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BazzaAshe (airy)

Member #183424 created: 2007-06-19 23:01:07Simple URL: http://www.elftown.com/bazzaashe   

Name: James Barrett

photo

drawing

Elftown titles and orders
Travelling bard

Description:
Hey people im a writer, i come from wales and live in neath, im originally from essex, i enjoy fantasy and write this mostly, but i am delving in too romance, sci fi and childrens writings. Im abit lonely and would like to just chat and stuff with people.

The Soul of Titannus

It was still in the streets of Selerena, capital of the Free Empire of Elowra. A vast darkness, enhanced by the denseness of a smothering fog drifting from the dockside, filled the streets and lined the alleyways that constructed the maze of walkways that existed in Selerena, a thief's paradise. The chime of an ancient bell echoing forth from a tower that rose in to the cities upper canopies, the rooftops, or as the common man knew them by the name Robbers Runway, the chime called out across the tiles on which a figure barely moved. The cobbled street of Westerners Way was barely visible beneath its shroud of night; a small puddle occupied the left side of the street, engulfing the mouth of an alleyway. The figure that emerged from the alleys jaws sprinted through causing water to issue forth with each stride in a fountain of chaos. He slipped on the damp mossy residue that lined the streets surface beneath the water sending him sliding forward, first on knees then he pushed his arms out to prevent himself colliding with the cobble surface.
He picked himself up from the mess upon the street, he looked down at his clothing his tight black trousers were soaked, as well as ripped at the knees where blood and grazes now lined his fair pale skin. A buckle of tarnished gold, which thread had been broken when he had pulled himself up now fell from his finely tailored navy blazer, and rung out in the wet air as its owner fled forward at pace down the street before him. The mans hair was released into a powerful gust of wind, rippling his white locks in a manner that could be likened to that of a waterfall, his green eyes stared forward frantically a desire, no a desperation was upon his face, a dire need, a need for escape. A shadow was visible in the moonlight before him, he stopped, fear crept upon his face, he quickly dashed and took the next right turn, leading into another alleyway, he turned his head quickly and saw a sleek, elegant, but deadly silhouette highlighted by moonlight in the mouth of the alley.
She laughed, the laugh of a witch, the laugh of the insane, the laugh of a killer. The cackle echoed off of the alley walls and seemingly pursued the assassin’s victim down the alleyway. She pursued, her figure a perfect tool of movement, slender to the degree where her body could cut wind, built with enough muscle to break the thickest of necks, the perfect killer. She grinned as she carried on the chase, a bloodlust running through her body, the grin revealed teeth that have smiled at the darkest of deeds, a woman who could smile at a child’s death, a woman who found amusement in a victims final death thralls. Her hands tightened with eagerness, hands which marked with that with which they were familiar, the hilts of daggers, which were marked with skulls and these marks were left on her hands.
She swept through the alley at a pace that was near inhuman, she reacted fast, she leapt to the wall in front of her, and somersaulting sideways she landed squarely on her feet and instantly continued her pursuit. She was but a blur of brown and black, which trailed, away from her shoulders. Split Knife stopped at a crossway, she cackled loudly and ominously, she was surprised the boy she targeted had managed to get this distant from her, but he was no ordinary boy she knew. She flicked her tongue out into the air and as a snake she picked up a scent, a scent of fear and distress. She found her trail.
Dead end. Panic filled his mind stalling his thinking instinct took over. The man began a full speed dash towards the wall, his mind racing with thoughts of fear; he did not stop, but struck the wall. He seemed to collide with the brick work, yet the limestone did not halt him, his skin faded to that which could be called ghostly, his physical form like that of a spirit passed through the wall, he collapsed to the floor on the other side of the wall. He breathed heavily, he'd done it before and it had been the same as those other times, but still it had shocked him, he knew blade could not strike him and wall could not stop him. He still feared the edge of the sword; he still stopped before every wall.
A shadow suddenly fell on the victim, as he breathed a heavy mist into the cold street air, a cackle fell on him from above, from atop the wall. Split Knife stood there gazing at him, "So it’s true, you are him? The one who walks through walls?" Her hand fell to her side, where a shimmering blue presence was emitted, "Lucky I have this then isn't it." She lashed out with the enchanted whip and struck the man huddled on the floor upon the cheek.
He pulled his chin back in pain and shock, the lash had been hard and with perfect aim it had broken skin, his cheek bled, he looked at her, fear burned in his eyes, but his resolve was strong. He thinned as he had before moving through the wall, ghostly became his presence, he stood and sped onwards through the wall of the building next to the wall, he sped on moving through crowded inns, the cell of a small prison, a house sat to a late supper, he halted in the halls of justice, he watched turning his head upwards. The roof of the building was a great sphere of glass, held by thin but highly strong metal ruts; it looked the shape of an orbed crystal. A shadow whipped across and continued down the Robbers Runway. He stopped and breathed deeply, his instinct subsided, and he thought, coherently he thought, where was the nearest safe house.
His thoughts were cut from his mind, a great crash echoed across the dome shaped building, bouncing off the white circular wall around him, then the glass rained upon him, he covered his eyes and then shook his head, removing the glass fragments from his pale hair. He looked up, there poised with her legs spaced out and knees bent to break her fall, with a whip that echoed magical power held ready to lash out with. She grinned a merciless grin. Grebber's Lane, that’s where the safe house was, he turned and dashed to the large oak doors that were the entrance to the Halls of Justice, passing through them as if he were not real.
She followed in haste, moving to leap through the window beside the door, knowing the oak was stern and she had no time to mess around actually opening it, she cared not for what she broke. Split Knife sped forward, leaping into the air and breaking through the panes of glass, but the momentary whim of deciding on whether to use the door had cost her dearly, her quarry had vanished. She could just taste the air, but that would have been pointless, but not because she couldn't find his scent. She spoke to no one, "Now where should I ago, maybe to the closest safe house," she cackled loudly, "the one in Grebber's Lane."
The street was quiet; Grebber's Lane was deathly still. It was a street of business, particularly that of cobbling, the art of fine shoes had a history here. The lanes namesake was a dwarf who made a profession of the making of boots and leather sandals; he had built a small shop on the outskirts of town. In time the outskirts of town had been enveloped by the city that had grown in the towns place, engulfing the small hamlets, they became streets. It was still here, still the finest shoe shop on the street and in the city; it had changed owners a thousand times in its history. The figure that burst from an alleyway next to the butchers shop, immersed in flies that flocked around the rotting carcasses the butcher had dumped outside, was not concerned with Grebber's but the gambling establishment next to it. It was well known by thieves, and by others who shouldn't know, to be a Haven, or a safe house as the man called it.
He entered the street, the flies lost interest and gathered again around the rotten meat, he moved silently and his presence thinned again, he wanted no attention to himself. He moved to the dank door of the Haven, it was small dark and uninviting well they didn't want just anybody walking in it was purposefully uninviting. He knocked twice and seconds later a third time. A knock answered and then after a short space of time another also echoed through the wood. This was the signal to speak the password, "Several men cannot do the job of one man." He spoke out clearly, a famous thief once said it after he witnessed a group of several jewel thieves all trying to escape through the same small doorway, they all collapsed in a heap and were caught, he escaped through a small window alone with the real jewels, he also said, 'Always frame those who are stupid.' The door to the Haven opened and the ghost man stepped in.
He stood with momentary shock; the small card table, which was designed to fold, was broken into numerous bits all across the floor, and a rain of cards had then scattered across the floor. Along the bar all the glass bottles of gins and whiskeys were smashed, the bar wench, because calling her a woman was a blatant lie, was pinned to the wall with several daggers, her blouse and apron stained with her own blood. An occupant of the bar, sat on a stool never knew what struck him; he was in a state of high drunkenness and was struck from behind by a thin rapier blade. The card players, three of whom he knew, were killed in other manners, one strangled by a whip, a thin blue residue lined his throat where the whip had gripped and choked. He understood what had happened then, but it was to late.
The whip coiled round his throat, it tightened and then heaved his body limply up into the rooms dark room, there stood on a thick wooden beam which held the building up was the assassin, he gargled out in fear, and spit and phlegm emitted in a gush from his gasping mouth. He choked slowly and shortly, she was going to kill him, like se had killed the rest, Gary, Earl, Rimmie, they were dead and now so was he.
"I see it, you think your going to die, ha." She mocked him, "You the great Spirit, he who all the other thieves are all jealous of. Humph, I'm disappointed, I wanted more fun." She spat in his face, "Worthless," she growled like a mountain cat at him. "You walk through walls, you’re too valuable to others to die, or I would take great pleasure in killing you." She loosened the whip round his throat, he dropped onto his back into a heap onto the floor, she lashed out and with careful movement of her wrist, and she lashed the whip in a knot round Spirits hands. Bound she pulled the boy to his feet, "You may actually live, but there is something you first must do."

Age: 21Year of birth: 1987Month of birth: 7Day of birth: 7

Gender: male

Fantasy race personality: Elf

Elftownworldmap missing.

Place of living: United Kingdom-Wales

Town: Neath

Known languages
English

Elfwood writer: Yes

Favorite drawing objects
animebuildingsdemons
dragonsdwarveselves
fairiesfunnyhorses
landscapemagicorcs
sexstrangevampires
warriorsweapons

Computer interests
action gamesartchat
emailgraphicsinformation seeking
musicstrategy gamesWindows

Music
alternativegothheavy metal
progressive metalpunkrock

Other interests
animalsanimeart
beerboard gamesbooks
card gamescarschasing the preferred sex
chesscookingdancing
discodogsdrinks
eatingelectronicsfantasy
fashionfilmhistory
partyplantspoetry
pornrole playingsinging
scifislackingtheatre
travellingwriting

Civil status: involved

Sexual preference: opposite sex

Body shape: thin

Height: 178


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