Shaden I (update)

ok well its the day after my 17th birthday for those few who may read this who don't already know. The last thing i posted i liked but i have no where to take it so suggestions would be cool... k for now i have a new piece which shall be below, and for those who think i've written nothign recently, i have on a joint blog whicha hug eon goign story where 3 of us are roleplaying characters in a story thats really comign together atm. so i'll post details new time... or you can try and find it if you must. any way i digress... i loved writign this piece it feels like the pieces i used to write so i'm going to continue it and hopefully develop the main character alot and suprise a fe wof you along the way as i don't want to take him down the usual cliched routes.(sorry disgressed again)

The figure separated its self from the shadows in the alley. His face was shrouded in the shadow cast by the hood of the black robes he wore. The dark alley stank of death, the sickly sweet smell of rot and the metallic tang of blood, it invaded the nostrils and sent his head swimming; he gagged and retched, adding the smell of bile to the sickening mix. The warm summer’s eve was only making the stench worse; the odour thick like an invisible fog now was the time to make his move.
He made his way through the alleys, the cobbles of the streets rough under the leather of his boots. He drew his daggers the long curved blades reflecting the moon light. Sweat trickled down his forehead, stinging his eyes; the stinking air burned in his lungs and is foot steps echoed in the confined space, but not enough to attract attention.

The city apartment belonged to a merchant called Velis, it was hewn from granite like much of the upper city, and the windows and balconies were covered in rich red curtains the two on the upper most floor showed a faint light about their edges, obviously an entertainment lounge or a bedroom, and that was where Velis would be.

He jumped onto a the low roof of a stable and then to the apartment that was one over form the luxurious merchants abode, who’s roof was lower. The sweat was trickling down his back now, his muscles tensed in preparation for more activity. He made the last jump to the merchant’s balcony, he slipped, shot out a hand and hook his fingers round the rail that ran around the balcony. He dropped his knife, he held his breath, one second, two; no one stirred in the room he let out the breath then levered him self over the rail and recovered his dagger, he span the twin blades in his fingers, the familiar weight a comfort, and moved to the curtain.

The room behind the thick velvet was painted white, no doubt to try and keep the heat from the room. Two candles burned low on a desk and another guttered and went out by the bedside. The only other furniture was a clothes chest at the foot of the bed and a simple woven seat chair. Despite his extravagance and flamboyance it seemed in private the merchant was a simple man.
He lifted the curtain at the base and rolled under allowing the wait of the heavy material to carry it back to earth, it left no draft unlike pulling the fabric aside. In the bed, was a large man in his middle years, he guessed about sixty, young for one so wealthy. He was sprawled on the bed, his arms wide his legs hooked at a strange angle. He looked happy, peaceful, but so did they all. He raised his right hand dagger in the candle light the faint purple sheen of the metal could be seen, and the deep red of the other blade. Velis breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling, the deep breath of one utterly asleep.
He placed the tip of the right hand blade at the man’s neck, and the blade of the other across his throat. In one quick motion both blades moved, one down the other across. He felt the resistant form the flesh and the bone, but his fate was still the same, he felt the old mans life drain away. Blood bubbled from the wound as a low moan escaped his victim’s lips. It was done and the guild would be pleased, he would serve as a reminder to others who fell behind in their debts.

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.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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.