My first story, both on this site and in general. I'm far too inexperienced with writing, so I thought: 'Why not? Goahead. You've the will, the experience will come as you try'. Criticism is always welcomed!
This is a prologue to a story arc i'm hoping to write!
Prologue-
Hit and run. The heavily armored general had several weak spots in his suit of scales, and the assassin
knew just where to aim.
'Arm pits, Knees..Throat.' A sly smirk spread across his lips when the last word came to his mind.
He leaped from the dark corner that served as his observation spot for the last three hours and landed
upon the heavily decorated table that served the gathered as a dining spot.
Talon had to give the old general credit, he didn't fall on his back like most far younger and meaner
nobility did. He casually dogged a blade that was aimed to his back, and with a kick to the owner
he dashed towards his target.
'Armpits' the blade of his struck true, causing the general's arm to stop on its way to the decorated
sword he carried in his hilt. The wide slash the assassin performed knocked the old man down-
though the young assassin did not stop. 'Knees'. The thought was like a burning urge he had to commit-
And soon the assassin's leg shattered one of the far-too decorative knee guards of the General,
causing the old man to moan loudly. 'Throat'. The moaning stopped as quickly as it escaped
the wrinkled man's lips, and his head was now barely hanging on a thread of flesh.
'Five seconds'. Five seconds to commit an assassination only a small group of assassin can perform.
He wouldn't want to boast, but he thought he out-did himself there.
He mechanically ducked from yet another blade that was aimed to his back, and moved aside from
A a thrust that was meant to hit his torso.
"You're far too drunk if you truly think you want me to fight back" he said, the crimson mask of his
causing his words to sound ghostly and distant. Another blade to hit thin air..He was getting tired
of this drama. In one quick movement the assassin was already behind one of the enthusiastic
heirs. He kicked him forward towards his brethren, who simply moved sideways. Talon lifted a
chair and tossed it at one of the windows decorating the hall. 'Duck. Roll'. The thoughts came
mechanically, without thinking. Shards of broken glass made their way to his flesh, but those barely
worried him. His hardened skin sustained far more than just glass.
He was out, his target dead. Another night, another victim. Just as it should be.