» Wed May 18, 2011 11:53 pm Updated with some fixes, hopefully I got them all.
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Thankfully his mother and father had been kind tonight. The clouds blinded Masser and Secunda, peering eyes were not welcome her so was appreciative towards this gesture of love. Clearly this had to be a sign, the task tonight was far too important for him to fail. Another soul for another brother or sister but to him, it was far more important. This was revenge, this was envy, and regret. But after tonight, he could finally put to rest his past.
He stepped down the empty street with cat like strides, quick and graceful, it would seem as if his feet hovered slightly above the cobbles. He stops and peeks around the corner, the orange glow from a open door lights up a portion of the street. Music and cheers and drunken slurs echo; they are the only sounds carrying away into the night. Two off-duty guardsmen stumble out, tripping over their own feet just barely avoiding impaling themselves on their own swords. He quickly retreated back behind the wall, Drunk as they may be a boggled mind can be just as dangerous. No doubt if they we're to see him they'd have half the brothel out. And soon half the street would be alert to the presence of a man draqed in black armour sneaking around the back alleys in the dead of night. How does one explain that when hanging upside down in the dungeons.
Fate however was on his side They carried no touches, one even had his helm on in a position that hinder his view. He pressed himself close to the stone wall, blending in with the colour; he was part of the darkness now. And they passed, and he smiled and whispered a thank you to his parents.
No more came out of the brothel so it was easy enough to pass by. The men would be bothered with their [censored] and drinking and the women would be bothered by making their coin. He detoured round the back alley behind the brothel, the music and laughter quieter here less chance of drawing attention but no less on the activeness of its patrons. A couple, nay, a [censored] and her employer ploughing along in the garden, they were too busy to notice him however. He gripped the stone and began to climb. The building was large enough for his liking and was easily climbable. It made suitable for getting over the wall.
He was halfway to the top when the woman gasped, his heart shot up to his throat. He pressed his face against the stone, he could feel his breath against the rock as he tried to contain it before finally braving to look down. Once more he whispered gratitude his parents. The man was unable to contain his excitement and clearly the woman found it amusing, but held back a laugh.
"Shut your [censored] mouth," As he reached the roof there was a sudden snap, like a branch being broke in two. The woman lay down on the ground clutching her face as the man pulled up his breeches. 'Animal' he thought, he had dealt with men like that before. And he had spent a large amount of his childhood in brothels where they'd be a girl, like her who'd be on the receiving end of some bastard because his so called pride had been damaged because he couldn't perform. He bent over her and snatched a pouch away from her storming off leaving her behind muttering profanities as he did. Alone, she began to sob -- It was a all too familiar picture for him.
He turned his attention to the house across from the brothel, the wall wasn't large, but was smooth and lacked areas where he could gain a footing a climb over, couldn't go through the gates either, as he thought before. How does one explain being dressed in black, silently wondering around the city while the rest of its law-abiding citizens slept.
He took a few steps back pacing himself, taking some air before making a dash towards the edge. He leapt off the ground with both feet just as he reached the edge of the roof. He crashed against the house, grabbing hold of the window ledge. He pulled himself up. Up onto the window and back onto the roof. The houses here were built closer together, easier to go from roof to roof and quicker than on foot down on the street, at least he didn't have to worry about the guards this way.
He recalled when he was a child; he climbed onto the roofs and would watch the sunset at dusk. He climbed and ran between the buildings, dangerous but exhilarating. It was a world away from his life and he loved it. His old family disapproved, but his new family, his real family, taught him to embrace his skills and that he did. He didn't take long for the targets home to come into view. Something stung at him, nostalgia. Painful, a mixture of hate and... and longing to return to it maybe? No! He ran a finger across his sheath where his blade rested, it acted as some form of comfort to him. He could feel the detail of the craftsmanship through his gloved hand. Elven steel, sharp and beautiful, whoever made it put their life's effort into it for he had not seen a blade so lovingly crafted. A gift from his family.
His stride this time was that of a determined man. Effortlessly returning to terra-firma. The streets here were nicer, more decorated. Pretty flowers hung from windows and rested in small gardens. Not much had changed here in his opinion as strolled along the path towards a house.
That old familiar door stood before him, Oakwood, and painted gold where the iron holdings ran across the door keeping it firm and in place. He reached out his gloved hand, running his fingers over the location where he would knock as a adolescent. He smiled, for old times' sake. Part of him wanted to knock once more but, of course if he knocked the door would open but that would ruin the surprise.
He ran the lock pick across the teeth of the lock, feeling them out, testing them, listening to the sounds, the clicks and the bumps, making sure that snap he heard wasn't his lock pick. The sound of the lock finally submitting however was the sound he was seeking. The house had changed, greatly, he didn't recognise it. A part of him believed that he would return and everything would be the same, some things of the past remained but most of it had changed. Catching his attention, he approached the painting above the fire. A girl with long brown hair and pretty brown eyes looked down on him smiling away, next to her with his hand resting on her shoulder was a devilishly handsome man, slicked blonde hair and green eyes. As if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
"You better start explaining why you're in my home?" A voice cut the air around him, it was a confident and proud voice. He turned to find the man from the painting, as if he had jumped out the portrait itself to confront him. He wielded a crude sword, with it levelled at him.
"You know it's legal to kill a intruder. So what's to stop me from running you through?" The man asked as he closed the distance on him, sword still aimed at his chest. The pair stared off at each other for a minute. Before he decide to take out his own blade, displaying it out in front of him, quite proudly. "You've angered a few people Marcus, and those few people decided to consult the services of my family." He spoke softly as he kept his eyes focused on his blade.
Marcus's body seemed to stiffen at these words. He looked him over, he could see it. That cold bony hand that would run a ringer than the spine of men, he knew who his family was. He knew who he was.
"What do you want?" He stuttered on his words slightly, his nerves begining to fail him. "I think we both know what I'm here for." The assassin looked up at the painting, "I also wish to pay your wife a visit, we're old friends you see." Gesturing towards the woman in the picture with his blade
The man lowered his own sword, collecting his thoughts before something finally clicked. "Dante?" He asked with dumbstruck expression as he spoke his name. It was then that the moon broke through the clouds momentary, lighting up the assassins face, a handsome man with something of a boyish look, but it was his eyes. Something about his eyes. Death, it was not a empty and bleak look but something whole, like he was part of the circle.
And the man, he got a got look into those eyes. So fast he didn't have time to react, he didn't even know he was upon him. He didn't feel the dagger but he felt the pain. He tried to yell but blood clogged his mouth. Dante grabbed him, and gently lowered him to the ground. The blood poured out his neck, quickly flooding the area around him.
He tried to talk, curse him, yell for help. But to no avail.
Dante began to climb the stairs towards the bedrooms, the gagging noises of the man were oddly satisfying but soon began to die out as his own life force began to fade.
The woman slept; the window was open and a soft breeze blew through, a cool sensation across his face. The moonlight covered her, only adding to her beauty. It felt like a lifetime since he had last been with her alone in a bedroom.
He took out his dagger; the blood from her husband still adorned the blade. He gently ran the tip across her neck, making sure he didn't draw blood. A wash of emotions swarmed his body, lust, envy, anger, love, hate. Hate and death most of all, he wanted nothing more than to slice open her neck and cover those white sheets in crimson. As much as he would of liked, he wouldn't. He had taken the soul his father demanded. He would make her suffer, just like how she had made him suffer all those years ago.
Her eyes fluttered open. "Marcus?" She croaked as she tried to make out the silhouette before her. When she realised it was not her husband she jumped away, clenching the blanket to her briast fearing for her life -- her dignity. The hood that shrouded him hid his features from her, and the moonlight created a strange halo around his head. Her look however, it was as if she knew who it was. It was like being slowly knifed in the back, he didn't like it. He told once that a man sword may pierce another man's flesh but a woman's stare could pierce a man's soul. He did not like it, he didn't intend to remain her any longer. Turning, he made way for the window.
Stepping out onto the ledge he prepared to jump, it wasn't a long drop. He knew how to land from this height without breaking both his legs. Her voice stopped him however. "Who are you?" She asked. But there was a tone behind it, like she knew already.
"That's not really important now," The Secunda was in the sky above him like a behemoth. The clouds having lost their fight now in retreat from the light. "After tonight. I am become Death."
He stepped off the ledge. And like that, he was gone. Silent and hidden, his body part of the shadows. The only sound that could be heard was her screams, which carried on till the rising of the sun.
But thanks for the read and feedback. No more on this piece I'm afraid but maybe in the future with a actual story around Dante. If I can muster the time. 