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Post by rihochan on Nov 23, 2006 4:11:52 GMT -5
The rules...
First- no magic Second- no espers or special techniques like in anime (sorry but as much fun as it is to write that stuff it does get boring to write about after a while) Third- the technological age is approximately the same as Europe during the 1500's, there is gunpowder, but you won't see any rifles, maybe muskets though. Fourth- Every writer will create a character of their own. This character may be injured but not maimed or killed by another person's character without permission from the victim. Scarring wounds are allowed though. Fifth- None of the cyclical one-upsmanship that you'll see in most rp's. Its perfectly logical to get revenge, but make sure it makes sense in the context of the story. Sixth- Secondary characters are not protected in any way and may be killed, maimed, or enslaved at will. ______________________________________________________
Setting, the Imperial Capital of the Mikhail nation. Since the Emperor's assassination, numerous groups have been vying to fill the power vacuum in the city. The ascension of the child heir to the throne has only made the striving more covert and vicious. The regent is having difficulty controlling his own faction, and numerous groups of nobles supporting various ideals have come forward to seek power in the city. The Assassin's guild and the Mercenary's guild have gathered a surprising amount of power and wealth from the struggle. In the Mikhail Empire, the Assassin's Guild is a semi-legal institution where one might pay money to eliminate a rival or an enemy. Unregistered assassins are hunted down without mercy by the guild. The Mercenary's guild is obviously a place where one might go to hire skilled mercenaries. The noble factions seeking power in the city are too numerous to count. The introduction of the new invention known as 'black powder' has created an uproar as various factions continue to find new and inventive ways of using it.
The city is split into five sectors, North, South, East, West, and the Imperial palace in the center. The Assassin's guild is in the south, the Mercenary's guild in the North, and there are slums on the outskirts of each of the sectors. While the nobles mostly reside inside the palace's walls, they all have manor's inside the city. The Bazaar takes up much of the Eastern Quarter and is quite lively despite the nightly bloodshed in the streets.
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Post by kenpachi on Nov 28, 2006 17:13:58 GMT -5
A haze was in the air in the slums of the western district, coal and wood smoke stinging the eyes of those who wandered in unawares, seeking another place, another lifetime. The lungs of the sick soon gave out here, consumption living up to its title.
Around one hut there was a tinge of brimstone in the air, adding to the already acrid odor found in the air. Two men walked through the door of the hut, oddly conspicuous in the clothes of nobility. One walked through, spying a form huddled over a pot suspended from the ceiling, a small fire under it. “Ahh Marcus, have you finished the order.” The form on the floor turned, revealing the face of a man, of which the only striking attribute was his lack of any, a dirt smeared face covering what would have allowed distinguishing him. “I make many orders.” Came Marcus’ voice, total apathy resounding as though the lords in front of him were common street trash, “Could you be more specific?”
The first lord looked around, impatience and worry showing in his face, “Come now you know full what I ordered, it’s the…” his voice trailing off as he tried to choose his words carefully, finally saying “The poppy medicine. That was it.” Marcus reached to a cupboard and pulled out a packet, tossing it towards the lord, “There you are. My payment please.”
The second pulled out a roll of paper and unfurled it in front of both of them, “In the name of the regent I arrest you on the charge of the trafficking of narcotics.” Marcus continued to sit in place, seemingly oblivious to what was unfolding saying again politely, “My payment please.” The arresting noble snorted and drew his sword, “Marcus the Alchemist I find you guilty of your crime. I see no need to take this to trial. We shall end this now” drawing a saber as he spoke. Marcus looked up at him with a smile, “Alchemist, huh? Nice to see I still have that title, even if it is worthless. It hasn’t held any political power since the days of my grandfather.” With that he snapped his fingers, rolling a ball towards the arresting official, an explosion knocking him off his feet. In a flash a dagger was in the noble’s throat, blood spilling down his clothes.
Marcus turned towards the remaining man, cold malice in his face. “For double I’ll make this look like an accident. No one will suspect that any of us are involved.” The noble gulped, “And what if I don’t agree?” Marcus smiled, “Opium is considered to be something nobles do not revel in. I can’t help but think what a blow to your reputation…” his voice cut off by the stammered apologies of the lord.
As he turned to leave the noble laughed nervously and remarked, “Wow, you’re even worse than your grandfather.” Marcus smiled, saying “Don’t worry, a naked body in here never raises any big questions. Not here.”
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Post by dtmd on Nov 28, 2006 18:06:57 GMT -5
Defarge was walking down the street when meteors flew out of no where and killed him.... dam... i hate the solar system lol
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Post by rihochan on Nov 29, 2006 2:09:29 GMT -5
The bazaar at night is a deathly quiet place for the most part as few people actually live there. The smells of rotting vegitable matter and cast off detritus from the butcher's shops mingled with the stench of the sewers came together to make the Bazaar a rather unpleasant place to walk.
Nonetheless, the Bazaar has to be patrolled even at night. And on that night, a young guardsman by the name of Rudolf nervously walked with his lantern through the darkened streets. He was wearing the standard outfit for a Capitol Guardsman, a blue-painted hardened leather breastplate with the star and the sword painted in silver across the front and blue cotton trousers with brown leather boots. At his side was the classic curved longsword of the guard on the left and a long curved dagger on the right. He wore a headband with no helmet, against regulations, but it was not like anyone was around to care. He thought about how he was going to buy his girlfriend that pendant she had been admiring in old Mizzrah's window when he next got his pay...
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A young girl of about eleven years of age watched the guard go by from the darkness with a small smile on her face as she drew out a small thin hiltless dagger from the sleeve of her dark brown cotton shirt and flicked it with deadly accuracy into the space beneath his ear, cutting his trachea and causing him to fall over, choking on his own blood.
Thats the last one. She thought to herself as she grabbed the roof of the stall she had been hiding in and lifted herself onto the roof in a single fluid motion. The girl's name was Mary and she had been a full member of the Assassin's Guild for more than a year. The guildmaster himself had raised and trained her from a very young age, and she was already among the best of his journeyman assassins.
This was her twentieth assignment and it came directly from the guildmaster. 'Eliminate all the guards in the northern section of the Bazaar' was the first part of her assignment and the second...
She moved quickly, lightly jumping from stall roof to stall roof, never touching down for more than a second before going to the next. She spotted the night's final quarry walking cautiously along the bridge between the northern section of the Bazaar and the eastern section of the Northern sector. It was a young noble dressed in green satin, with a red felt cap and the arms of the Martimer Clan emblazoned on the front. The Martimer clan was well known as an ambitious clan that wished to depose the child Emperor and his regent and seize power for themselves. Unfortunately for them, their efforts were clumsy at best and utterly incompetent at worst, so they had been forced into the unenviable position of bowing before the Selphic Clan, a family that supported the idea of putting power in the hands of a Noble's Council rather than the regent.
All of that was irrelevant to Mary though... for her he was just someone she had been paid to kill, it was that simple. She pulled a long, curved steel dagger out of the sheath on her back beneath her shirt with her right hand and moved swiftly and in perfect silence up behind the young noble. She considered her options for the placement of the fatal blow. She was much shorter than he was, so cutting his throat wasn't an option, and the spine might leave him alive long enough to retaliate. In the end, she made her decision and slipped a long straight dagger into her left hand and thrust both blades into his lungs from below simultaneously, cutting off his breath and bringing bloody pink froth to his lips as he collapsed to the bridge's cobbles, drowning in his own blood. Mary cleaned the straight dagger on his shirt and put it away. She then leaned over and cut his throat with the curved steel dagger in her right hand.
Having made sure of her kill, Mary quickly walked away from the scene, already licking her lips and thinking of what kind of tasty treats she could filch from the Guild kitchens.
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Post by dtmd on Nov 29, 2006 23:37:06 GMT -5
wow, you guys really think alot about this stuff hunh?
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Post by rihochan on Nov 30, 2006 19:23:30 GMT -5
Well, you really shouldn't post in this thread unless you are going to rp, but it gives me an opening to write the next segment so what the hell... ________________________________________________________
Mary stood before the guildmaster's desk, crumbs from a stawberry tart stuck to the front of her shirt. Now that she was inside the guildhouse she wore the more open tools of her trade such as a shortsword belted at her waist and a mini-crossbow strapped across her back. It was never wise to go unarmed inside the guildhouse, as the guildmaster believed firmly in regular practical tests of his journeyman assassins, and he took a singularly unhealthy pleasure in playing practical jokes on those who failed and were unfortunate enough to survive.
The guildmaster's name was Avaris Dalson, and he was a tall, whipcord thin man who wore his iron-grey hair in a warrior's tail going down the center of his back. His faded blue eyes were surrounded by laugh lines and many who encountered him without the knowledge of his position thought him to be a rather amiable fellow. However, when he was sitting in his chair behind his desk, his guildmaster's persona slipped on over his normal face and his eyes became cold as ice and twice as hard. When encountered in normal society his body language spoke of a pleasant enjoyment of the company of his fellow human beings and generous sense of humor. However, now his every movement held a grace and fluidity that reminded one of a hunting tiger. However, even in this persona he could not keep some of his fondness for his adopted daughter off of his face, and she had more than earned his approval with her perfect completion of that night's mission. "Report." He said in his mellow baritone voice.
Mary's eyes held a predator's enjoyment of a good hunt completed as she spoke her report, "As ordered, when I entered the northern portion of the Bazaar I systematically eliminated all the guards in the same manner so as to indicate a group of hired assassins rather than a single assassin. I then proceeded to eliminate the true target, Flech Martimer on the bridge between the North sector and the Bazaar. I was not spotted by anyone during the mission, and I returned to the guild unseen with no difficulty."
Now that her report had been made, he allowed his approval to show through, "Well done, Journeyman Mary." He pulled out a large leather pouch heavy with coins and tossed it to her, "Your payment in full, seven hundred gold falcons."
Mary didn't bother to count it and ended the ritual formality of the reporting process with the traditional statement, "Payment recieved." Her face and stance lost some of their formality and her voice was once again that of a girl rather than a cold-eyed assassin, "So what was that mission all about Father? It's not normal for the elimination of guards to be a part of an assignment."
He sighed and sat back in his chair, weariness showing through now that they were no longer bound to the formalities of a mission report, "The client was the Regent... he said it was vital that the guards be eliminated along with Martimer... and he paid triple the normal fee so I didn't ask detailed questions." He pulled out one of his daggers and began polishing it with a oiled rag.
"... politics..." She sighed. She didn't know much about politics, but she did know that they always made a huge mess for everyone involved.
He echoed her sigh, "Of course its politics, everything is politics in the City these days. You can't walk down a given street without seeing a corpse during the night, and during the day the tension is so thick you can cut it with a knife." He shrugged, "Oh well, more money for us. It doesn't make any difference to us who is in power after all."
"'Emperors rise and Emperors fall but the Guild is always there to take a contract on whoever is left.'" Her voice was somewhat wry as she quoted his favorite saying.
His voice was serene as he replied, "Indeed."
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Post by kenpachi on Dec 11, 2006 11:45:52 GMT -5
Marcus walked through the bazaar, an odd sight. His ragged clothes clashed against the clean garments of the shoppers who turned their faces away from his is disgust. He made his way to a small stand, flowers blooming on the sills. “I’m here to buy flowers.” He muttered to the clerk, who eyed him suspiciously before asking “For what occaision?”
“For my funeral.”
The clerk wordlessly handed him a basket, muttering under her breath, “I think you’ll find them in the area in the back. Marcus walked behind the stall into a small windowless storage area. A man seated on a simple wooden bench looked at him and motioned him to sit down. “Do you have any work for me old man.”
The man looked at him and said, “Yes, I have gathered some sir.” Marcus looked at him harshly, remarking coldly, “Don’t call me sir. That is what a servant says to a master. You are not my servant. What are the jobs?”
The man looked taken aback, “But si…Very well” he said, his voice trailing off as he lifted a paper folder, “The assignment is to destroy this residence at....” “Are there people there?” Asked Marcus quickly, a surprisingly accusatory tone is his voice. “You know the type of jobs I take. Demolition and distraction, that is all.
The old man sighed, “Assassination jobs pay so much more. You know that. I happen to know that you find human life immaterial, so why do you object to killing on a job? Does making opium really pay that well?”
Marcus snorted and said, “Pays well enough. But I’m unregistered, that’s what makes me so marketable. You know what would happen if the guild got wind of me” drawing a finger over his throat.
The man sighed and said, “Fine. No one will touch this one, it reeks of failure. A thousand falcons to provide an entrance and an exit to the house of a noble. The assassins won’t touch it because it’s not a contract. The mercenaries won’t do anything like this, it’s a doomed plan. Naturally you’ll take it.”
Marcus grinned and said, “You have my materials right?"
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Post by rihochan on Dec 11, 2006 13:54:47 GMT -5
In the parliament, the house of Martimer and the Marshal of the City Guard called for an increase in the number of guards hired in the city in order to prevent an incident like the one the other night, and Regent smiled from his spot behind the throne. ________________________________________________________
Mary walked through the streets of the Bazaar in open daylight, dressed in a tattered grey linen shift that gave her the look of a beggar child. She had smudged her face, arms, and legs with filth in order to cover the fact that her few scars were those from a knife rather than a switch, and to give her more of the look of a child of the streets. Strapped with a strip of the same grey linen to the inside of her thigh were a dozen small hiltless knives well-balanced for throwing. Most street urchins carried their few possessions with them in ragged cloth bundles across their backs, and Mary carried the small round object that was her tool for the completion of this mission inside the artfully wrapped rags on her back.
She made her way through the Bazaar toward the bridge where she had taken her target the previous night and went across it without even pausing mentally to remember the kill. The Northern sector was far quieter than the Bazaar, but then every area was quieter than the Bazaar during the day. She found the manor of the Selphic clan with ease due to the sickening bright green paint used on the exterior. It was a tribute to the Selphic clan's utter lack of anything resembling an aesthetic sense, and she thought faintly to herself that a lot of people would thank her for that day's mission if they ever knew.
She moved into the alleyway beside the manor, making sure the guards at the gate of the mansion did not spot her doing so. She knelt in the accumulated filth of the alley and unwrapped the rag bundle. On the folds of the rag rested three items: an odd looking pair of shoes with straps to go around the ankles and a strange substance coating the bottom, a pair of gloves with the same substance on the palms, and a small, ball-like object with an even smaller circle of glass set into one end and a flat spot on the other end.
She put on the gloves and shoes, putting the ball into her mouth, grimacing at the slightly bitter flavor it possessed. She put on hand as far up on the wall as she could and one foot there as well. The substance on the glove and shoe worked and they stuck fast. She nodded in satisfaction and quickly scrambled up the side of the manor, making for a windowsill on the third floor. When she got there, she carefully placed the ball on the ledge jutting out over the alley, with the flat spot down and the circle of glass up, in a place where the sun would strike in about an hour. She carefully made her way down the side of the building and crept toward the opening of the alley. She looked around the building to see the guards chatting with a young street-walker and smiled to herself, thinking that they were unlikely to notice her at this point. She quickly went back out into the street and made her way across the city back to the Guild. ______________________________________________________
An hour later...
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The entirety of the Selphic Clan gathered in a parlor on the third floor to discuss what to do about the Martimer Clan's intemperate action in the Parliament. The head of the clan, a man of about sixty with long grey hair and a handle-bar mustache spoke in a clear voice despite his age, "The Martimer's foolish actions are providing more power for the Regent as the other members of Parliament are just as fearful. With more guards he will possess more power in the city's streets and it will be harder for us to make a move."
As one of the younger members of the clan started to open his mouth to reply, the sun struck glass set into the object on the windowsill, sending a concentrated beam of light through several other lenses into the interior filled with a special blend of black powder. The explosion took them all without them ever realizing what had happened, and the Selphic Clan died out.
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Post by kenpachi on Dec 18, 2006 20:03:07 GMT -5
Sorry about the wait all ----------------------------------------------------------------
Marcus sat in his hut, the powders he was working with staining the air with an acrid smell. There was a flurry of movement and his contact burst through the door.
“It’s off Marcus, call it off. If you do anything, and I mean anything, with explosives in the foreseeable future they’ll link you to it. If you get caught it will all be over.” He contact said, tremors in his voice.
Marcus kept to his work, staring at the mixed substances in front of him as he slid it into a container and added a wick, placing it in a pile with several others, “I won’t get caught. Besides, I’m practically done with this job. All I have to do is place the charges and light the fuses. Besides, it would be a shame to not let this happen. Anyone insane enough try to rob a mansion of the Regent…it deserves my enabling. Now did you come here for a reason or just to try to talk me out of a job Bartholomew?”
Bartholomew sighed, and said “Very well. I’ve brought someone here for a business proposition.”
“I thought I told you to never bring this kind of business here.”
“I bet you did. Unfortunately it wouldn’t have made a difference, we happen to know all about you.”
Marcus turned his head to the doorway and found himself looking at a man in noble dress. The man continued on, saying “We know all about your work and I have to say, I couldn’t be more appreciative. Flooding the royal palace with opium, dumping the body of one of the Regent’s greatest servants naked in a bawdy inn…it seems that you have done a great service to us, albeit unintentionally. By the way I am-“
“Lord Zamar of the Dimir Clan, I am fully aware of who you are as well.” Marcus’ face slightly betrayed a smile as he continued on. “You were a favorite of my grandfather, probably because you had the Emperor continue to pay his salary. But he used to go on about how it was a shame that your clan had little chance of having an heir obtaining the throne. But that’s what gives you so much of an edge, the information gatherers of the royal houses.”
Zamar smiled, “You have your grandfather’s tongue and wits, thank Fate that you didn’t get your father’s. Your grandfather would be proud at how far you’ve taken the explosives. But I have a job for you. As you are undoubtedly aware the Selphic clan has met its untimely end. I would consider you remiss if you weren’t aware with the basic method.”
Marcus was silent for a while, finally saying “I haven’t had a chance to take a close look, the guards wouldn’t let me through, and they’d probably arrest me for smelling of sulfur. Occupational hazard of being an explosives expert.”
Zamar looked at him passively, “What if I were to sanction your investigation? It would provide more than enough leeway with the guards. This information is priceless, fifteen hundred gold falcons would be well worth-“
“Two thousand”
“Seventeen hundred”
“Done”
Marcus walked down the street with Zamar, drawing curious looks from the crowded former neighborhood of the Selphic clan, the hole blasted from the window casting a darkened aura of the usually lively neighborhood. Marcus felt it was his appearance that gave them away, but after three scrubbings and the noble clothes he was wearing he fit right into the crowd. He had a fleeting thought, that the reason they were so conspicuous was the presence of Zamar, the idea dissipating as he entered the mansion.
Marcus surveyed the room, checking the scorch marks, the patterns interrupted by the outline of a human body, the destruction showing where each man had sat. He finally came to rest by the window sill, pausing a moment as he inspected it. He looked up at Zamar, saying “This is it. This is the origin of the scorch marks and judging by the embedded glass I’d say that it was done using a lens. Good quality black powder as well.
Zamar eyed him suspiciously, “Is it…you’re level of powder?”
Marcus sighed, “Well usually I try to use tapered down versions to carry on my person. In combat the furthest range is as far as I can throw it, I don’t want to be in the blast radius. However, there’s been a new type I’ve been experimenting on. I haven’t sold it to anyone else.”
“Why not?”
Marcus looked at him for a second and pulled a large parcel out of his clothing and placed it in the center of the hallway of the third floor and attached a long wick. “How fast can you run?
Three minutes later there was a deafening noise as the third floor erupted into flames, fire blowing out of the windows instantaneously as the supports gave way and the mansion crashed into rubble.
Zamar looked at Marcus, his face devoid of emotion, “At this point it is fair to surmise that the attack was carried out by the Assassin guild. Here is your payment, good luck with your other job.”
Marcus began to walk away as Zamar’s voice reached him again, “It’s a damn shame they got his of the title of Emperor’s Alchemist. You would have been a good heir for your grandfather.”
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Post by rihochan on Dec 18, 2006 22:15:40 GMT -5
Mary avoided the thrust of Master Assassin Gaulten's shortsword by ducking under it and slashed with her long dagger at his midriff. He leapt back sharply and lost his balance for a moment, wherein she slammed her heel into the side of his knee, causing it to crumple and toss him to the ground. She leapt upon him, drawing another dagger and evading a desperate thrust from his weapon and a punch from the other deftly to cross her daggers over his throat.
"I yield." He gasped out, real fear in his eyes. Mary had killed several of her instructors in the past when they failed to meet her expectations, and even the best assassins in the Guild were afraid of her surprising speed and combat instinct.
She smiled coldly and uncrossed her daggers, launching herself off of his chest to land a few feet away, apparently relaxed with her hands by her sides. When she turned around to leave, Gaulten drew a small throwing knife, only to have it knocked out of his hands by one of Mary's own throwing knives launched with the unerring accuracy that was one of the hallmarks of her combat style.
The cold voice of the Guildmaster came from the second floor observatory above the arena that lay in the center of the Guild, "I hearby proclaim that Journeyman Mary has passed the combat trial." There was muted applause from the audience of Masters surrounding the arena as she bowed to the Guildmaster and left the arena.
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Later in the Guildmaster's office ______________________________________________________
"Mary"
"Yes father." Mary stood before the Guildmaster in a black silk robe that concealed her entire body except her hands, feet, and head. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes gleaming with excitement.
He smiled slightly, for he was not fooled in the least by her flat expression, "Now that you have fulfilled all other requirements for becoming a Master, it is time for you to take the final test of your skill. That is, a Master-level assignment."
She waited patiently for her assignment, carefully keeping her expression from showing her intense excitement.
"This time the client is Kemuris of clan Dimir. The target is his father Zamar."
She couldn't keep the shock off of her face at the name of the target. "But..."
"You were about to say that Zamar is on the list of 'friends of the Guild', correct?" There was no smile on his face. 'Friends of the Guild' were people who had either paid the enormous sum of four million falcons to the Guild to prevent anyone taking a contract on them, or had made some other exchange.
"Yes..."
"He broke the agreement. He attempted to bribe one of our people to give him info on who the client was for your last job." There was real anger in his voice.
Her surprise at that statement was intense, for someone to make an enemy of the Guild in that way... was unprecedented. "So... the client heard about this and took out a contract?"
He shook his head, "No. He has been attempting to hire us for this job for more than ten years. He doesn't know when to give up, but because of that the fee is enormous."
"How enormous?" She was getting excited about the idea of a high-paying job. Maybe it would be five-thousand? That was in the higher range of contract prices in the Guild.
"Forty-thousand, the highest in Guild history."
Her eyes widened in absolute shock. That price wasn't just a record-breaker! It was three times more than the previous highest-paying contract! That one had been for an Emperor twelve generations before, and the contract price had been thirteen thousand gold falcons... it was just unprecedented. "He'd have to be insane to put up that kind of money for a contract like this!"
He suddenly grinned, "The guy IS insane. He is so desperate to take over for his father that he probably would have gone even higher if I had asked it, but this guy has managed to get on my bad side. Will you take this one, or wait until another one comes along?"
"I'll take it." Even as she said that, she was already anticipating what she would need for the job.
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Later that week, at night, outside the Dimir clan wing of the Palace...
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She infiltrated the Palace with ridiculous ease. For all the famed watchfulness and skill of the Imperial Guard, the guards on the noble wings had been much relaxed of late. Much of this was that the Regent didn't particularly care if opposing nobles ended up as corpses in their rooms, and that disinterest was reflected in the level of watchfulness among the guard.
Inside was another story entirely, unfortunately. The guards were aware and watchful and Mary regretfully determined she had no choice but to kill some of them to make an opening for her passage to Zamar's rooms.
She silently strode the darkened halls of the Dimir wing, noting the positions of the guards and taking out the ones she felt necessary to make a path for her swift withdrawal. She was like a silent breeze that brought death with merciless and cold precision to the unsuspecting guardsmen. When she reached Zamar's rooms she saw that the doors were surrounded by five guardsmen. Three rested in chairs at a table, gambling and drinking quietly while the others kept watch. She drew five of her small throwing daggers from beneath the black silk cloth of her clothing. She quickly launched the first two into the air, sending them into the temple's of the two guards in front of the door. She put the other daggers in the air towards their targets and drew her long daggers. Two of the knives took their targets in the throat, but the third managed to interpose his bottle of wine into the knife's path.
However, that effort was futile, for her daggers ribboned his throat before he could even cry out. The last of the guards toppled to the heavy carpeting on the floor with hardly a sound louder than the gurgle of his last breaths.
She wiped the daggers off on his tabard, not sparing the time to pity the poor men and opened the doors to Zamar's room. He looked up from his desk in surprise and foolishly drew his sword rather without saying a word.
His movements were surprisingly fast as he slashed at her again and again while she furiously stabbed and slashed with her two daggers. He was an experienced swordsman, and Mary realized that she was in real trouble. She couldn't afford to waste much more time, because the next shift of the guard would be coming soon. She launched both her long daggers with blinding speed, and he contemptuously blocked them with quick, precise movements of his blade. However, that was merely a distraction as she leapt past him with her hand trailing a loop of black silk that came down neatly over his neck. She pulled the noose tight and jumped out the nearby open window. She heard the cracking sound of his neck snapping as she reached the end and let herself fall to the balcony below.
<i>Damn, all that effort at creating an escape route... wasted.</i> She jumped down from that balcony to the bushes below and made her way out of the Dimir wing, her job finished.
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Post by kenpachi on Dec 19, 2006 11:26:26 GMT -5
The door to Marcus’s hut burst open as he was suddenly roused from bed by a pair of burly guards, a dagger held to his throat. A thin man walked into the room and addressed him directly, “So we have finally found you assassin. You shall pay for what you did to my father.”
Marcus eyed him with disdain, “If you’re looking for an assassin you’ve come to the wrong place. It’s a common misconception though; both sides have a talent for destruction. However for them it is a means to an end, while for me it is an end.”
The man smote him a heavy blow to the face with his fist, “Insolent. Do you know who you are speaking to?”
“Yes. You’re the idiot son of Zamar.” This response eliciting another blow and a quick retort. “If you didn’t kill him then explain this to me” Kemuris said as he unfurled a scroll and showed it to Marcus. Marcus looked surprised, and then grinned, “Damn. The old man must have liked me more than I thought.”
Kemuris glared at him wrathfully, “Me? Disowned? My father would have never done that, especially not to replace me with a common street urchin.”
Marcus suddenly grabbed the arm of the guard holding the dagger to his throat and stepped around him and falling back, launching the guard over his shoulder. He turned and with a hiss the dagger whizzed from his hand, burying itself into the throat of the other guard. He pulled a knife from his sleeve and buried it in the chest of the other guard, a fountain of blood rising as it pierced his heart.
He advanced slowly on Kemuris, now frozen in fright. “Please don’t hurt me! I didn’t do anything! Please!”
“I’m not as stupid as you might think. As a “common street urchin” I happen to hear things. I knew about that contract you kept trying to have the assassin guild accept, hell even your father knew. What surprises me is the fact that they actually would have accepted.” Marcus slammed his fist into Kemuris’ face; a cracking noise resounding as his nose broke, spraying blood onto the floor.
“I thought you were a heartless bastard” stuttered Kemuris, “Why are you getting so worked up about this? He had nothing to do with you.”
Marcus glared at him, “He was a friend of my grandfather. He bought the title of nobility from my father so that I could eat. I also happened to like the old man, this is reason enough for me.” He hit Kemuris again, this time breaking his jaw. “Get up and run. There’s little use in getting blood all over me.”
Kemuris dashed out of the door into the alleyway and a soft voice arose. “Well, that went as expected. For one whom claims not to be an assassin you are able to kill quite efficiently.
Marcus turned to see an old man, now picking up the scroll Kemuris had left behind, and said, “I learned a thing or two after my father sold me into an apprenticeship in the east. So, is it true? Did Zamar leave everything to me elder?”
The old man looked at him, “Yes, it is perfectly legal to adopt a son and to place him as the legal heir, however unusual it is. I’m surprised that you let a challenger to the position live though.”
There was the sound of an explosion and people screaming. The old man sighed, “I imagine you’ll want better guards.”
Marcus handed a slip of paper to him, saying “Find the people whose names are on this list. Be warned, they’re a little unorthodox, but if the Regent’s side is able to assassinate one like Zamar so easily we’ll need all the help we can get. I’ll see to the assassin’s guild.”
“What do you mean sir?”
“We’ve had an uneasy truce for a while. I wouldn’t take jobs of their nature and they wouldn’t care what I did as long as I didn’t get in their way. Now that the situation has changed…things may become ugly.”
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Post by rihochan on Dec 19, 2006 16:30:38 GMT -5
A little girl in a green velvet dress appeared in the entrance at that moment, "There is no need for that Lord Marcus. Zamar himself brought down his fate, we are neutral in this matter. He broke the contract of protection of his own free will, and the result of that is obvious. The Guildmaster offers you the status that Zamar cast aside..."
Marcus' smile was sharp and predatory in the light coming in from the entrance, "Hmm...? So the Assassin's Guild won't touch me as long as I don't attempt an inquiry into their affairs?"
Mary's smile held nothing of a child's innocence and all the cold humor and regard of a Master Assassin, "We support no faction in particular, and the Regent has already used up the favors owed him for preferential treatment. The Guildmaster hopes for a profitable and amusing future relationship between the new Lord of Dimir and the Guild."
Marcus didn't show it on the surface, but he was somewhat unsettled by the anomaly of the child's cold gaze and innocent appearance. Something inside of him chilled as he realized that she hadn't showed him a single opening for attack the entire time they had been speaking, and that he was unable to read her as he so easily read most people. "I shall keep the Guildmaster's warm greetings in my heart as I make Dimir an even greater clan."
Her smile turned warm and sunny, as if the cold regard of an assassin had never existed there as a young noble in Dimir colors came around the corner, "Well mister, thank you for the candy!" She turned and skipped away down the lane as if she had not a care in the world.
"Sir?" The old man inquired respectively to the imperceptibly quivering Marcus.
"I think I underestimated the Guild. They have quite neatly made this a matter where my personal antagonism will only make me an enemy of the most powerful of the factions in the city." He laughed a little and shook his head admiringly. "For a man who has maintained his neutrality in the arena of politics for so long, the Guildmaster certainly knows how to play things to his advantage like the best intrigue-addicts in the court."
"What do you mean?" The old man was somewhat confused, for he was a man who understood legality, but had little insight into society or human nature.
"Making an enemy of the Guild makes an enemy of the people. The Guild has always strategically run small charities throughout the city and has been known to open its coffers to feed the masses during drought. Actions like those have built up a surprising amount of goodwill amongst the people. Even the deceased Emperor and his predecessors never possessed the influence of the Guild."
The man was still confused, "That didn't seem like it would have stopped you before that girl came in."
"I was thinking of going up against the current Guildmaster, not the Guild as a whole. Under that footing, I could have even gathered influence to depose him from inside the Guild, but having made me a 'friend of the Guild' he has made certain that any hostile action I take will be considered an offense to the Guild as a whole." Then he smiled, "Well, at least I get a discount when I need an assassin. Also, being kept off the contract list for the Guild gives me a lot more free reign for my own amusements." He chuckled as he realized that the Guild had officially proclaimed 'hands off' and would actually protect him against rogues and independents. Overall, things were definitely looking up.
The Dimir noble finally arrived in the entrance and knelt before him, "My lord... I have come to offer my personal service to you."
Marcus' eyes swept sharply over the young noble. The boy was a bit raw around the edges, but the callouses on his sword hand and the way he carried himself indicated he wouldn't be without his uses, "Your name?"
"Alexander."
"I accept your oath. May your sword strike swiftly in my defense."
The boy's grin was infectious, "Finally... I'm just glad that Kemuris didn't get control. He would have destroyed the clan in a month."
Marcus had a feeling that he would get to like this fellow, but he knew better than to trust him. In the capitol, trust was a two-edged sword that cut its holder as much as his enemies.
______________________________________________________
"So? What did you think of the Alchemist's grandson." The Guildmaster inquired of Mary upon her return.
"I think we did well to head him off before he declared vendetta on you. He is charismatic and whimsical, and he will make for interesting times in the capitol." She was relaxed in a cushioned chair in front of a fire in the Guildmaster's private rooms. She did not share with her father her secret conclusion that the man had the potential to turn the entire city on its head. If she wasn't so used to dealing with observant people, she knew he would have seen more than she allowed him to see of her nature. She loved her father and respected his judgement as Guildmaster, but she was well aware that his arrogant sense of superiority and utter belief in his own abilities might drive him to try to manipulate the man if she presented all her thoughts on his nature. The Guildmaster was utterly incapable of resisting a challenge, a benefit in an assassin, but somewhat incompatible with a Guildmaster's position.
"Well then... lets sit back and watch the show. It will at least allow us to pass the time."
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Post by kenpachi on Dec 21, 2006 9:11:16 GMT -5
Marcus walked quietly in the north district trailed some distance away by Alexander. Alexander had not been keen on the idea, “Don’t you trust me?” he had asked. Marcus had looked at him sadly and murmured, “That’s not the issue. The man we are going to see…it would be better if he saw me unaccompanied. Of course I would find your protection quite helpful.
They walked into a dirty pub, smoke rising to the ceiling as men in armor laughed drunkenly, some talking to women who clearly wished they were somewhere else. Marcus spotted a man hunched over a table, nursing a drink. Marcus walked behind him and tapped the man on the soldier. The effect was immediate; a slightly curved sword with a single edge pointed at Marcus’ throat and the pub went eerily silent.
“Just like old times friend.” Said the man with a leer, “Tell me why I shouldn’t slit your throat right now.”
“You mean, besides the bomb I’m holding in front of your face?” The man looked down briefly at the canister held in front of his face as Marcus continued, “I have I job I want you to take. I’m calling in an old promise Julius.”
Alexander’s blade pressed against the back of Julius’ neck, forcing him to move his blade, sheathing it in a fluid motion. “That applied only when I’d be working for you. Mercenary work, not what you do.”
The pub had unknowingly gone back to its usual rowdiness and an old man snuck up to Julius, shouting, “Who’s your friend Julius?
“This is…” his voice cut off my Marcus’ reply, “Marcus Dimir. That is, as of yesterday.”
Julius’s head snapped towards him, surprise showing on his face, “Dimir? How did you…?” a sudden smile forming on his lips as a thought dawned on him, “So, you want be work as a mercenary for you. Sounds like fun.”
Marcus glanced back at him, “Sorry, it wouldn’t be going into battle. You’d be acting as a bodyguard…and a trainer.”
Julius turned his head back towards his drink, snarling “How could you think up such a boring job for me. Why would you think anything would happen to you?”
Marcus smiled, saying “Why don’t you find out? There’s a meeting tonight among the nobles and the regent. If nothing there entertains you, you won’t have to work with or even see me anymore.”
The meetings of the nobles were meant to be as uneventful as possible, any important issues were bound to bring heated debate and old rivalries and therefore were ignored as much as possible.
The first hour alone would have made a Zen master comatose with boredom, the talk concerning a “heated” debate over a slight tax increase on a local church, each side constantly bickering. Finally a member of the Martimer clan spoke up, “Let’s hear what the common born have to say about the issue. Let us hear from the new leader of the Dimir clan.” All eyes turned to Marcus who politely remarked, “I don’t feel I can help you very much in this matter.”
“Surely you are able to help us in matters regarding the common people.”
“I’m afraid that if you wish to know anything common you would have to look inside your own clan. I am noble-born and cannot help you, sorry.”
There was a buzzing noise as everyone began to whisper to each other, the Martimer elder shaking with fury, “So what do you feel about the issue then?”
“I prefer to let the men with funny hats resolve their own issues. To be honest I don’t give a damn.
“Have you no regard for religion Sir…?”
“Marcus. I haven’t decided which title to use, Dimir or Alchemist. Each one fits. But no, I prefer other opiates than religion.”
There was a sudden shudder through many members of the council and after an awkward pause business returned to usual.
Julius leaned over to Marcus and whispered, “What was that all about?”
“One way or another I’ve been supplying half the court the opium. Now I’m right here. I wonder what will happen when I cut them off. So, will you be staying?”
Julius nodded.
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Post by rihochan on Dec 21, 2006 20:27:32 GMT -5
A few weeks later... ________________________________________________________
Mary was consumed with absolute boredom as she moved through the rite of the seasons in the Cathedral of External Wisdom just outside the city. External Wisdom was the patron of people who lived for the practical and the mundane, it was not a religion for the spiritual or the mystic, but a god that gave blessings in matters practical. The Guildmaster was a firm devotee of the religion and insisted that she go to at least one service a month.
She had come through the doors a few days before to simply sit through the obligatory once a month service, but her grace of movement was noted by the high priest on his pulpit. After the service, his Holy Knights in their white and gold surcoats and black iron chain mail ambushed her with a request for her presence in his quarters. She had been extremely irritated by this, but she wasn't about to reveal herself in open daylight by fighting her way out. So she went to his rooms where he waited in a crimson velvet padded chair before a roaring fire. His expresson was warm and friendly, and she was certain if she had been a normal child she would have been entirely well-disposed towards him. However, her assassin's eyes noted the nervous twitch of his fingers and the crazed stare of a fanatic in his gaze. She had cursed herself as a fool for not moving a bit less gracefully.
He had spoken in gentle and caring voice that had melted the hearts of hundreds of parishioners and convinced the previous Emperor to undertake the disasterous crusade that had brought about his assassination. "Hello my child..."
She had curtsied and smiled brightly with a look of awe on her face while inside she was calculating whether she could kill the guards and get out of the building before the alarm was raised. "You wished for my presence, holy father?"
Once again, that honeyed voice attempted to wrap its seductive coils around her mind, "Yes, I would like you to be one of the dancers for this year's rite. Do you think you could bring yourself to fulfill this old man's wish?"
"Why of course holy father. I just have to ask Papa first." Mary desperately prevaricated in hopes of a quick escape into the city once she was released to ask said permission.
Those fanatical eyes warmed slightly, "A devoted and polite child. Is your father one of the devout?"
"Yes holy father." She knew what was coming next, and she definitely didn't like it.
"Then he will certainly not mind. I will send a messenger into the city with word. Just give the address of your home to my guards and one of them will make sure it gets to him." He closed her escape route without knowledge or understanding of just how close she was to simply killing him.
She knew, however, that her father would never forgive her for killing this man, so she gave him the address of one of the Guild's drop points. The old man there was adaptable and quick on his feet. He would be able to act the part of a honored but worried father when the Holy Knight messenger came. "Thank you holy father... I will do my best to meet your expectations."
That had been more than a week before, and she had since been rushed through the harsh (for a lesser person) training for her part in the rite. She took no joy in her instructor's remarks upon the perfect grace of her movements in the dance, and the unnaturally quick way she absorbed the knowledge of the movements.
She absently noted that the people in the rows of pews were entirely silent, their faces full of awe, but she felt absolutely no interest in the awe of the pathetic people watching her performance. She desperately wanted to get back to the Guild and her true work. She envisioned the high priest with a throwing knife buried in his forehead up to the hilt, blood streaming into his open and staring eyes from the mortal wound, and was somewhat comforted by her homicidal fantasy as she moved through the last movements of the rite.
When the rite concluded she finally actively noticed that the people's eyes were still riveted upon her. The others in the rite were ignored and she found to her amusement that when she shifted her eyes to either side to take a look that they were giving her glares full of poisonous envy.
The high priest called for attention in that hypnotic voice from the pulpit, "My people! Lend me your attention on this momentous day where the Lord of External Wisdom has provided us with a dance of penultimate grace! You all know the terrible tragedy of the Emperor's death last year, do you not? It was a tragedy for all of Mikhail and all that follow our lord. Who do you think was responsible for that terrible act?" His voice and the magnetism of his presence was wrapping their thoughts into the pattern of his speech.
Almost as if rehearsed, the response came within moments, "Tell us father!"
"The nobles! The nobles who intrigue even now over petty issues while in the countryside bandits and thieves plague the roads and the townships."
Mary went cold at the predictable response as the crowd began howling for noble blood at his instigation. She had thought that this was just another yearly rite, but he had used her grace to enrapture the people of the crowd into his palm.
She didn't hesitate to make her escape after the Knights took her back to her temporary quarters in the novice dorms. She had to warn the Guildmaster of the Church's intentions.
"
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Post by kenpachi on Dec 27, 2006 12:03:04 GMT -5
Marcus hunched over a table, assorted scrolls spread out over it, nearly overflowing with the volume as Alexander walked in. "My liege..." Alexander began, quickly cut off by Marcus
"Speaking like that can prove dangerous, especially at times like these. Call me by my name."
"Yes Lord Marcus. I suppose you have heard of what the good members of the church are doing."
"It wouldn't take the extensive Dimir information network for it to come to my attention. Alexander, go and request a meeting."
"But sir, the church is currently refusing to speak with any members of the nobility. Doing so would detract from the support they have recently gained."
"Make them an offer. Tell them that if by the end of the day they still do not wish to meet with me I will pursue the matter no further. Now if you would excuse me I have a meeting to attend to."
A week had passed since the speech at the church and word had spread through the city like a flame through tinder. The nobility had become terrified, swiftly convening in the central area of the city for an emergency meeting. No sooner had each of the clan sat down than they began to bicker. There were calls for force, calls for negotiation, each side's argument going back and forth like the tide. Marcus abstained from the discussion, noting with interest the position of each clan. The Martimer clan seemed to be leading the charge to engulf the city with troops and to quell any activities deemed dangerous. It seemed as if they were close to achieving the support necessary for such an action when a great noise erupted outside, the sounds of chants and shouts merging together as a horde gathered outside the walls. Marcus walked wordlessly walked out of the meeting hall to a balcony overlooking the mob, who were now pressing the guards back, now nearly to the gates that stemmed the tide of people.
Marcus suddenly yelled, "Good people, hear me!"
The crowd still remained active, although many turned their heads towards him, looking at him with interest.
"People of this city, why is it that you come here? Is it because the nobles have truly done such wrong that you wish to kill us all? I am the grandson of Fredric, the Alchemist, a citizen of this city honored with a title. Was I ever to enjoy this?" "My father drank and gambled away my future, any title I expected. I only survived all these years taking whatever work I could while living in the Western slums. Believe me when I say I have little love for those who ignore the needs of the people, those continually living in suffering. I have lived with you, laughed with you, wept with you. A man is judged not by his birth, nor how others treat him, but rather by his own actions." "How will your actions define you? Will you rise up and kill, seize control of the city? Will you become those nobles that you despise? What the church says is valid, but whenever has religion ruled the city. It has guided men, but it cannot rule and faith can only go so far. Become the city that you wish to build not the one you already have. It has been a year since our emperor's death, let us shape the fate of this new city together!"
Some members in the crowd cheered, others looked at him thoughtfully, others began to sneak away, as if they were ashamed of what they had done. Marcus retreated back into the palace, feeling the eyes of the nobles around him. The meeting began to break up and Julius remarked to him, "Pretty speech. You were never much of a talker, how'd you do it."
"I was alerted to it the other day. Let's see if the church can ignore me for long, they needed to be taught the lesson that the nobility learned, that I am not to be trifled with."
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Post by rihochan on Dec 27, 2006 22:39:59 GMT -5
Mary had returned to her quarters in the Cathedral after informing the Guildmaster of what was happening. His reaction had been to maintain neutrality and let events take their own course. However, he was not about to give up any advantages and so he immediately sent her back to be his spy in the Cathedral.
After her magnificently graceful performance in the rite, nothing was too good to keep her happy, and she was provided with luxuries that she had never bothered with while in the Guild. However, she constantly trained to make sure her edge did not dull. Luckily her training excercises looked very much like a styilized dance so the guards in her rooms had no inkling that they were for purposes other than keeping limber for dancing. Her father had set it up so that the man her guards purchased her luxuries from was an agent of the Guild, and when she sent her frivolous orders with them there were encoded messages in the text of the orders.
The situation was stifling for her. With an assassination, the mission rarely stretched for more than a week, but as a spy she was obliged to act a part that was growing increasingly uncomfortable over time. Her position in the Church was surprisingly high, as her grace was the inspiration that was used to gain the attention of the people. She had been named as the Sacred Dancer, the first such in seven generations, and technically speaking her spiritual authority was equivalent to the High Priest's. She found it amusing that he had bestowed upon her an authority that was theoretically equal to his, but she found the restrictions upon her movements to be an increasing irritation.
She felt uncomfortable with all the attention focused on her, but luckily the High Priest had restricted her few public appearances so that few if any of the faithful actually knew her face. She knew that this was meant as a message from him that he could replace her if neccessary and no one would know as long as the replacement was not required to dance. She often found herself idly wondering what would happen if he were to mysteriously die, but the thought of becoming the leader of the Church chilled her to the bone. Nothing disgusted her more than the mindless fanaticism she saw in the Holy Knights and the High Priest, and the idea of leading such madmen held no appeal whatsoever to her.
The High Priest was acting rather predictably after Marcus' temporary dispelling of the people's rage. He was attempting to revive that 'holy' rage and push it in the direction of the extermination of the nobles once more, but he was having little success due to the quiet interjections by Guild agents throughout the city. Marcus had paid well for Guild intervention in this small matter, though his intentions were somewhat incomprehensible.
The Captain of the Holy Knights Geraldi Mamfroute was pushing for another crusade, but the more politically savvy High Priest was well-aware that even the most devout among the lay faithful would no longer support such a foolish action. He also knew that both the Regent and the child Emperor were both devotees of their rival church the Church of Internal Wisdom whose patron god espoused the search for enlightenment rather than pragmatism. This made it impossible to make a move for Imperial support in their crusade. Without Imperial support, their forces would be limited to the Holy Knights and the more fanatic commoners. This was a recipe for disaster as previous crusades had proven that the capabilities of a peasant militia were completely ineffective when going up against an entrenched and experienced enemy. Without Imperial forces, penetration of the infidel's defenses was impossible.
She sighed to herself, <i>It just gets messier and messier. I don't know what Father is thinking, getting me involved in all this. I just hope I can get out of this place soon...</i> She toyed briefly with the idea of just killing the High Priest and the Captain, but Guild rules said that killing outside of an assignment was forbidden except in self-defense... especially high-profile killings.
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