I really don't have much to say. I've had a wicked bad day. I dunno why.
People just have been, off and I guess it threw me too. I dunno. I've been
ruthless with people I don't like, I realize. I've been quick with the
insults and what's happened to my temper? I'm going off the handle on
people left and right. Don't really regret it though, sometimes it's nice
to say what you really think when often you don't.
I've really not been able to write. When I did try, I'd go back into my serious depression and sit in my room and listen to loud, violent music. I think its going around. My bffae in Kansas has started to cut herself and I threw away my razor today after looking at it and contemplating for a smidgen too long. So I'll go hairy for a few days. Better than cutting myself, right?
So perhaps writing's what I really need, keeps me sorta sane. I don't even know if this will make sense. All it is me keepin out of the bathroom.
Capish?
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The Assassin stormed through her shadows angrily and with a purpose. Occasionally, a spark would jump up and down her body, momentarily bringing light to the darkness. The fire in her eyes was a raging inferno and she wasn't going to sit around. No, she was pissed. Most definitely pissed.
She navigated the shadows expertly and swiftly and appeared on the other side in Anya's dark palace. She unsheathed her katana and put it on the floor at her feet. She stood and waited.
"I figured I'd get you here," Anya's voice echoed through the shadows.
"Yeah, well," the Assassin grumbled as Anya's form appeared in front of her.
They stared at one another for a moment, unsure of each other. The Assassin shifted warily.
"So you tore apart my dreams and had two idiots attack me to 'summon' me and all you want to do is stare at me? It wasn't my idea of a good time and now you're wasting it," she sad agitated.
"You know why I summoned you," she said smoothly.
"Actually you left that part out. You were only in on the 'Come or this won't end' kind of deal," the Assassin growled.
"Fine, since you are so ignorant to not listen when you should, I will explain this once more. I would rather just kill you and take you as one of my undead, but I figure a conscious fight on your part would be better."
"Fight? I haven't agreed to anything, and I'll be damned if you get as far as killing me," the Assassin growled again.
"Be careful what you wish for," Anya said in a sweet tone, "but that's why I figured you should be conscious. Dacius wouldn't like that one bit, would he? Betrayed after all these years?"
"I would do nothing of the sort!" the Assassin roared.
"Now, now, let's not be hasty," Anya laughed. "I think you'll see things my way," she said grabbing the Assassin's wrist. The Assassin tore her wrist away in the blink of an eye. But perhaps a blink was too long for her. She looked at her wrist and a crystal band weighted lightly on it. There wasn't a seam and no hinges protruded.
"What is this?" she gasped running her fingers along it in haste.
"Oh a little something, a present if you will," Anya said lightly.
The Assassin saw black smoke into it slowly in little wisps. They snaked around her wrist in tendrils. Her vision darkened slowly.
Anya smirked.
"So it is true,"
"What is?" the Assassin said slightly startled.
"You have some of a cleric's abilities, yes? Well, I figured that if you had some of those, why couldn't you Fall? A Fallen Assassin, sounds kinda funny doesn't it?"
"Not especially," the Assassin growled and reached for her katana. She grasped the hilt and it burned her palm. She held the hilt tightly and the stench of burning skin rose from her again. She laid it down on the ground and looked at her hand bewildered.
"You honestly didn't think you'd be able to touch that again," Anya laughed, "It's blessed, didn't you realize that?"
The Assassin reached for a dagger but dropped the blade when it burned her. Reaching for another, and another, she got the same result. Anya only laughed even harder.
Out of weapons, the Assassin settled for a spin kick. But instead of finding herself thrown across the room and colliding with a wall. She grunted and picked herself up. She attempted to run at Anya again, only to find the same result.
"You won't beat me now girl, I'm far to advanced for you to actually do anything," she laughed as the Assassin warily picked herself up again, only to be forced against the floor. Her body ached and burned as she felt that she would be pressed into oblivion, yet again.
"Kill me," the Assassin hissed, "come on, I can feel it. The blood lust, everybody gets it. The utter urge to kill something. You're a hunter, top of a food chain, just kill me. Come on, do it."
The pressure increased slightly then released in a hurry.
"Your mind games won't work on me," Anya said in a cold tone.
"Won't they?" the Assassin questioned picking her broken body off the floor.
She strolled casually along the walls, eyeing all the weapons that adorned it. She smiled inwardly.
All were a deep and menacing black. She could feel the darkness radiating off of them, as she could feel the light off of her katana and various other weapons across the room. 'Stupid boy, blessing my weapons while I was sleeping. Shouldn't of trusted him to leave something unblessed.'
She traced her finger along them almost longingly. Her wandering hands came to rest on a sword significantly bigger than her katana. Comparative in size to Sulmar's sword, its seemingly heavy double-edged blade shone darkly. The actual blades were sharper than any she had seen before, and she kept her katana's blade sharper than most thought possible. It was her odd affinity to sharp and pointy objects that somehow got her attention off of killing something and focusing on something so meticulous as honing a blade. The hilt was simple, dark metal and a black grip, nothing special. It was obvious that the center of attention for the weapon was the blade.
Grasping it in her hand, she lifted it lightly and rotated her wrist. It moved nimbly in her hand. She grabbed the sheath off the wall and put it on. Sheathing the sword, she moved on tracing the wall with her fingers again. They itched when she ran them along a hefty quarterstaff. Intricately carved with ravens on (what else?) dark wood, she smiled at it. It was a beautiful weapon, formidable against some of the strongest, but she let it hang on the wall. She was partial to swords.
"Shopping are we?" Anya's voice called behind the distracted Assassin.
The Assassin slipped several daggers away when Anya's voice called again, this time casual.
"You are free to take them, they are useless to me,"
The Assassin smiled, already knowing that the necromancer didn't use weapons. She continued to pretend to be oblivious to Anya.
Not getting a response, Anya continued to talk to the walking Assassin.
"I guess I should set up a room for you here, to start, I suppose. You can't stay here forever. I suppose until you get on your feet-" she began to say with a smile when the Assassin seemingly disappeared.
"What the," she said under her breath.
^*^*^*^*^*
The Cleric was beginning to become bored with his task at hand. Seemingly endless lines of students continued to stream in the filling room. Originally, he only stunned them, not wishing harm on children. But it was when one of the first he stunned attacked him that he realized that if they were playing for keeps, so should he.
So a rapidly growing pile of bodies was beginning to decrease his fighting radius. It didn't matter to him though, he would in the future and had fought in worse conditions, leaving him somewhat unfazed.
It rubbed against his skin, this hindrance that these children would hinder him. The knot in his headache continued to press from the psychic blast that little punk gave him. The remains of the "punk" were somewhere under the massive pile of limbs and bodies. The stench of blood would have sent the Assassin on a killing spree long since and he wondered at her location. She was, in a way, attracted to fighting. He was at a loss for words as to why or how, but if there was a fight, either she started it, encouraged it, or ended it.
He continued to muse as he cut down the mutant population.
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Dere. I'm done. Nobody's probably gonna read this anymore. Come to think of it, I doubt anybody's reading this now. But since when to I write for others. English class doesn't count. I write for me. Kept me from those damn blades so shut the fuck up if you don't like my story. I don't give a crap what you think, nor will I about this.
Wow, see what I mean about the anger? I totally blew up on ya.
Suppose it was better than my total melt down at lunch today when I started out yelling at some smart ass then proceeded to sob into my chicken fried steak, which tasted like shit to begin with. What's up with me?
Oh well, enough of my self-evaluation of my sanity or lack thereof.
Review would ya?
I've really not been able to write. When I did try, I'd go back into my serious depression and sit in my room and listen to loud, violent music. I think its going around. My bffae in Kansas has started to cut herself and I threw away my razor today after looking at it and contemplating for a smidgen too long. So I'll go hairy for a few days. Better than cutting myself, right?
So perhaps writing's what I really need, keeps me sorta sane. I don't even know if this will make sense. All it is me keepin out of the bathroom.
Capish?
^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^ *^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*
The Assassin stormed through her shadows angrily and with a purpose. Occasionally, a spark would jump up and down her body, momentarily bringing light to the darkness. The fire in her eyes was a raging inferno and she wasn't going to sit around. No, she was pissed. Most definitely pissed.
She navigated the shadows expertly and swiftly and appeared on the other side in Anya's dark palace. She unsheathed her katana and put it on the floor at her feet. She stood and waited.
"I figured I'd get you here," Anya's voice echoed through the shadows.
"Yeah, well," the Assassin grumbled as Anya's form appeared in front of her.
They stared at one another for a moment, unsure of each other. The Assassin shifted warily.
"So you tore apart my dreams and had two idiots attack me to 'summon' me and all you want to do is stare at me? It wasn't my idea of a good time and now you're wasting it," she sad agitated.
"You know why I summoned you," she said smoothly.
"Actually you left that part out. You were only in on the 'Come or this won't end' kind of deal," the Assassin growled.
"Fine, since you are so ignorant to not listen when you should, I will explain this once more. I would rather just kill you and take you as one of my undead, but I figure a conscious fight on your part would be better."
"Fight? I haven't agreed to anything, and I'll be damned if you get as far as killing me," the Assassin growled again.
"Be careful what you wish for," Anya said in a sweet tone, "but that's why I figured you should be conscious. Dacius wouldn't like that one bit, would he? Betrayed after all these years?"
"I would do nothing of the sort!" the Assassin roared.
"Now, now, let's not be hasty," Anya laughed. "I think you'll see things my way," she said grabbing the Assassin's wrist. The Assassin tore her wrist away in the blink of an eye. But perhaps a blink was too long for her. She looked at her wrist and a crystal band weighted lightly on it. There wasn't a seam and no hinges protruded.
"What is this?" she gasped running her fingers along it in haste.
"Oh a little something, a present if you will," Anya said lightly.
The Assassin saw black smoke into it slowly in little wisps. They snaked around her wrist in tendrils. Her vision darkened slowly.
Anya smirked.
"So it is true,"
"What is?" the Assassin said slightly startled.
"You have some of a cleric's abilities, yes? Well, I figured that if you had some of those, why couldn't you Fall? A Fallen Assassin, sounds kinda funny doesn't it?"
"Not especially," the Assassin growled and reached for her katana. She grasped the hilt and it burned her palm. She held the hilt tightly and the stench of burning skin rose from her again. She laid it down on the ground and looked at her hand bewildered.
"You honestly didn't think you'd be able to touch that again," Anya laughed, "It's blessed, didn't you realize that?"
The Assassin reached for a dagger but dropped the blade when it burned her. Reaching for another, and another, she got the same result. Anya only laughed even harder.
Out of weapons, the Assassin settled for a spin kick. But instead of finding herself thrown across the room and colliding with a wall. She grunted and picked herself up. She attempted to run at Anya again, only to find the same result.
"You won't beat me now girl, I'm far to advanced for you to actually do anything," she laughed as the Assassin warily picked herself up again, only to be forced against the floor. Her body ached and burned as she felt that she would be pressed into oblivion, yet again.
"Kill me," the Assassin hissed, "come on, I can feel it. The blood lust, everybody gets it. The utter urge to kill something. You're a hunter, top of a food chain, just kill me. Come on, do it."
The pressure increased slightly then released in a hurry.
"Your mind games won't work on me," Anya said in a cold tone.
"Won't they?" the Assassin questioned picking her broken body off the floor.
She strolled casually along the walls, eyeing all the weapons that adorned it. She smiled inwardly.
All were a deep and menacing black. She could feel the darkness radiating off of them, as she could feel the light off of her katana and various other weapons across the room. 'Stupid boy, blessing my weapons while I was sleeping. Shouldn't of trusted him to leave something unblessed.'
She traced her finger along them almost longingly. Her wandering hands came to rest on a sword significantly bigger than her katana. Comparative in size to Sulmar's sword, its seemingly heavy double-edged blade shone darkly. The actual blades were sharper than any she had seen before, and she kept her katana's blade sharper than most thought possible. It was her odd affinity to sharp and pointy objects that somehow got her attention off of killing something and focusing on something so meticulous as honing a blade. The hilt was simple, dark metal and a black grip, nothing special. It was obvious that the center of attention for the weapon was the blade.
Grasping it in her hand, she lifted it lightly and rotated her wrist. It moved nimbly in her hand. She grabbed the sheath off the wall and put it on. Sheathing the sword, she moved on tracing the wall with her fingers again. They itched when she ran them along a hefty quarterstaff. Intricately carved with ravens on (what else?) dark wood, she smiled at it. It was a beautiful weapon, formidable against some of the strongest, but she let it hang on the wall. She was partial to swords.
"Shopping are we?" Anya's voice called behind the distracted Assassin.
The Assassin slipped several daggers away when Anya's voice called again, this time casual.
"You are free to take them, they are useless to me,"
The Assassin smiled, already knowing that the necromancer didn't use weapons. She continued to pretend to be oblivious to Anya.
Not getting a response, Anya continued to talk to the walking Assassin.
"I guess I should set up a room for you here, to start, I suppose. You can't stay here forever. I suppose until you get on your feet-" she began to say with a smile when the Assassin seemingly disappeared.
"What the," she said under her breath.
^*^*^*^*^*
The Cleric was beginning to become bored with his task at hand. Seemingly endless lines of students continued to stream in the filling room. Originally, he only stunned them, not wishing harm on children. But it was when one of the first he stunned attacked him that he realized that if they were playing for keeps, so should he.
So a rapidly growing pile of bodies was beginning to decrease his fighting radius. It didn't matter to him though, he would in the future and had fought in worse conditions, leaving him somewhat unfazed.
It rubbed against his skin, this hindrance that these children would hinder him. The knot in his headache continued to press from the psychic blast that little punk gave him. The remains of the "punk" were somewhere under the massive pile of limbs and bodies. The stench of blood would have sent the Assassin on a killing spree long since and he wondered at her location. She was, in a way, attracted to fighting. He was at a loss for words as to why or how, but if there was a fight, either she started it, encouraged it, or ended it.
He continued to muse as he cut down the mutant population.
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Dere. I'm done. Nobody's probably gonna read this anymore. Come to think of it, I doubt anybody's reading this now. But since when to I write for others. English class doesn't count. I write for me. Kept me from those damn blades so shut the fuck up if you don't like my story. I don't give a crap what you think, nor will I about this.
Wow, see what I mean about the anger? I totally blew up on ya.
Suppose it was better than my total melt down at lunch today when I started out yelling at some smart ass then proceeded to sob into my chicken fried steak, which tasted like shit to begin with. What's up with me?
Oh well, enough of my self-evaluation of my sanity or lack thereof.
Review would ya?