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.
Friday, August 12, 2005
Thursday, August 04, 2005
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
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 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.
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