axelstruts

Evil Owl for the win!


Here is a section of a story that I am working on. Would love constructive criticism

My initial thought of just leaving the house without saying a single word is proving to be very hard. The pressure building behind my eyes I simply decide I need a outlet for the feelings. I know that Ash likes to spend some afternoons trying to write poetry, so there is paper and a ink pen lying around somewhere in the house. After half an hour or so searching through different drawers in the house I finally find the pen, paper and ink. The search would probably have taken around 5 minutes during day time but searching through various drawers is hard when you are trying to not wake anyone up. I managed to gently clink the pen against the ink container and it made a small ringing sound, for a couple of seconds I was morbidly afraid that it was going to wake up Ash but it did not. The jet-black cold pen feels out of place in my big rough hands as I start writing my letter to Ash. All the letters that are appearing on the paper look rough, very rough. My schooling has been very poor, the only reason why I can read is so that I can recognize names and locations for assassination purposes. Nobody wants an articulate or too intelligent killer on their hands. Imagine if a poet turns an assassin, not long after he is writing poetry about blood or the person that he killed. Creating a nice little trail straight back to the killing scene or god forbid the person that hired him. Also the fear of blackmailing and a lot of backstabbing can be prevented with having a stupid assassin. If they are stupid obviously they would not be able to make a greater plot. Despite all of this, I consider myself to be quite intelligent, obviously not compared to many of the royals or higher up people who only think throughout their entire lives. I have never had issues with coming up with plans on how to best kill someone so I must be smarter than what most people give me credit for. However, writing a letter about my feelings proved a little bit out of my league. I throw away paper after paper, failure after failure when it comes to trying to express my feelings. My palms get sweaty and my hand is starting to get cramped up for trying to forcefully write the letters that I want. The only thing that I want is to write how much I love her and that I will do anything to come back to her. The scribbling and frustration with my own stupidity continues and tears are not far away, I feel like a failure as a lover. For the first time in my life I wish I was one of the silver tongued bards going around making money from wooing women with their songs. Time continues to pass, suddenly something Balf told me ages and ages ago comes to mind and it finally removes my writers block and I write:

Dear Ash,

I do not want you to be sad, the only thing I ever want is for you to be happy. If anything goes wrong I don't want you to mourn, if you need to cry please gather all your sadness into a single tear and make it a good one.

I promise, I swear that no matter what happens I will find my way back to you!

Forever yours

Maxel

The letters are ugly and I can only pray that she understands the message of the letter but overall I am content with how the letter turned out. I leave the note just sitting on the kitchen table and walk out to the stables, again tears start streaming down my cheeks. It all feels like a bad dream, my body does not feel like my own as it sneaks out the wooden front door. The best way of describing it all is that I simply do not feel alive, my heart is left behind and what now walks across the front lawn towards the stables is a ghost. The soothing noise of horses sleeping can be heard from within, I light another candle before entering the stables. In the stables the chest with my battle equipment is standing right next to the horse pen. The horses are firm asleep, my horse wakes up and greets me as I walk through the door with my candle. I pet him gently as I saddle him up, somehow he seems to have noticed my sadness because even for a battle trained horse he was quiet. He has also made up quite a poor report when it comes to stubborn behavior but tonight he is very obedient which makes me feel a slight relief. Thanks to this it did not take more than 20 minutes or so to actually prepare the horse for the long ride ahead of us. Food and water bags are light, there is only a full days ride to the place where I am supposed to meet up with the soldiers that I am to command for this mission. The final thing before leaving is that I walk over and open up the armory chest. My swords reflect light into my eyes from the candle-light giving them a dark luster. Every small kink in the edge is from battles and I find myself to wonder how many lives they have extinguished. The dark luster seemingly a smile, they are happy to once again face battle, forever thirsty for more blood and bile. I take them in my hands rest the dull side against my forehead, the metal is soothingly cold, before letting a couple of swings out in frustration. Anger explodes inside my mind, I hate the situation that I am in. After a couple of swings my anger subsides and I start thinking about the grip of the swords. The leather wrapping is slightly old and too dry, I make a mental note that I need to change it, I hang the swords across my back. As I close the chest I think to myself that after this is all done, the chest with all my armor and so forth will be thrown into the lake. The swords will have to stay, after all who knows what sort of people that might decide to visit in the middle of the forest. As I walk out of the stables, I am still afraid that any light or noise would wake up Ashleigh, so instead of lighting a torch and get on the horse I walk the horse slowly next to me whilst using the same candle. I go past the house on the way into the forest, despite the burning need to say goodbye, to turn around, just to see her one more time before leaving for this mission I brace myself swallow very hard as me and my horse disappear into the darkness.