Alright Gamercide, I like to write things and I finished this short story July 28th, 2011. I've always been kind of scared of my ability to write, but I want your honest opinions. Hold nothing back in your criticisms. Here it goes.
 

 

Cold Blood

By: Morrslieb

 

The blood in Michael de Fourniret ran cold as the lifeblood of his enemy splashed on his hands. Geoffrey Jégado, the son of the well-known hero Gareth Jégado, had just fallen onto his blade. As the terror struck home inside of him he grew sick and became violently ill on the cobblestone, his last meal lost to the rats that plagued this city. It had been a simple matter of honor; Geoffrey had insulted a young woman in Michael's company, the affront was to be a simple duel. No bloodshed, just a match of wills and steel until surrender. But that didn't matter now; Geoffrey was lying on the street, dead in a pool of blood with his sword sticking out of his back. A few of the more ravenous rats had already ventured forth to circle the body, brave enough to circle but wary enough to not to plunge right in. "Rats," Michael muttered as he drew his sword from its fleshy scabbard, "Always rats in this damn city." With a quick glance upward the time registered to Michael, it was almost midnight.

 

He walked quietly through the streets, sticking to the shadows. Suddenly he was grabbed from behind and the naked steel of a blade pressed to his throat, a coarse voice whispered, “Make a move and you die." It was all Michael could do to not slit his own throat on the serrated edge as he was guided into an alley way and then through a hastily open door. Michael was forced into a chair as a lantern was lit. With his body held down by the big man behind him and a dagger at his throat claustrophobia began to set in. His fear evaporated into a haze of astonishment in a heartbeat when he realized he was across a room from his family, all chained to the wall in various positions of torture. A voice echoed out across the room, "Tie him down." A little man rushed over with ropes and tied him to the chair until he was taut against it. Completely immobilized Michael could do naught but stare up at his family in chains. A man walked up to him, face obscured by the darkness until he was close enough to make out the pockmarks that littered his face. It was Gareth Jégado, Geoffrey's father. Horror, shock and revulsion warred across Michael's face as he realized what was going to happen as Gareth smiled and hefted a skinning knife, the only emotion registering in Gareth's face was that of pure, unadulterated hatred.

 

As Gareth walked over to Michael's mother, Michael began to struggle against his bonds. Over the course of the next several hours Michael was shown his family from a completely new perspective, he now knew what a person looked like in various states of disrepair. His ceaseless struggling was fueled by his hatred of the man in front of him and his desire for escape, but his captor had tied the ropes in a perfect combination to prevent him from fleeing. He was forced to look and listen as his family was mercilessly tortured to death. When Gareth had finished with Michael's family he glared at Michael and whispered, "Let him go, he's no longer a threat to me." The bonds that had constricted Michael were cut free and he was promptly hefted up and pinned against the body of the large man that had dragged him in here. He was carried through a labyrinth of alleys and avenues and unceremoniously dropped onto the cold cobblestone. Unable to move, lying face up, Michael realized it was a hair shy of four in the morning.

 

The first inklings of dawn arose to find a man on the cobblestones. Unlike the drunken beggars that it was used to, this man had a purpose. His face was haunted by the shades of his family, grief was evident. But something set him apart, he clamored to his feet with a noticeable effort and his eyes spoke of blood and fire, a reckoning that was coming. He walked quickly down the street with a purpose and an air of defiance that caused shopkeepers to hurry back into their stores. Unbeknownst to the world, his destination was a tavern of ill repute, a place where even the vilest of men hesitate to go, The Dead Dragon. Shoving the door aside, all heads turned to witness Michael de Fourniret walk through the portal. A thump was audible over the murmur of the patrons as a rat was kicked, sprawling into the wall. In the poorly lit recesses of the tavern a man shape could be seen in the corner, silently nursing his beer. Michael hurried over to him and sat across the empty keg that passed for a table from the man. “Information” Michael breathed, procuring a coin purse from under his belt and dropping it on the table. The man reached for the purse’s drawstrings and loosened them, peering inside he saw what he was looking for and smiled, “Name?” the man asked. Michael replied, “Gareth Jégado,” a sharp intake of breath from the man. A map of the city was placed on the table with the information Michael was seeking. Before withdrawing his hand from the parchment the man cautioned Michael, the only response Michael gave him was a bearing of his teeth. Paper in hand Michael walked out of the tavern without looking back.

 

Sticking to the shadier side of town, Michael purchased a few supplies he would need for the nights work before he headed to an inn to purchase a room. As exhausted as he was, Michael’s sleep was troubled. His nightmares tore at his soul, crippling him and eradicating any thoughts he had of mercy on the man who inflicted this pain. When he awoke, dripping sweat with the coarse blankets wrapped around his legs, he looked outside to see the gathering darkness. Collecting his belongings, Michael left his room and followed the map to a spot where he could sit and watch the home of Gareth Jégado. When all of the lanterns in the house had been snuffed out, Michael made his way onto the roof of the Jégado family and broke in. Drawing his poniard, he moved stealthily to the first door, the one that contained the daughter and sole remaining child of Gareth Jégado. Peeking inside he saw that the bed was writhing and heard soft moans emanating from within the covers. Knowing that his time was limited, he closed the door softly and moved on. Passing the door that was Geoffrey’s room, Michael felt a surge of remorse and regret for the accidental death of the man. His vision swam and he gave his head a moment to clear before going to the last door of the hallway. Inside of the door muffled footsteps were audible; Michael rushed to Geoffrey’s room and hid.

 

The room smelled of stale body sweat and cinnamon, a quick glance around revealed sparse possessions. It was the room of a university boy, it was surprisingly similar to what his own looked like. The footsteps moved closer until they were just outside of the door. He started breathing heavily and felt his heart aflutter; with an effort of will he calmed himself but it was too late. A gasp was heard from the other side of the room and the woman yelled. “Damn” Michael thought as he threw open the door and ran to the window that he entered through. Footsteps marched up the stairs and Michael knew he was caught; he wouldn’t be able to reach the window before the guards were up the stairs. Shoving past the woman he ran towards the bedroom that contained Gareth. As he reached, the door the stomping of boots had reached the landing; the call of the guards was heard from behind him. Abruptly, he was slammed into by the door that was flung open as Gareth barreled out; Michael flew backwards into the wall and hit it with a sickly crunch. The taste of blood filled his mouth, causing him to wretch and vomit on the wooden flooring. He felt a sword at his chin, forcing his head up. He smiled as Gareth looked astonished, “So close.” Were the last words Michael de Fourniret ever spoke, the blade in Gareth’s hand slid forward and put inches of steel into his throat, the only thing on his mind as he died was the peeled face of his mother, leering at him.

 

Grim, but good. Held my attention real well. I also like that it didn't have a happy ending.

I know that the dialog doesn't hold up very well, so I tried to tell the story more with scenery than with words. I also dislike how everything has to end well with the hero getting their revenge but living to deal with it. So I made it real simple.