Dante's Training

[Dante Grixis]

Dante entered the small, darkly lit chamber. There were a few candles burning behind a large, worn, oak desk. Behind the desk sat a man in obsidian colored armor. Dante pulled his hood off of his head and kneeled in front of the desk.

“My services have been called upon by the Brotherhood.” He said quietly into the silent chamber. “Yes.” The figure behind the desk replied and stood and began to pace around Dante. “We have need of a man with your skills. We have received a contract to kill a man who wronged another. Would you kill such a man?” The Dark Knight said in a cold, deep voice.

“Without hesitation.” Dante replied simply.
“Good. Your target lives alone on the outskirts on the town, his name is Michael Braxton. Bring me his ring as proof of the deed.”
Dante nodded. “Thy will be done, Master.” He rose and exited the room, his cloak flapping behind him.

He pulled up his hood as he exited the building that housed the Brotherhood and made his way through the slums. This job was too easy; he lived alone, away from neighbors, middle aged Dante guessed. He would barely break a sweat.

It was in the late stages of dusk when Dante exited the town and approached one of the houses on the outskirts of Camelot. There was a young woman tending a small garden out front.

“Excuse me ma’am.” Dante said a friendly voice. “I am looking for a Michael Braxton. Do you know where I can find him?”

She turned and replied, “He lives ‘bout a mile down the road, westward.”
“Thank you.” Dante replied and tossed her a gold coin.

After about fifteen minutes he had come upon his targets home. He saw through the small window the man sitting in front of a small fire. Dante unsheathed his short sword and held it under his cloak to conceal it from view as he knocked loudly on the front door. He heard light stirrings from inside and a moment later the door opened.

“Whatddaya wan’?” The gruff man who answered it asked. “Michael Braxton?” Dante asked. “Yea, what uv it?” Dante nodded slowly, then like a lightning flash his sword came out and slashed Michael’s stomach open, spilling his entrails and blood onto the dirt floor of his house. He began to scream in agony but it was cut off by a second strike severing his windpipe. He crumpled to the floor in a heap, falling into a puddle of his own blood and gore.

Dante stooped and yanked his ring off of his hand, it was a simple stone band. Dante made his way back to the Brotherhood Headquarters and entered the Dark Knights room. He placed the ring on the table and bowed. “It is done.”

“Good. You will find your pay in your room.” The Knight replied and waved Dante away.

[The Dark Knight]

The Dark Knight was pleased with Dante's first mission. It had allowed him to get a feel for the type of assassin he could be.
"A good first training session. I suggest in your next, you practice with a wide array of weapons in the arena here"

Please be aware that while this is a very good post, it is going to be hard to show improvement as everything Dante did was perfect. Perhaps in your next post you could show Dantes imperfections and he could work on this throughout his training


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[Dante Grixis]

(( I had planned to make the posts longer by making missions harder.))

Sweat ran down Dante’s face, into his eyes and matting his long hair. He had been sparring with another Brotherhood member for over an hour now, trying to improve his skills with larger weapons. He would never replace his long and short sword combination but it would be good for him to improve in all aspects of fighting.

He swung the nine foot, heavy halberd in an arc to keep his enemy at a distance. He quickly followed up with a high stab that was easily parried by his opponent. That was all these polearms were good for, keeping an enemy away from you.

He continued to keep his enemy at bay but gained no ground. His arms ached from the abnormally heavy weapon. A voice stopped the sparring match.

“Grixis!” Dante turned to face who ever it was who called him. “The Dark Knight wanted you to take this.” The small rogue handed Dante an envelope bearing the Knight’s seal. Dante dropped the weapon and opened the envelope. Inside was a small note. He scanned it in the pale light of the candles.

‘Dante, your services are needed by the Brotherhood once again. There is a merchant who has swindled many Lows out of the few coins they have. He needs to be dealt with accordingly. His caravan is currently stationed three or four miles out of the city. Be wary as he has at least three guards. Bring me the chest where he keeps his money and I shall redistribute it to the Lows he robbed.'
TDK

Dante returned the letter to its place in the envelope and grabbed his cloak and weapons belt from the floor and donned both. He pulled the cowl of his cloak low over his face and exited the hideout to the streets of the slums.

As he entered the small, dark, crowded streets he silently observed the going ons. One man drank deeply from a bottle of liquor, two were fighting, an old women sat on the side of the street crying. These sights pained him but he couldn’t do anything, not now.

He went to the town gate and hopped onto his brown horse and galloped off towards the trade caravan. He looked to the sky and saw countless stars and the moon high over the horizon. The cold night closed in upon him like a blanket. He was a creature of the night, living and thriving in darkness, a fitting thing for his profession.

As he neared the campsite he saw the orange glow of a campfire with five men sitting around it. Four guards, one merchant he deduced. He got off his horse just outside of earshot from the site and tied him off to a tree. He drew out his weapons slowly and crouched and crept slowly towards the fire ring.

He was excited, perhaps not the best word to describe his feelings but he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His senses were heightened, like a hunter stalking prey. He could see his breath leaving his lungs in white wisps.

As he neared the fire he assessed the situation. Three men sat on one log, two on another. Two were facing him, three away. Silently he moved to the other side of the site and approached the two men on the log. He held his breath. He was within striking distance.

Like a snake his arm cocked back and in one powerful, fluid motion his blade slid through the chest of the man on his right. The other four looked confused and shocked as their comrade screamed and tumbled to the ground. The man on his left turned around in time to see a blade stab him through the chest, pouring his blood onto the cold ground.

Two down, three to go Dante thought to himself. The other three realized what was going on, jumping up and pulling weapons from sheathes. Dante leapt over the log to engage his enemies. One swung down with a broad sword and Dante parried right and followed up with a left strike glancing the enemy’s armor but doing no damage.

A second attacker swung with a mace, Dante quickly ducked and the mace missed its mark. He failed to notice the third had fallen back and pulled out a bow. He heard the twang of a bowstring and felt the impact as the projectile pushed the rings of his chainmail aside and the arrow entered the flesh of his left shoulder.

He cried out it pain and blocked another strike from the broadsword. He jumped a few feet back and quickly calculated the damage. Flesh wound, no organs hit and it wasn’t too deep. He’d be fine but god damn it hurt.

He rushed his opponent with the mace and swung his blades in a large X. One blade was blocked but the other hit its mark, slashing the face of the enemy. He reeled backwards and fell over the log.

Dante barely rolled out of the way of a large arcing slash from the broadsword. And arrow flew past him, painfully close to his face. He cursed and dodged another attack from the broadsword. He recovered and swung quickly, one blade high, one aimed low. His enemy was forced to take a large step back and Dante was upon him quickly. The broadsword was no where near fast enough to block the volley of attacks, and though many were blocked Dante landed a few critical strikes that put his foe out of commission.

Another arrow struck him in the back, luckily this time his armor held. He spun around and in a daring move threw his short sword end over end.

He didn’t connect with his target but it gave enough distraction to rush at him without being shot at. Dante’s first strike shattered the long bow, the second created a large, deep cut down his enemy’s sternum. He gasped for air and tried to speak, then fell to the ground motionless.

Dante looked at the carnage around him and smiled darkly to himself. That wasn’t too bad. He grabbed the shaft of the arrow protruding from his arm and groaned in pain as he yanked it out, spilling a bit of his own blood onto his cloak and chainmail.

Suddenly he remembered the mace wielder. He took a large step forward but was too slow to completely dodge the impending attack. The mace hit him in the back sending him forward and knocking him to the ground. He yelled in shock and pain. His head was swimming from the force of the blow. Struggling to remain conscious he rolled over just in time to avoid the mace blow that would’ve ended his life. He feebly slashed at his opponent and rolled from another attack. Once he got his wits back he kicked his oncoming attacker and leapt up.

It hurt to breathe. He definitely had some broken ribs. He slashed, parried and slashed again. Eventually a hole opened in his enemy’s defense and he stuck his sword in, piercing his chest. He quickly withdrew the sword as he foe dropped to the ground.

He replaced his swords in their sheathes and staggered to the bodies and grabbed their purses. He placed them on his belt next to his own and searched the wagon for the chest. It was a small box with a lock on it. He grabbed it and went, breathing shallowly to his horse, got back on and went slowly back to town.

He arrived back at the base late. He quietly went into the Dark Knight’s office and placed the chest on his desk and left to tend to his wounds.

[The Dark Knight]

A much better post. This one shows that Dante still needs to work on his skills if he wants to make it to Black Brother status.
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[Dante Grixis]

Dante was sleeping soundly on his bed in the row home in the slums he rented for a few shillings a week. It was the first real bit of rest he had gotten in days and he was enjoying it.

Suddenly he was awoken by a rough hand shaking his shoulder. “Whaddayawan?” Dante growled groggily, annoyed at being woken up as well as the rude awakening itself. “Get up Grixis.” A rough, deep voice said to him. He slowly opened one eye. There was a beefy male, mid thirties, covered with dirt and scars standing over him in the dark, dank room.

“What the hell do you want?” Dante said, now more fully awake. “It’s not what I want; it’s what the Dark Knight wants.” Dante groaned and rolled out of bed, slowly crawling off of the musty floor to a standing position. He was dressed in a tattered tunic and skivvies. The man handed him a letter bearing the Dark Knight’s seal.

“Wake me like that again, you lose an arm.” Dante warned. The messenger laughed and exited the house. Dante opened and read the letter by the dim daylight cast in through a dirty, partially boarded window.

Dante, The Brotherhood requires a man of your talents. It is a personal vendetta of the Brotherhood. A mage that once served under us has gone rogue and plans on starting his own guild for Dark Mages. This action is an act of betrayal against our organization of the highest kind. He must be dealt with accordingly.

He is using the ruins of the Wilkershire Castle as his base of operations. As far as we know he has yet to attract any followers. Beware though, as he is a powerful mage, proficient in the Dark Arts. You will be paid accordingly.

The Dark Knight

Dante sighed heavily as he put on his chain mail, bracers, and pants. He put on his belt and attacked his scabbards with his weapons. He wrapped his cloak around him and closed the door to his home entering the bright sunlight in the slums. He pulled his cowl over his face and got his horse from out back.

As he exited town he groaned. Wilkershire was a good hour’s ride from Camelot. His horse galloped along the slightly trampled paths leading to it. His cloak flapped behind him and the sunlight gleamed off his armor.

A little more than an hour later he could see the ruins of the castle through the trees. He tied his horse off and proceeded on foot.

What was left of the castle showed that at one time it was an architectural wonder. One spire remained, towering over several hundred feet tall, its sides covered in moss and vines making it look like a macabre beacon. The great hall just behind its large gate remained standing between huge piles of rubble.

Dante slowly pushed the doors opened, wincing at the loud creaking noise it made. The room he entered was a vast empty space except for the few rotting tables that still stood in the center and piles of rubble where the roof had caved in. The light that shined through holes in the ceiling where it collapsed allowed Dante to see. He walked through the rooms, years of training keeping his feet silent on the hard stone floor. There were several doors, all ajar, leading to different parts of the castle.

He looked through the many portals and found one that led up, presumably to the top of the spire. He silently made his was through the door and began the long climb up.

The staircase was lit partially by small windows every twenty feet or so. Dante slowly made his way up, maintaining his silent walk.

He paused about a quarter of the way up. Something on the floor was shining in the sunlight. He crouched down and examined it. It was a wire strung across the floor. He gently pulled it, aware that he would be triggering a trap. An arrow flew from the wall a step above him and deflected off the wall on the other side. If he hadn’t have seen the wire that arrow would’ve gone in one ear and out the other he realized.

He continued his climb slower than before, now watching for traps. He stopped every so often and listened up the corridor to see if he could hear anything coming from the room at the top of the tower. Every time, the only thing he could hear was his breathing.

He was now about three quarters of the way up. As he mounted another step he felt a sinking feeling, almost like he was dropping. He quickly realized he was, the step had fallen out from under him. His right hand shot up, barely able to grab the step above him. Below him in the darkness he could hear the sounds of unimaginable beasts from hell itself waiting for him to fall so they could rip him to shreds. He froze at the sound of the gnashing, snarling mouths that he couldn’t see, some untold feet below him.

Just as he began to slip his left hand grabbed the ledge and hauled himself up. He was panting, his heart racing, his throat and arms numb. He sat on the step and carefully gazed into the abyss. He couldn’t see anything but in his mind’s eye he saw beast that haunted children’s tales, and demons that words couldn’t describe.

Slowly he rose to his feet and muttered the Assassin’s Prayer to himself.

O God of the rogues, guide me in my mission, keep me safe from harm, and help my blade find its mark. Should I die in combat let my death be quick, like that of my foes.

He pushed the near death experience from his head. He needed to keep a clear mind if he planned to walk away from this tower alive. He reached the top of the spire and was met with a simple oak door, this one not rotted away by time. He checked it carefully for traps and found none. He drew out his swords and slowly opened the door.

The room he was met with was large and circular, full of tables covered in alchemist’s tools and tomes written in arcane languages. He saw no other person in the room and was fascinated by what lay before him.

He began to look at a book that was written in a language that must have been lost ages ago, though the writing was dull compared the illustrations. They were indescribable, both beautiful and horrific at the same time depicting demons and angels, other worlds, and many other things. It pages seemed to be made of parchment thin lead; its cover was made of sleek black obsidian. He was mesmerized by the book, he wanted to look away but found himself unable to. He kept turning pages, expecting to hit the cover, but it never happened. It seemed there was always one more page.

A voice broke him from this trance like state. He could’ve been looking at the book for a few moments or a few hours, he couldn’t tell. “Hello Mr. Grixis.” The voice behind him said. He turned to see an old man, the mage that was marked for death. Dante realized that his blades has found their way back into their sheathes.

“How do you know my name?” Dante asked. The man was dressed in a dark robe, a white goatee ringed his chin and a full head of stark white hair covered his head. He carried a staff made of some dark wood, most likely ash.

“You are well known amongst the Brotherhood.” He replied. “It would seem that you too have been displeased by the Brotherhoods organization and you wanted to ask me about mine.” The mage continued.

He doesn’t know I’m here to kill him Dante thought to himself. “Yes, I grew sick of the Dark Knight and his hierarchy.” He replied.

The mage looked past Dante to the book that he had been looking at. “Ah, I see you found the Codex of Infinite Planes. You’re lucky you didn’t look too long or hard into it. It steals the souls of men to keep writing itself so it can continue to have an infinite number of pages.” He mage said. “You may find yourself having troubled sleep though, as it can induce nightmares so horrible you find yourself screaming when you awake.” He paused for a moment. “If one can manage to master it they say that he can open portals to other planes of existence, like a door to heaven and hell itself.”

Dante remained silent. “Well let me see if I have anything for you to do here, Dante.” The mage turned around and started sifting through a stack of papers. He was muttering something to himself.

Dante slowly began to draw his short sword from its sheath. His heart was pounding; he struggled to keep his breathing steady. When his blade was finally out he poised himself to strike. Just before he could plunge the blade into the mage, he turned around.

“I should’ve known!” The mage cried and lifted a hand sending Dante flying back onto one of the many tables, it shattered under his weight and sent liquids, glass and other apparatus flying through the air. “The Knight sent you to kill me!” The mage yelled and threw Dante against a wall with his magic.

Dante had the breath knocked out of him. He took several deep breaths as he fell to his knees on the floor to get it back. He quickly rose and swung at the mage as he drew his other blade out. The mage side stepped the attack and Dante felt a cut form on his arm as if hit with an invisible blade.

The mage shot a beam on lighting from his staff hitting Dante clear in the chest. His muscles tensed and he fell onto a table writhing in pain. Through tear filled eyes he saw the only thing that had the potential to save his life. The Codex.

He grabbed the book with shaky hands and opened it. He was shockingly light for what it appeared to be made of. He held the open tome in front of the mage’s face. The mage stared into the pages, mesmerized as Dante had been. The pages began to turn by themselves as though a light wind blew into the room.

The mage was helpless to move his eyes from the pages. Dante took this, his only opportunity. He plunged his blade deep into the mage’s chest, piercing his heart. Dante dropped the Codex where it hit the floor next to the mage’s body and closed. Dante wrapped his cut right arm in a cloth to stop the bleeding slightly. He had burn marks on his chest where the lightning had hit and a few rings on his chain mail had melted. He felt the pain of cracked ribs from that first magical strike.


He re entered the hideout for the Brotherhood and placed the mage’s staff on the desk of the Black Knight. He slowly made his way home and nursed his wounds and repaired his armor. He fell asleep on his bed, almost out of shear exhaustion. The mage had been right though, his dreams were haunted by demons and other hellish beings.

[The Dark Knight]

A very good post Dante, you showed your weaknesses, as well as showing how Dante has become stronger.

You may update your signature appropriately.

[Dante Grixis]

Dante drew closer to his target with every step he took. He slunk like a fox through the corridors of the castle. He agilely made his way past the guards that were posted where the corridor met the others. He paused when he reached a room of no real note, but his target lie within. He quietly picked the lock on the door and gently pushed it open. He entered the large, dark chamber.

He could see the four poster bed, and the form of Arthur Pendragon lying on it, his chest rising and falling regularly. He held his breath as he slid his long sword form its sheath, the sound of metal sliding on metal resonating through the room. He saw his blade glowing a cold green, he had never seen that before. The carved skull that the blade jutted from seemed to be smiling.

He approached the bed and plunged the blade through the chest of the sleeping Prince. He smiled sickly to himself when he suddenly felt a pain in his chest. He looked down to see that he had a hole in his sternum, blood flowed freely from it onto his armor and the floor beneath him. In horror he looked back at Arthur and saw that it wasn’t the Prince, but himself lying on the bed, eyes wide staring in pain and shock back at himself.

Dante sat bolt upright on his bed sweat covering his face and bare chest. He was breathing heavily. He looked around the room in a panic before finally shaking the shock of the dream from his mind.

Arthur had dominated his thoughts since he had failed to kill him a week or so before. He slowly rose from his bed and got dressed in his armor and cloak.

Arthur was the first target he hadn’t successfully killed. He was beginning to think he was loosing it, he feared that his assassin’s edge was ebbing away and his life would soon end. He put his face in his hands and sank into a chair in a corner of his small room that he called home.

He knew he wouldn’t rest easy until he proved himself Arthur’s superior. Until the Pendragon was dead and gone Dante couldn’t truly live. He slammed his fist down on a nearby table in anger and frustration. He groaned. Training was needed. His wounds from the torture chambers at Castle Pendragon reminded him that failure wasn’t an option. He felt that he was slowly loosing his grip on his life, and the fact he wasn’t in control of where his life would take him scared him.

He left his house to go to the Brotherhood hideout. During the walk he thought about his cryptic dream. It seemed to him that Arthur’s death would surely mean his own, but this was something he was ready to accept. He would willingly die to make sure that the Prince’s death was at his own hands. And what was that his blade did? He knew it was magical but what kind of magic lie dormant in the cold steel, and how did he release it? To him this dream was a signal that he as slowly falling to insanity. In the monastery they told him that vengeance could lead a man down a road of self-destruction. If it was a path of self destruction that led him to Arthur than he would follow it to the bitter end.

He tossed a beggar a few coins. While he sat, broken and beaten in the dungeons Arthur had said to him that perhaps the lows should try to get a job before they said that the Pendragons let their sons die in the cold winter or from lack of food. It was now that Dante realized that they couldn’t find work because of their socioeconomic status. It was viscous cycle of poverty that kept the lows in their position with no chance of ever rising to anything greather. This though angered him and added to his mental frustration.

He realized that he and Arthur were what happened when and unstoppable force met an immovable object. Only cataclysmic effects could result. This last though stuck in his mind and he entered the Brotherhood Guild Hall.

********************************************************************

He fell to the ground, a blade inches from his throat. Nicks and scratches littered his arms and he could feel a rather large bruise forming on his side. The he shut the pain out as he rose from the cold stone floor and picked up his weapons. His opponent, a Black Brother assassin named Hugo, looked equally as bad. They had been sparring for hours, they were drenched in sweat and breathing came in short, shallow bursts.

“You had enough Dante?” Hugo asked though breaths as Dante wiped a line of blood from his mouth. “No, again.” Dante replied simply while catching the breath. “Oh come on, we’ve been at this for hours and…” Hugo whined. Dante cut his sentence short when he yelled firmly, his voice filled with rage. “No, we go again!”

Hugo sighed and readied his blade. It was a simple long sword, almost exactly what Arthur used. Dante lashed out with both blades. His muscles ached from the strain he was putting him under, but he ignored the aches until they were barely ebbing into his consciousness. Every swing of his swords, every parry, every dodge, every strike, and every cut he sustained was increasing his skills, was bringing him closer to being able to kill Pendragon.

He was fully capable of killing him at his current skill level but he forced himself to not believe it. He would train until when the time came for his final battle with the Prince would be an easy fight, like killing anybody else.

He blocked a set of slashes from Hugo and quickly retaliated with twin stabs from his blades. The fight went on in the series of attacks and parries until Dante hit his mark. Hugo dropped his blade and Dante lowered his.

”I’m done.” Hugo said firmly and left the room. Dante cursed. He needed to find a new sparring partner. He searched the Guild for anyone willing to spar him but they all saw the insane, blood hungry, dark gleam in his eyes and declined.

When Dante left the Guild he was tired but ached for more training. Arthur’s death was his new obsession; he couldn’t, as hard as he tried, to push the thought from his head. Not now, for now it was anchored like a ship in port in his mind.

[The Dark Knight]

An excellent post, i really liked how you incorporated Dante's hate for Arthur into the training.
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