Also I would also appreceiate any comments on my humour, grammer and imagery. I haven't introduced myself before because I had a old account so I felt there was no need, but then again you probably won't remember my old account either. Note this piece is unfinished and I might not return to it because coporate officials have strapped bombs to my head with a prit stick.

Drop of blood. (working title)

Sir Edward Barnabus Vaquez sprinted across the rooftops of London. Rain pounded his slim streamlined body while lightening arced across the dismal grey sky. The frictionless surfaces of slate became more of obstacle for his confused, clumsy and slightly grumpy pursuers. The cloak of night concealed the escapist’s features all except his sharp trilby which was softly resting on his veiled head. He rolled of the edge of the rooftop landing swiftly onto his hands and raised back onto his finely polished shoes, he searched for a quick exit and spotted a carriage passing in front of the chapel. Edward leapt across to the side of the chapel gripping onto a gargoyles neck he dropped down onto a protruding plank of wood which held up a dim lantern. He dived forwards again expertly performing a somersault like a fish gleaming in the water avoiding a predator, onto a black horse carriage which proceeded to ride of out of town. The bewildered guard pursuers looked down from the roof to find no sign of their killer.

An hour earlier.

‘I assure you it will be quick and painless’
‘Please Mr.Vaquez not now I still want to live. I I will make you a wealthy man.’ He replied with a quivering smile
‘Ah Mr.Truntulo you make laugh’ the assassin said with a long thin grin.
He reached for a razor sharp dagger concealed under his jacket. He flicked his fingers on the flat side of the blade; it let out a metallic tone like a tuning fork.
‘Perfect’ he whispered rolling the r’s off his tongue.
He threw his weapon with lethal precision; it cut passed Mr.Truntulo’s neck and straight into the wall behind. The fat business man had his eyes clenched shut; he opened them to find he wasn’t dead. He hobbled along to the dagger observing it.
‘Ha you missed’ He gloated.
‘Are you sure’ Edward replied his velvet green eyes directing to the blade.
Mr.Truntulo inspected the blade again. He noticed a small stain of fresh blood on its thin killer edge. He gasped and then gurgled as a small slit in his is throat split opened, a fountain of gore. There was a heavy thud followed by a rasp gurgle. Edward stepped over his bloody corpse and reached out with his gloved hand for his weapon. He pulled out a cloth and cleaned the blade of blood. Caressing it of its victim’s fluids with his long slender fingers.
‘He’s up here!’ a guard shouted from behind the door.
‘Oh bugger!’ Edward muttered and slipped out the window holding onto his trilby.

Edward was forced to get off the carriage half an hour into the journey as he was apparently disturbing the passengers. Note to self do not flirt with the noblemen’s wife. Fortunately the mansion was only a five minute walk from his location. He ran off into the night, a thin mist cloaked the woods he fled into like a ghostly aura.

The enormous doors to Marlborough Manor swung open; professional assassins swerved there necks and pulled out their pistols. The small clicks of loaded guns broke the silence. The air stirred with a faint smell of fresh flatulence. Edward walked in laughing brushing bramble off his arms.
‘Black Boots remember to take those remedies the doctor prescribed!’ He shouted.
The man he referred to turned red and grinned nervously as several killers heads turned in slight disgust.
The guns were sheathed and the rising tension faded along with the flatulent assassins fart. Edward grabbed himself a glass of wine and headed up the elaborate staircase, the banisters which were solid gold and a famous painting was embedded into the stairs themselves.
Edward turned to the Guild master’s office walked in.
‘I wish you knocked’ the Guild master said solemnly his hooded face further hidden by a permanent shade which dwelled in the back of the room.
‘And I wished you opened your curtains’ Edward replied.
‘But then the whole “mysterious” and “shady” ambience is lost,’
The not so “mysterious” and “shady” assassin laughed loudly.
The Guild master rolled his eyes (although you wouldn’t have seen this because of the “shadiness”).
‘Anyway, your contract, you have… fulfilled the requirements I presume?’
‘Assume so, most men don’t get back up again once they have had their throats slit’ Edward said whilst sliding his finger down the edge of one of his weapons.
‘Excellent, I shall foresee you get paid your share. Our client will be most pleased’
Edward took a small sip of his wine; a small drop fell onto the desk. Edward grumbled in distaste, he reached for his cloth and wiped the stain thoroughly.
‘Always the clean man, remember when you were hesitant to shake hands with strangers, and you always hate changing your plans things have to be in order.’
‘Yes well, I best leave as I have other affairs to attend to.’
Edward left the room silently leaving the Guild master to organise.

Eric Blair's 6 rules for writing are incredibly handy, and when you learn to follow them, you find your work transcending past english assignments and becoming something.
* Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
* Never use a long word where a short one will do.
* If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
* Never use the passive voice where you can use the active.
* Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word, or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
* Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

Protip: ` != '
Also read King's "On Writing". It also helps to understand a bit of psychology and reactions which certian things illicit. Also I've not read your paragraph this is just general advice. The important thing is to go with what feels good. If you're unsure about something, wait a day and read it. Also, I find that sharing my work in the middle of doing it tends to discourage me from finishing it.

I probably wasn't going to finish it but thanks for the advice.

It seems a little purple to me, but that's more of a style thing.

Maybe check your punctuation.

I knew you would weasel your way into this thread Daniel.
Also thanks for ditching me on cod4 the other night.

What do you mean by purple?

An elder member, used to have a purple furry as an avi, now uses a purple knight.

This really isn't the best place for short stories [as I have learned]. Try a website specifically for amateur short stories, they will be much more helpful than we will.

Not a bad story, but a little dry.

Hmmm... I personally think that your characters seem... forced? I don't know how to put that...


Also: Sir Anonymous, your sig reminds me of Douglas Adams..... that was completely off topic.

YEAH DUDE TAKE IT TO THE PM'S

Yeah so Alenth is giving out warnings for saying things that are offtopic and could be said in PMs, so as a little warning everyone, try to avoid Alenth and keep little fun comments that I enjoy to PMs please.
Thanks.

I thought those were Orwell's rules?

Oh c'mon now Foa, no need to confuse the poor chap.

Purple in writing terms means overly descriptive, a lot of the time it can break the flow of the writing. Here, it somewhat relates to the rules that Jack posted.

"Rain pounded his slim streamlined body..."
Do you really need to say that his body is slim and streamlined?

"...his confused, clumsy and slightly grumpy pursuers."
That is quite a few adjectives.

The purple-ness is, of course, entirely subjective - but that doesn't mean that you don't have to watch out for it.

Adversely, I really liked "He gasped and then gurgled as a small slit in his is throat split opened, a fountain of gore".

EDIT:
I just noticed this:
"The Guild master rolled his eyes (although you wouldn’t have seen this because of the “shadiness”)."
Firstly, there is a much better way of saying this - without parenthesis.
Secondly, you've switched to second person.

George Orwell was a pen name for Eric Arthur Blair.