Well I'm writing this while hooked up to a wide variety of drugs because I came off my motorbike in an accident and a particularly pathetic little girl has remarked that I'm lying, presumably for attention. The following story was done under the influence as it were, you have been warned. I am attempting to move away from the cliché plotline a little. Comments and reviews would be most welcome. Thank you to all my readers, may you have the best of luck in all that you do.
The Night Angel Trilogy belongs to Brent Weeks; I own none of the material.
Jason awoke to shouted threats and hissing steel as blades were drawn. He sprang out of bed, reaching instinctively for a knife that wasn't there, but instead was lying across the room with the rest of his equipment and his clothes. Suddenly guards burst into the room, drawing screams from the whores inhabiting the bed. Jason reacted instantaneously, leaping towards the window, the shards from the broken glass raining down on the alarmed crowds that had drawn to the commotion. Jason landed on the adjacent roof, already moving and dodging the laughably inaccurate arrows. He glanced over his shoulder, and growled. The golden eyed woman was pointing at him, shouting at the guards presumably to kill him. He growled before dropping down to ground level and wrapping himself in shadows, making his way to the lair of the Sa'kage to meet an old friend.
"Gwen, she must die. She knows who and where I am, somehow. I can't afford that" Jason prowled up and down like a caged tiger, itching to lash out at anything to sate his blood thirst. "Jason, there is a fine line between retribution and revenge. Which side of the coin are you on?" To punctuate her point, the whore flipped a gunder, caught it and repeated. "Fine. Crowns, she dies. Castles, she lives." Jason snarled, and his hand blurred as he lunged with Talent- enhanced speed. He opened his hand to reveal the golden coin. "Crowns. Guess that's just bad luck." Gwen glared at him, the prostitute spitting at him violently "You cheated. You used the Talent to alter the drop. This is about revenge, not retribution. You're nothing but a black hearted butcher, Jason Drake". She slapped his face and stormed down a tunnel, leaving Jason in the Sa'kage lair alone. He spun quickly on his heel and disappeared into the darkness.
The crowded tavern did little to abate Jason's sour mood, even the usual remedy of excessive alcohol did nothing to lift his black spirits. A dark shadow in the corner of the room, he absently considered how many of these worthless sheep he could slaughter before they realised the situation, or more likely, before the blood-letting would reward his violence with a respite from this feeling of betrayal. Damn that bitch. He was not a butcher, not like Hu Gibbert, the infamous wetboy who saw human life as even more expendable than other wetboys. But Jason saw his point, now in his grim temperament. When we take a life, we are not taking anything of value. Love is a noose, and lovers will only betray you. He drained his glass of cheap beer, paid the innkeeper (noticing the fear in the short man's eyes) and stepping out into the cold night. "Oi, you! Stop right there!" Jason's eyes narrowed and he turned sharply to see three guards pointing their halberds at him. "You're wanted for multiple counts of murder, theft and lawlessness, mate" the lead guard spoke with a bold voice with a thick Alitaeran accent, but Jason could pick out the small cues of terror on each guard – sweat, even on a frosty night, a slight twitch as they recognised they stood before a hell-spawned demon, if the stories about Jason were to be believed and their weapons shook faintly as they kept their eyes locked on a man who was the very image of death. Jason smirked and turned back. "I don't have time for this".
"You'll have plenty of bloody time when you're dead, you bastard!" The lead guard lunged at Jason's exposed back. Faster than the guard could follow, Jason spun and slapped the weapon aside, following up with a low kick to the man's knee, feeling it break beneath his heavy boot. The guard dropped to the floor, screaming and cursing, while his compatriots froze in shock. Jason sprang forward, striking the second guard's throat with outstretched fingers, crushing his windpipe before dodging the clumsy blow of the third guard. Before the man could recover, the wetboy pounced, moving inside the halberd's range and snapping his painfully outmatched adversary's neck with a swift and auditory snap. Jason knelt and hefted a halberd in his left hand, walking towards the first guard, who was attempting to crawl away from the battle scene. He turned to face his murderer. "The whole town guard will hunt you down, Shadowstrider. You'll be dead by dawn." The murderer smiled a sinister smile and replied casually "Then I guess I'll kill them too." The guard's panicked retort was cut short as Jason swung the halberd down in a gory arc and severed the man's head from his body.
Blades of every description lay arranged on the wide wall in front of the man who had killed with every single one. Jason stood in his armoury, selecting the weapons he'd use to kill each guard that had dared try to kill him with silent precision. A Ceuran hand and half sword strapped to his back. A bandolier of poisoned throwing knives. Two foot long bollock daggers on his hip. A thick shiv tied to his left boot. His masterfully crafted crossbow. Satisfied with his choice of armament, he stalked upstairs, out of his basement into the small house in a low key, but still upper class alley overlooking the Warrens, belonging to the mysterious brother of the equally shadowy Count Rimbold Drake who had been away to the island empire of Seth for some time now. Jason checked and rechecked his equipment before opening the back door and vanishing into the night like a ghost.
Dawn rose on Cenaria, drying the spilt blood and warming cold, dead flesh. A pair of blades gleamed in the fresh sunlight, their once spotless appearance now marred with blood and viscera. Jason slid the daggers back into their sheaths and strode away from a scene from the depths of Hell. Bodies lay across the barracks like fallen leaves, and a crimson river flowed liberally across the stone floor. Flies had already begun to swarm, a dark cloud covering the cooling corpses, and ravens flocked outside like living gargoyles. Jason stepped outside to find the golden eyed whore staring at him, hatred in her eyes, surrounded by the few guards he hadn't had time to kill yet, roused by the screams of those who had witnessed his massacre. He smiled darkly, drew his crossbow and fired.