The Assassin?s Battle
Through the market place, on the crowded street,
The assassin stalked his target on his feet.
Gliding between patrons left and right
Keeping to the shadows, well out of sight.
His target?s armor glinted in the morning sun,
Known through the lands for his deeds done.
The Swordsman scanned the crowd turned in fright
Disappointed no challenge came in sight.
Yet the assassin answered his target?s call
Killing from the shadows or not at all.
A fleeing child hit the horse, who did startle
As the swordsman drew his reins a blade did follow,
For up ahead was barren ground
No life in its reaches, no man around.
Save four horsemen, their steeds as black as night,
Hooded faces hidden completely from sight
The Swordsman dismounted as his horse turned and fled,
Its screams haunted the him as its wild eyes rolled in its head.
Each horseman drew their weapon with unmatched speed
And climbed from their mounts, prepared for the deed.
The assassin hid in an alleyway, and scaled the house?s wall
Proffering to be hidden, and not seen by all.
But as he gained the roof tops above
He felt as if someone gave him a shove,
And as he turned to return his reply
No one was there, down low or up high
But when he turned he jumped in surprise
As one of the figures stood before him, with glinting eyes.
It held a dagger in its hand, that danced and flashed without an end.
The assassin rose his own, keeping a steady hand.
Famine waited for him to begin the clash,
Yet he was patient not foolish or brash,
Down below, the battle ensued in full force,
The swordsman clashed with Pestilence with no remorse.
For in his mind he grew stronger,
Giving no hesitation or falter,
The swordsman?s bravery dropped the assassin?s guard
As Famine rushed to fight him, dagger colliding with dagger, the impact surprisingly hard.
For the assassin wouldn?t lose that easily, he too had his skills
As he forced the blade from Famine?s hand and rushed in for the kill.
Famine sidestepped the wasteful rush
And simply grabbed the mortal?s wrist.
Nausea, dizziness, dimension and weakness gripped him
As Famine sucked his strength dry. His physical body he did consume
The assassin broke away and fell over the ledge
Collapsing through a market cart, his head hitting its edge.
Dazed he stared up at the sky
His life simply flashing by,
Famine stood above him, before it jumped down.
A golden arrow pierced its stomach, imbedding it into the wall above the ground
The remaining two turned to face this disruptor
The assassin turned to look as well, searching for his savior.
Only buildings, remaining untouched, as all could see?
Then where did the arrow come from, who could it be?
A silent whisper spoke to him, her voice burning with passion,
As his strength and composition
Returned to him in full,
And as he leapt from the cart to battle, Famine dropped from the wall.
But before it could rise to attack,
The assassin struck both his blades through its neck.
With a sickening jerk he cut through its neck
Its head rolled from its shoulders while its skin began to rot and flake
Into ash upon the dusty ground,
Back to its dark realm unfound.
The assassin turned while his mind wondered
What became of the swordsman and the three unhindered
By restrictions of movement on the roofs,
The battle before him was enough proof.
The swordsman leapt and parried and dove
Out of harms reach while trying to land a blow.
His body was solid throughout
No exhaustion gripped him, of that there was no doubt.
Pestilence was a blur of motion
But the swordsman made no action
That exposed him to a fatal attack
Save maybe his face or back.
And it was in the shadows the assassin saw it?
War, his body a testament?
To unmatched muscle and strength.
The assassin, much more fluid, began to debate
Within his mind of helping,
The target he was originally aiming
For hoping to win renown
As the only man capable, of striking the swordsman down.
But this skilled fighter as an ally, no human would have a chance,
For their combined abilities would give them a greater stance,
A thoughts of fame filled his greedy mind
He failed to notice Death sliding up from behind.
A voice of heavenly beauty, echoed in his ear
Warning of Death?s approach and the assassin turned in fear,
Crossing his blades before him, he caught the Scythe in a hold,
Its tip just barely above his eye, for him to behold.
He kicked out and caught it in the stomach,
Sending it stumbling back.
He rushed to close the distance, shifting his daggers in his hands
But the Scythe swept up to meet him, slicing off his bands.
He watched in shock as the leather rotted
Falling away from his gauntlet
Of his left hand the Scythe barely missed
But the assassin closed his right hand into a fist
And drove it through Death?s face as the hood fell away,
Nausea filled him, and his stomach wouldn?t stay.
The rotten flesh of the body,
With a swollen, festering eye,
The skull looked charred and broken?
Within its depths lurked a serpent,
Its poison green hide
Covered its body, which was rotted, cracked and dried.
With a boney hand it drew its hood,
The hideous sight engulfed in darkness, but now the assassin understood
Death could be beaten, as well as Famine, War and Pestilence.
But if they fought for eternity, then they always claimed success.
For mortals were left to roam this realm,
The four were left to govern them.
This fight was only a test of their skill
But they had forgotten about humanities free will
To choose their path win or loss.
An option the others had no use,
For they were guaranteed immortality,
For all the ages and their purity,
But now was his life, not the future or the past
So the choice was left to him and if he would last.
And today he chose to live and fight
Using his wits, strength and might,
For he and the swordsman were two of a kind.
When trouble or a challenge came their way, they refused to turn and hide.
Death swung its Scythe while the assassin was lost in thought
And before its killing edge could be brought
Close to slicing his neck
A golden arrow hit the Scythe?s shaft, forcing it to break.
The curved blade spun around his head
The swirling sound as it sliced through the wind,
He exhaled his pent up breath,
So sure he would lose to Death,
But granted another chance, to make things right.
So he swung his daggers left and right
Splitting Death?s skull in two,
And before it even hit the ground, it turned to more dust anew
And scattered with the wind?s faint breath
Until there was only the broken weapon and nothing left.
The assassin turned to the swordsman?s battle and saw Pestilence impaled upon a market cart,
Silver and golden arrows through its heart.
It came alive and began to pull them free,
The assassin sprinted with all his speed.
And gouged pestilence?s eyes from its skull
Its body screamed and twisted and pulled.
While the assassin slowly dove and ripped
Dragging his daggers across its lips,
Splitting open a gruesome smile of rotten teeth,
But before he could yell in triumph his emotion faded to grief.
As the body reattached and grew new eyes,
It cackled an watched him and his surprise.
All the while it drew the shafts from its breast,
Insects began to lash from the wound and buzzed and hissed.
But before triumph was clouded by doubt
A swishing note whistled out.
He turned and caught the Scythe?s top half, its blade rusted and worn,
The assassin swiveled around and faced Pestilence reborn.
Striking it through its heart and out the back,
Only crimson blood the exposed edge did lack.
But Death?s magic was held still, within
Its judgment final even against Death?s own kin.
Pestilence fell and rotted away
And only War was left to stay.
The swordsman began, now, to grow tired
While War?s flame burned brighter and brighter,
Leeching off the battle to fuel its anger
The assassin drew the Scythe?s head to face the darkest of fighters.
Running for it and sliding under
As a heavy blade filled where he once was, rather than at the other.
The swordsman looked at him
And he gave a bow, before he turned to face War?s massive form.
They seemed to gain the other?s thoughts and attacked as one,
Diving to opposite sides as the blade crashed down and they turned to run.
War kicked low, his fighting style not so neat, as he caught the swordsman by his feet,
Who tried to give a stumbled leap,
And was knocked out on the rocky ground.
The assassin stopped in surprise and turned around
War was upon them before they could regain pace
But the sound of a bow sang its string?s note twice.
A silver arrow through its shoulder, and a golden one through its knee
Its body locked up while it momentarily couldn?t break free
The assassin took two steps and curved his right hand in a throw,
The Scythe?s blade spun and whistled on its curved path it did go.
Cutting both arms and its head,
The limbs fell with its body, the beast now dead.
The swordsman offered his hand in thanks
The assassin halted for only a moments break.
Before taking the hand, forming a bond
Together as one against any odds.
High above from the church?s spire
Their Guardian Angel watched over them, burning with their fire.
She stood to her full height and breathed a sigh
Before diving off the point into the unclaimed sky.
Their party now two of three complete
Only one challenge remained to complete,
Before their judgment would be deemed,
In the Final Battle yet unseen.
The angel?s body lay ruined on the ground
No one nearby to hear the sound
Of her dying Screams of pain,
As Death removed his Scythe from her fragile frame,
And spread his dark wings into the fading light,
Their judgment was early? It would come tonight.
(This was a piece of advice I got from another forum, but it would be easier if this one had a thread of its own.)
Through the market place, on the crowded street,
The assassin stalked his target on his feet.
Gliding between patrons left and right
Keeping to the shadows, well out of sight.
His target?s armor glinted in the morning sun,
Known through the lands for his deeds done.
The Swordsman scanned the crowd turned in fright
Disappointed no challenge came in sight.
Yet the assassin answered his target?s call
Killing from the shadows or not at all.
A fleeing child hit the horse, who did startle
As the swordsman drew his reins a blade did follow,
For up ahead was barren ground
No life in its reaches, no man around.
Save four horsemen, their steeds as black as night,
Hooded faces hidden completely from sight
The Swordsman dismounted as his horse turned and fled,
Its screams haunted the him as its wild eyes rolled in its head.
Each horseman drew their weapon with unmatched speed
And climbed from their mounts, prepared for the deed.
The assassin hid in an alleyway, and scaled the house?s wall
Proffering to be hidden, and not seen by all.
But as he gained the roof tops above
He felt as if someone gave him a shove,
And as he turned to return his reply
No one was there, down low or up high
But when he turned he jumped in surprise
As one of the figures stood before him, with glinting eyes.
It held a dagger in its hand, that danced and flashed without an end.
The assassin rose his own, keeping a steady hand.
Famine waited for him to begin the clash,
Yet he was patient not foolish or brash,
Down below, the battle ensued in full force,
The swordsman clashed with Pestilence with no remorse.
For in his mind he grew stronger,
Giving no hesitation or falter,
The swordsman?s bravery dropped the assassin?s guard
As Famine rushed to fight him, dagger colliding with dagger, the impact surprisingly hard.
For the assassin wouldn?t lose that easily, he too had his skills
As he forced the blade from Famine?s hand and rushed in for the kill.
Famine sidestepped the wasteful rush
And simply grabbed the mortal?s wrist.
Nausea, dizziness, dimension and weakness gripped him
As Famine sucked his strength dry. His physical body he did consume
The assassin broke away and fell over the ledge
Collapsing through a market cart, his head hitting its edge.
Dazed he stared up at the sky
His life simply flashing by,
Famine stood above him, before it jumped down.
A golden arrow pierced its stomach, imbedding it into the wall above the ground
The remaining two turned to face this disruptor
The assassin turned to look as well, searching for his savior.
Only buildings, remaining untouched, as all could see?
Then where did the arrow come from, who could it be?
A silent whisper spoke to him, her voice burning with passion,
As his strength and composition
Returned to him in full,
And as he leapt from the cart to battle, Famine dropped from the wall.
But before it could rise to attack,
The assassin struck both his blades through its neck.
With a sickening jerk he cut through its neck
Its head rolled from its shoulders while its skin began to rot and flake
Into ash upon the dusty ground,
Back to its dark realm unfound.
The assassin turned while his mind wondered
What became of the swordsman and the three unhindered
By restrictions of movement on the roofs,
The battle before him was enough proof.
The swordsman leapt and parried and dove
Out of harms reach while trying to land a blow.
His body was solid throughout
No exhaustion gripped him, of that there was no doubt.
Pestilence was a blur of motion
But the swordsman made no action
That exposed him to a fatal attack
Save maybe his face or back.
And it was in the shadows the assassin saw it?
War, his body a testament?
To unmatched muscle and strength.
The assassin, much more fluid, began to debate
Within his mind of helping,
The target he was originally aiming
For hoping to win renown
As the only man capable, of striking the swordsman down.
But this skilled fighter as an ally, no human would have a chance,
For their combined abilities would give them a greater stance,
A thoughts of fame filled his greedy mind
He failed to notice Death sliding up from behind.
A voice of heavenly beauty, echoed in his ear
Warning of Death?s approach and the assassin turned in fear,
Crossing his blades before him, he caught the Scythe in a hold,
Its tip just barely above his eye, for him to behold.
He kicked out and caught it in the stomach,
Sending it stumbling back.
He rushed to close the distance, shifting his daggers in his hands
But the Scythe swept up to meet him, slicing off his bands.
He watched in shock as the leather rotted
Falling away from his gauntlet
Of his left hand the Scythe barely missed
But the assassin closed his right hand into a fist
And drove it through Death?s face as the hood fell away,
Nausea filled him, and his stomach wouldn?t stay.
The rotten flesh of the body,
With a swollen, festering eye,
The skull looked charred and broken?
Within its depths lurked a serpent,
Its poison green hide
Covered its body, which was rotted, cracked and dried.
With a boney hand it drew its hood,
The hideous sight engulfed in darkness, but now the assassin understood
Death could be beaten, as well as Famine, War and Pestilence.
But if they fought for eternity, then they always claimed success.
For mortals were left to roam this realm,
The four were left to govern them.
This fight was only a test of their skill
But they had forgotten about humanities free will
To choose their path win or loss.
An option the others had no use,
For they were guaranteed immortality,
For all the ages and their purity,
But now was his life, not the future or the past
So the choice was left to him and if he would last.
And today he chose to live and fight
Using his wits, strength and might,
For he and the swordsman were two of a kind.
When trouble or a challenge came their way, they refused to turn and hide.
Death swung its Scythe while the assassin was lost in thought
And before its killing edge could be brought
Close to slicing his neck
A golden arrow hit the Scythe?s shaft, forcing it to break.
The curved blade spun around his head
The swirling sound as it sliced through the wind,
He exhaled his pent up breath,
So sure he would lose to Death,
But granted another chance, to make things right.
So he swung his daggers left and right
Splitting Death?s skull in two,
And before it even hit the ground, it turned to more dust anew
And scattered with the wind?s faint breath
Until there was only the broken weapon and nothing left.
The assassin turned to the swordsman?s battle and saw Pestilence impaled upon a market cart,
Silver and golden arrows through its heart.
It came alive and began to pull them free,
The assassin sprinted with all his speed.
And gouged pestilence?s eyes from its skull
Its body screamed and twisted and pulled.
While the assassin slowly dove and ripped
Dragging his daggers across its lips,
Splitting open a gruesome smile of rotten teeth,
But before he could yell in triumph his emotion faded to grief.
As the body reattached and grew new eyes,
It cackled an watched him and his surprise.
All the while it drew the shafts from its breast,
Insects began to lash from the wound and buzzed and hissed.
But before triumph was clouded by doubt
A swishing note whistled out.
He turned and caught the Scythe?s top half, its blade rusted and worn,
The assassin swiveled around and faced Pestilence reborn.
Striking it through its heart and out the back,
Only crimson blood the exposed edge did lack.
But Death?s magic was held still, within
Its judgment final even against Death?s own kin.
Pestilence fell and rotted away
And only War was left to stay.
The swordsman began, now, to grow tired
While War?s flame burned brighter and brighter,
Leeching off the battle to fuel its anger
The assassin drew the Scythe?s head to face the darkest of fighters.
Running for it and sliding under
As a heavy blade filled where he once was, rather than at the other.
The swordsman looked at him
And he gave a bow, before he turned to face War?s massive form.
They seemed to gain the other?s thoughts and attacked as one,
Diving to opposite sides as the blade crashed down and they turned to run.
War kicked low, his fighting style not so neat, as he caught the swordsman by his feet,
Who tried to give a stumbled leap,
And was knocked out on the rocky ground.
The assassin stopped in surprise and turned around
War was upon them before they could regain pace
But the sound of a bow sang its string?s note twice.
A silver arrow through its shoulder, and a golden one through its knee
Its body locked up while it momentarily couldn?t break free
The assassin took two steps and curved his right hand in a throw,
The Scythe?s blade spun and whistled on its curved path it did go.
Cutting both arms and its head,
The limbs fell with its body, the beast now dead.
The swordsman offered his hand in thanks
The assassin halted for only a moments break.
Before taking the hand, forming a bond
Together as one against any odds.
High above from the church?s spire
Their Guardian Angel watched over them, burning with their fire.
She stood to her full height and breathed a sigh
Before diving off the point into the unclaimed sky.
Their party now two of three complete
Only one challenge remained to complete,
Before their judgment would be deemed,
In the Final Battle yet unseen.
The angel?s body lay ruined on the ground
No one nearby to hear the sound
Of her dying Screams of pain,
As Death removed his Scythe from her fragile frame,
And spread his dark wings into the fading light,
Their judgment was early? It would come tonight.
(This was a piece of advice I got from another forum, but it would be easier if this one had a thread of its own.)