Honest Answer- How is this for the first chapter of a book?

Honest Answer- How is this for the first chapter of a book? Topic: Honest Answer- How is this for the first chapter of a book?
June 19, 2019 / By Marshan

Question: The dark, nimble figure crept through the shadows of the moonlit street with the speed of a fired arrow. He moved easily through darkness- it was one of the many skills his training had blessed him with. He glided around a small, stone house, taking care to avoid all windows and doorways. This did not take him long; he had mastered the art of stealth at the age of twelve. After leaping over a low-set fence, the man finally paused and surveyed the area. He found himself in the south-eastern corner of a stone courtyard. At the centre of the courtyard was an old well. The well was most likely not used as a water source, as the man’s keen eyes could see no traces of moss or puddles that would indicate use. The well was there for decoration, just like the trees surrounding it. The entire courtyard reeked of an alien beauty, the likes of which the man had never seen before. It took the man several seconds to tear his gaze from his surroundings. Silently, he cursed himself. He was trained to feel no pain, never to give in, and to never be distracted from his task. And now, for the sake of a mere courtyard, he was betraying these rules that had kept him alive for all these years. Having said that, there was something about the courtyard that he couldn’t let go… maybe if he stayed a bit longer… Again, the man had to snap out of his daze, something wasn’t human about this place. “This place gives me the creeps,” he finally muttered. He would never admit that anything unsettled him to anybody but himself. After a brief glance around the area, he didn’t dare to look too long, the man declared himself alone. He stepped into the light, revealing his face for the first time. His dark hair and sun tanned skin instantly marked him as a Servathanian, the desert people of the west. To add to this, his black tunic signified that he was a Necrin, one of the fierce mercenaries of Servathor. Only 25 fully fledged Necrin were ever available at any one time. This was no hindrance to them however, as it was said that a small band of these men were capable of felling entire armies. They were trained from the age of six to render themselves invisible, murder without a second thought, and to survive. Many did not make it past their first year of training. It was a tough school. The man’s nose looked like it had been broken several times without proper treatment, as it was crooked and seemed out of place. His face was coarse and rough, and he displayed a long red scar running down past his left eye. His hard features were magnified by his eyes, which were an unyielding brown. Looking into his eyes, a vigilant person could tell that he had caused the deaths of many men. He was not a man to trifle with. On careful observation of his Necrin attire, one might spot a discreet dagger sheath sewn into the man’s tunic. The sheath resided beneath his left armpit, where the tunic was at its darkest. Also, it was made from the same material as his tunic, making the dagger sheath seemingly fade into the cloth. Judging by the calluses on the Necrin’s hands, he was no stranger to daggers. What no amount of careful observation would detect was the hidden dagger tucked securely into the back of his right boot. “Yes,” he thought grimly, “this dagger had caused the deaths of many unwitting victims, who had thought they had disarmed him. The man looked up into the night sky. All Necrins had the ability to accurately tell the time from the stars. Skills such as these were important in the lives they lived. “It’s time,” he said quietly to himself. In a flash he had moved across the courtyard, clambered up the wall of a low-set house, and was jumping from roof to roof, closing in on a large house in the distance. The Necrin smiled to himself. He remembered practicing just this in what seemed like eons ago… running from the Servathanian guards after stealing several loaves of bread. ‘Practice makes perfect’ he had always told his friends. His mood suddenly took a dark turn. That was before he had joined the Necrins… not that he had much choice. They were willing to take him in after what happened to his family. He owed them his life. The Necrin shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He was getting close to his destination now; there was no room for error, no room for emotion. He must once more become as impassive and as uncaring as the stone beneath his feet. He was a Necrin, not a man. As he drew closer to the house, he realised that his first assumption about the house’s size was dreadfully inaccurate. The house wasn’t just large, it was enormous. The Necrin knew that even some castles were dwarfed by this magnificent structure. See Honest Answer- How is this for the first chapter of a book 2 for the rest of the chapter...

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