Preview of my Highlander fanfic.

Oke, I'm slowly working on this, and it's my first serious attempt at writing anything besides Trek (which I'm not good at, BTW )

Anyway, here it is, the prologue of the story. It's gonna be novel sized, I hope. The total thing will be either a downloadable .doc file, or a HTMl with several pcitures in it, which I will shoot myself, with some friends.


________________________________


They were with us then, and they are with us now.

Immortals.
Driven to fight a seemingly endless battle, until the Gathering, when the few who remain, will fight for the ultimate Prize. There is only one way to kill an Immortal. And that is by taking his head. When one Immortal beheads another, his life force, his Quickening, flows into the Immortal that has taken his life. The Game has been going one for millennia, and if so, could take millennia more.

This is the story of one of these Immortals. His name is Nicolas Moran, born in 1659, in the city of Prague. He became Immortal in 1683, and for more then 300 years he has wondered the world, trying to live a peaceful life, and only participate in the game when he had no other choice.
But, as it is in life, the choice is not always ours.




The buzz in his head could not have come at lousier time.
Karl had come to Berlin for a few wild nights one the town, pick up some women and get drunk as often as he could. And the buzz, telling him a fellow Immortal was close by, was the last thing he needed.
Not that he wasn’t ready. His sword was tucked away under his long brown coat, and he was forever grateful he hadn’t had too much to drink tonight, however long that forever may be. His fighting skill weren’t exactly at his best when he was drunk. Karl stopped dead in his tracks, alarming the blond at his side.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, a little tipsy from all that wine. Karl looked at the girl, knowing he had to get rid of her. She wasn’t very special to him or anything, but having a mortal witness what was about to come was something most Immortals tried to avoid, knowing very well that in these days, beheaded corpses were thoroughly investigated by the local police forces, and that wasn’t something Karl was looking forward to.
“No, everything’s fine, I just realized that I left my wallet at the bar. Would you be a dear and get it for me?” She was about to tell him who the hell he thought he was, having her fetch his wallet. But then she looked into his eyes, those blue eyes, and melted, just like she did in the bar. Those eyes, she cursed to herself. Those damned eyes. The young man may have looked like he was in early 30’s, but he eyes revealed a wisdom and knowledge she had only ever seen in older men. And just like in the bar, she fell for it again. She ran he hand through is short dark hair, kissed his cheek, and walked the few streets back to the bar. When she was completely out of sight, Karl turned around, and drew his broadsword.
“Alright, show yourself, who ever you are.” For a few seconds everything remained perfectly still, until Karl heard a soft ticking sound coming out of the alley about 10 meters ahead. From the alley, a man covered by a black hooded cloak walked up to a few feet of Karl. In his left was a cane, about 3 and half feet long, also black, with a silver knob at the head. His face was covered by the shadow of the hood, and with it being night, their wasn’t much change of any light to fall on his face. Karl couldn’t help but to feel a slight shiver go up his spine. Then, the hooded man spoke.
“Hello Karl.” Karl tried to hide his surprise, but to no avail. He quickly to a defense posture, holding his sword in such a manner he was able to parry a blow from a sword, but also to be the first to try and swing at this opponent.
“How do you know my name?” Karl demanded. He thought a heard a slight chuckle from under the hood. “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for a few weeks now Karl. I try to get to now my opponents a bit, study their techniques. It makes fighting them quite easier.”
“Well, let me tell you this, I’ve around for a few hundred years, and you think that you can learn enough to defeat me with ease, in just a few weeks? Well, guess again!!” Karl shouted, and crossed the few feet between them with one big step and lunged his sword at his opponent. The sword sliced through the air, heading for the neck of the hooded Immortal, expecting to sever the head with one fast blow. What he found was a blade, shining under the light of a nearby streetlight. He quickly ran his eyes over his opponents, trying to get a clue of were the sword came from. Suddenly he noticed that the cane the man was carrying was missing the knob, and a part of the cane itself. It took a second before Karl figured it out: a cane sword!! But his adversary gave no more time to think about it, for his sword was already in motion. It took all of Karl’s speed and training to parry the blow. But again, the moment his sword touched the cane-sword of the hooded man, the cloaked figure already began moving his sword to strike again. That routine went on for about a minute, until Karl was finally getting the hang of it, getting a sense of what his challenger was doing, and he thought he’d seen a way of taking him down.
So, when Karl saw the sword coming for his neck again, he prepared to parry it, drive the sword away, and chop of the head of man in black. But when the parry was made, nothing was there. No sword, no man. They were both suddenly gone. Karl turned around, figuring that the man was behind. As he turned, he realized what a foolish mistake he was making. He swung his sword around, hoping to defect the move that he knew was coming. But he was to late. The blade of his challenger’s sword was driven deep into his heart. The shock of pain was intense. His sword dropped out of his hand, clattering on the street. He tried to fight it, resist the pain, but it was of no avail. He might’ve been Immortal, but pain was something he could still feel. He looked up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the face of the man that was about to take his head, and with it, his soul. What he saw frightened Karl.
For all he saw, were his eyes. They seemed almost black, so dark were they. And in these eyes was a look of triumph, of determination, the look of someone who was willing to do everything to obtain his goal. But Karl’s thoughts stopped there. He could feel the cold steel of the sword being pulled from his chest, and he fell to his knees, preparing for what was to come. And just the before the killing blow came, he could hear the hooded man speak, with something in that voice Karl had also seen in his eyes: triumph. “There can be only one!”
And then it was over. The blade cut through his neck like a hot knife through butter. A soft thump was heard as Karl’s head fell to the ground, next to his sword. The hooded man sheathed the blade back in the cane in one swift motion. Then it hit him. The Quickening. Lighting was hitting him, striking his body everywhere. Windows in the buildings around him exploded, and above all that, a scream, a terrible scream, of pain, of joy, of pure ecstasy. When it was all over, the cloaked Immortal fell to his knees, trying to catch his breath. When he was fully recovered, he chuckled softly, and under his breath muttered: “Next…”