Post by gremore on Aug 14, 2008 18:35:16 GMT
((Ok its not done and its really long so bare with me. I'll add more as I write it.))
As he sat their, his anger brewing as usual, he viewed the throbbing lights over the smoky room. He sat at the back of this busy club. Some sort of abusive mock music pounding out as he sat cradling the drink he had bought hours ago. Something about the Smoky room from the dry ice and the bright lights still made him feel almost trance like in his blank gaze. He had not been out drinking in a long time. He wasn’t even technically drinking now.
His personal problems taking up his time too much. His personal vendettas against people who he had never seen before. Yet he knew their names, he knew their “professions” and he knew what caused them to bring to breadth his anger.
Something about alcohol always made him smile. Not the drinking of it but the viewing of others, drunk or stoned or what ever they where. Something about being intoxicated gave people a path to their primal instincts.
There he sat. Wearing nothing special but nothing too bland as to not blend in. He tried his best but there was something that people could see, something they sensed or felt that made them avoid him. He sat in a packed room but only he could stretch out the seats to either side of him empty.
They felt it he could tell, something that was going to happen with this man.
He knew it, as he was there planning exactly that. He was there after months of hunting. He had found the leader of this little drug scam. They where not only selling drugs to the people of this city but they where splicing them with anything they could find. Stuff that was poisonous, things that where very harmful and causing a few deaths among the people in this city.
He had come to finish it. He had to sit in character, so every so often he would take a swill of his drink only to spit it back into the bottle. His gaze also passed over the crowd every so often. Every gaze taking in his target in the VIP room above.
He pretended to be very interested in some very pretty girls. Not that he wasn’t attracted to them but there was nothing they could do to soothe the anger, the hatred and the vengeance in his heart for the loss of his love. Leona, beautiful Leona, how he had loved her. How his heart ached to not have her smell, or the taste of her lips, the feel of her hair, the glory that was in the light of her eyes.
He used that thought to strengthen his resolve. He was here to finish off a terrible blight.
So he stared and he gazed and he followed. But the target would not leave the VIP room. That was it then. He had no choice.
Up he stood, he had to fit in. He had to create for himself a bit of a cover.
He leaped onto the stage over a smallish banister.
He danced vaguely but as if intoxicated with some very pretty girls. He wasn’t a bad looking man, if anything he was extremely toned and quite handsome but of course he wasn’t here for anything like that. So he dances till the end of the song.
Then he made his move. He walked to the stairs to the VIP room.
This was not a room where you could buy into. No you had to be invited, he wasn’t.
A bouncer stopped him. This one on his own. He wobbled a bit; this act perfected from many many uses. He reached into his waistband at the small of his back carefully feeling the strength of the small swords handle.
He gazed around as if he was drunk and shocked that he was stopped. Of course all he was doing was checking to make sure he was not being viewed.
Coast clear, he had hoped to not need to do this but he had no choice.
His hand flashed out. Sword pommel striking hard on the bouncer’s temple just as his free fist slammed into the nose of the poor man.
Dropped like a fat sack he stepped over the bouncer. He knew now that time was an essence. There was a camera, which had seen every bit. He had all of 2 minutes if he was lucky.
So quickly he moved. He stepped fast, sure, reassuring himself that this was a path of righteousness and of personal glory.
He was in the room then, sword in place, hands loose. He had his target. Far back right corner. Same place, all night.
He walked wobbly. He pinballed his way across the room looking to head to the bar in a zig zaggy way. Within a few seconds he was in range. 2 leaping strides would have him at the man. Swiftness was needed. Burst into action was the only way.
He waited though. He needed to see into the mans eyes first needed to soak in the mans very being. He caught his gaze and instantly the change washed over him.
His strides becoming sure instead of faulty, his eyes no longer glazed but harsh and piercing. That song of dancing had been enough to entice him to look at Gremore.
He stared right into those eyes now, 1, 2, and he was at the man. A spin and dip had him avoiding the guarding types.
As he spun he kicked out, moving the chair this filth was sat on. It slipped from under him and tipped him back. During the spin he had used the time to grab the mans hair and to pull out the small sword.
He chopped hard and fast. All was left then was the elation of being soaked in this monsters blood. The head was in his grasp and the guards where fumbling over each other.
As he righted himself after the spin he slammed a kick into the table they where sat at. It went straight through the window they had used to watch the dance floor.
He dropped the head and leaped through the window, following the falling table.
He angled it to cause as little harm as possible.
Then he was running. It was a blur really. His movements fast, his body honed for this type of action. Fast paced and very testing.
He reached the stairwell. It was a sort of large spiral. He had no time for it. So over the banister he went falling the 2 stories before halting himself on the last one.
His momentum broken he fell the last floor and danced around the outer doormen.
They had previously been prepared and advised to not stop him but to “attempt” it anyway.
He wasn’t totally familiar with the streets but his route was planned out strategically. Each had a Fast route where he could use his speed and agility to just run full pelt.
Each had a Street runner route where he would use his agile prowess to climb rooftops. Leap gaps and have a chance to lose any pursuit.
Each also had a Fade away route where he could get lost among the pubs and crowds. He could mingle in and fade away.
None of these where needed however. He had been too fast. He took the Street runner route. Slowly and carefully hiding his movements to his waiting bike.
He had won again. But how long could he keep this up? This had been the most daring so far. In public and with planning of only 1 day. He normally spent at least a week on someone this high up.
But he had won out after all. There was no paycheck on this one. No reward other than the cooling for a short while of the seething fires in his heart.
He rode away calmly, reached his home and passed out secure in his house with the fires quenched he could finally bring himself to sleep.
It was fitful and full of heart wrenching images of his love. She was smiling one second then the next she was laying in his arms bleeding and deathly silent.
It had been over a year now since he started his rampage. He had not stopped killing in all that time. One after another he did it. He forced them to cower at the thought of him. The police threatened to take him down with deadly force.
The press praised him for cleaning their streets. He was spoken of in fearful whispers of hope for a cleaner world as well as fears that he would find them among his guilty.
They named him the Purifier, he hated the name. He wasn’t pure. He was the opposite. He was a hand of something more evil. In his eyes he was corrupt, a larger evil employed to remove the lesser.
The kill quota was up to 400 now. But only 50 known and attached to his name.
While on the attack he had been caught by the police 5 times in the last few months. Each and every time they had set him free. Offering him nothing but hopeful faces and words of encouragement.
They thought he was a vigilante. He was nothing but a murderous zealot. And that’s the way he liked it. It made it less complicated. Very straightforward and easier to comprehend.
He was closing in on the supplier of these faulty drugs, the supplier for the whole county. It was getting more and more dangerous. More and more of them where carrying protection now.
He had dealt them heavy blows and was being hunted. But due to his harsh regiment of killing and surviving he was avoiding them….so far at least.
Of course he knew this would not last forever so he moved faster day-by-day. Gathering information before the kill on some attempts on others he would have to kill and run.
He was running out of enemies to question, they where suddenly very worried over him. One day soon however he had found out the delivery date for a shipment.
It was time for another hunt.
He headed down to an industrial estate. There was a small warehouse that was derelict. It was 5 stories. Originally built for office work but never being bought it ended up as another place of storage.
Almost all of its windows where broken. Vandalise beyond all recognition. There was of course strewn objects inside. A total waste ground now.
Gremore had found out that its basement was being used for the drop offs and pick-ups of this crap they called drugs. Gremore was here to put a stop to it once and for all. Kill the suppliers and the buyer.
He knew this was going to be an end to at least this one self-assigned mission. He would need all he could get. No more worries of blending in. This was a slaughter mission. So he donned his large 2 handed sword, and he picked up his bow, quiver and arrows.
He armoured himself in his only protection, a leather bike suit. Made just for him. Perfect fit and extremely supple.
His 3 throwing blades placed at the small of his back. He was ready. As he rode his bike down the back roads, avoiding the lights as much as possible, he thought back to that first fateful night. The night he had got his taste for blood.
He had killed that bastard who had taken his soul, had killed the only thing in his life that had mattered.
He had spent days torturing that beast. Had made it last as long as possible. Trying futile to bring to that monster the pain he felt. The most infuriating was that he didn’t even remember killing her.
The thoughts made his gaze stern, his heart seemed to pump louder in his chest, a tear fell from his eye. He was prepared now. Mentally, physically and spiritually.
‘One day my love, I will be set free to come to you in eternal peace.’
It was his only thought every time he faced insane odds.
Death would be sweet release; suicide was a coward’s way out. He was here to cause carnage. Death, destruction and to rid the world of its monsters.
Some say that there are no monsters creeping about at night. There are in Gremore’s eyes. Only they look human, speak and act human. But inside they are unholy abominations of anything that could be called living.
He parked down in the dirt roads close by. Making the last quarter mile on foot. He climbed the closest building. He wanted a few kills on the guards from his bow before moving in. They had a few patrols in place. Perfect for killing is all that came to this Zealot’s thoughts.
He watched their pace. He calculated the best spot to kill each without alerting the others. He had only 20 arrows. He hoped it would be enough.
He had to wait for 2 hours before the cargo arrived. As soon as he saw it approach he started the death.
The first arrow flew to a man on the 5th floor. The only one who would be able to point him out once the killing was noticed.
The arrow soared through the air. It took him through the eye. Cracking solidly into the back of his skull. Within small amounts of time 4 more arrows where flying. Taking each and everyone in a vital spot. His aim was perfect. He seemed to have a bit of luck on his side. Throats took out voice boxes. Hearts where pierced and Spines where severed. He left no chances.
Soon the outer guards where down. He needed to be closer to take out any more. He had to shorten the range for better kills.
So down he snuck. He was deathly silent, he was reaching a crescendo in his hunt for this city. He dropped the last feet, landing without a whisper of the gravel under his feet.
He moved forward with sure steps, dancing eyes and prepared muscles. There was a patrol down here just below where he had been, he knew this but had not seen the patroller in some time. His only warning the click of heels on gravel. He froze, and peered with his ears. Using them to discern the location of this closest enemy.
Left, round the corner. He was ready. He stood from his low protective crouch and drew back his bow. Taught and arrow knocked. The arrow soared through the air as soon as he saw a wisp of the enemy’s hair. He took him in the temple and dropped him hard.
He moved on again, hunting down the next guard. He had to be quick though, he knew the lorry had arrived and was preparing to empty cargo.
As he sat their, his anger brewing as usual, he viewed the throbbing lights over the smoky room. He sat at the back of this busy club. Some sort of abusive mock music pounding out as he sat cradling the drink he had bought hours ago. Something about the Smoky room from the dry ice and the bright lights still made him feel almost trance like in his blank gaze. He had not been out drinking in a long time. He wasn’t even technically drinking now.
His personal problems taking up his time too much. His personal vendettas against people who he had never seen before. Yet he knew their names, he knew their “professions” and he knew what caused them to bring to breadth his anger.
Something about alcohol always made him smile. Not the drinking of it but the viewing of others, drunk or stoned or what ever they where. Something about being intoxicated gave people a path to their primal instincts.
There he sat. Wearing nothing special but nothing too bland as to not blend in. He tried his best but there was something that people could see, something they sensed or felt that made them avoid him. He sat in a packed room but only he could stretch out the seats to either side of him empty.
They felt it he could tell, something that was going to happen with this man.
He knew it, as he was there planning exactly that. He was there after months of hunting. He had found the leader of this little drug scam. They where not only selling drugs to the people of this city but they where splicing them with anything they could find. Stuff that was poisonous, things that where very harmful and causing a few deaths among the people in this city.
He had come to finish it. He had to sit in character, so every so often he would take a swill of his drink only to spit it back into the bottle. His gaze also passed over the crowd every so often. Every gaze taking in his target in the VIP room above.
He pretended to be very interested in some very pretty girls. Not that he wasn’t attracted to them but there was nothing they could do to soothe the anger, the hatred and the vengeance in his heart for the loss of his love. Leona, beautiful Leona, how he had loved her. How his heart ached to not have her smell, or the taste of her lips, the feel of her hair, the glory that was in the light of her eyes.
He used that thought to strengthen his resolve. He was here to finish off a terrible blight.
So he stared and he gazed and he followed. But the target would not leave the VIP room. That was it then. He had no choice.
Up he stood, he had to fit in. He had to create for himself a bit of a cover.
He leaped onto the stage over a smallish banister.
He danced vaguely but as if intoxicated with some very pretty girls. He wasn’t a bad looking man, if anything he was extremely toned and quite handsome but of course he wasn’t here for anything like that. So he dances till the end of the song.
Then he made his move. He walked to the stairs to the VIP room.
This was not a room where you could buy into. No you had to be invited, he wasn’t.
A bouncer stopped him. This one on his own. He wobbled a bit; this act perfected from many many uses. He reached into his waistband at the small of his back carefully feeling the strength of the small swords handle.
He gazed around as if he was drunk and shocked that he was stopped. Of course all he was doing was checking to make sure he was not being viewed.
Coast clear, he had hoped to not need to do this but he had no choice.
His hand flashed out. Sword pommel striking hard on the bouncer’s temple just as his free fist slammed into the nose of the poor man.
Dropped like a fat sack he stepped over the bouncer. He knew now that time was an essence. There was a camera, which had seen every bit. He had all of 2 minutes if he was lucky.
So quickly he moved. He stepped fast, sure, reassuring himself that this was a path of righteousness and of personal glory.
He was in the room then, sword in place, hands loose. He had his target. Far back right corner. Same place, all night.
He walked wobbly. He pinballed his way across the room looking to head to the bar in a zig zaggy way. Within a few seconds he was in range. 2 leaping strides would have him at the man. Swiftness was needed. Burst into action was the only way.
He waited though. He needed to see into the mans eyes first needed to soak in the mans very being. He caught his gaze and instantly the change washed over him.
His strides becoming sure instead of faulty, his eyes no longer glazed but harsh and piercing. That song of dancing had been enough to entice him to look at Gremore.
He stared right into those eyes now, 1, 2, and he was at the man. A spin and dip had him avoiding the guarding types.
As he spun he kicked out, moving the chair this filth was sat on. It slipped from under him and tipped him back. During the spin he had used the time to grab the mans hair and to pull out the small sword.
He chopped hard and fast. All was left then was the elation of being soaked in this monsters blood. The head was in his grasp and the guards where fumbling over each other.
As he righted himself after the spin he slammed a kick into the table they where sat at. It went straight through the window they had used to watch the dance floor.
He dropped the head and leaped through the window, following the falling table.
He angled it to cause as little harm as possible.
Then he was running. It was a blur really. His movements fast, his body honed for this type of action. Fast paced and very testing.
He reached the stairwell. It was a sort of large spiral. He had no time for it. So over the banister he went falling the 2 stories before halting himself on the last one.
His momentum broken he fell the last floor and danced around the outer doormen.
They had previously been prepared and advised to not stop him but to “attempt” it anyway.
He wasn’t totally familiar with the streets but his route was planned out strategically. Each had a Fast route where he could use his speed and agility to just run full pelt.
Each had a Street runner route where he would use his agile prowess to climb rooftops. Leap gaps and have a chance to lose any pursuit.
Each also had a Fade away route where he could get lost among the pubs and crowds. He could mingle in and fade away.
None of these where needed however. He had been too fast. He took the Street runner route. Slowly and carefully hiding his movements to his waiting bike.
He had won again. But how long could he keep this up? This had been the most daring so far. In public and with planning of only 1 day. He normally spent at least a week on someone this high up.
But he had won out after all. There was no paycheck on this one. No reward other than the cooling for a short while of the seething fires in his heart.
He rode away calmly, reached his home and passed out secure in his house with the fires quenched he could finally bring himself to sleep.
It was fitful and full of heart wrenching images of his love. She was smiling one second then the next she was laying in his arms bleeding and deathly silent.
It had been over a year now since he started his rampage. He had not stopped killing in all that time. One after another he did it. He forced them to cower at the thought of him. The police threatened to take him down with deadly force.
The press praised him for cleaning their streets. He was spoken of in fearful whispers of hope for a cleaner world as well as fears that he would find them among his guilty.
They named him the Purifier, he hated the name. He wasn’t pure. He was the opposite. He was a hand of something more evil. In his eyes he was corrupt, a larger evil employed to remove the lesser.
The kill quota was up to 400 now. But only 50 known and attached to his name.
While on the attack he had been caught by the police 5 times in the last few months. Each and every time they had set him free. Offering him nothing but hopeful faces and words of encouragement.
They thought he was a vigilante. He was nothing but a murderous zealot. And that’s the way he liked it. It made it less complicated. Very straightforward and easier to comprehend.
He was closing in on the supplier of these faulty drugs, the supplier for the whole county. It was getting more and more dangerous. More and more of them where carrying protection now.
He had dealt them heavy blows and was being hunted. But due to his harsh regiment of killing and surviving he was avoiding them….so far at least.
Of course he knew this would not last forever so he moved faster day-by-day. Gathering information before the kill on some attempts on others he would have to kill and run.
He was running out of enemies to question, they where suddenly very worried over him. One day soon however he had found out the delivery date for a shipment.
It was time for another hunt.
He headed down to an industrial estate. There was a small warehouse that was derelict. It was 5 stories. Originally built for office work but never being bought it ended up as another place of storage.
Almost all of its windows where broken. Vandalise beyond all recognition. There was of course strewn objects inside. A total waste ground now.
Gremore had found out that its basement was being used for the drop offs and pick-ups of this crap they called drugs. Gremore was here to put a stop to it once and for all. Kill the suppliers and the buyer.
He knew this was going to be an end to at least this one self-assigned mission. He would need all he could get. No more worries of blending in. This was a slaughter mission. So he donned his large 2 handed sword, and he picked up his bow, quiver and arrows.
He armoured himself in his only protection, a leather bike suit. Made just for him. Perfect fit and extremely supple.
His 3 throwing blades placed at the small of his back. He was ready. As he rode his bike down the back roads, avoiding the lights as much as possible, he thought back to that first fateful night. The night he had got his taste for blood.
He had killed that bastard who had taken his soul, had killed the only thing in his life that had mattered.
He had spent days torturing that beast. Had made it last as long as possible. Trying futile to bring to that monster the pain he felt. The most infuriating was that he didn’t even remember killing her.
The thoughts made his gaze stern, his heart seemed to pump louder in his chest, a tear fell from his eye. He was prepared now. Mentally, physically and spiritually.
‘One day my love, I will be set free to come to you in eternal peace.’
It was his only thought every time he faced insane odds.
Death would be sweet release; suicide was a coward’s way out. He was here to cause carnage. Death, destruction and to rid the world of its monsters.
Some say that there are no monsters creeping about at night. There are in Gremore’s eyes. Only they look human, speak and act human. But inside they are unholy abominations of anything that could be called living.
He parked down in the dirt roads close by. Making the last quarter mile on foot. He climbed the closest building. He wanted a few kills on the guards from his bow before moving in. They had a few patrols in place. Perfect for killing is all that came to this Zealot’s thoughts.
He watched their pace. He calculated the best spot to kill each without alerting the others. He had only 20 arrows. He hoped it would be enough.
He had to wait for 2 hours before the cargo arrived. As soon as he saw it approach he started the death.
The first arrow flew to a man on the 5th floor. The only one who would be able to point him out once the killing was noticed.
The arrow soared through the air. It took him through the eye. Cracking solidly into the back of his skull. Within small amounts of time 4 more arrows where flying. Taking each and everyone in a vital spot. His aim was perfect. He seemed to have a bit of luck on his side. Throats took out voice boxes. Hearts where pierced and Spines where severed. He left no chances.
Soon the outer guards where down. He needed to be closer to take out any more. He had to shorten the range for better kills.
So down he snuck. He was deathly silent, he was reaching a crescendo in his hunt for this city. He dropped the last feet, landing without a whisper of the gravel under his feet.
He moved forward with sure steps, dancing eyes and prepared muscles. There was a patrol down here just below where he had been, he knew this but had not seen the patroller in some time. His only warning the click of heels on gravel. He froze, and peered with his ears. Using them to discern the location of this closest enemy.
Left, round the corner. He was ready. He stood from his low protective crouch and drew back his bow. Taught and arrow knocked. The arrow soared through the air as soon as he saw a wisp of the enemy’s hair. He took him in the temple and dropped him hard.
He moved on again, hunting down the next guard. He had to be quick though, he knew the lorry had arrived and was preparing to empty cargo.