Darrian-mun has placed into my possession the draft of an excellent story he is in the workings of about his character. He wants it made known that this is not completed in the least, and only a rough draft, due for many revisions and improvements in the future no doubt. He wishes that any of you who read it give him feedback, and he can be reached on the AIM sn Darian Nightshade. Thanks all of you who take the time to read this, you won't regret it. I guarantee that much. Enough of my babbling.

Darrian Nightshade: The Chronicles of an Assassin.
(Told from an omniscient point of View)

Background: Darrian Nightshade (The main focus character of this story) is a character of mine I Role Play (RP) with on-line. He is one of the most well known, and influential "People" in the realm the Role Play is staged in, on aim. (Aol Instant Messenger) Everyone knows, and most fear his martial ability. He was one of the first "Vampires" to be introduced into that world, and thus is a very powerful character.. If you want his actual background, ask and I will give you that in another story. Most of this story will be taken from actual RP "logs", now a log is a copy and pasted actual typed script of interaction between two or more people at any given time.. I thought I would let you know that, because I feel that it gives you a better feeling for who, and what he is, his life, and how people truly respond to his presence.

Chapter One, The Beginning:

Darrian casually strolled into the bar, looking his usual best in a tight, immaculate and form fitting black Armani suit, with a black button down silken shirt, and a crimson tie. He wore his hair, in a fashionably pulled back pony tail, also raven colored..His left ear pierced with a small platinum hoop. Perched on his nose were a pair of wrap around mirrored Ray-Ban sunglasses, hiding twin oculars of deep sparkling emerald. No pupils, whites.. anything remotely resembling a normal eye was missing, instead in its place was that deep emerald hue.. His heels made sharp staccato clacks as he slowly strode to his usual table, off to the left of the center of the room, and away from most of the other, more unrefined, and under trained combatants of the room.. Who were always trying to best him in combat to prove how good they were, only to find themselves in pine boxes time and time again..

Most heads of the room turned to note the handsome young man's entrance, most looks tainted with loathing of the untouchable man's fighting style, and his almost second nature ability to take out multiple men at once, and not even break a sweat. A few of the more motley bunch decided to start some trouble, already having had a few beers in their stomach, and figuring the beer would only make them better fighters. Two men rose, and plodded to the well dressed Assassin, looking him over slowly, hands on the hilts of their short swords.. thinking the lithe man was going to be easy pickings..

Darrian simply stood up, and passed a hand lightly over his clean shaven, caramel toned jaw, looking at the "Lesser" persons before him.. "And those had better stay put, unless you with them to be in your eye sockets, you uncultured oafs."

Them two men sniggered slightly, and made a move to draw the blades. That is when all Hell proverbially broke loose. Darrian whipped up one hand, in a right uppercut to the first man's jaw, sending him reeling back, and at the same time had a slender dagger drawn with his left hand.. The injured man we shall call Number 1(for the sake of argument), spat a tooth out sloppily and sneered, blood dribbling down his split lip, and chin.. Actually looking better for the wear.. His companion actually got his blade up and out for a fast thrust into Darrian's exposed kidney.

Darrian spun quickly to the side.. to avoid the sword blade so eagerly seeking his Necroflesh, and extended his arm out slightly to catch Number 2's cheek in a whirling back fist.. The second Man's head snapped back and to the side, blood fountaining from a broken nose. The dagger flashed up quickly, sending an arch of blood to jet from Number 2's now severed jugular vein.. Without missing a step the whirling Armani clad dervish threw the dagger into Number 1's shoulder, embedding it up to the hilt, the point dripping red from the back of the now useless arm, which the wounded man dropped to knees, holding it, growling in pain.

"You were warned were you not?" The cocky man spoke in the same soft even tone as before, knowing he had the first assailant where he wanted him..

The other man grunted an answer through the haze of pain clouding every racing thought.. Memories of past jobs flashed through the man's eyes, as Darrian sharply roundhouse kicked him in the left temple, sending the man hurtling through both the air, and oblivion.. He slowly cleaned the dagger, his trusty serrated blade gently stroking against the Second assailant’s shirt front. He looked up, and not an eye batted in the bar, barely even any notice had been lavished on the fight.. them being so common in his presence..

Deftly stepping steel toed dress shoes over the pooled blood at the severed neck of someone Darrian really didn't care enough to clean up, knowing it would all be taken care of by the staff in short order.. Besides, blood looked bad on expensive Italian leather.. he moved back to his seat, shortly there after ordering a goblet of wine from a leggy and fairly good looking barmaid, and casually sipped at the Raspberry flavoured vintage. A few more less acknowledged bar fights broke out in long winded verbal, then long, repetitive scuffles, in which little blood was drawn, and fewer lives lost than when he "worked."

He stood and moved to the bar to pay his tab, and a few moments later, moving quickly along worn (and chances are bloodstained given the attitude of the room at large) floor boards. He quickly stepped out of he bar, being eyed by everyone, rumors passing from ear to ear about the shady business of the tall man as he left..

Most men assumed Darrian was simply an animal in a "human" shell, given his almost thoughtless and remorseless killing ability, but he was far beyond that. Assumptions were made by the ill informed about things that they dare not speak of in the others company.. Darrian was a trained fighter, schooled in a few forms of Martial Arts, namely: Judo, Tae-Kwan-Do, Kung Fu (Emphasizing speed, agility, and the ability to block and strike in one maneuver, instead of blocking and then striking in separate motions such as Tae-Kwan-Do students were taught) and Caporiea, a Brazilian Martial Art form with fluid graceful moves, almost dance like, very acrobatic.. Darrian excelled at that form.. (See "Only the Strong" for an example of that style.. good movie..) Darrian simply would not see it fit to have a long brawl, rather placing a few well aimed blows at vital areas and calling it a proverbial day on that. Others liked to make themselves look better by taunting/mocking their opponents, Darrian cared not for others thoughts really, rather caring only for what he thought..

Every Assassin (with the occasional exception) belonged to a guild. Darrian was a Shadow Walker. A virtually unknown Assassin's guild of the realm.. Darrian wore a signet ring of the academy, a silver ring with an onyx top.. Silver letters "S" and "W" monogrammed onto the onyx. With his position came responsability, and that was one that Darrian took very seriously. Darrian considered himself if anything, always on call, and always to behave in a manor to reflect positively to his guild. To do anything less would be a disgrace to both himself, and his faction.

Chapter Two: Fatima and Suffa

The tall dark man stepped to the tavern again, this time at noon. About twelve meters from the door he caught a whiff of jasmine. Darrian threw himself down and to the left, narrowly avoiding a blade whistling through the air, aimed for his head. He came up in a half crouch, and spoke only one word, in a part growl, part purr.. "Fatima"(Fah-Thi-Ma)

The young lady before him adjusted her grip on the Damascene scimitar, and mockingly half bowed to Darrian, her darker skin starkly contrasting the light tone of the baby powder blue, and white silks she was garbed in. "The same as always then Mr. Nightshade?" Her voice was pure velvet.. unfitting of a woman such as her..

Darrian's thoughts flitted back to a month before, when he had a confrontation with Fatima's brother Suffa (soo-faa).. The idiot had the audacity to actually throw wine on Darrian's four thousand dollar suit. Unfortunately Suffa did not retain the ability to walk away from the dispute.. he didn't have well.. his head for one. Ever since then, Fatima had tried to kill the Shadow Walker.. to no avail.

The two men stood in a quiet, small field of wild flowers, their heavy perfume almost intoxicating. Darrian had a dagger drawn, Suffa was prepared to do battle with his scimitar. With a lurch, Suffa had leapt through the air, scimitar a blur as it eagerly sought out Darrian's head. Darrian side cart wheeled without the aid of his hands, to the side, narrowly avoiding the blow, and toe kicked the passing man in the rib cage, eliciting a satisfying half grunt half groan as the larger (6'7") man's floating rib snapped under the pressure of Darrian's foot.

The Samoan doubled over from the force of the impact of the shoe into his ribs. Darrian smirked at the cocky mortal, who was now horribly off balance, and simply shoved the human to send him sprawling into the fragrant, almost carpet, of wild flowers at their feet. "You had better move along boy, before you further invoke my wrath.." Darrian's voice fairly dripped with barely contained animosity.

With a soft growl and a muffled groan of pain, Suffa stood and slammed a meaty fist into the arrogant, and unsuspecting vampire's jaw.. Darrian was floored from the impact of the over head left hand to his face.

He lay on his back, almost literally seeing stars, while the enraged Samoan towered over him.. "Look at you... you're a little bitch..." Suffa almost spat the words out at the prostrate form of the suited man, almost begging for him to rise again, for another.

The Armani clad fighter flipped up to his feet, by rolling back onto his shoulders and launching himself up, and landing on the balls of his feet.. Fighting down the rage that threatened to assimilate every fiber of his being. Darrian spun to the left, and extended his leg up, the side of his foot catching the face of Suffa in a spinning crescent kick, and coupled with a cheekbone shattering hook as he came out of the spin, sent the massive Samoan to reeling back to the floor. "And who is the little bitch now jackass? You honestly thought that you could beat me?”

The large man only nodded as he stood, blood dripping down his jaw line, and breath coming in ragged gasps, as he drew a dagger and hurled it. The point entered at just a hare above Darrian's navel, and he fell back gasping sharply as the tip drove deeper into his body, black blood oozing from the wound as he tore free the weapon. He leapt with a snarl of rage at Suffa, and preformed a series of mid air pugilistic skills that will never be matched in this age. Then the "smoke" settled, Darrian's hands were full.. of a head and a bloody scimitar, having used Suffa's own scimitar to take his life. He disgustedly cast the weapon aside, and departed from the scene, the hole in his stomach knitting itself back together as he moved.

Thoughts flicked back to the here and now.. He spread his feet back slightly, hands up.. He was ready. The woman before him simply stood her ground, awaiting his attacks. Darrian smirked slightly as he reached into his suit coat, and drew his trusty serrated dagger. As he reached into his coat, she rushed him, and leapt through the air in a blur, trying to remove his head with one clean sweep of her blade, only to be stopped short by a counter leap, in which at the apex of the jump, he extended his leg. Her head snapped back as she flipped in mid air, landing stomach first on the concrete of the road.. "Same as always Fatima?" He smirked softly, knuckles white on the pommel of his dagger.

In a crunch of bone, she set her now bloodied nose back into place, and smiled a sick smirk at him, as if he had done as she had expected..

(From this point on is newly added fic)

While she made to stand back up, Darrian attempted to skip forward, and slam the heel of his shoe into her Jaw, unfortunately, she had easily slapped his foot away with her off hand, and shoved the end of her almost Katana like Scimitar into Darrian's right shoulder. He dropped the dagger from the now useless arm, and groaned muffled in pain, as his teeth clenched shut to deprive her of knowing she hurt him.

He leapt up, spinning to have his back to her. He cleared about four feet of air before slamming his foot back, and into her chest, sending her hurtling through the air into a wall, blood leaking from her mouth now, as he caused internal bleeding from bone splinters from her ribs and possibly parts of her spinal column.

Her hand flew to the baby powder blue silken sash, now with deep red spatters marring the flawless surface, and she threw a vial at Darrian, a greenish black liquid spraying at him. Molecular acid.. He leapt up again, taking to what was almost naturally his element, and over the acid, extending both of his feet forward into a double front kick into her stomach. He back flipped away, as she grunted and doubled over from the impact..

She screamed a horrible cry of anger, and lurched at him, swinging again at his head.. He was, as always, expecting that maneuver. He ducked under it and took her arm, bending it up at the elbow, shattering the bone. He then reversed the momentum of her blow, and turned the blade on its owner, the pint entering at her navel, and exiting dripping a deep red out of her spine. With a gurgled cry, she slumped to the floor, left to bleed to death.. Crimson slowly streaming from both her mouth, and her back.

Darrian finally made it into the bar, not really too discouraged by the recent killing he had. Why should that stop all his fun? He leaned slightly on the door frame, the tear in his shoulder quite visible, black blood staining the suit a few shades darker then it was before. The angry red and raw tear in his flesh already starting to close itself, no scar tissue forming, as was the usual.

He gazed quietly about the room, his eyes finding a tall (6'1) and thin man at the third stool on the bar. He had his back to Darrian, blonde hair cascading in a waterfall down to his mid back. Finally Darrian had found his target. He casually strolled over to Asher Ritszun, and sat down. "You know Deedlit?"

Ritszun, the leathery skinned human, turned slightly to look over the man before him, and nodded once "I know the Bit..". That was all he got out, before Darrian's fist crumpled his windpipe. The last thing Asher saw or heard, was Darrian's face moving in closer, to whisper in his ear "Never ever mess with a female friend of mine." Asher managed a few wheezing gasps and fell silent, eyes wide in a stare of death. Darrian shoved him off the stool, and took it himself. He looked to the Bartender, who now had a blanched face, and ordered a goblet of wine, which he accepted with a slight smile, and a gracious nod of his onyx bobbed head.