dismount, taking care to avert his eyes when the cotton jerkin she wore slipped revealing her breast. He treated her tenderly all that night and offered her his blanket. She accepted and he slept next to her but not to close.

She found herself warming to him she was still panicked from the chase and the fight and his gentleness set her at ease. During the night she felt a stirring, the blanket lifted from her for a second then the warmth of another body pressed against hers.

He whispered of the wonders of love in her ear his hands straying over her body ripping the thin material. He pleasured himself on her that night she did not resist even when his manhood pressed against the entrance to her virgin womb.

She cried when he had left at the beauty, the brutality and the pain of what had happened to her. Over the next few days he visited her every night, he made her feel wanted and beautiful during the day, being so gentle and nice but like a whore when night came.

He knew he had a good thing a warm bed every night and a companion in the day he slipped into her blanket arousal already gripping him. He felt for her breasts for the warm flesh but his hands closed on steel. He moved back fear replacing his carnal desires.

The knife plunged into him, his felt the hilt, his knife she had used his knife…

The blood coursed over her hands, the warm liquid giving her a sense of joy, but it was dull by the disgust she felt for her self because of him. She cried her self to sleep that night lying in a pool of blood.

The net morning the body was discovered, the soldiers dragged her from the main group and they all had her way with her, she sobbed and cried as they abused her.
The last, a large bald man beat her as he raped her, and as he satisfied him self with her slid a knife over her throat. She died in a clearing in the wood bruised and bleeding.

Rhywiol Dymuno

Yeah, two posts today. Not a lot to say those who speak Welsh have an advantage, as you know what the title means.

Rhywiol Dymuno
(Dros Hi)

She stood in the hall, the candles casting shadows over her face. She was the only person not dancing, not enjoying her self; except the young man across the room, who had been watching her since she entered.
She was beautiful not in the conventional cliched way, used off hand by to many, but a celestial radiance all of her own, created by a god for his enjoyment, a creature or purity. But still no one danced with her.
It seemed fate had set her aside for him; he gazed at her, the breasts barely caged by the corset of her dress, which fell below her ankles the light material hugging her figure. Her skin was smooth, unflawed, she wore no powder like many other women in the hall whose faceÂ’s and breasts bore lines of sweat though their powdered coat.
He was puzzled, she was stunning, but it was as if the other men couldn't see her. She puzzled him, she intrigued and excited him.
He closed his eyes; he could almost feel her next to him. The touch of her hand on his skin, the feel of her lips on his...

He awoke next morning; he smiled at the memory of the night before, he pulled her closer to him. She snuggled into the warmth of his body. Her skin was as soft as he imagined, the kiss just as tender, the passion just as fierce. She was his now, and he was never letting go.
TJFNW

Love

Ok this is going to sound weak but my goal recently has been to try and pin down what love is and how it should make you feel. Then i came to realise that like greif its a completly unique emotion to each person. This realisation though wasn't enough. It didn't explain how you know when your in love, then i found this. I did not write this but i corrected spelling, editted it slightly and i think it's perfect.

ARE YOU IN LOVE?
SOMETHING TO PONDER UPON......

Q:-Are your palms sweaty is your heart racing and is your voice caught within your chest?
A:-It isn't love, it's like.

Q:-You cant't keep your eyes or hands off them, am i right?
A:-It isn't love, it's lust.

Q:-Are you proud, and eager to show them off?
A:-It isn't love, it's luck.

Q:-Do you want them because you know they are there?
A:-It isn't love, it's loneliness.

Q:-Are you there because it's what everyone wants?
A:-It isn't love, it's low confidence.

Q:-Are you there because they kissed you or held your hand?
A:-It isn't is love, its love confidence.

Q:-Do you stay for their confessions of love, because you dont want to hurt them?
A:-It isn't love, its pity.

Q:-Do you belong to them because their sight makes your heart skip a beat?
A:-It isnt love, its infactuation.

Q:-Do you pardon their faults because you care about them?
A:-It isnt love, it's friendship.

Q:-Do you tell them every day they are the only one you think of?
A:-It isn't love, its a lie.

Q:-Are you willing to give all of your favourite things for their sake?
A:-It isn't love, it's charity.

Non of these? Try this....

Q:-Does your heart ache and break when they are sad?
A:-Then it's love

Q:-Do you cry for their pain even when they're strong?
A:-Then it's love.

Q:-Do their eyes see your true heart, and touch your soul so deeply that it hurts?
A:-Then its love.

Q:-Do you stay because a blinding, incomprehensible mix of pain and relation pulls you close and holds you there?
A:-Then its love.

Q:-Are you attracted to others, but stay with them faithfully without regret?
A:-Then its love.

Q:-Do you accept their faults becuse they 're a part of who they are?
A:-Then its love.

Q:-Would you allow them to leave you, not becuse they want to because they have to?
A:-Then its love.

Q:-Would you give them your heart , your life, your death?
A:-Then its love.

Now, if love is painful, and tortures us so.
Why do we love ?
Why is it all we search for in life ?
This pain, this agony ?
Why is it all we long for ?
This torture, this powerful death of self ?

Why?....

The answer is so simple because it's ......LOVE

The bar.

The bar was quiet only a few regular drinkers, sat at the bar cigarette in hand oblivious to the glances being thrown her way, as soon as he saw her he wanted her. The luscious body the soft skin, the pouting lips and the pert breasts. He couldn't see her eyes they were hidden in the shadows beneath her hair. Her cocktail dress was just slightly to low cut the top of her breasts were visible, the sight of the bare flesh stirring his carnal urges.
She took a drag of her cigarette the smoke easing up past her face, the other hand twirling a book of matches.
He sat on a stool on the other side of the bar, he lent forward and rested his elbows on the counter. Her long legs spread as she went to stand up stretching the material of the dress, he lent to the side slightly and could see into the dark between her legs. She walked past him, on her way to the bathroom. Her sent was amazing, sexual and basic.
Presently she came back, she looked across the bar at him and sent a wink his way. Her long fingers began to play with the rim of the glass, teasing him feeding his urge.
He had to do something, the sight of the tight material hugging her body was driving him wild. He went over, they began the intricate dance or flirting and small talk, she played with her hair and twirled the matches, he made crude innuendos and told useless anecdotes.
The night drew on and the wine flowed, he invited her back to his she said she shouldn't, he insisted told her with the innocence of child how it was only for coffee and no woman should be out in her state. she still declined.

They found her next morning, in an alley near to a bar they say, tied and gagged a torn cocktail dress clinging to her body, her underwear inside out.

Nepolionics

Stroy 2 in the short stories:

The air was thick with the rotten egg smell of the spent gun power the siege was ended and the army spread through the breach.
He dropped his musket and ran into the city, heart racing; but two short hours ago he’d been at camp preparing to head out, the elation he felt was tangible.
Shouts came from within the city as the city’s inhabitants defended their homes. He stopped in the middle of a street and looked round him. The night glowed orange with the flames from the burning defences; a plain wooden door caught his eye.
He walked up to it and tried the latch, it was locked. He took a step back and kicked at the lock, the door gave way. The house was dark, but by the light from the fires outside he could see the occupants had left, taking their valuables with them.
He stepped back into the street moved to another door and tried the latch. This one was open.
The house beyond was lit by lanterns that flickered in the draught from the open door. He moved through the lower level carefully, opening occasional draws and taking the coins he found.
He went to the stairs and drew his pistol and began to ascend.
A shot cracked and missed his head by inches, a young man at the head of the stairs, musket aimed down, a girl of about seventeen cowered behind him. The young man handed the musket to the girl and ducked as the pistol flared. He stepped up the stairs and swung a punch at the young man, it hit him square in the jaw. He watched as the young man fell to the floor then aimed a kick at his head. The sound of the impact was sickening; the girl began to sob and tried to crawl away but the only escape, the stairs, was blocked. More kicks, more cracks of impact and a pool of blood filled the landing.

The girl had crawled into the bed room and was sobbing in the wardrobe. He opened the door and pulled her out. She scrabbled at his hand on her wrist. Kicking, biting, screaming, with his free hand he ripped her dress off, so he could see her body.
Arousal gripped him and he threw her on the bed and dropped his breaches, she tried to crawl away but he held her firm.
He used his weight to hold her down as he raped he, she screamed and yelled, but was one in a thousand women.
When he was done he redressed, she was left on the bed covering her nakedness with her arms. He went into the hall picked up his pistol and reloaded it.
He returned to the bed room levelled the pistol and fired.
Back in the street the fires had died down, but new ones had started and new screams filled the night.

Statue of Emerill: part II

k part two again credit to lolits angel for the idea and bioware for such awsome fantasy games.

He went to a tavern and took a seat in a dark corner the fiery serving girl came over,
‘Can I get you any thing?’ he accent was loud and common
‘An ale will be fine, thank you.’ He tried to keep his voice calm the woman was irritating and reeked of cheap perfume and gin.
He sat back took off his cloak and weapons, careful to hide the quiver. The woman came back with the ale he thanked her and waited until she was far enough away and took out the statue.
The craftsmanship was amazing the detail of the god Emrill, his arms open waiting to embrace nothing. The statue was jade, its eyes two perfectly cut emeralds, the detail on the robes a myriad of different gems and precious stones.
It was truly breath taking, he couldn’t take his eyes off it; he had better be handsomely paid for this.
A thought came to him, why was it so easy? Yes there’d been guards and a pressure switch but just that for this. It showed he supposed the decline in people’s belief of the gods, but still this was a priceless artefact none the less, how very peculiar.

He hired a bed for the night and retired to his room. It was small and dirty and he could here rats scrabbling in the corners, but it was warm and kept the rain out, though by the look of the roof barely.
He woke next morning feeling refreshed he always did the day after a job he felt invincible. He paid for the room downstairs, declined breakfast and went to the public bath house. He had all morning; he wasn’t to meet the noble until after noon.
He left his clothes with and elderly woman but took the quiver and a knife with him the water in the main bath was hot and steam condensed on the stone walls making them drip as if they we’re weeping.
The bath house was strange unisex unlike those in the smarter parts of town, he looked about at the other bathers, the features obscured by the steam; he could see two burley men a short distance away and a middle aged couple. On the other side of the bath he could here a group of young women giggling among themselves, he considered going over but there was no time, he’d just enjoy the water.
He scooped handfuls of water on to his hair and washed the grease and the sweat from it, he left the main bath and moved to one of the cooler pools and eased him self in slowly the cold water a shock to his body after the heat. He spent a couple of hours in the bath house moving from pool to pool. Just before noon he went and redressed his black tunic and pantaloons had been washed and pressed so had his cloak and his leather armour oiled and the studs polished he paid the two laundry maids and left feeling clean and ready. The way to the noble’s house was short so he decided to walk, the stale hard air of the city filled his lungs but even this felt clean after the steam of the baths.
The house was large and near the government square and the great museum. Tristrum climbed the stairs and knocked the door.

Rebecca

K I've been in a self pitying mood recently which has produced this and a really depresing piece of music course work. To say the least its not my normal style but hey fuck you its my blog.
anyway l8r
TJFNW


Rebecca


Have you ever loved some one but never realised, oh you realise but too late. Always when you’ve lost contact or their dead or any other way you are no longer together that’s when it hits you.
That’s how I felt about her; I knew I loved her in that social dating way but never the soul tearing gut wrenching reality. The real love. Not until a lot later, when I‘d left it too late.
There’s a question, what is love?? Think about it before you read the rest of this, think of that person, either you’ve met or dreamt of, just think.
Before I actually write this you need to be told, this isn’t Rebecca in reality, it’s how I think of her now, how my mind has twisted and reshaped the past and her with it.
Here it is:

She was beautiful, not in the obvious glamour model way but in a real in depth beauty. She was petite, no taller than 5’ 6” her long brown hair flowed down her back, a river running through the contours of her back. He skin had a slight Mediterranean tan; she stood before the mirror, the light from behind her giving her an angelic quality. She looked at her self naked, her figure was plain, and no real curves but nothing unsightly. She cupped her breasts in her hands they were pert and firm admired them, her best feature, then moved to the bed and picked up the dress and looked at the clock. She had half an hour to get ready.

He was in his room guitar on his lap strumming random minor chords. A book fell from the shelf. He swore and went to pick it up then saw the photo, her…

She went to the wardrobe and got her shoes, the black strappy ones, where had she got these, him…

The thought passed away she moved to the dresser picked up the framed photo and kissed the image of her boyfriend and continued to dress.

He went back to his guitar but his head was full of her, the chords became more melancholy and darker. He played better than he ever had before. Why hadn’t he told her…? Why had he let her…? He swore pulled on his shoes, grabbed a jacket and left the house.

There was a knock on the door she went to answer it, but he wasn’t due for 10 minutes…

He’d walked for ten minutes but now he was here

She opened the door…



He sat on the bench lost in his thoughts…

He was early she smiled and let him in.

The statue of Emrill

Ok credit for the idea of this needs to go to lolita's angel and Kell.

He was finished now. He stood ready, sword in hand, his bow on his back and three daggers secreted on his person. The city guards faced him, four large men, well armed and armoured. He could probably take two before they took him out, their broad swords slicing through the leather of his armour.
He took a step back, his foot hit the wall of the keep, decision time over he had to fight.
All this for a statue, admittedly a statue worth more than most of the country’s taxes for the year but a statue none the less. It was in his quiver, they’d need to kill him to get it, which by their faces was the plan.
He’d been hired for the job by a noble in the court, he didn’t know or care why the noble wanted the statue as long as he got paid. A though came to him, he threw his sword at the guards, a stupid, wild throw then drew the two knives from his boots threw both in to the closest guards throats, drew his third and rolled toward the third guard stabbed up into his groin and leapt up to face the fourth. He’d been lucky he knew it, the guards had watched the sword and it had slowed their reactions, but this one was ready he reversed his grip on the knife so he was holding the tip and threw it into the man’s thigh, a miss.
The guard fell clutching his leg the thief ran forward pulled his knife from the first guards throat and delivered a killing strike to the jugular of each man.
He collected his knives and sword then looked for a way out. He’d come in through the kitchen but the guard would have changed by now meaning the kitchen would be full of the last watch.
He swore and started running, he ran straight down the corridor toward a window covered his face with his arms and dived through.
He hit the ground and rolled spreading the impact over his body. He got up and continued to run. People all round stared as they came out of houses and taverns to them a man had just fallen out the sky Tristrum looked back and smiled the city watch would get at least ten different accounts of what happened, each one more unreal than the last.

To be continued

TJFNW

short story: the pit

ok then Korean encounter is on hold until I read more tom clancy for ideas. So heres this instead, feed back would be nice.

He stood in the ring, his sword heavy in his hand. the bullseye lantern swung over head casting erratic shadows all about. He circled his opponent, the movement stirred up dust from the sand covered floor, as well as the stench of dry sweat and blood.
His own sweat was trickling down his chest, his heart beat faster and his muscles tensed. His first strike was quick, a thrust to the other mans foot, it was parried and the return slash only just misse dhis head, they returned to stance.
Adrenaline filled his body he could no longer feel the quick, heavy thumds of his heart or the blood rushing through his vains. A slash from his opponent met his blade square, jarring his arm, leaving it to shaken to respond.
He felt sick and a strange euphoria came over him, this wasn it, it had sunk it; he could die here.
Lost in his thoughts he only saw the thrust at the last second and he jumped out the way, lost his footing and fell face down in the dust.
He rolled over quickly and sent a wild slash at the others ankles, but his reach was too short. He scrambled to his feet and readied him self.
He swung a blow, it was parried, he side stepped the riposte and back handed the man in the thigh. This was easy he could do it he could win, he could live.
More adrenaline, more sweat, more effort.
His opponent limped forward, his eyes were burning, rage building within him, he gripped his sword in two hands and swung.
He blocked but the power of the blow forced him to his knees, his opponent moved quickly, stepped forward and revesed his sword so it was pointing down in his grip and sent it into the back of his kneck.
He collapsed to the floor blood bubbling up his throat, he still couldn't feel anything. he started to laugh uncontrolably but all that came out was more blood, it pour out his mouth and his wound and sank into the sandy floor.
He last thought was a shock of realisation; he was dying...

TJFNW

the korean encounter: part II

For the two of you who i know have read it and the thousands of others who just want to remain silent. Heres the second chapter, the second chapter in the first part is actually the last chapter in the story(to sort out confusion, or add to it).
any way here it is
TJFNW


Chapter 2

It was a cool night and Sam was glad he’d drawn the blinds before he left. He walked to the fridge took out a bottle of water and drank
The apartment felt strange, he still wasn’t feeling comfortable there, he never did, he never allowed him self to.
He went to the bed room took off his shirt and grabbed a towel, then went to the on suit and showered, changed his shirt and went down stairs.
The bar was quiet and filled with the usual locals. The bar it’s self wasn’t any thing special, it wasn’t like the banging clubs down town or the quiet tourists restaurants, it was more a working mans club where local workers met up. Sam preferred it like that no one to be curious.
He went to the bar,
“The usual Jean,”
“Oui monsieur.”
“How’s business?” Sam sat on a stool at the bar, “any new faces?”
“Let me think,” Jean struggled with the unfamiliar language, his accent the typical French stereotype, “non, not really. A couple of tourists”
“Good, good” Sam was barely concentrating on the bar tenders words he took the scotch and sat at a table under an awning in the street.
He watched the people traffic; Sam was always amused when he thought about how he spent his leisure time, a complete contrast to his job. Sam liked people, not talking to them, but watching them. He sat at this table for hours before; he liked to watch how other people interacted, the party groups, and the couples. The way people reacted to different situations how the human mind reacted was interesting to him and useful in his job.
From where he sat he could see two couples, the first a young couple embraced in each others arms, the women was very attractive long blonde hair designed clothes nice body, not Sam’s type but he could see the attraction, her boyfriend was what you’d expect average height and build with gelled blonde hair. Sam could see from their body language and the look in their eyes how passionately in love they were, that love that is more about physical attraction and lust though. The second couple were middle aged and it wasn’t lust for them, that mad passionate embrace and the sexual contact but they still looked happy, they looked comfortable they’d found comfort in each other. Sam wondered what had happened to this couple, how long had it taken and what had happened to them to go from young love to comfort?
Sam was always jealous of couples he’d never experienced love of someone else, he’d loved women but never really felt loved … Rebecca …, never felt….
He broke from his thoughts downed the rest of his drink and went back to the apartment, he’d prepare for tomorrow then have an early night.

The Korean Encounter

I wrote this before the last american election so the John Kerry reference is bolllocks
It's a novel i'm working on i'd really like feed back.


The Korean Encounter.

Background:
It is 2005; John Kerry has just started his first term of presidency. He is already putting into action his plan to combat terrorism without going to war. A British special ops has been hired to assassinate the North Korean president Kim Jong II.

Prologue
It was warm, too warm for late spring and the sweat trickled down his forehead. He crouched behind the ledge at the edge of the roof, far below restaurants were closing for the night. He unslung the small backpack he wore, and took his rifle from his shoulder. He opened the bag and took from it the silencer and sight; he set about screwing the silencer to the barrel. The sight, he discovered when it was attached was out of focus.
He looked at his watch cursed and began to readjust the sight faster. He knew that he was running put of time and the president would be leaving the meeting soon. He finally got the focus right and trained his view to the eighth floor window where a presidential consultation was taking place.
With the sight he could see every thing inside the room, it was plain with little decoration, painted an off white, and typical of the tall glass building where it lay which contrasted strongly, with the little of the country he’d already seen. There was a table in the corner with various decanters of spirits, every one around the conference table look merry.
The sniper held his breath, steadying his aim, and positioned his cross hair on the presidents left pupil. Gently he squeezed the trigger; he felt the stiff spring push against his force. A senator moved to shake the presidents hand, stepped into his sight blocking the view. He released his pressure. He knew the president was due on a plane in 15 minutes so speed was imperative. The senator moved but was followed to the door by the president; he cursed again changing his aim following the president’s head. He had to do it now; sharply he brought his right index finger down on the trigger.
The recoil was no existent due to the precision and excellence the rifle had been made and customised. He grabbed his bag and slung his rifle and prepared to leave. Inside the building the president’s blood was soaking the royal blue carpet and had left a large stain on the wall. The senators not in shock were busy vomiting or phoning the police.
The sniper detached the rappel line from his belt and ran into the night.

Chapter 1

Three weeks had passed since Sam Carter had shot Kim Jong. He now sat in a small French Café, stirring a lukewarm cup of coffee; he’d been sitting here for two hours now, watching the waitress. He’d come to the café for his debriefing but his contact was late, he was just about to leave when he saw the waitress.
She was petite, about 5’6” with shoulder length dark hair, through the thin cotton of her white blouse he could see the shape of her pert breasts.
His musings were interrupted by the door opening, he turned to see a group of middle aged business men, he turned back to catch sight of the waitress bending over, her short black skirt stretching over her firm buttocks.
Sam’s view was blocked by a large man, who sat down opposite him,
“You’re late,” said Sam, leaning slightly to be able to see the waitress
“Sorry I’m still on Hong Kong time,” the large man followed Sam’s eyes to the waitress,”nice”
“Thanks.”
“Have you…?” he said with a nod toward the waitress
“Not yet,” Sam let a smile creep to the corner of his mouth, “what’s happening about Jong?”
“The Koreans haven’t announced his death yet, but he’s made no appearances on Korean TV since last month. Kerry’s counting it a success.”
“What’s next?”
“You’re familiar with CIA, yes?”
“I may have heard of them.” Sam’s tone was sarcastic,
“Well it appears that they have a pest problem,”
“Pest?”
“A mole.”
“Ah.”
“It seems that the Russians and the Iranians have been receiving information about top secret American weapons. The Russians have even been improving and using them, did you know that the have improved the patriot missiles for ground use, as well as anti air,”
“Impressive.”
“I know.”
“And the Americans are pissed?”
“You got it, they want some one to go in and pretend to be a new recruit, go in and befriend the mole.”
“How?”
“They’ll find you. The last 6 new recruits have all left the CIA with a hell of a lot of info, and a hell of a lot of cash. This is on top of stuff that the moles leaking through special transmissions. This is big for the Americans; this is their biggest security leak ever.
The man got up, “A car will be sent to your flat tomorrow morning, for now go home, get some sleep and I’ll see you when you’re done.”
He left; Sam downed his coffee, shuddered at the foul of the cold liquid. He contemplated another cup, but decided against it, took on last look at the waitress and left.

Sam had a small flat in Central Toulouse in an area full of restaurants and bars; it wasn’t hard to get a taxi there. He arrived home about six, most of the restaurants were in the middle of their first sitting, and the area was full with tourists and parties. He unlocked the door to his flat, he lived on the first floor, the ground floor being a small bar used mainly by locals, he got to his flat via a small flight of stair to the side of the bar.
He pushed open the door and felt by his right shoulder for the light switch. He flicked it.

Chapter ?

I had come to this; this was why he’d nearly been killed twice, why he’d innocent people, why he’d toppled a regime and why one of his friends was dead.
Sam’s fist shot into Al’s chin, caught off balance Al fell heavily into a bookcase, making it rain Wordsworth and Tension and any thing else the fat man in front of him thought would impress visitors to his office. Al got up from the floor, and felt his bleeding lip with two fingers,
“With Saddam and Jong out of the picture the future is bright happy democratic one,”
“Where, with the treaty with Russia America has no threats, and total power.” He spat.
“I don’t know why you’re so angry, because of your services the president you’re going to be made an honorary American citizen and your every wish granted.” another blow, this time to Al’s ample belly Sam picked up the letter opener from the desk, “Listen you fat American Bastard, there is no bloody way I’ll let your paltry country rule the world,” he was making his accent overly British.
“I’ve killed presidents before, what makes yours so special? And he trusts me now so I could pick my way of killing him.” Carter moved to the corner, and took the long black case that contained his rifle, “bye,” the letter opener flicked across Al’s neck; he gagged, cofed up blood and fell to the floor. His blood began to soak the pile of books on to which he fell.
Sam left the room, walked back to the clean white reception with its pretence of art, informed the PA Al was having a nap and told her to wake him in a few hours.
The president was in New York today, and a couple of hours was more than enough time, he’d told Lei that his idle was Lee Harvey Oswald, and he would succeed where Oswald failed. He walked through the swing door, knocking the head from one of the flowers sitting in the decorative tubs by the door. It lay on the white marble floor, its purple petals curled slightly at the edge.
Carter laughed to himself as he bleeped the Porsche open, and set off for time square.