My third piece of work, something I hope is finally readable after three tries. I haven't wrote for long. Pardon me if I'm rusty. I would appreciate all reviews, be it of criticism or acclaim. Thank You
Young Exile's life is shattered when his parents, soldiers of the Grado army, are killed by the coontingency led by the Twins of Renais during one skirmish with the Grado army. For fifteen years, harbouring the intent of revenge, he rises theough the ranks of Grado's resurgent army to become a master assassin. When he sets ouf to fufill his promise, the truth of his parent fate, his discovers, is not as it seems. What will happen to the talented warrior?
The assassin perches silently over the wall, where he scans the surroundings. The night breeze brushes against his garb, and his hood is brushed aside. His green eyes react to every movement, anticipating every threat. His muscle tenses, ready to react. He spots a flicker of movement below him.
A guard materializes from the darkness, followed soon by another. They stride around the compound, inspecting the terrain. They see nothing, and prepare to leave. One of them freezes. He sees a cloak flash past him. He draws his weapon, wielding it clumsily. He sees the figure flash pass again, and this time so does his compatriot. They back against each other, eyes darting from one position from another. A gust of wind brews, and the maple leaves flutter around. For a second, they see a pair of glaring eyes in its midst, watching, almost mocking, their every move.
A door slams shut, reverberating through the courtyard. It diverts their attention for a split moment. They look back, but the figure is gone but for the whirlwind of maple leaves. They look around once more, but there is nothing. It has vanished.
Or so they think.
The two guards stride around, just for reassurance. They shrug, grinning at each other. It is just an illusion. The first guard sheaths his sword in relief, and leaves for the next area.
A cloaked figure leaps from roof to roof. His steps are silent, his movements are graceful. He treads the roof beam expertly, his long shadow cast on the backs of the guards so blissfully unaware.
The truth is ugly, illusion is beauty.