The Anti-Valentine

As of yesterday, my latest Thief-inspired novel is on the site. It's in pdf format here if you want to read it. Enjoy! http://www.thief-thecircle.com/fanworks/ch...rimson_Tide.pdf

Ads are considered a little dodgy by some people, but you have to ask yourself this question: are you comfortable with making money from your site? If the answer is 'no' over and over again, then keep it free of ads and whatnot. I have a blog on a network of sorts, http://hubpages.com/_3tzb0unem02ru/profile/Anti-Valentine and I call it my life survival advice blog. I also have plans to start my own site sometime. I have ads from Google, Amazon and Kontera on there. With the amazon ads I try to get products that are actually relevant to what I'm writing about. I don't just have that blog to make money, I also like to write. I also write fan-fiction and submit it to this forum and the circle as well. Ads on Dark mod could work out, the circle has ads by Google. Contextual ads by Google aren't always the best though, sometimes they aren't even relevant at all. If you could get ads that are relevant to thief,games or medieval stuff that people are actually interested in, though... I've read numerous stories of people trying to get a hold of thief, or their disk broke, or they've never even played it, and they want to buy it.

I actually started this story before Bloodline, last year in fact. The story is set fifty years or so before the Dark Project; way before Garrett, Benny and any other cool character you know an love. More chapters will come as I edit them and finish them off. Children Of Darkness© Crimson Tide A story by the Anti-Valentine. antivalentine@webmail.co.za Visit my blog @ http://hubpages.com/_3tzb0unem02ru/profile/Anti-Valentine Prologue The City is always in constant turmoil. As much as the Hammerites or the Baron and his City council like to think they have control and that order prevails, the reality is contrary to their beliefs. It has always been politics versus religion, and it always will be. The war on crime sometimes isn't as reliable as the civil wars between the Order of the Hammer and the City Guard. Even though the Hammerites do what they are supposed to, and go beyond the call of duty, the people don't like their fanaticism and zealousness. Society doesn't like to be deprived of its rights or freedom. And then some commend the City Guard when clearly they don't do their job as devotedly as they should. There are so many different and largely opposing factions, groups, and guilds, and rightly so, the city is rich in diverse cultures and everybody is entitled to have their say. Unfortunately, not everybody appreciates those differences, and that is why the true ruler is no heir, but chaos. * * * Chapter I The harsh bitter cold could rip through a person like a blade fashioned like an icicle. It was particularly frigid down by the docks, the jetty decorated with frost. But that was not the only feeling of coldness in the air. By the tavern near the water, two shadowy figures were mercilessly dragging another on the wooden deck. Pleads and sobs were ignored as the death blow was finally dealt. Then, silence. The body was flung over the one figure's shoulder and carried over to the edge. A loud splash as the person was tossed into the sea, and the episode was over. The two hurried off and disappeared in to the night. The town barely stirred as it wrapped its dark blanket around itself, continuing its rest until dawn. * * * It was a typically miserable winter's night. A thunderstorm overhead echoed across the City, so loud it disrupted thought. Anyone with good sense would be indoors and probably in bed; after all, Aidan was counting on it. He, like any other of his profession wouldn't let a bit of bad weather stop him; in fact, it was only to his benefit. Aidan was crouched beneath a window sill, looking inside the manor he was about to visit. The coast was clear, and so he waited. An ear-shatteringly loud rumble followed, and Aidan smashed the window with his elbow. Aidan had always loved thunderstorms, and now, even more. He waited, perhaps five minutes, to see if anyone at all had heard the window break, but he doubted it. It was just enough to put a small hole in it, so that he might put his hand through and open the latch, which he did so. He was in. He quietly closed the window after he settled properly on the carpet. Aidan didn't have the luxury of a fully drawn out map with him, but after a little snooping around, he had been able to draw parts of the place, especially the outside. He was in the east wing on the ground floor, and by the look of things, he was by the stairs. He carefully surveyed the surroundings, and to the left, out the corner of his eye, a guard walked into the foyer, stumbling around. "Drunk as a circus bear", Aidan muttered under his breath. The guard was too far away to worry about at that moment, so he started towards one of the doors along the hallway. He listened, then opened it gently, and peered inside, "Nobody in sight, time to get on with it". Aidan slipped in to the room, and closed the door afterwards. A quick glance and something immediately caught his eye. A silver goblet was perched on the writing desk by the wall; then, it was gone. Aidan opened his tailored loot-bag, and plopped the goblet inside. Many thieves in the city had been caught because the spoils of their excursion were heard rattling around on their person. Aidan had taken great care to obtain a medium sized sack, and had lined it with silk and padded it with cotton, creating pockets, so that the loot wouldn't tap around inside. The materials were free, and his handiwork paid off in the long haul. Aidan exited the room as cautiously as he had entered and crept towards the next door, getting nearer the foyer. He opened it even more warily, now that he was a little closer to the guard. Inside, there was only some paper on the table, and there didn't seem to be anything of worth. So he retreated back in to the corridor. He entered the foyer. It was well designed; paneled oak walls, beautiful paintings hung above plush settees, and a colossal crystal chandelier hung above a lavish rug in the middle of the room. And Aidan had to be sure not to forget about the guard too. He knew that using his short sword or his dagger that was sheathed on the side of his boot would be too noisy an execution. Instead he opted for his blackjack. Carefully he drew it from his side and sneaked up behind the oaf, stood up slowly; hoping the bones in his legs wouldn't give him away, and came down hard with a mighty swing to the back of the head. There was the familiar enlivening glee, as the recipient crumpled in a heap on the parquet. Aidan grabbed hold of the body and dragged him off to the room he had just come from. The room wasn't as empty as it had been before, although there was still nothing of worth in it, as far as he was concerned. Through the double doors, it seemed like another dimension. Such opulence, brilliant hues strewn across the room, which looked like what Aidan would dare call a living room. It really did come alive; the animals mounted on the walls might have had something to do with that. Aidan felt a childlike spark as he mingled and danced among the shadows, a quick step to the right, to avoid the light from the fireplace; like stepping over moss in between the cobblestones, a great game that children would play. He spotted a couple of silver tumblers and a carafe set on the table in the middle of the chairs sorted in a circle like a meeting place. "Would you like me to take your vessel Madame?" Aidan uttered amusedly. That meant a few more things for the fence which fit snugly in to the pockets in his bag. Then suddenly, a guard passed by on the far side of the room, Aidan could see him through the arcade that led in to another hallway. He ducked behind one of the chairs, and started to make his way over to the bigger seat to the right nearer the other side of the room. Then to his distress, another guard approached from the other direction. "Arrh, oh", the one guard yawned, "I can't wait until my shift is over." "It's going to be a lot longer than you think taffer. Lady Tame is out for the night, remember?" The other guard replied irritably. They stood there together for a while, but Aidan had to think of how he was going to get through and into the rest of the ground floor. "I can't stand these long shifts; can't she…stay at home like everyone else?" At this, Aidan started moving very carefully towards the wall to the left of their presence, blending in with the shadows. "You know how she can't be without some charming man beside her, she's like mutton dressed up as lamb." Aidan sneaked across and in to the kitchen as the guard nearest him stretched out his arms, a perfect distraction for the one facing his direction. "Ho Ho, you're gonna get it soon, with talk like that. I wonder if I should get something to eat, maybe that would keep me awake?" Aidan flinched and felt the blood being drained out of his face; he quickly looked for a place to hide. "Don't you dare! Remember last time when the Lady came home and found her sweet-meats were gone? Both of us nearly lost our jobs because of you!" After that, there was a pause, and then they both resumed their patrols along the corridor. If he timed it rightly, Aidan could get out and between them and see what was further along. He listened to the footsteps, and judged, as he moved towards the door, if they were going to be going off in the opposite direction. He poked his head out slightly, and saw both of them retreat back along their routes. He crept out and turned in to the hall between the kitchen and what must have been the larder. He observed patiently, that beyond, there was the dining room, and chandeliers, candlesticks, and cutlery were abundant. He made a move forwards, in to the square room, not very big, that led to the doors. The light that radiated from the room was immense, definitely requiring a plan of action. Aidan tried the doors; they were locked. He retraced his steps in to the shadows. "How am I going to get in without those two noticing?" He did have water arrows but unfortunately, the light source was on the other side of the doors, which were locked. He didn't have a gas arrow, the elemental crystals required to make them were very hard to come by. He had some broad heads; they would cause too much commotion. "Ah! A noisemaker arrow!" He took his bow in his left hand, and reached in to the quiver. A shaft, with a tin casing with holes in it was produced. Inside the casing were ball bearings that made whistling and rattling sounds until the arrow landed. He nocked the arrow and pulled back on the bow string. The arrow flew through the air, across the living room and in to the foyer. "What the heck was that?" "Hello? Who's taffing about?" both guards said almost synchronously. "Who is…whistling at this hour? Isn't that against the law?" the one guard said, obviously very confused. "Let's go have a look; it might be the Lady home early. She might be at the front door." The other guard reasoned. Aidan used this time to get to the doors again. He took his lock picks, which were concealed on his left gauntlet, out and proceeded to pick the contraption. In the background he could hear the two buffoons making a scene, raising their voices and arguing. He had plenty of time. The tumblers were clicking, and then it finally unlocked. He opened the right door, and slipped inside. The first thing he had to do, was launch a water arrow in to the fireplace, which, even though warmed up the room splendidly on a harsh winter's night, was going to cost him if he left it burning. A quick aim, and next thing, it was out, the light in the room was significantly reduced. He got on with taking the gold candle-holders, and the silver crockery, at least, the knives and forks. The bag was getting a little full, so Aidan placed the next layer of padding over the other goods, sort of like one of those chocolate boxes that the wealthy had, except these contents were a lot more 'rich'. After he had pilfered most of the valuable items on the table, he noticed that in the corner to the right behind him, there was another of those spiral staircases leading up to the first floor. "How convenient; at least now I don't have to backtrack." He whispered with a smirk. At the foot of the staircase, Aidan felt apprehensive as he could hear talking coming from upstairs. He dared not trudge up there just yet unless he wanted to join in the conversation; it was doubtful that the guards would appreciate his company. He hid under the steps instead until someone finally got tired of chatting. "For guards, they're a bit too social." Aidan commented to the darkness. Footsteps went off in their separate ways, Aidan on the brink of frustration, but kept it well under control. He had to keep thinking about what treasures he might find upstairs. Slowly he ascended to the apex, being sure to keep to the sides of the walls before finally settling in to the dark. The room he was in seemed to be a bathroom, from what he could make out in the blackness. As his eyes began to adjust, he cautiously opened the door leading in to a study. In it, there was a set of drawers, and a writing desk, with a chink of light from the window, illuminating what was on it, a bag. Aidan took it, and felt it; no doubt it had coins in it. He slipped the string knot at the neck; there was easily a hundred pieces. It was great when Aidan found gold, simply because it was finders, keepers. With goods, they had to be taken in to town, and traded with a willing, independent fence, and even then if the items were too hot, or if they simply didn't like you, you lost out, and the haul would be for nothing. Since Aidan was alone, and didn't belong to one of the wardens in the city, things were a little harder, but of course, any profits he made minus the commission, were his. The poor old boys who belonged to the stables or guilds, they got practically nothing, most of it went to the wardens, not to mention, they had restrictions on where they could go, and steal from too. Aidan picked up a piece of parchment that was under the bag of coins, which he had taken the liberty of placing in his loot-bag. There were names listed, as well as amounts of gold pieces next to their names. All the names seemed to be male. "Perhaps Lady Tame isn't entirely lady like after all." Aidan grinned. It wasn't uncommon for nobles and the rich to get involved in some lucrative if…illegal endeavors. Prostitution was rife in some areas, like the docks, but up in high class New Quarter, it was scandalous. She at least had her standards; most of the names on the list had addresses, but he could hardly make most of the writing out. For a lady, her handwriting was atrocious. It was all very interesting and not to mention incriminating if it fell in to the wrong hands. "That's how she affords all of this; hmmm." Aidan put the parchment back on the table. He figured she would accuse one of the guards of stealing the gold, seeing as they got a pittance, unless she noticed that a lot of things were missing downstairs too. She would no doubt worry about who would have seen the parchment when taking the gold too. If word got out, she would probably be hauled off to jail and a fate worse than death, being cut out of the city's upper crust. After his intrigue had worn off, Aidan decided that he should start wrapping the heist up. As he emerged from the study and tip-toed across the hallway, he noticed that he was approaching a balcony overlooking the foyer. He would remember it in case of an emergency. He carried on until he reached a large, sturdy door. He guessed it would be the Lady's private quarters. When he tried the handle, it moved but did not open. He reached for his lockpicks, and worked his charm. There were a couple of guards patrolling the area. They weren't an immediate threat, but it made for some motivation. "Finally," Aidan grunted as the lock clicked, and he was able to move in to uncharted territory. The room was shrouded in darkness; a window ahead only cast a faint glow through a thick curtain. If Aidan didn't know any better, he'd have thought the Lady was in, but earlier the guards talked about her constant trips at night and that tonight she was out; whether they had an inkling of the truth behind the trips wasn't clear. Aidan had to somehow find his way around the place, so he made his way over to what he had made out to be a window. He slowly opened the curtain bit by bit, seemingly taking ages, but rather that than alert the guards. After all, they might notice a very sudden change in the amount of light seeping from under the door. Everything was a tad more visible, with a slight blue tint, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Then a most dreadful sight plagued his eyes! He had to hold his mouth, shocked and repulsed by the image. It was a…body, lying in the bed; the sheets ran red with blood! Aidan had no idea what the Lady looked like, but he guessed since he was standing in her bedroom, and the door had been locked, that it was her. Upon closer examination, he could make out it was a woman; pale skin, blonde locks, cold blue eyes. She had been cut from ear to ear, her head barely hanging by a thread, tilted back in to the pillow. Aidan didn't understand; there was no way that they could have missed her if she came home early, there were guards downstairs and outside her quarters and study. The thundering continued outside, as the clouds burst and rain fell, almost to mark the severity of the situation. The house was still and time had passed considerably since the beginning of his mission; Aidan had no idea when the lady was killed, or how long she'd been lying there. He noticed a book on the bedside stand, and proceeded to pick it up and open it. He figured it would be relevant if he started from the last page. It read, "The last few weeks have been very profitable if not tiresome. I don't know how much longer I can go on. I feel as though I'm not safe anymore. Oh, Harold! If only you were here, I wouldn't be in the mess that I'm in. Please forgive me." From reading the entry, Aidan thought it looked as though she was depressed, maybe suicidal. Maybe she had done it to herself. There was no clear indication of what immense trouble she was in or why she wasn't safe. He figured that 'Harold' must have been her husband, possibly deceased, and she meant that if he were here she wouldn't have to resort to whoring to keep her possessions and lifestyle. Aidan had sharp eyes, and he couldn't see a knife or dagger on the bed or in her hands to suggest she killed herself. He checked on the floor, then from there began to comb the room; nothing. "Perhaps someone else did this to her." He said to himself, "How did that someone get in?" He thought the obvious answer would be the windows, but they were sealed, probably for show just like everything else. They weren't broken either, so nobody could have come through. As he placed the book which he had been cradling in his left arm back down beside the bed, it opened and revealed something. It was an outline of a square key, but the key was missing. "A key; but which door does it open?" There was definitely another door that the key would fit; it could have been somewhere else on the other side of the mansion for all he knew. He poked around the room for a start, figuring it would be on an unoccupied wall. He came to a tapestry on the wall; it was very beautiful and evocative; almost like a primitive type drawing. He figured it could be worth some and decided to take it. There was a keyhole behind it, with the key in it, and the wall section was hollow, maybe painted limestone, so it was easily movable. Aidan wedged his hand in the gap, and shunted it to one side. Concealed within was a secret passageway, massed with cobwebs and damp. As he peeked inside, there was a stairwell at the end that led to the ground floor. As Aidan was about to walk on through, he thought about the parchment with the names on it, maybe one of her 'clients' could be the culprit. Several minutes ago it was worthless although interesting, now it was so important; it was so ironic. When the guards or servants found the body, they would no doubt get the city guard to investigate, and that piece of paper would be gone. He went back to the door, and peeked through the key-hole. The coast looked clear, and thought that perhaps the shift was over. So he opened the door, and attempted to quickly go over to the study across the way. Just then a guard came around the corner, but it was too late to do anything. The light from the window gave him away. "Hey! I see you there! Now you're gonna get it!" he shouted. Aidan got back through the door and slammed it, hitting the guard square in the face as he tried to pursue him. He dropped instantly, unconscious. Aidan thought about making a rush for the study, but then more guards could be heard on the upper level, searching. "I see a body over there!" one yelled. Aidan realized he had to move, there were too many in the entire manor to take on. He fled in to the passageway, took the key from the lock and sealed it behind him so the guards couldn't follow. He locked it too for good measure and slipped the square stone key back in to his pocket. Then he walked along the way to the stairs and proceeded down. It seemed like a dead-end; and it was dank and dusty down there. "What good is a secret passageway if there is no door on the other end?" Aidan said worriedly aloud, trying to compose himself. He started frantically feeling along the wall, and came across another key-hole. He took out the stone key and put it in and turned. He pushed and gradually the night-sky could be seen, and the smell after a storm was all too welcome. After he exited, he pushed the wall back, and locked it from outside. He was out in the gardens, hidden from the light, near the front gates. Of course, there were guards gathering there, so he had to find another way out of the grounds. He slipped off quietly towards the far wall and saw quickly saw that there were no other exits. He looked around and noticed that underneath the roof exterior there were wooden beams protruding out, near enough the wall too. He reached in to his quiver, produced a rope arrow, and without slowing, he fired it in to the wood above. The grappling hook head wood ensure that it stuck firmly, as the quick release mechanism loosened like clockwork, and a rope sailed down towards the earth. He jumped on and began climbing up, as the guards started coming his way. He jumped and landed on the wall. He was too illuminated for the guards to miss. "Hey, there he is! Come back down here you taffer!" Aidan thought quickly and jumped off the other side of the wall, and executed a break-fall maneuver to reduce the impact that a drop of that size would have on a body. Tumbling onto the grass, he regained his upward stance and started sprinting along the cobblestone street, not even caring to look back. * * *

I decided to put the novel here too. Children of Darkness © Bloodline Part I It all started when Gareth went up into the attic like most inquisitive young teenagers do. Gareth initially wanted to see if there was anything of worth in there to sell for a quick buck, when he discovered a trunk full of books. Naturally, he opened one up, attentively, because of its age, and paged through, discovering that the writings in it were much older than he had thought, judging by the cover. He was absolutely mesmerized as he kept on reading through the day, picking up one book after the other, scarcely moving, only to get up briefly to go to the bathroom or to eat and drink. He continued the pattern for weeks; going to school and sitting through boring history lectures and pointless mathematics classes, all the while, waiting to head home, and dive straight back into the literary world he had opened up. Before he even changed out of his uniform, he would go back up to his chair in the corner of the dusty, cramped attic and flip through the tomes. He probed them, discovering more than what he would have ever have learned in school. As he paged through, he started to discover some unusual similarities in them all, and he spotted the fact that the names changed, but the surnames stayed the same: Hightowne. These weren’t just any books; they belonged to his family. They were their journals. All throughout them though, he hadn’t seen his dad’s name at all. * * * One morning, Gareth woke up and decided to talk to his dad about the books in the attic. It was a public holiday, and so he felt that he could investigate all day or as long as his dad would let him. “Dad, can I talk to you about something?” he asked. “Yes, sure Gareth. What’s up?” he replied. “The other month I discovered some books up in the attic.” “Were they in a trunk?” he asked as his eyes lit up. “Yes, dad. What are they, journals?” “More than that I think; those books are the entire collection of your ancestors’ memories and experiences, recorded so that future generations might read them.” “They’re so interesting. I’ve been reading them for weeks.” Gareth said. “Yes, but there’s something about those books that I don’t like.” “Is that why you didn’t write one?” “That’s right, I didn’t. Those books suck you in and hold you. They make you do things, you see. I hid them in that trunk. Your grandfather; my father, was the last one to write one. He spent most of his adult life in jail, and I think those books were the reason.” “Why?” “You’ve read them. You’ve seen the connections?” All of the writers, your ancestors, took part in writing and training rituals. The first one was named Garrett. He was what they called a keeper. Keepers were like the CIA back in the Middle Ages, although they might have been around before then even. They were one of many secret societies, just like there are today. He took it upon himself to teach his son the techniques and train him the way he had been long before. Since then, the tradition has followed; every son would record a ‘journal’ and read the others that had come before it, learning of not only the keepers, but the past, present and the future. Garrett had meant well, but it was either just human nature or perhaps a corrupt nature within the books that always drew people towards darkness. Before he became a keeper, he was a thief, and perhaps… a murderer.” “You didn’t want me to see them?” Gareth’s dad scratched his head. “No, but I’m not mad at you. It’s just that it ended horribly for every one of them. They ended up as thieves, criminals, and murderers. And they paid the price for their actions. The books have some sort of power. They’ve lasted for centuries, with minimal damage, and they have these symbols on them.” “And that’s why they’re so great.” “Look, they are just stories. They’re good stories, maybe they’re even true, but they are not meant to be handled by us. I went the opposite path in my life and became a well adjusted, responsible man; not a keeper or anything else.” Gareth walked off just as his dad had finished talking. Gareth thought that his dad was wrong to not embrace his heritage. He swore that he wouldn’t make the same mistake, and that he wouldn’t be overcome by any powers the books possessed. He hadn’t got through all of them yet. Not by a long shot. As he got back to his favourite spot in the attic by the small dusty window overlooking the garden and the surrounding neighbourhood, he noticed that there was a bright glow emanating from the trunk. The books all had symbols on them that he hadn’t noticed before, just like his dad had said. The books also seemed to be new, as if they had rejuvenated and been put back together in immaculate condition overnight. As Gareth touched the book almost as a dare, he felt an energy course through his body and then all went blank. * * * It was night, and he was in a place like he had never seen before. He was on his own; he could see lights in the distance but no people. He was surrounded by grimy, mossy stone walls, and wooden beams adorned the roof. He could see out to the black sky above accompanied by the moon and clouds, through the holes made by the masses of missing tiles. In front of him there were some statues on the sides of the room. After walking towards one of them, he looked down and noticed that he was clad in garments he was sure weren’t his. He had on leather pauldrons and fingerless gauntlets with bracers. His torso was covered by a leather cuirass and he had on slim soft-soled boots. He put his hands up to his head and felt a hood covering it, and on his arms and legs, he had similar cloth covering them. “Gareth.” A voice rang out. “Who’s there?” Gareth said while he turned around quickly, surveying the whole room, trying to pierce the darkness as his eyes slowly grew accustomed to the shadows. “It is us, the voices of your ancestors. We have guided one another as we shall now guide you.” The voice sounded very strange, almost as though several voices were speaking synchronously. “You must complete a series of tasks that we have set for you, young Gareth.” “What? But I don’t even know where I am.” “All in due time, that is the point of the tasks. You must become familiar with your surroundings as well your own body.” The voice replied. All of a sudden, a strange luminous vision appeared at the end of the room. Gareth walked slowly towards it; he heard it whispering something and moving slightly, swaying about. It seemed to have the outline of a human figure but he could see through it; a ghost. “Fear not. Before you is a guardian, a keeper. Your task is to approach it without being heard. You must be careful of the tiled floor; move cautiously and slowly.” Gareth stood silent for awhile. He was scared of the thing at the end of the room, this… keeper. His dad had told him about the keepers when he talked to him about the books he found in the attic. He put his foot forward and slid it across the floor slowly, so as not to misstep and fall forward. He tip-toed towards the stairs leading up to the porch and watched the figure for a while. He went up the stairs and took a step back in shock as it disappeared from plain sight. “Very good, we did not hear you enter the room.” the voice said. “Your next task awaits you through the arch, Gareth.” Gareth walked until he felt a wooden object on the floor. He bent to pick it up; it felt like a piece of a fence or gate. “Your next task is to make it to the end of the room without being seen. Hanging around your neck is a light gem. If you look down and see it glowing, you are visible, as it reflects the light. If it is still and dark, you are hidden and will only be spotted if someone is very near.” There were broken glass windows that let in the moonlight, which streaked across the room, leaving a clear pathway to the door ahead. He walked forward, watching the light gem every now and then as he avoided the light. Just then, a light entered the room from outside, and almost instinctively, Gareth ducked and rolled forward until he was near the wall. He couldn’t figure out what the light was until he heard a helicopter outside. It was off in the distance but obviously its searchlight had skimmed the building. He hoped they weren’t looking for him. How long had he been away from home? And how had he found this place? He remembered that he had to make it to the top of the stairs. “Very good, we did not see you reach the stairs. Your next task awaits you through the door and down the hallway.” Gareth opened the door and continued on along the passage. It too was covered in mould, moss and the stench of rot filled his senses so badly that he covered his face with his hood and made his way down to the table at the end of the hallway. On it was a bow and a quiver full of arrows, a short blade, a dagger, and some knives, all with sheaths, as well as a hard leather object. “Pick up the objects laid out in front of you and proceed to the courtyard below.” Gareth did so as he was told and picked up all of the items and slung them all over his body; the bow and quiver on his back, the short blade and leather object from his belt, and the dagger and small knives across his chest. He walked down the cracked steps to the courtyard. “Gareth, to your left you will see some targets.” The voice pointed out. He nearly jumped back in horror when he saw some vile creatures roaming around the enclosed space beyond the rotten wooden fence. They let out moans and wails and looked as though their very flesh was hanging off of their bodies. “What are these things?” he said in revulsion. “They are zombies, Gareth; undead. You must first take your bow and broad-head arrows and shoot them to pass the test.” He reached into his quiver on his back while retrieving his bow at the same time with the other hand. He knocked an arrow and aimed for the head of the zombie. The zombie collapsed and was silent. He carried on in this fashion, killing the other things, even if they were already dead. “Very good; now walk over to the cobblestone circle in the middle of the courtyard for your next test.” He did so, and watched as another zombie burst up out of the earth. He wore a metal helmet and had chainmail armour as well as a torn tunic. In his left hand he carried a sword. “Now Gareth, take your short blade and dispatch of this guard.” The voice commanded. He reached for his blade at his left side and unsheathed it, holding it out, while shaking slightly. He moved forward and as he stepped onto the cobblestone off of the grass, the zombie snapped out of its trance, turned to face him, and lunged out. Gareth blocked the sword swing and took a step back. The zombie made another swing, and he parried it once more, moving to one side as his blade clashed with the other. A few minutes into the fight and he was clearly on the defensive. He got tired, even though his was a short blade and was supposed to be lighter, the swinging and effort required to block and dodge the attacks was taxing. One overhead blow caught Gareth on his shoulder and he fell to the ground. He was too tired to carry on, but the zombie seemed to have boundless energy and strength. He got back up and stumbled further away from the creature, but it ran after him and made another attack. Gareth jumped out of the way and the zombie plowed its sword right into the wall. As it desperately tried to break it free, Gareth, with all his might swung down on the creature’s neck, and watched as its skull rolled and bounced along the grass. He slumped down against the wall and clutched his shoulder. “Would you care for some refreshment, young Gareth?” the voice enquired. “Why are you doing this to me? What is the purpose of this?” he cried out. “We have said before; it is education. You are becoming familiar with yourself and your surroundings through these tasks.” He got up and looked at the table. “To your right is a healing potion. When you drink it, it heals your wounds and rejuvenates you. To the left of that is a key that will open the door.” He took the potion and gulped it down. He didn’t even stop to think about it. He had a splitting headache, and he was out of breath, as well as having sore arms and legs. Slowly he felt the pain subside, the headache diminish, his arms became lighter and his legs stopped shaking uncontrollably. “I wish they had something like this back home.” He said. He took the rusty key off of the table and took it to the lock on the door. After opening the door he went inside and through to yet another courtyard. “Now you will learn to climb.” Gareth walked over to the rope that dangled from the rafter above and climbed up it with ease with his new found liveliness. “Now swing onto the ledge.” He did so and planted his feet firmly, and crouched so as not to lose his balance and fall back down. “Now you must mantle onto the ledge above you and cross the beam to the other side.” “Now there’s a challenge.” He said. He leapt up and grabbed the ledge, pulling himself up and onto it. He walked towards the beam and looked down to the ground below. It was a long way down and he would be sure to break some bones with a fall from that height. He put his hands out for balance and put his foot on the beam, flexing it up and down to test how sturdy it was. After that he took a step onto it, and then another. He realized that he would have to move quick or else he would fall. Stooped over and with arms out, he put one foot out before the other, careful trying not to trip. As he got closer, he jumped the last couple of feet. There was a door on the balcony ahead, and so he made his way over. “Very good, Gareth. We are pleased with your progress. You may now leave the compound through the doors, if you wish.” “Why did I have to do all of this?” “You wanted to, Gareth. You read the journals, awoke your ancestors and wanted answers to your questions. So it has been with your forefathers, and now with you.” “What do I do now then? What was all this training for?” “This training was to prepare you for the trials you will face ahead and the truth you will learn of. Continue to read the journals, Gareth. You will learn much from them and eventually you will find out why they were written.” * * *

Hey Guys. I'm new on here, and I thought I would share the fact that I've written a new thief inspired novel, or at least part I of it and submitted it to the circle. It's called "Bloodline". Have a read and see what you think! Thanks.