Young Writers Society

Here's a new character I'm working on, and his introductory fight scene that I wrote literally years ago...here's a taste of some of my best writing at age....16, I think? I'm thinking of rewriting some of it and continuing the story. Worth it, or not?

Azrael Deathhand threw his arms out wide, forcing the thugs back a step. Drawing his rapier back quickly, he leveled it at the nearest rogue.

"Come at me, and see what happens fool. You have no idea what it is you face," he muttered, his voice lined with venom. The three thugs looked to each other and grinned, each of them missing at least one tooth.

"Sure, Mate. And I'm the Lord of Waterdeep," one of them sneered. Azrael grinned widely, and beckoned with his rapier.

"Nice to meet you m'Lord," he said sarcastically. The thugs leaped as one, each swinging a small blade. Azrael's grin widened at their pathetically uncoordinated attack. He lashed out at the first thug, who flinched away,. taking the bait. As soon as the thug flinched, Azrael reversed his grip and stabbed behind him just in time to turn aside the second thug's sword. Azrael's foot kicked out, catching the third man in the groin. He slipped his hand into his cloak, pulling forth a small dagger called a Main Gauche. The first thug recovered quickly, coming in with an overhead chop.

"Idiot," Azrael muttered. He brought the Main Gauche in line with the thug's blade, catching it in the over sized cross piece of the small dagger. He turned the blade aside and slashed out wide with his rapier, drawing a line of blood along the man's chest. It wasn't a deep cut, but it would make him think twice before attacking so recklessly. The second rogue, thinking himself about to deal a killing blow, drove his sword toward Azrael's exposed back. Azrael whirled about, kicking the blade from the thug's hand and stabbing his rapier deep into the man's chest. The rogue gasped as the blade pierced a lung. Azrael pulled his rapier quickly from the man's chest, and spun around to face the third thug, who was just recovering from his kick.

"Who--who are you?" the thug asked through gritted teeth.

"Didn't your boss tell you? I'm The Angel of Death; Azrael," the thug's eyes went wide with terror, his blade clattering to the ground.

"I'm sorry Lord Azrael, I didn't know!" he stuttered.

"Too bad for you," Azrael said, going into a three attack combination that left the thug bleeding from ghastly wounds in his neck, chest and head. The pitiful man crumpled to the ground, dead before he hit the wooden floor. Azrael heard a slight whistling sound behind him, and ducked low. The thug, off balanced, fell past him. Azrael jabbed his blade into the man's unprotected side as he stumbled past, and the man toppled over after three steps.

Wiping his rapier on the clothes of the nearest thug, Azrael grinned widely and spun around to face the man edging toward the door to the tavern.

Toril the Quick crept silently toward the back exit of the Red Dragon Inn. Just a few steps more…he thought to himself. As he reached for the door handle, a dagger thunked into the wood beside his hand. Drawing his hand back in fear, he looked to the man who threw the dagger. Azrael Deathhand stood calmly in the center of the room, the corpses of Toril’s men creating a macabre circle around the man.

“Azrael, I-“

“Be silent you sniveling coward,” Azrael snapped, cutting Toril’s protest short. “How *dare* you! You send your worthless band of thugs to kill me, then you run with your tail between your legs when the tide turns against you!”

Toril panicked, reached inside his cloak. Throwing the concealed dagger Azrael’s way, he ran out the door. Azrael, seeing the move easily, snatched the dagger out of the dagger and threw it back, taking Toril in the calf. Toril fell into the alley, clutching his leg. Stepping over one of Toril’s thugs, Azrael casually pulled his dagger from the wall it was embedded in. He walked to the fallen Toril, and grabbed him by the collar. Lifting him straight off the ground, he set him on his feet. “You have two choices, my cowardly friend,” he paused when he saw Toril’s eyes go wide with hope. He laughed aloud. “You misunderstood, Toril. I was not offering you your life, but how you would like to end it. You may either die a coward, or die with honor.” Toril’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Moving deliberately, he slipped his hands inside his cloak once more. Withdrawing two daggers, he grimaced and held his head high.

“Yes, Azrael, you may be more skilled with the blades than I, but I will not die quietly.”

“Ah, Toril. Finally, you show some backbone,” Azrael said, drawing a thin rapier from its scabbard. Toril leaped his foe, bringing both daggers in a double thrust, one high, one low. Azrael smirked slightly, and, with blinding speed, deflected both attacks. Toril spun with the block, throwing a high kick at Azrael’s head. Hardly moving, Azrael brought up his rapier to intercept the kick. His leg suddenly bleeding from a deep wound, Toril stumbled backwards into the alley wall. Azrael went into a series of quick jabs, pressing Toril even further against the wall. Toril couldn’t begin to block the attacks, and was suddenly bleeding from a dozen wounds. Toril’s daggers clattered to the ground, and he fell to his knees. Gasping for breath, Toril stared defiantly at Azrael. As he tried to get to his feet, Azrael planted a foot between his shoulder blades, and stomped him to the ground.