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The land of Erathiel was divided into eight countries, each with it's own ruler and government. Many centuries ago the eight countries were in a state of constant and total war. This war raged for so long, a new order emerged from the flames of conflict determined to end it once and for all. They were the Order of the Black Rose. Made up of eight mysterious and unknown individuals, they called the warring rulers together and drew up a concordat. Any grievances a ruler had with another would be carried out during one season a year, using mercenaries to make up a bulk of the various country's forces, thus reducing the size of any one country's standing army. This would allow the land to prosper under the care of those skilled in maintaining it, instead of having everyone skilled in labour and crafts killed in a war. One country refused to sign the concordat, a small country filled with mountains and a fiercely independent people. So the Order of the Black Rose revealed their trump card, a magical device that rained destructive fire down from the heavens, wiping out the small country in minutes. The rulers watched this display of power from the top of the Black Rose Keep, the stronghold of the order, located at the center of the land floating high in the sky, held aloft by ancient and eldritch magicks. The rest of the kings, who had been wary of the meeting, not trusting each other in the slightest, had signed the concordat without any further arguments. It turned out that the plan of the Order worked. The now seven countries prospered and thrived, and any disagreements or grievances were settled during the campaign season, with armies of mercenaries. Mercenaries that - unknown to all but a select few - worked for the order of the Black Rose. The Order had two reasons for acting in this way. Money and power. They were the richest and most powerful organization the world had ever seen. Since the day the concordat had been signed, the order had become legendary, almost mythological. People now doubted its very existence, which is just how the order wanted it.

***

The night was dark and cold. The sparse pine trees were hung with ice. The bright moonlight glittered off the undisturbed snow like it was a bed of diamonds. The silvery light reflecting off the snow illuminated the moorland with an ethereal glow. The air was so cold and dry the meager plant life audibly crackled in the gentle breeze that blew quietly across the frozen landscape. On the high Tors, the great granite monoliths were wrapped in sheets of ice, shaped into jagged points by the wind. Down in the valleys and the crags, rivers, streams and even waterfalls had become still, held in place by winter's icy grasp. Yet even on this inhospitable night there was activity. A lone figure trudged over the ice-covered terrain, forging a path through the waist high snow. The figure was wrapped in a heavy bear skin cloak, a leather hood lined with wolf fur pulled up over its head. Heavy, sturdy boots crunched through the snow, legs protected by loose-fitting leather trousers. A padded, dark brown surcoat obscured the rest of the figures garb from view, and a heavy woolen scarf around the its nose and mouth made it impossible to make out any features. Its movements were accompanied by the faint jingle of chainmail, and the soft slap of a scabbard bouncing against leather. It paused to observe the landscape.

The gentle rolling hills were silent, like every living thing had died. The figure began to fumble with its belt. There was a clink and then the hilt of a sword poked out of the top of the cloak. adjusting a buckle and satisfied the sword was no longer in the way, the mysterious person continued wading through the snow. On the edge of the moor stood a small city, constructed around a steep hill. At the top of the hill was a large fortress that had a commanding view of the whole moor. It was this city the figure was heading towards. The terrain began to slope down towards the city, making progress even slower. There was a muffled curse in a masculine voice as the man slipped on the icy slope and slid down the hill in a swirling cloud of powdery snow. He slid to a halt at the bottom of the hill. Struggling to his feet, the figure stomped onto the road that led to the main gate of the city. The snow was less deep on the road, especially this close to the city. Great drifts had been piled up along the roadside, compacted into blue-white walls of ice. Soon the walls of the city were looming close, casting long ominous shadows in the moonlight. A group of guards stood huddled around a blazing fire, swathed in heavy fur cloaks. One of the guards looked up from their quiet conversation as the figure approached. The rest of the guards turned. Reaching down to his belt, the man pulled out a pouch. He tossed it into the air and caught it again. It made the heavy jingle of coin. One of the guards nodded and went over to the huge wooden gates, and thumped a fist against the wood. There was a clunk from the other side and the wicket gate swung open. The man tossed the bag of money to the guard and stepped through the smaller gate, into the snow-blanketed city.

Trudging through the streets, he peered up at the various signs that hung above the closed shops. This was the main street, leading to a large square with an ornate fountain at the center. The figure arrived in the square. The waters of the fountain had frozen solid, the slippery surface reflecting moonlight. On one side of the square stood a large coaching inn. The sign above the inn named it as the Crimson Dragon (an astonishingly common name for inns in this country). The man headed over to the inn and stepped to the side of the door. The door flew open and a man was thrown through the door. The bouncer peered out the door as the man crawled away. The brawny Minotaur turned his head and looked at the figure, nodded, and disappeared back inside. The figure stepped into the steamy crowded pub. Pulling down his hood and scarf, he revealed himself to be a human man, with shoulder length braided blonde hair and scruffy stubble. His skin was weathered and tanned, the kind of tan that only people who spent most of their time under the open sky got. His age was therefore nearly impossible to accurately determine, although thirty years would be most peoples guess. His eyes were an extremely vivid green colour, like shining emeralds. He nodded at the barman, a heavyset bear beastman. The barman nodded back and gestured at one of the serving girls. The blond man looked around the bar and spotted a small vacant table in a dark corner. He made his way over to it and removed his heavy cloak, draping it over the bench behind the table. Doing this revealed an arsenal of weaponry attached to him with various leather straps and thongs. He took off his sword and a long thin item, wrapped in maxed cloth, which could only be an unstrung shortbow. He had a long knife in a horizontal sheath on the back of his belt, as well as a dagger on his left hip. On his right, he wore an ornate sheath, made from blood red leather, edged in silver. A polished ebony hilt with a silver pommel was all that could be seen of the actual dagger. Resting the sword and the bow next to him, he seated himself on the cloak and draped an arm over the back of the bench. One of the serving girls came over to him with a huge tankard of frothy beer. The pretty fox set the tankard down in front of him with a wink. The man gave her a small smile and picked up the tankard, draining it in one go. It was strong beer, guaranteed to kill anything harmful residing in the water (or at least get it very drunk).

"You shouldn't drink like that. It's bad for you." Said a voice.

The man looked up and saw a figure dressed in dark leather armour, shrouded in a midnight blue cloak.

"You've been following me since I entered the city." The man replied.

"Very astute." The obviously female person said, seating herself opposite him, pulling down her hood. Under the hood was a female Cheetah. She had striking features, marking her as...handsome, as opposed to the standard definition of beautiful. Her movements were quick and graceful. Her sandy brown mane was pulled back in a short, tight bun, held in place with oddly thick looking metal hairpins.

"I guess you're the one I'm supposed to meet?" the man asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmph...before we go any further, I need you to prove to me."

The man sighed and reached down to his belt. His hand came back, holding the ornate dagger. The double-edged blade was triangular, wide at the base tapering into a broad point. The material the blade was made of was black and glossy, like no metal that existed; its cutting edge was so thin it was almost translucent. The cheetah had to struggle to hide her wonder.

"Is that really...?"

"Obsidian? Yes."

"Then you really are...?"

"Yes."

The cheetah composed herself, and reached into her armour, pulling out a necklace. Attached to the necklace was a single fang set in a silver socket. The fang had been intricately carved with swirls and spirals. It also glowed faintly, giving off a somewhat unsettling light.

"So you really are...?" The man asked.

"Indeed I am." The cheetah replied.

The man put away his dagger, and the cheetah put away her necklace. The man extended a hand over the table. The cheetah hesitated.

"Should I trust the offered hand of the world's most skilled killer?" she asked with a coy smile.

"Should I trust my valuables around the world's most skilled thief?" He asked, returning her smile. The cheetah laughed and shook his hand.

"Valerie Valentine." She said.

"Donovan." He replied, shaking once.

"No surname?"

"Never needed one."

"Fair enough. So, I trust you know what the deal is?"

"Only what I have been told. I assume you have been told something entirely different."

"Most likely."

A while later, the two had moved up to Valerie's room at the inn. There were two beds and a small table, which was it. Their respective equipment was piled on the beds. The table was strewn with yellowing parchment and rolls of painted canvas. Valerie was pinning a sheet of such canvas to the wall. It was a large plan of the fortress at the center of the town.

"So the secret vault is this room here, at the center." She said, pointing to the incredibly detailed picture, obviously a scaled up plan from when the fortress was built.

"Not a very secret vault if it's right in the middle of the keep."

"The person who had these plans was not the most literate nor very secretive. I rather suspect he meant to write 'secure'. Although it was one of the easiest jobs I've done, stealing these plans."

"That doesn't strike you as odd?" Donovan asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Of course it does. Don't think it hasn't occurred to me that this whole thing could be an elaborate trap."

"Oh good. Glad we're on the same page."

"Our mutual employer is one of the most powerful societies in this country. I don't think they would invest this much coin if they planned on killing us."

"The Order of the Black Rose is full of very powerful people. But their members tend to act autonomously."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying any job that comes with a built in plan is a bad job."

"You have a different plan...don't you?"

"I suspect you do as well."

"Indeed I do. But I trust you about as far as I can throw you."

"The sentiment is mutual."

"So what do you propose?"

Donovan smiled.

The following night, a soft snow was falling. The city was quiet again; sensible people were either at home or in the taverns. The guards rarely patrolled in weather this cold, which was perfect for two hooded and cloaked figures sealing over the rooftops. Thick clouds this night meant no moon. No moon meant total darkness. Total darkness meant Donovan and Valerie were nearly invisible as they moved silently through the darkness. The area around the fortress was clear to prevent attackers from being able to sneak up to the walls. Donovan and Valerie dropped down from the roof of the last house and paused in the deep shadows, observing the patch of open ground. A patrol rounded the corner and moved swiftly past their hiding place.

"You're pretty good at sneaking for a human." Valerie whispered.

"You haven't seen anything." Donovan replied. He then dove away from the wall of the house, rolled as he hit the ground, and jumped up, his back against the wall of the fortress. Valerie blinked. The gap between them and the fortress was at least a hundred feet. Yet he had cleared with an extraordinarily small amount of effort. She shook her head and followed, bounding across the space with incredible speed. She skidded to a halt next to him.

"What kept you?" he whispered with a grin.

"How did you do that?" Valerie hissed. Donovan tapped his nose before looking up at the walls.

"This will be a bit of a challenge." He mused. The walls were tall, sheer, and coated in whitewashed plaster. It would be difficult for most climbing equipment to get a purchase.

Valerie sighed, and bent over to begin taking her boots off. Donovan handed her a long coil of rope that she looped over her shoulder, before she turned to face the wall. Donovan took a step back, then crouched down, cupping his hands. Valerie placed a foot in his cupped hands and nodded at him. Donovan launched himself upwards, hurling Valerie into the air. Valerie jumped at the same time Donovan lifted her, giving her a further boost. She reached the top of her arc, and braced her hands and feet against the wall. Her retractable claws dug in to the plaster and she began moving up the wall as fast as she could. Reaching the top, she jumped through the battlements and onto the wall. She looked down over the courtyard below her. There was a small group of soldiers huddled around a brazier, but the rest were inside the central keep. The keep's tower rose above the wall, meaning anyone in the tower would be able to see the cheetah if they were so inclined to look out. Fortunately the windows on this side of the tower were boarded shut for the winter. Lifting the rope off her shoulder, she began tying it around one of the crenellations. Satisfied with the knot, she threw the rope over the side of the wall. After a moment, the rope went taut. Valerie looked over the side of the wall and saw Donovan rapidly ascending the rope. Valerie thought he must have impressive upper-body strength in order to climb hand over hand at that speed. Vaulting over the wall, Donovan landed next to her. He seemed different. Before he had been acting rather charming and slightly foolish. But now he was alert, his face serious. Valerie could almost feel his murderous intent. Dropping his cloak over the side of the wall, he stood up, knee length surcoat flapping slightly in the breeze. He reached over his shoulder and drew his bow. It was a recurve bow, although what materials it was made from could not be discerned in the darkness. Donovan strung the bow, and took an arrow from his quiver as Valerie slipped her boots back on. The two then began to move silently along the wall.

There were torch sconces placed on every fifth crenel, with six guards patrolling the top of the wall. Valerie reached down to her belt and pulled out a dousing sack, a thick leather bag filled with wet grass. She slipped the bag over the first torch they came to, plunging the section of wall they were on into darkness. Pressing themselves against the wall, the two waited. It didn't take long before two of the six guards came to investigate.

"...the wind. It can blow snow over the wall."

"Then why are most of the other torches still lit?"

"Oh stop your whining. You sound like a whipped dog."

"Oi! Don't you go saying stuff like that you son of a-"

Donovan loosed two arrows so fast Valerie didn't even register a second one had been loosed. The arrows struck their targets, passing clean through the guard's throats, severing the spinal cord. The guards slumped to the ground. Donovan moved forwards, past the bodies and continued along the wall. Valerie shook her head and followed him. As she passed the dead guards, she couldn't see the arrows anywhere. As she caught up with Donovan, she saw the arrows. They were embedded a good six inches into the stone of the wall.

"What the hell is your bow made of?!" she hissed. Donovan looked over his shoulder and placed a finger to his lips. Valerie pursed her lips. She was letting her incredulity get the better of her. It would soon be her turn to show off her skills though.

Soon the torches were out and guards on the wall were dead. It would only be when the guard was changed that the bodies would be discovered. They circled round the wall until they could reach the roof of the main keep. Valerie gingerly stepped onto the lead covered roof, being careful not to be too heavy footed. Donovan followed her, and soon they were at the tower rising from the center of the keep. There was a boarded up window a few feet above them. Donovan climbed onto the widow ledge and drew his normal dagger. The window was just large enough for a man to slip through, but the wooden boards protecting the room beyond from the winter chill would be difficult to get through without making a lot of sound. Or so Valerie thought. She was right of course, but that didn't stop Donovan from kicking the shutters so hard they shattered inwards, vanishing in a shower of splinters. Valerie's heart leapt at the noise. They would be discovered for certain. She pressed herself against the wall under the window. Ten heartbeats...twenty heartbeats...thirty heartbeats...still no sound of guards investigating the noise. She slowly pulled herself up to the window ledge and peered inside. A hand shot through the window, grabber her by the cloak and hauled her through the window with a startled 'eep'. Valerie found herself sprawled on the floor with a gloved hand pressed over her mouth. Donovan slowly lifted his hand and got to his feet.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?!" She hissed.

Donovan just put his finger to his lips again. Valerie was beginning to get quite aggravated by this simple gesture. So far the plan was going well, but working with him was proving quite different. Valerie got to her feet, and looked around. They were in a storeroom filled with wooden crates and barrels. Donovan had moved over to the door and was slowly opening it. Valerie slid along the wall next to him as he peered into the hallway. No guards.

"Just as I thought." He muttered.

Valerie peered under his arm.

"I guess you were right." She said, no longer whispering. "What do we do now?"

"Well, considering the chamber we are heading for is a trap, I think you should clean out any coiffeurs you find, and I'm going to go and kill the bastard that tried to set us up."

"Sounds like a plan." Valerie said, and slipped into the shadows.

Donovan headed towards the stairs. Did their employer in the Order of the Black Rose really think they were that stupid? No guards posted in the tower? A pre-made plan to go along with the job? It was probably the most hackneyed ploy ever. It didn't take a genius to figure out either. A low level member of the order, probably a minor noble, wanted to improve their standing so they decided the best way to do that would be to lay a trap for the most dangerous man in the world, and (possibly) the best thief in the world. They would have gone into the vault, it would be revealed it was a trap, there would be gloating, then the two would die in a hail of crossbow bolts, like the plot of every fantastically bad folk tale concerning this kind of thing. As he descended, the route down the tower was clear of guards. Did their 'employer' really assume this wouldn't reek of suspicion? Donovan briefly pondered how to discover the identity of the person behind this, coming to a rather simple solution. He rounded the corner and into the corridor which lead to the vault. Still no guards. Donovan was wondering if there was any point to even continue with this, but this person had wasted his time. He also had nothing better to do, and he had come all this way. Walking down the final corridor, the vault's doors stood before him. They were heavy and solid. Made from thick, aged oak covered with heavy iron sheets with many locks and bolts. Donovan stopped in front of the doors, and rubbed his nose, sniffed, and punched the door.

The iron of the doors was a good two inches thick, but it buckled under the force of the blow accompanied by the sound of cracking timber. The second blow deformed the door, the top hinges tearing free from the stone around them, thick iron pins ripping through granite. The third blow forced the doors inwards, creating a large gap in the doors. Donovan slid his fingers through the gap and heaved. The massive doors tore free from their frame with the shriek of tortured metal, the cacophony of splintering wood and the crack of rupturing stone. A heavy silence descended on the keep. The air was filled with dust, and Donovan stood amongst the debris, rubbing his knuckles. He adjusted a wide copper bracelet on his wrist, and stepped through the ruined doorway. The vault was a wide and spacious room, filled with chests and lockboxes. It also contained ten terrified crossbowmen. Donovan had to give them credit though, as their crossbows were trembling; yet still they pointed at him.

"I will give you one chance to leave alive..." Donovan said. He tilted his head to the side as a crossbow bolt hissed past his ear, and continued. "...If you tell me who hired you, and where I can find him."

The guards said nothing. The one with a now unloaded crossbow was sweating quite profusely, his skin deathly white. Donovan sighed. He looked around the room, before walking over to a chest and kicking the lock, smashing the mechanism. He flipped open the lid revealing the chest was full of gold ingots.

"If you tell me who is behind this, I will not only let you live, but I will let you leave here with the contents of this chest."

"Lord Blackfriar!"

Donovan turned, and saw a young looking guard, his hands firmly pressed over his mouth. Donovan picked up one of the gold ingots, walked over to the man, and offered it to him. The man looked at Donovan, then down at the gold, hands still over his mouth. The other guards watched with baited breath. The young guard slowly took his hands away from his mouth, and gingerly took the gold ingot from Donovan, then flinched.

"That is all I needed to know." Donovan said, turning on his heel and walking out of the vault.

Valerie meanwhile was in the nicer parts of the keep. The noble quarters were lavishly decorated with fine fabrics and all manner of opulence. Valerie was in a high, vaulted bedchamber and had already found and broken in to three strongboxes, each one containing a sizeable sum of gold and precious stones. Clearly the noble that lived here was of the wealthy and stupid sort. The best kind really, wealthy and clever were always a tricky combination. Slipping past the guards had been child's play. They were clearly not expecting anyone to come up to this part of the keep so they were incredibly lax. Valerie shoveled the contents of the third strongbox into her small leather knapsack. Swinging the bag back onto her back, she heard the sound of hurried footsteps, and guards snapping to attention. Valerie ran over to the corner of the room, rapidly scaling the wall and landing in the dark and somewhat sooty rafters of the room. She peered down as the door banged open and a human of medium height and considerable girth entered. He was wearing fine silks and richly decorated robes. This was clearly the lord of the city. A man that could only have been his chamberlain was following him.

"But my lord Blackfriar, leaving the city could damage your reputation with the populace." The chamberlain was saying. He was a rather tall and skinny canid, probably a mongrel and otherwise unremarkable.

"To hell with what the commoners think! I've got to get out of here!" Lord Blackfriar replied, heading over to his dresser.

"We don't know yet that the crossbowmen failed."

"Did you see what he did to the door?! The man has the strength of an ogre!"

"Even so, I doubt he is arrow-proof."

"I'm not taking any chances! Besides, the thief wasn't with him. She could be out for revenge as well!"

"Oh I think she's probably more interested in material things."

"What makes you say that?"

The chamberlain pointed to he empty strongboxes. Lord Blackfriar made a kind of strangled choking noise.

"My gold! My jewls! What happened to them?!"

"I rather suspect the Scarlet Shadow happened to them."

"The thief? She's here?!" Lord Blackfriar squeaked, staring around the room, completely failing to see Valerie crouched in the rafters.

Valerie was certain Blackfriar would see her, but he remained oblivious to her presence, and if the chamberlain knew she was here, he wasn't saying.

"Oh yes. But she isn't your biggest concern right now."

Valerie looked towards the door and saw Donovan standing there, thumbs hooked into his belt.

"Obsidian! It's the Obsidian Blade!" The Lord Blackfriar shrieked.

Donovan reached down to his belt, and then flicked something towards the two other men. The Lord screamed and dived behind his bed. The chamberlain caught what Donovan had thrown. It was a gold ingot. Donovan stepped into the room, and then to the side, leaving the door open. The chamberlain looked down at the gold, up at the door, then to Donovan, then to the cowering lord. With a graceful bow to Donovan, he legged it through the open door. Valerie had to stifle a giggle, then realised there wasn't much point anymore. Donovan had probably bribed all the guards with gold from the vault. Apparently the rumours about the Obsidian Blade were true. If he had no reason to kill you, he didn't. Giving people gold was a nice touch too. It ensured that if anyone started asking questions, everyone who had seen him would conveniently lose their memories. Or were someplace very far away at the time and couldn't possibly know what people were talking about. She dropped down from the rafters and walked over to Donovan.

"Hello there...Obsidian." She said with a grin.

"I really hate that name." Donovan replied.

Drawing his obsidian dagger, Donovan walked over to Lord Blackfriar and grabbed him by the leg. He yanked hard, dragging the terrified noble along the floor, hurling him through the air and into a wardrobe. The oak doors of the wardrobe smashed inwards as the fat lord crashed into them. Donovan walked over to Lord Blackfriar, grabbing him by the collar and hauled him off the floor. It was clear Blackfriar was going to beg for his life, but he never got that far. Donovan stabbed him twice, once through the heart, and once through the neck. It was fast and efficient. Valerie had never seen a blade cut that cleanly or with such little effort before. Lord Blackfriar's body slumped to the floor in a rapidly expanding pool of blood.

"That was a little cold." Valerie said, looking down at the body, then up at Donovan.

Donovan wiped the blade of his obsidian dagger on Blackfriar's robes before he sheathed it.

"He tried to have us killed." Donovan said matter-of-factly.

"I suppose. I got quite a good haul from this place, so I'm happy."

"You should see the vault. Quite a lot of gold."

"Hah! You're clearly no thief."

Donovan looked down to the corpse at his feet, then back to Valerie. Then he raised an eyebrow.

"It never pays to be greedy. Too much loot will slow you down. That's why you pick only a few items, with the highest valu- where are you going?"

Donovan had walked over to the window while Valerie had been speaking.

"We don't need to be here anymore." He replied, picking up a chair and hurling it through the wooden boards covering the arched window.

"And to be honest, I didn't ask for a detailed summary." He continued, climbing up onto the windowsill, vanishing onto the roof. Valerie huffed with irritation. He was really starting to get on her nerves.

Scrambling onto the roof, Valerie looked around for Donovan, but he was nowhere to be seen. She ran over the roof, leaping onto the wall. Running along the battlements she could see no sign of him. The rope was still tied to the crenel where they had left it. After shimmying down to the ground, Valerie pulled out a flint and steel, striking sparks at the rope. The rope had been soaked in lamp oil prior to use, so the hemp fibers caught light easily and burned rapidly. Valerie left the burning rope behind, vanishing into the dark streets. Behind her, in the keep, the alarm bell started to ring. Back at the inn, Valerie flopped down onto the bed. It had been an interesting experience, working with someone who was supposed to be the most dangerous man alive. Not that she had really seen much of him. He must make quite a lot of money from his contracts if he could afford to have that many items enchanted. Mages were so few and such highly specialized individuals, they could charge truly exorbitant fees for their services. Sitting up on the bed, she looked around the small room and sighed. It would be a while before the town guard sent out search parties into the city and surrounding area. By that time Valerie would be long gone. She hadn't brought many belongings with her, whatever she brought fitted nicely into her knapsack, alongside her spoils. The treasure she had taken would fetch a very tidy sum back in the capital. She was about to leave, when she spotted a scrap of parchment, neatly folded on the small table. Drawing a stiletto from her boot, she carefully unfolded the letter. Nothing happened. She slipped the blade back into her boot and picked up the note. Written in astonishingly elegant handwriting was a simple sentence.

"It was emotional."

_ _

Valerie giggled. She didn't know why, but there it was. Scrunching up the note, she left the inn, tossing the parchment into the dying embers of the main fireplace on her way out. It flared briefly and was gone. The barman nodded to her as she left, gingerly stepping over the small mound of drunken patrons the Minotaur bouncer was hurling into the street. As she arrived at the gatehouse, the sky was turning pink. A large convoy of caravans was just pulling out of the gate as she ran up. Jumping onto the lead caravan she sat herself next to the driver.

"Oi! You can't just-"

A perfectly cut sapphire landed in his lap.

"-sit out here in the cold! Go inside and make yourself comfortable!" he continued without missing a beat. Valerie smiled and slipped into the caravan. She found a confortable spot atop bags of wheat grain and settled in, drawing her fur-lined cloak about her. She wondered briefly if she would ever encounter Donovan again? Of course she would hear of his exploits. Whenever a high ranking noble or merchant was assassinated, the city it happened in would be rife with rumours. Of course there were many assassins, but none were as skilled as the Obsidian Blade. Valerie smiled to herself. It really was a very stupid nickname.