The Ten, parts 1 & 2

Chapter 1

He walked out into the cold spring air, looked down at the courtyard, and shivered. Arrayed in a single rank, cloaks billowing in the gentle wind were ‘the ten’, the sworn of Valten Corvus; mercenaries, the finest warriors in the feudal lands. None new their faces, hidden as they were beneath masks of black ivory worth more than many would earn in a life time, but all were infamous for their long sabers an the Raven livery of their lord.
He pulled his cloak about him suddenly cold as if their very presence stole the little warmth offered by the mild day. He had seen soldiers before many times, and even the mighty tribes’ men that moved between the shifting borders of the feudal lands; but ‘the ten’, they were killers. His farther had summoned them as winter began to thaw, desperate for any edge in the battle inevitable in the coming year and he dare not think of the price being agreed upon in the hall below. He swore under his breath as he remembered the audience, he was late and his curiosity had gotten the better of his manners. Briskly he headed toward the main hall mindless of the menials and servants he passed.

The hall was cold, as it always was despite the roaring fire and lavish tapestries; he slipped past retainers and servants to stand beside his fathers dais, and was struck by he man who stood before his fathers throne. Corvus was tall and stood with the manner of a lord equal to his father despite his warriors’ appearance, this grated with him but the fear quelled the feeling. He stared at the blank mask, glossy and black save for a stylized raven picked out in delicate white paint on the left cheek.
”Agreed lord Randal,” the warrior bowed and turned on his heel, striding from the hall parting the crowd to the door.
“Edwin my boy,”
his attention was drawn away from the warrior, “Father?” he blanched at the look in his fathers eyes, Lord Randall looked haggard beyond his fifty years.
”Come here my boy,” he turned to those gathered, “Leave us.”
Edwin watches as the retainers filed out before turning back to his father, Lord Randall’s eyes were filled with sorrow, worry etched over his face and brow,. “My son we live in dangerous times, the Castellens are marching from the south, rumors of this reached me too late and now we know it for certain they will enter our lands within the week.” He paused dropping his head and taking a deep breath before looking back up at his son, “With our expansions to the east last year we are spread to thin and our forces too few after our losses to the Deltrians, we cannot win this battle alone. Valten is taking the ten south, they will endeavor to halt the Castellens or at the very least delay them until we can raise the muster and march the peasants south. You are promised to the ten as,” he paused again, “collateral, against any betrayal on my part.”
Edwin stood and began to pace down the hall unable to take in the information, he brushed his hands through his close cropped hair in despair his mind racing with questions, “Is your word not enough or this braggart? Does he not recognize your position?”
”Be calm my son, it is his standard practice, I offered your sister so that you could better assist me here but he declined. I will need you with him; you can send me word of the battle. I would match your swordsmanship against any of his band. I trust your safety as you must trust this was our only course of action.” Lord Randall weep silent tears, “I am sorry my boy.” He moved forward kissing his son on the forehead, “Attend Corvus in the courtyard, you leave at his command and time is short.”
Edwin, stood mind reeling caught between duty and honor, “very well father, I will take on this duty and return to you battle won.” They clasped hands in the warriors embrace and head held high, for show rather than any pride he felt, Edwin left the hall.


Chapter 2

Valten Corvus smiled to his self, not that anyone would ever see, as they boy approached He was weak, not frail like so many of the villagers he passed in Randall’s domain, but the boy had no spirit, too spoiled and full of pointless manners. It would not be a pleasant journey.
”Edwin Randall,” he bowed, how quaint, “my father…”
”I know who you are boy as you know me, let us not waste each others time, you have until the noon bell tolls to make ready,” Corvus turned and nodded to a wiry man at the end of the rank, “Crow will accompany you to ensure you pack only what is needed. Now go.”
The boy looked stunned, another hidden smile, he was sure the whelp was about to speak but thankfully he nodded and trotted back into the keep Crow quick on his pampered heels.
Corvus turned to the remaining nine, “Hawk, ride ahead, we’ll meet you at the Lethie ford by dusk.” The tallest of the ten nodded, the morning lighting glinting off the hawk etched in silver on his mask, and walked toward the stables. “The rest of you, you have until noon, watch your selves, many here will not ‘enjoy’ our presence.” His response was a chorus of muted laughter and salutes.
As they walked away, Corvus noted that Falcon and Lark, the only female in the band, wandered away together talking in hushed tones. He cursed, Falcon was the newest of the ten recruited only a month ago and he was beginning to dislike the easy friendship the two shared, it felt like trouble. He cleared such thoughts from his mind as the smell of roasting meats wafted from the keep stirring his appetite, he longed for hot food; the nature of the ten meant they spent long periods on the road and good cooked food was scarce. The kitchen, he decided, was where his time would be best spent.

Twists, Turns and Convulsions

Its been some time since I was here let alone posted anything. Life has got serious fast.
To cut a long and not entirely happy story short i am now at uni in wales just outside Cardiff and had a great time in my first year.
Now its year two i live in a house with four other guys and by and large its great a few hygiene issues but hey its 5 male students (did people not see the young ones) theres gonna be mess.
Currently i feel like i know most of them not at all and our other friends i also feel oddly distant from. this may be my fault but this combined with my past life at home (majorly playing on my mind atm) and my losing all my friends back home due to being MILES away...

not much point to all this but need to type things out cus my heads all full f crap and my diary's at home :S

on a brighter note i do intend to start a new blog about stuff at uni, hope anyone reading this will join me there soon too.

Aegean

righ tthis is mostly finished needs a bit of an intro. Yes i realise once again i've not posted for a month but i've been busy with school stuff. Due to the release of the film 300 and most of the books and games i've been playing/reading of late i'm obsessed by the ancient world, mainly Greece and Rome so this is the introduction of a character who ihave a back story for and a story for him to step into. so here goes.

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A single figure stood on the deck of the ship, dressed in a deep crimson leather breast plate and padded kilt. The pirates could see little of his face accept a mouth showing a confident smile and a trident beard, the rest of the man’s face was the blank façade of a Grecian style helmet, painted the same colour as his armour. As the two hulls met the pirates leapt to the larger vessel the armoured man stepped forward,’Greetings, I welcome you to the Mikos, how may I serve you’ his voice was smooth and even showing no hint of fear. Several of the brigands looked at each other not sure of the situation, others drew daggers and pushed their way to the front, Skemis the short Kretian spoke first, ‘Ho friend. We are here to liberate some of your cargo.’ The crimson warrior laughed and drew a leaf-bladed sword form a scabbard at his waist, ‘this blade was a gift from Palemides of Rhodes for killing twelve men who attempted to assassinate him,’ he sheathed the blade and drew two gladii from over his shoulders, ‘these came from the roman senate after I defeated five champions of the first legion,’ he sheathed these and drew and elaborate dagger from a sheath by his right greave, ‘and this was given to me at the funeral of prince Themes of Egypt for hunting down the assassins who murdered him while he slept.’ This too he sheathed and took up a heavy Spartan shield and a spear, ‘These two have stories as does my unusual armour but of course I’ve bored you enough, please attempt to take the goods of my friends here; some of you may survive.’
He drew his foot back raised his shield and tilted the spear forward. Four men moved towards the warrior, daggers in hand, two carried spears but none of the pirates were used to much resistance, one sent a wild slash trying to manoeuvre round the shield; his reward for the effort was a shield through his throat. The warrior dropped the spear rolled forward blocking a spear blow with the shield and drew his first sword killing another two pirates as he got to his feet, a third died with the reverse stroke. The pirates began to attack in greater numbers, the warrior moved faster, blocking blows and responding with his own. One thrust into a spine meant has sword became lodged he dropped the blade and allowed his shield to fall from his arm as he drew the two gladii and plunged the short blades into two fresh attackers. There were three men left on the deck and warrior ran forward throwing the gladii at two of the pirates taking both through the throat, as he ran he drew the dagger from its sheath and rolled past the pirate to rise behind him holding the dagger to the pirates throat, ‘You failed friend, now take your boat and leave.’ The stumbled over the deck then, half climbed and half fell onto the brigand’s bireme. He barked orders to the slaves cut the grapple lines to the trader’s ship, and then the oars slid out of their holds into the sea as the slaves began to row. And so Melikos came to again to the Aegean.

Batan

Right, lots to update lets do it fat shall we:

• am now 18
• have finished january modules
• am still in love
• am still looking to do psychology
• still partially doing CU

other things have changed but they're not realyl important enough to talk about, yes i am aware that i never finsih stories but my current created character i like more than any other os hes a new new story.
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I’d met him before, in the same post house, several years before, the man they called Batan; his real name was lost, even he had forgotten it and Batan seemed to fit the lean young man with his well kept beard who hid beneath the hood of his long coat never showing all of his face.
It had been a cold winter’s night, a blizzard blowing outside the snow whipping at the faces of travellers. We had both been forced to stop on our travels and rent a room by ferocity of the elements. He had sat hunched over a tankard at the bar, his finger sliding round the rim, snow still sat on the shoulders of his coat. I approached the bar; set down my bag unbuckled my short sword and sat on the neighbouring stool. I greeted the bar man and nodded to him, he grunted a reply sat back and drained the contents of the tankard. He looked at me as he set down the mug, ‘another?’ he nodded and a half smile crept onto his lips,’Batan’
He held out his hand, his voice matched his appearance low and intense, I took his hand; as we exchanged is pleasantries I ordered a second tanked for him and one of my own with a little bread and cheese.
The Blizzard kept up for threes days when none when came or went from the post house, Batan and I built up what you could almost call a friendship in those three days, we discussed old times he his time with the army and I of the great city on the lake where I had once worked as a merchant before the hordes came and I was forced to pedal my wares from town to town. Dark days we lived in and it took hard men like Batan and the other wild men who lived in the mountain passes to protect the rest of us citizen from the continuing rampage of the horde. The second time I met him I was again travelling the high mountain paths when I passed the post house we had spent our three days in, it had become some what of a tradition for me that I stop at least for a small meal and a drink at the post house before travelling on, for three years I’d come back but this year I entered to see him sitting in the same old green coat, his long sword by his side, but now his eyes seemed darker, gone the happy mocking look replaced by one of loss and fear. I sat beside him we embraced and then he began to sob, then he told me the story of his past three years.

Psychology In Action

Yes, once again I digress from the point of this page which is my stories, but I need to share this to get it out my head.

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I've literally just got back from spending a day with a mental health nurse, while most of the day was irrelevant to what I want to do with psychology (Back ground info: I'm in my last year of secondary school, hence the lack of stories due to way too much work, and I'm looking to do psychology at university then become a clinical psychologist.) but three things were useful.
the first of these was a Q&A session with a psychiatrist which highlighted what the team does and how they help 'service users' (patients to you and I) and the differences between psychiatrists and psychologists.

Next was a Q&A with a Psychologist who gave me ideas for routes into the job and has volunteered to act as a contact for me in later life, which is majorly cool.

The last useful thing is what has been plaguing my mind constantly. My nurse had to do some ward visits, which due to patient doctor confidentiality, so I was left in her office with a pile of files to read. Honestly it was the most eye opening and genuinely interesting experience of my life. Most were basic accounts of service users that that has one or two psychotic episodes and I was given details of their condition and how they were treated. It was amazing to see the psychology I've been learning about put into practice. There were cases of bipolar disoders, schizophrenia and a few depression. It was amazing to see the small things that caused extreme disorders and the major things that caused small things.

The most interesting case was two folders full and it was of a girl who at 16 had been raped( I won't go into detail about anything personal if I can help it) and had then suffered depression and attempted suicide. She had failed and was then referred to the NHS for treatment. It went well and she seemed to be gettign over her depression, but she was then raped again this time by some one she trusted. Her condition then deteriated and she became bipolar and paranoid and believed people were watching her and had bugged her house. She began to exercise to much and go days without eating or sleep. It was fascinating to read so much about this person I'd never met and have insights into how they thought and see tests they'd written. It was oddly humbling, but strange because i began to feel for this woman who at only a few years older than me had been through so much and had so little support and have so many people take advantage of her and not help.

The file went up to March this year when the woman had just bought a flat and had a good full time job and seemed to be doing ok. The last entry however was dated two weeks ago and she had seen a man who was the brother of the second rapist and that had sent her into a downward spiral.

It made my goal of being a psychologist seem all the more worthwhile, if I can make a difference to one person like her and let them lead a normal life, then I'll have done something to be proud of.

This experience had also given me new prospective on my life and my problems, and also given me some solutions for my own psychological problems like my insomnia and my occasional minor depression. Problems those around me have or have had too have become more real and not just stories and I can empathise more with them and understand more of what they felt.

All in all I'm so glad I went today and can't wait for my return visit in January.

Dwyrain I

My last post was an idea... this is that idea realised. Enjoy.

Sellec stood to attention as the mounted officer passed, he waited until the hoof beats echoed from the closed streets, before he sank back against the wall his blewyn across his knees as he grated his whet stone along the blade to hone its edge.
Sellec had been a guard for eighteen months, two weeks, three days, and some four hours. He had come from a long line of warriors and as was the custom in the great city he’d followed his father into the guard. However Sellec was a poor soldier, he was good so much as he could fight well and was physically able, but he was too intelligent to just follow orders and to poor to gain a rank. It did not bother Sellec that he was constantly reprimanded for questioning and order. The guard, though well train and well equipped were largely a token force, the great walls of Dwyrain had never fallen even with the yearly skirmishes and sieges by the Llwyth tribesmen, those banished from the city and their descendants living out on the desolate western plains. They hated the city dwellers of the great city, whose walls surrounded half a continent.
Most residents of Dwyrain, lived in their white marble houses or tilled the fields in the farmers quarter or those high up who dwelt in ‘Castell’, the walled garden; the citadel those rose above all other buildings in the centre of the city. The average citizen never saw the faces of the tribesmen shot down every year by the Dolen of the men on the walls as they ran forward with their siege ladders; never saw the looks of desperation and anger as they threw away their lives against the walls.
Sellec finished with the whet stone and replaced it in the pouch on his belt, he lifted the blade to his eye line, it was sharp. There was still an hour to go of his watch, he replaced the Blewyn in the scabbard on his back and drew the Ochri from the scabbard on his thigh. Sellec carried the weapons he felt comfortable with as did most of the guards; upon enlisting each man was given a breast plate of tanned leather and a long spear though few kept the weapon. Sellec carried both Blewyn, a long curved sword that was wielded in two hands and the Ochri, a short straight sword for stabbing in close quarters. In battle he also carried a Tarian, a light shield metal round shield though he left it in the barracks for guard duty.
He sighted along the blade of the short sword, it was sharp already, he cursed and sheathed it. He stood, stretched his back and removed the stiffness from his legs. He stood at his post; shoulder against the wall his thoughts on Prisima, the young daughter of the barkeep of the ‘west wall’ tavern. He smiled at the thought of her curves and her full breasts as the sweat trickled down his body in the mid day sun.


Jarren lay in the dim purple light of the tent. It was hot out on the plain, even naked he could feel the prickle of heat on his skin. His woman Sumeris lay in front of him, the soft skin of her back pressed against him. His hands stroked her swollen belly, slipping up her body to her breasts.
Hr longed to make love to her, but the babe was dun in the next few days and she had refused him only the other evening. She rolled into him, they kissed, their lips lingered for a second before he stared into the enchanting green of her eyes and embraced her.

Two days before she had been his world, her and their child. The delegation had arrived the morning before however and torn his dreams asunder. They were planning a new attack, all the settlements attacking together under one leader, to try to breach the walls and take the east of the city. Jarren’s father pledged forty men, Jerran among them. They were to meet at the next full moon at an agreed meeting place with all the provisions and weapons they’d need. Jarren was loathe to leave the settlement; he knew there was little chance of returning.
The last attack on the city two years before had been a massacre, Jarren had watched from afar through his fathers spy glass. None of the tribesmen had reached the walls; they had all been slain by the Dolen of the men on the walls. Jarren’s uncle, the reason why his family were exiles had been killed by a bolt through the eye.

She kissed his neck, he moaned softly and lay back, she moved to his chest, He lost himself in his lust, he would think of the attack another time. They kissed again, and finally she gave in he lay her down on the rug, stared into her eyes and smiled.

Sophia:II

She followed the path that she’d cleared over the past few days. It had once been an animal trail, so she needed little effort to remove the few newly grown vines and stray branches and she made sure that there was no evidence that a human has passed there. As she neared the research facility she could hear the low rumble and hum of the generators, powered by and underground geothermal station. She knew this from the blue prints she’d seen, acquired at great risk by deep cover agents, she sent a silent prayer to those men and women in the north and continued to slip through the undergrowth. From where she crouched now, she could see the mesh fence that served as a deterrent, its watch towers, one positioned at each corner, strafed their spotlights across the killing zone of scrub grass before them.

She took one last deep breath, let her hands slip to her thighs and gripped the two .9mms.
Now she ran, she covered the fifty or so meters that had separated her from the tower in a heart beat and lay panting her back to the support leg. She hoped that the guards stationed above her had been preoccupied and were not just waiting for her to reappear.

From a pocket on her calf she produced a small pair of wire cutters and cut a hole at the bottom of the fence just big enough for her to slip through. On the other side replaced the cutters and holstered one of her pistols. She could hear the barking of a dog not far off the clink of chain and the heavy breathing of a guard, as he wheezed his way through a cigarette. She looked up at the concrete walls and saw the air vent she ran up the wall kicking out when she reached the correct height then back flipping back to her feet. The physical exertion left her feeling sick but she reached up and scrambled into the little space as she heard the dog round the corner a growl rolling in its throat.

She took another deep breath; that had been the bit she was most dreading, but it had been so easy. Why? She began the slow crawl, through the vents. Thankfully they were blissfully cool due to the humid jungle day. Sophia’s movements were slow and deliberate and she crawled, eve the slightest sound would be heard on the other side of the vent, and who knew who’d here. She reached the correct junction, which way now?

She mouthed an obscenity, she thought it was left but could not be sure, after a few moments deliberation she stuck with her instincts, crawled down the vents and past another two junctions, going straight on each time, and then she reached the grate hoping it was the right one.

The room below was dark, she could see nothing, there should be no one here at this time, the scientists had flown back the day before and the next lot weren’t due for three days. She reached in her pocket and found one of the two flares she’d been given, twisted the top and dropped it through the gate. The red light fizzled to life, and illuminated the huge laboratory.

Sophia: I

OK thsi is a new piecew that i'm v v involved in enjoy more tomorrow. (p.s no the ain character is not lara croft)

It was warm in the thin canvas of the tent, and she lay on top of the thick quilt of her sleeping bag. Sweat trickled down her exposed cleavage; the tank top she wore along with the sports bra and combat pants had all been in the kit she’d been given on embarkation of the gun ship. She slipped the freshly cleaned cocking system of her 9.mm and holstered it on her right thigh as she completed the ritual with her second gun. The small bandoleer next to her was filled with the C4 charges she’d need, which meant all she needed was another crackling signal from the radio next to her telling her to move out.
This part of the Evecian jungle was peaceful, the HEM forces having cleared out much of the wild life when they had built they’re research facility, a facility she was now to destroy. The world had been at war for 30 years now, after the HEM take over of Evecia in the last elections they had used the country’s vast resources to build huge weapons and raises the largest army ever known. They had gradually begun to take over neighbouring countries and with those the party already had control over formed a giant empire the likes of which had become myth in ancient books.
The rest of the world bowed to the HEM and they won more and more provinces and countries in legal political elections, their preferred method of take over. They swept over the whole north continent dividing the world in two. The nations of the southern hemisphere banded together in an alliance and the stale mate began. This was two years ago and in the last two years; things had got much, much worse.

The HEM Empire had launched huge air attacks on major cities of the southern alliance, reducing vast acres of Land to smouldering rubble. The governments had moved to secret caves, or lonely mountain bunkers and had begun to run the counter attack. The two armies sat entrenched, in the Termac desert on the north shore of the southern continent. And each day saw both sides taking ground and losing men but neither had gained an upper hand. Mean while two things happened; the HEM had begun to experiment with gene splicing and chemical warfare. Soon enough they had an elite core of genetically altered soldiers, acting as the HEM’s policing force. Also gangs began to move into the ruins of the cities most were trying to avoid conscription or get rich but some formed a network of Underground resistance; and this was where she came in.
Sophia Adams, she was a young woman from Reseti in the south, the city where the biggest resistance core was. She’d lived with the Raktui gang for a year and had risen high in their hierarchy. She was a tall and attractive woman her red curls hugged her face, and she used this to her advantage, in fact it was by sleeping with the gang leader that she had been given this assignment.
The radio hissed and crackled beside her, she picked it up and turned the tuning dial slightly, suddenly the clicks and his became a far of voice, ‘Sophia, operation is go, chopper ready at extraction point’ She smiled put the radio on the floor and stamped on it. She took a lighter from her pocket and strapped on the bandoleer. She flicked the heavy metal lid and put her thumb on the flint wheel, the fire would reveal her presence so she thought better of it, and they couldn’t find the radio frequency now anyway. She began to move through the jungle.

Perfection

The early winds of spring whipped his hair about his face, it was too long and needed cutting weeks ago but he'd let it grow. He heard the bus pass behind him and considered turning to see if he could see her but decided that it would only make the separation harder. Long gardens bordered the road, pathways to the houses at their head, familiar houses he passed almost everyday of his life took on a new facade, all the world did once he'd left the joys of her embrace.
His eyes strayed across the scene before him, to the small saproling, barely covered in the glorious pink of fresh cherry blossom. His ears were filled with the usual and comforting music of the suburbs, and the hard tread of his feet on the tarmac. A young boy rode his bike down the other side of the road, he glanced over and felt the smile invade his lips and the strange feelign of longing and regret in his heart. He'd reached the cheery tree and its mild fragrence filled the air about it. The wind caught a loose blossom and it brushe dhis cheek before it was lost forever, the rest seemign all the more beautiful as the finality of there nature registered. As he neared the end of the raod he looked about him at the perfection that surrounded him, the still quiet that was both dull and exhilerating, and he laughed thsi is what he wanted, what he wanted to explain to her, how she had made him weep more than once, he felt a calling a perpose to his life in this small suburbian street and he laughed. He reached the end of the road and continued the walk home.

Remission

Giving my self a break from shaden at least for now. So heres this, inspired by a paintign and a song.

He lay next to her on the bed, she in his arms, his body curled round hers protecting her from the world. He could feel the heat of her, feel her soft pale his in his hands, fell the pressure of her body against his. He lowered his face into her hair breathing the scent in deeply, filling his head with lust for her. The room was semi dark, the night natural black disrupted by the moonlight that spilled through the windows, her skin glowed in that twilight, he kissed her head, and relaxed. The feel of her wrapped in his arms made him feel completely safe, as if she would never leave and be his forever.
She shifted he held his breath guilt at waking her flooding him; she muttered something then returned to her rest. The candle that was by the bed guttered and was then extinguished the sulphurous smell mixing with the scent of her body.
He could hear nothing in the dark, even the brightly lit street outside was quiet, as if in respect of her rest, the world slept as she did, she commanded a legion of souls, his most of all yet he resisted her spell of sleep so he could lie here now watching the slow rise and fall of her breast and feel the beat of her heart. He kissed he again, and slept.

Shaden IV

This won't be as long as my others but i wanted to show the side of stories you don't usually read as it detracts from the action. (p.s. thanks to 'El Bownes' for the idea of where to go next)
Also to the right is another link to a friends Rpg site. All are welcome to join and its free. Just design your character and get going. I'm on there under my usually 'Citizen Williams' guise. Hope to see you on there.

Danyla sobbed in the quiet dark of the bedroom. Her face was shrouded in the mask of mourning, so none could see her tears nor the red marks that streaked her face. The body of her husband lay in the next room on the table, his neck twisted a sickening angle.
The guilds hired muscle of house Mari had cleared the house of all valuables, her husband had been a good man but now he was dead and that meant she was destitute. The local harima had coem to see her already, adding to her tears, for she was young and not unattractive and he could get a good price foir her body. She moved to the kitchen of her cosy little town apparment a took a thick bladed knife from the rack.

No one was around to hear the sharp gasp as the blade pierced her flesh and no one heard the grate of metal on bone or the whimper as she fell to the floor. The blood pooled around her, drowning the tear she'd let fall to the floor, in an ocean of crimson.

Shaden III

Yeah I know I said it'd be posted last week but the computer was free so I typed this up aswell. The glossary follows which gives you a the names of the guilds and what their responsibilites.

Kasimo followed the young merchant down the stairs; keeping to the shadows his foot steps muffled b the hick carpet that covered the cut stone floor.
The sunlight shone through the open door, dazzling the prey who stopped and rubbed his eyes Kasimo was close now. But the merchant started walking again ad now he was in the brightly lit street. He swore under his breath and slid his daggers into his sleeves. The red and purples blades were well known unlike his face.

Many believed the blades to harbour demons, where as in reality the blades got their distinctive colours from minerals added by the smithy at the Mage School, who had added the minerals to make the metal stronger and stay sharper.
Kasimo had been raised by the Mages since he was twelve, when he had been surrounded by the bodies of five guild debt collectors who had killed his father. He had been taken to the mage’s island by other guild members, as they made the assumption the way he could have killed the five men was by using magic.
They had been wrong; Kasimo had killed the men with his bare hands, striking each in a pressure point with enough force to kill.
Kasimo had a natural aptitude for war, once the mages realised he was useless as far as magic was concerned, they had arranged for tutors in different disciplines of war to train the young boy, by seventeen he could learn no more. That was three years ago, in that time he had been dispatched by the guild to kill, for many different reasons; he had killed merchants, ministers and would be rebels. All had fallen to his blades. Thanks to him the archipelago was kept quiet and the guild in power.

The merchant turned a corner into a darker street, Kasimo glanced around the corner, the street was empty, the cobbles carpeted in a thick layer of excrement and filth. It was too easy he sheathed his daggers then began to run.

The merchant heard the sound of feet and turned but saw nothing, then a shadow sprang from the wall then all was black.

The merchant unconscious Kasimo broke the merchant’s neck with a twist of his arm, opened the man’s mouth and put a small meal disk, the guild s calling card, inside. He pulled his hood about his face and began to walk back to the guild hall.
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Fumi: Dragon: Run The Mage School
Ekri: Strok: Diplomacy
Shoku: Bull: Farming
Fuku: Tiger: Warriors
Leku: Lion: Law
Nema: Boar: Smiths
Raki: Rat: Sanitation
Tomic: Eagle: Hunters
Aracna: Spider: Architects
Mari: Mantis: Money Lenders
Skeri: Scorpion: Subterfuge(spies)

Each house also has a symbol.. i've yet to design these but i will soon and they will be posted along with the map of Shaden.

Shaden II

OK this is the next part of what i started last time. I also metioned something else i was writng last time as well theres a link on the tool bar to the right of this called creativity unleashed. even though i say it my self its good its three of us and we're on part 30 atm.
any way heres the next bits soem words i use in this have replaced englih ones and i'll post a glossary with the next piece. well thats it for now the next part should be up early next week as its just waiting to be typed.

Farren was a merchant, a good merchant, he never cheated his patrons nor did he fail on his payments to his brokers. He was also a gambler, a bad gambler. It was this reason that he found him self in a reception lounge of minister Talen’s home. Minister Talen was a member of the guild and as such he had to the power to grant Farren the loan he needed.

The guild was the ruling force in the Shaden Isles, the guild hall stood on Shimoa, the lone mountain that rose above the only city on the isles, Wenham. The city had grown from the mountain in the middle of the main island of the archipelago, but had grown so large that it reached the east coast, where it had merged with the small port towns there.

The Guild was a collection of the twelve houses that ran the Shaden isles, each house controlled a part of the Archipelago’s society and those who were members of a house were viewed as higher than others. Farren was not in a house.

The figure who sat on the chez lounge before him was a tall thinly built man, a member of the Ekri, and like that bird he carried him self with a dignified grace.
A retainer greeted him and announced him to the minister, who stood and walked towards him.
‘I have heard of your plight why should I help you?’ His voice was too calm, too matter of fact for the young man who broke into tears.
‘I’ve been a fool lord I ask only for a chance to repent my mistakes.’ His voice shook with sobs.
‘How Do I know you will not continue to gamble? You already owe guild agents a considerable sum.’
The merchant looked away shamed knowing he could not change; he blushed and looked back to the taller man, ‘I am sorry for wasting your time.’ He bowed and left, tears still running down his face. The tall minister sighed, the man did indeed owe the guild a great deal and there was nothing he could do the guild had spoken.
He turned and sat on a nearby sofa, near the great window that made up one wall of the chamber. A shadow fell over him, ‘Lord Gellet has decided that the man dies.’ The shadow inclined its head and turned away. He half turned, ‘Make it quick.’ He stared blank eyed out of the window. It was sad that in the archipelago money was more important than people.

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.

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.