Son of Shadows

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Drakashin
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Posts: 220
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 2:19 am

Son of Shadows

Post by Drakashin »

This is a story that I made, please note that both me and Veraka are creating our own stories in the same universe, and yes they do intersect at multiple points.

We both have been working on these for awhile now. I do not give permission to redistribute, copy, or rewrite any of my story.

If you have suggestion, comments or creative criticism please PM me or let me know in the OOC forum.

This is rated M or R, which ever you prefer, because of blood, gore, violence, and, later on, sexual content.

I will be posting a chapter, I'm hoping, about every week or so after the first couple.

Hope you enjoy!
Last edited by Drakashin on Thu Jul 29, 2010 11:16 pm, edited 1 time in total.
No Mercy for the Weak;
No Pity for the Dying;
No Tears for the Dead.

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Drakashin
Regular
Posts: 220
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 2:19 am

Post by Drakashin »

In the small Northern city of Sheinom, a small elven child walked the streets. He was completely alone, unusual even at this time of night. Normally he would not be walking the main streets; Sheinom was not a place that was known for being kind to other races, but it was a risk he took to get to his destination faster. A drunk stumbled out into the street and nearly knocked the child down.

“Watch where you’re walking, damn elf,” the drunk screamed at him, spittle flying in the child’s face.

“I’m s-sorry s-sir,” the child stammered. He normally didn’t stammer but, he survived the streets long enough that most people will ignore people who stutter ‘uncontrollably’.

The drunk continued walking up the street while muttering about elves infesting the city. The child kept moving the other way, wanting to get to his secret spot as fast as possible tonight. Tonight was a night of a new moon, and the very air seemed charged. The child thought that this was why very few people were out drinking, and why the guards seemed so nervous. They could feel the energy but couldn’t identify it.

The people of Sheinom didn’t only hate the other races of Natova; they were also a superstitious lot. They believed that the new moon was an omen of evil, or the gateway into hell, or, sometimes, both.

The child heard the stomps of heavy, booted feet and quickly got out of the road and hid in a dark alleyway. A group of five guards, all dressed in heavy plate and chain armor, marched by. How he hated the city guard. They were notorious for beating on non-humans, often leaving the person to die in a gutter with broken bones and bleeding from the inside.

As soon as the guards were past, the child moved back out on the street and moved quickly. He was almost to the spot. Tonight was going to be different, he could feel it. Tonight, he would finally be able to control his power and never be hit or looked down upon again.

He discovered a years ago, when he was ten, that he had psychic abilities. Not the kind to read minds, but to where he could lift, throw, and crush objects. He could do small stones easily enough, larger stones were much harder. But, tonight, was going to be different, he just knew it.

He reached the spot where he had been training for the past couple of weeks. He reached out for his power, and found his suspsions confirmed, the power came to him much more easily than it did just a day ago. He reached out with his mind to a rock that weighed probably around ten pounds and lifted it into the air easily. He decided to try and do something different with this rock. He shaped his thought into a different shape, giving it the sharpness like that of a sword and sent it flying at the rock. To his amazement it cut the stone cleanly in two.

He became so excited by these discoveries that did not realize that the guards were changing shifts. He did not hear the ironclad feet of a soldier enter the alleyway that he was practicing in.

The guard had entered this alleyway in hope that it would take him to his house on the other side of the city faster. He was disgusted to see that a homeless elf child was in the alley. His disgust quickly changed to horror as a stone rose in front of the child and seemed to be crushed.

[i:24zf67ny]This child must be a demon in elven form[/i:24zf67ny], thought the guard. [i:24zf67ny]If this elf was a demon, than the right thing to do was to destroy it.[/i:24zf67ny]

The guard slowly, and as quietly as he could, drew his short sword from its sheath. The guard moved as quietly as he could towards the elf, hoping to do a quick, fatal blow before it knew he was there.

As the guard was sneaking up on the child, the elf let go of his concentration on the stones he was practicing with. As he became aware of his surroundings, he also became aware that he was not alone in the alley anymore. He could hear the solder’s heavy greaves grinding on the gravel beneath them. He could also tell that the owner was trying to be stealthy despite wearing heavy, poorly oiled armor.

He sent out a tendril of thought to the soldiers mind and only then realized the danger that he was in. He turned around and tried to jump back quickly to get out of the way from the deadly arc of the soldiers sword, as it swung at his neck in an attempt to decapitate him. He did not get out of the way quickly enough.

The pain was excruciating as the blade connected with the front of his neck. Drakin fell to the ground, rolling in agony. He could feel his own blood flowing between his fingers as he clutched at the wound. Darkness began to move into his mind and believed that Dariana, the goddess of the dead, had sent her servant to collect his soul. Drakin believed that Death had come.
[i:24zf67ny]”Destroy this human who has dared spill your blood,”[/i:24zf67ny] said a Voice that came from his head.

He felt the darkness he had thought was Death focus his thoughts. He could feel the anger that the Voice had for this human who had harmed him.

[i:24zf67ny]“UNLEASH ME!”[/i:24zf67ny] the Voice yelled.

Drakin obeyed.

The guard closed in to finish the child. He raised his sword above his head to finish off the mortally wounded elf. He even began the downward arc, when he felt a hand grab his wrist. The guard looked at his hand to see…nothing? Try as hard as he could, he could not move his hand. The invisible hand began to squeeze impossible hard. He could feel his wrist being ground into dust. As he opened his mouth to scream in agony, another hand closed around his throat, turning his scream into a wheeze. He felt a third hand begin to reach into his chest and closed around his heart. The guards eyes widened in horror as he figured out what was going to happen, right as the hand squeezed.

The guard’s dead body was held in the air for a few seconds after he died, then collapsed as the hands let him go. Drakin was barely aware of what he had done by the end because of losing so much blood. He could feel that the Voice was pleased at the death of the guard.

A man dressed in a black cloak and robe, and wore his hood pulled low to conceal his face, came from an adjacent alleyway to the body. The cloaked man seemed to examine Drakin’s work like someone who looked at a piece of art. When the man rose from the body, the elf, could see that he was smiling, a cold, humorless smile.

“Your powers have grown strong,” said the cloaked man in a deep brass voice, “much stronger than I expected in such a short amount of time.”

He was barely conscious by this point, but he did register what the man had said. How could he have known about Drakin’s power? Drakin was sure that no one had been watching him. As he pondered this, his blood continued to flow from the wound the soldier had dealt him. The man walked over to him and shook him roughly.

“Listen to me now or you shall die before you truly begin to live,” said the man, “I am a part of the Hand of Dae. My offer is to allow you to become a part of our . . . unique family. Or you die. Blink once if you accept or allow yourself to slip into the void.

He blinked.

“Good choice,” said the man. He place his hand upon the elf’s torn neck and whispered a chant or a prayer under his breath. He could feel the bleeding slow, then the bleeding stopped and the flesh began to mend. As the skin finished binding together he felt a scar form.

“What is your name child?”

“Drakin,” he replied in a painful rasp, “Who are you?”

The cloaked man contemplated this for a moment as if deciding whether or not to tell Drakin then said, “I have many names, but the one you shall know me by is Gahmn. Now come. It is time for you to return to your home.”

Gahmn bent down a picked Drakin up gently. Drakin would never have guessed that a member from the assassin’s guild, Hand of Dae, could even be gentle. He walked Drakin quickly through the streets. Along the way he saw some of the homeless drunks and thieves that had nowhere to hide on this dark night, these were people who would normally rob anybody who came alone, cower in front of Gahmn. He now understood how this man had known about Drakin’s powers. A man of his obvious rank in the Hand of Dae would have almost unlimited resources.

They arrived at a large and spectacular mansion. Gahmn slowed his walk to a stop as they arrived at a gate.

“This is where you will live, eat, train, and, when we think you are ready,” said Gahmn, “this is where you will earn your place in this world.”

The Voice spoke for the first time since the attack with the guard, [i:24zf67ny]“Do not forget who saved you tonight. He may have healed you, but remember who opened the doors of your mind and allowed your power to be released fully.”[/i:24zf67ny]

I have not forgotten, thought Drakin.

[i:24zf67ny]“When you have the need to kill, call on me”[/i:24zf67ny]

What is your name?

[i:24zf67ny]“You will learn it, in time.”[/i:24zf67ny]

With the Voice’s last words fresh in his mind Drakin fell asleep on the road outside the mansion. Gahmn looked at Drakin and just sighed and picked him up once again and took him to the side of the mansion. They went through a secret door and into large winding catacombs beneath the mansion. This was where ‘home’ truly was.
No Mercy for the Weak;
No Pity for the Dying;
No Tears for the Dead.

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Drakashin
Regular
Posts: 220
Joined: Wed Mar 17, 2010 2:19 am

Post by Drakashin »

Eight years have passed since the incident with the guard. During this time Drakin had gained a wealth of knowledge that, through these experiences, had shaped his physical appearance. He learned how to wield many different weapons as well as hand-to-hand, during these sparing sessions he learned how easily long hair could be a disadvantage, so he kept his dark brown hair short. Along with learning how to use weapons he also had to learn how to conceal them and spot concealed weapons. His cold, grey eyes were adapt at spotting hidden weapons on his fellow apprentices, and he learned how to use the natural wrinkles in his clothes to hid a bulge of a weapon hilt on his person.

He also learned how to make, set, and disarm traps; the tests for this were navigating through long obstacle courses where many of the traps were loaded and deadly. He had to learn how to navigate narrow areas and how to crawl through areas with many traps, giving him a degree of flexibility he never thought he possessed. But, by far the hardest, was learning how to make poisons and antidotes. They were often feed the poison and then had to quickly make the antidote for the specific poison. The price of failure was often death, or at least a very bad night. Through these experiences he gained some resistance to poisons.

When the students first came to the home, they were each assigned a mentor. Kon was the mentor that Drakin was assigned to. He was in his mid-thirties, had light brown hair, and he always seemed to frown. Kon’s anger was infamous in the Hand of Dae, for he killed his students as often as they became assassins. Some people, Drakin included, thought that it was because of this anger that he was teaching at such a young age, while many of the other mentors were in their forties to fifties. He compromised his assassinations and the ‘home’ one too many times.

As far as Drakin was concerned, Kon was only good at an assassination if he had the element of surprise. If he didn’t kill his target within the first attack, his anger would often kill the target for him, often at a painful price to himself. He had more scares on him than Drakin had seen on a five hundred year old dwarf veteran. Kon’s face was barely recognizable as being human it was scarred so badly.

After a sparring session, Kon came over to Drakin as he was putting his weapons away. Drakin kept his hand on his katana, his weapon of choice, as Kon came over. Kon was almost smiling for some reason and this made Drakin uncomfortable. The thought that he had beaten Kon too many times, and now Kon was going to try and kill him crossed his mind.

“Have you finally figured out how to block my attacks?” asked Drakin, if he was going to fight Kon he wanted him angry. Angry people often made mistakes during combat, “How long has it been since you last defeated me? A month? Six? A year? Ah, wait, it was about a year ago, wasn’t it?”

“SILENCE!” yelled Kon, his anger showing itself at being surpassed so fast by someone so young, “You should show more respect towards a mentor.”

“I only show respect to someone who can last five minutes against me in a dual,” Drakin replied with an exaggerated bow.

Kon’s temper flared at this, “I have killed more people than many of the other mentors,” he shouted

“And look at what that has gotten you,” laughed Drakin, “a body full of scars from sword and bows. It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed when you obviously don’t even know how to block a simple sword thrust.”

Kon closed his eyes and began to breathe quickly. Even though Drakin thought that Kon was going to attack him, he couldn’t help but enjoy pushing Kon’s anger to its limit. Drakin pulled out a hidden throwing dagger from a hidden sheath on his arm. Kon did not notice Drakin’s sleight of hand and that his hand now held a dagger coated in a potent poison that would kill Kon in under a minute.

When Kon opened his eyes again he did something that Drakin did not expect, he actually smiled, then he said, “I will enjoy the day when I make you regret those words. But, that day is not today. Gahmn has sent me a letter that has your first assassination.”

Kon continued, “Your target is your fellow student, Meila.”

“Is there any other information that you can give me?” asked Drakin.

Kon smiled even wider at this, “Yes, but that is for me to decide whether you need it or not. And I say you do not.”

Drakin almost launched himself at this remark, but he remained in control of his action. Kon would be pleased that he had angered Drakin by putting him at such a large disadvantage.

Instead he only said, “I look forward to the challenge.” Then he walked out of the training room.

As Drakin walked through the catacombs, he listed what he knew about Meila.

It was very little. Meila started about the same time as he did. He remembered that she was more adept at magic then at a blade. He did not know what kind of magic she used though. Drakin thought he could narrow this down though. Since she was in the Hand of Dae in the first place she did not likely use angelic magic, since an angelic or divine creature would not fuse with her willingly, and he doubted that she was powerful enough to force the creature to join with her. He remembered seeing her once, a pretty girl with long black hair, and brown eyes. But, he didn’t detect any kind of aura or any kind of body change that came with binding with a demon, like a succubus being able to charm a person extremely easily or the scaly wings of a demon. He would need more information.

There was only one person that Drakin trusted enough to help him. He opened the door to his room after he checked for any trip wires; he did live in a house full of assassins after all. He looked around at his sparsely furnished room. The only apparent decoration in this room was a gargoyle statue on the opposite wall, facing towards the door.

“Hello, Grisnaw,” said Drakin as he closed the door.

As soon as the door closed the gargoyle jumped to life.
“Kill Kon yet?” asked Grisnaw.

“You know I can’t kill him yet,” said Drakin, “at least not until he attacks me. But, I do have a task for you my little friend.”

“You wish me to kill him for you?”

Laughing Drakin said, “No, I wish to keep that pleasure for myself.” Grisnaw pouted, if a gargoyle could pout, at this news though he knew that Drakin despised his teacher, “but I do need you to gather some information on one of my fellow trainees. A girl named Meila.”

Though Grisnaw tried to sound disappointed at this news, Drakin could see a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth, “Who should I torture to get this information for you?”

“No torturing,” again came the pout, “I just want you to see who her friends are, and if any of them want her dead, and how competent she is with her magic.”

As Grisnaw started towards the door, Drakin added, “Oh, and do see if anybody is out for me. Kon gave me this mission and I have a feeling that this is a competition to weed out the weak among us.”

Grisnaw left out the door after making sure that no one was out in the hallway, Drakin was the only person that knew about him. Drakin got into his bed to go to sleep. As he was near sleep a voice entered his head that was not his own. One that he has not heard in many years.

[i:32wlkze3]“I will feast well tonight,”[/i:32wlkze3] said the Voice and Drakin knew no more.
No Mercy for the Weak;
No Pity for the Dying;
No Tears for the Dead.

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