The Saga of Stormblade
By Johnny Tai, (C) 2008
Interlude I - Night Hunt
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story takes place in the world of Alter Aeon. It is a MUD, a Multi-User Dungeon game. There are places where I used the terms directly from the game itself, such as '***DEMOLISH***.' Pharel Stormblade is my own character, and I'll thank you for loving and not stealing him from me. I can't live without him! I know this story is rather short, and may appear tasteless to people not involved with the worlds of AA; feel free to check out my other Stormblade stories, not all of them are so heavily based on the game as this one.
Thanks for reading,
Keeping close to the wide outer wall, I carefully trod along the damaged roadway, trash littered the street. Furtive movements caught by my peripheral vision kept me alert and scanning the darkness all around me for danger, or in this case, my prey. Crouching in the shadow of a deserted house, I watched with hungry eyes as a young man of husky build drank beer while making threatening gestures at passers by. Ah, there he was, one of them, ones who were wanted for murder and disturbing the peace of this town. Smiling confidently, I palmed the icy dagger which had served me so well - a dagger which was infused by the might of the God Slamin.
Yes, I was a bounty hunter, the lowest of all men, but this was rough time, and one must try to earn a livin'. Lyta had enlisted me in her service and promised great wealth for each street tough and thief that I could bring in, dead or alive. Yet this did not sit well with the local elite guards as one of them, the leader I believe, had told me that if they were to catch me doing their job, they'd kill me. I laughed silently at the memory of the threat, for all the while I had spent in the shadow, I had observed three elite guards pass by the young tough there on the street without arresting the man. Apparently, serve and protect meant serve and ignore in this here town.
As the last guard passed by, I came out of the shadow as silent as death. Concealing my blade within the folds of my ruby-lined cloak, I came up to the lad. "Pray to thy lord." I said as I plunged Slamin's BS into the man's broad back.
Making a strange sound, the lad turned with his dagger raised, blood gushing out of the new asshole I've made in his back. He roared and charged me as I replaced my own dagger back in my belt. Blocking his thrust with my shield, I drew my silver scimitar and executed a perfect leaping attack which ***DEMOLISHED*** the wounded man.
A haze of red clouded my eyes as the bloodfever took hold of me and I went berserk in battle! Giving credit where it's deserved, I must say that the lad fought extremely well for someone who was certainly untrained in the art of war. His strength and anger made up for the lack of training, and he came at me again, roaring like a wounded tiger. I parried a few of his strokes, saw a space and ***MASSACRED*** him with a vicious slash. Just as I recovered from my swing, he came forward yet again and I couldn't move out of the way in time. The piercing dagger nearly dismembered me and I felt my own blood running down my side.
I lashed out with my scimitar wildly, missing the man by inches as he came in for another stab which I also dodged. An underhand slash mauled the staggering tough and I pressed in for the kill. Parrying another weak thrust, I ***devastated*** the young man with a downward stroke. I grinned evilly at the mortally wounded man as he lay before me, broken and hurting. "It's not personal," I said, leaning close to his face, "but you're worth 1500 gold coins to me." With that, I lifted my blade in a knight's salute and ***OBLITERATED*** the man and ended his worthless life.
I slung the bleeding corpse over my shoulder and faded back into the shadows of the night. The night was still young, and more deaths awaited me to deal them in.