writerDarkly
Virgin
- Joined
- Oct 18, 2017
- Posts
- 7
If you're a female who is interested in writing this story with me (your creativity is welcome), please message me privately (preferably with your post, if you have an idea worked out).
The cloaked figure ran from the grassy knoll, leapt over the stone wall and dropped ten feet down onto the guard, the blade at his wrist puncturing the guard's throat. The assassin used the guard's crumpling body to break his fall, rolled off him, and continued his run at full speed. The guard lay gurgling his last breaths. In the midst of his run the assassin jutted his arm out to the right, letting loose a throwing knife, which found its target in the skull of another unwitting guard. He clutched at his throat and fell to his knees, and the cloaked assassin kept on running.
The general's tent was up ahead. In a few moments, he would be dead, and the war would be over. His heart raced, his senses reached out. The rest of the guards had been distracted by his diversion, and so now only distance lay between him and the tent opening. Closing the gap between himself and his target's location quickly, he dropped to his side, sliding under the heavy leather door flaps that hung rolled two feet above the floor. Now in the ornate tent, he popped up off the ground - his wrist blades flinging out with a SHINK! - and fell upon the figure that lay at rest under the blankets. The general-
The assassin stopped. The blade's edge resting against - not the general's, but a woman's - slender neck. He caught his breath, and pushed himself off the bed. It wasn't the general.
It was his daughter.
The cloaked figure ran from the grassy knoll, leapt over the stone wall and dropped ten feet down onto the guard, the blade at his wrist puncturing the guard's throat. The assassin used the guard's crumpling body to break his fall, rolled off him, and continued his run at full speed. The guard lay gurgling his last breaths. In the midst of his run the assassin jutted his arm out to the right, letting loose a throwing knife, which found its target in the skull of another unwitting guard. He clutched at his throat and fell to his knees, and the cloaked assassin kept on running.
The general's tent was up ahead. In a few moments, he would be dead, and the war would be over. His heart raced, his senses reached out. The rest of the guards had been distracted by his diversion, and so now only distance lay between him and the tent opening. Closing the gap between himself and his target's location quickly, he dropped to his side, sliding under the heavy leather door flaps that hung rolled two feet above the floor. Now in the ornate tent, he popped up off the ground - his wrist blades flinging out with a SHINK! - and fell upon the figure that lay at rest under the blankets. The general-
The assassin stopped. The blade's edge resting against - not the general's, but a woman's - slender neck. He caught his breath, and pushed himself off the bed. It wasn't the general.
It was his daughter.
