BODYAGENT7'S PROFILE

I would like to be a writer for games, so here's a demonstration of my writing.
It's the first chapter of a book I am writing, so it's kind of long.
Also, it's just the rough draft, but I need to focus on finishing the story before going back and polishing it up more...



Forge craned his neck to get a better view of the courtyard below. Far beneath the old walls to which he clung, moonlight and shadow spun into a tangled mess of shapes and figures. Through the veil of night, no movement could be seen, no signs of life heard. He allowed himself to breathe, and quickly but silently pulled his lean frame up and over the wall.

Descending into the darkness, he could begin to make out several bodies lying motionless across the ancient marble floor. He took a tentative step toward them and immediately froze upon hearing a barely audible crunching sound beneath his foot. He dared not move a muscle, even as a faint golden glow illuminated the area around him. He had revealed his location, but it seemed that no one at this protest meeting was still awake, if they were even alive. He picked up the sunstone and held it out in front of him, casting light towards the sleeping protestors. Each one had a scarlet bloodstain on their chest. The color was very odd; not black like that of an Offspring, but much too dark for any normal redblood to have. Prying his eyes from the disturbing scene, he sent a silent prayer up to Mael for being privileged with divine blood. Not that the goddess of storms cared about what her children thought of her.

Even after searching through every bag and jacket, Forge found nothing but more sunstones and a few coins. The Body had sent him to this ruined temple because they felt threatened by the thought of a mass of redblood protestors, but it seems this meeting was for these poor souls to sacrifice themselves as a statement to the government. Forge sent up another prayer, asking for mercy on the souls of those resting here. Not that the gods cared about the dearly departed. Caring, protecting, and guiding the masses was the duty of The Body nowadays. The gods left only their children, and so Nissida must be taken care of by them. Although Forge didn’t always agree with the actions his government took, it wasn’t his place to argue, and the only alternative was anarchy and chaos. At least that’s what he was told. Someone else had told him that the system Forge and all the other Offspring worked for was corrupt, and that the redbloods deserved to be treated fairly. In fact, that very person was at the head of this meeting, and his target.

“Hec…” a weak voice whispered. Forge jumped at the sound, frantically searching for whoever had called him. Only his superiors knew that his real name was Hec, and only one of them would ever use it: D’Ria, the woman who had been turning everything he thought he knew upside down for years. Forge saw her figure desperately hanging onto the podium. He rushed to her side and carefully lowered her into a sitting position. “Hec,” she said again, her eyes reflecting affection and confusion. She looked young and beautiful as always, but even her brilliant alchemy couldn’t disguise the age in her voice. For twenty years she has done strange things to herself to retain a youthful body. A dreadful thought flashed through Forge’s mind as he recalled D’Ria explaining her potions, poisons, and plans for helping her fellow redbloods in the fight against discrimination. Did she do this?

“What did you do?” Forge whispered, trying to sound calm and collected.

“They’re… alive. And when they wake up, they will be equal to, no, above, any Offspring!” she responded, her eyes widening as she envisioned the future she dreamed of.

“Then can you explain why they’re all bleeding on the floor? It looks like another massacre in here!”

She pulled out a thin blade decorated with strange symbols and coated with that strange dark blood. “Normally if my target pulls a knife on me I’m supposed to cut them down,” Forge pretended to laugh at his own horrible joke. He needed to lighten the mood for his own sake if not for hers. He put a finger to D’Ria’s lips; he didn’t want to hear her explain why everyone at her meeting had apparently stabbed themselves with her age-stopping needle. “I trust you on this… sort of. You say they’re alive, so I’ll believe it. Besides, you know I’m here to spy on you; I don’t want to get you in even more trouble!”

“But Hec, you don’t have to report this to them! Please, just join our cause already, you and old Sarkhan are the only ones who understand! You two are all I have left after…” her voice trailed off and her eyes filled with tears. She didn’t need to go on, Forge already knew about Seren, her dead husband. He was a son of Mael as well, but was put to death by the Body for having a child with D’Ria. And Sarkhan, who raised Forge from birth, was cursed to live with the traitor’s blood on his hands.

“He was a brave man. And kind. He…” Forge struggled to find the words to say. It was always difficult for him to comfort others, especially when they are mourning an old lover and you are their new one.

“…was just like you,” D’Ria managed a smile. Forge responded with a flash of his own teeth, although he never considered himself to be brave or kind. Even though he resembled Seren a little, the two had drastically different views and morals. While Seren refused to take a life even in defense, Forge lived by the sword, bringing justice by eliminating the guilty. Not wanting to dwell on such thoughts, he turned his attention back to his companion, who was now attempting to stand. She pulled him up as well, wrapping him in a warm, albeit weak, embrace. Their eyes met, and they could clearly see what was stirring in each other: happiness, fear, rebellion…


“I would say ‘I expected better from you’, but then I would be lying.” A voice pierced the night, hitting Forge and D’Ria with enough force to make both of them cringe. A tall, elderly woman emerged from the shadows, her silent and graceful movements sharply contrasting her cold, gravelly voice. Every aspect of her appearance resonated with her strict demeanor: she stood with rigid posture, her commander’s outfit pulled too tightly to allow even one wrinkle. The woman brushed aside a rogue silver hair that had dared to fall out of place as she continued to stare at the couple with repulse.

“Creca,” Forge choked, buckling under the icy gaze of his superior. While she hunted in the darkness like any other Offspring of Canis, this wolf hated anything remotely wild or savage. Indeed, Creca preferred to tear her prey apart in a civilized manner. “Why are you here? You sent me alone on this mission.”

“Yes, your mission was to spy on D’Ria and her little group of rebels. I, however, have been on the hunt for a possible traitor in the midst of the Body. And my, it seems that you were the one I was pursuing! I cannot say that I am surprised.”

“What? Do you seriously suspect me of treason?” Forge was furious at the prospect of being the next victim of Creca’s paranoia. Countless seemingly innocent lives had been ended by the crazed commander and the fear she injects into the Body. The state he and D’Ria had been found in did nothing to help, either. “With all due respect, ma’am,” he choked out.

“Save your breath, worm, I have no need for the words of traitors to the Body. If you wish to prove yourself innocent, strike this insurgent down!” Creca pointed a bony finger at D’Ria, who was still struggling to stand on her own two feet.

Forge spat at the ground and raised his hands above his head. There was no chance in hell of him killing his lover. And even if he did, Creca would say that he was guilty of murdering a commander. But as he opened his mouth to protest, he noticed several shadows descending the walls around him. It seemed as if Creca really did expect him to either submit to authority or die as a traitor, and had brought witnesses. Only now did Forge realize that he could no longer walk the line between Offspring and redbloods, and that he only had a few short moments to choose a side.

Even more Body agents were encircling the scene, some of which Forge recognized. A short boy in an oversized cloak held a dagger with shaking hands. Why was Peck, a kid half the height and age of everyone else, here? Beside Peck was his older brother, Fredrik, who had been Forge’s closest friend and reliable partner on missions. He was fighting back tears underneath his hood, refusing to make eye contact. Forge scanned the crowd, losing resolve with every familiar face that stared back at him. Another agent pushed others aside to stand at the front beside Creca. The long silver hair under the black hood caught Forge’s eye and caused his heart to stop. Slowly, the face that he dreaded to see the most came into light as the hood was pulled back. Luna stood at her aunt’s side with a smirk. He looked down in shame, his face burning red. How could he face this embarrassment? His ability to move and think was utterly crushed under the pressure. To his own surprise and disgust, Forge found himself unsheathing one of his swords and turning towards D’Ria. He kneeled down beside her, tilting his blade down to her chest, unable to react to the war that was being waged inside him.

“Don’t do it, Hec, please,” she cried, grabbing the sword by its blade. Her hand bled as she tried to stop the attack. Forge saw the unnatural blood and lost his last shred of control, putting his full strength and weight into the thrust. The blade dug in deep, the hilt resting upon her gushing heart. Forge’s senses returned, frozen in shock at the sight of what he had done. He still couldn’t move, but he desperately wanted to close his eyes, to retreat.

“Hec, what have you done?” D’Ria whispered, shaking her head in disapproval. Forge’s eyes flicked open in surprise. She seemed completely unfazed by the lethal strike, save for her face, which seemed to say, ‘you really messed up.’
Suddenly, the ground shook violently, and the temple floor exploded. Body agents fortunate enough to be at a safe distance raised their weapons, ready for instructions. From holes in the ruined foundation came disfigured shadows that attacked the agents with blinding speed. A battle ensued, black and scarlet blood staining the walls. On instinct, Forge drew his other sword, moving into a ready stance. His eyes darted from place to place, taking in the danger. He flinched upon meeting eyes with Creca, whose anger alone seemed to keep the attackers far away. She began walking towards him, taking the sword of a fallen agent for herself. Forge tried to take a step backwards and tripped over D’Ria. They both lay pinned to the spot as Creca approached with inhuman speed, ready to run the traitors through. Forge closed his eyes, waiting for a cold blade to bring his end. He only heard a heavy thud. He cautiously opened one eye. Creca’s body lay motionless on the floor, several arrows protruding from her back. He managed to pull himself off of D’Ria, when he felt a small stinging sensation in his leg. The explosions and clanging of metal began to sound distant, and his vision was blurring. He thought he saw a cloaked figure holding a bow turning away. A lock of silver hair was the last thing Forge saw before the world faded into darkness. “Luna…” he mumbled.