The Birth of an Assassin
Far too long since I sat down and wrote something. This is the result of yesterday's downtime -- a little something about a character of mine -- hope it's not too dark and grim. c:
All is silent where she stands in a corner of the dark room, lights long since turned off with the coming of nightfall. The only resemblance of light is what comes from her bright, yellow eyes, usually kept covered by the ebony leather of her hood, but not this time. For the past ten or so minutes, the silent being has stood still and done naught but stare at a large bed fit for a king a mere four foot away from her in the center of the room, propped up against the wall. Scattered all across the floor is clothing, something that looks to be a child's toys and books. A brief thought creeps into her head, and she ponders who in their right mind would leave so many things on the floor when there is plenty of place for storing them a mere step away.
Bringing up an ebony furred hand, the female is able to gaze at her own reflection caused by the steel of the dagger her hand is loosely clutching, its sharpened edge pointing downwards. If one were to inspect the blade closely, they'd find it coated in some sort of scentless substance. Her gaze fixes upon her eyes, glancing over her wolf like features, and it's with a breathless rising and falling of her shoulders that she lowers her left arm again. Her ears perk up to a sudden noise coming from just outside the door in front of her, and she instinctively presses herself in against the corner she stands in to bring the dagger in behind her back, silencing her breath as well as pulling up her hood to keep her eyes from revealing her position.
Light briefly washes in throughout the other side of the room as the door opens somewhat, far from fully, and then closes again with barely any sound made at all. As darkness once more wraps its shroud around the room, the shadowy silhouette of something smaller than herself by far treads into the room warily, tiptoeing through the mess that could just as well be a pile of traps for any unwanted, clumsy visitors.
The hidden female does not move a muscle for what feels like an eternity, simply watching over the form that plays in the shadows, before long coming to a rest in the bed that seems quite comically oversized. Inaudible mumbling at least identifies whomever it is as a male.
Slowly, carefully, the female moves from her hiding place, nimbly avoiding stepping on anything that might give her away. The grip about her blade's hilt tightens as she nears the bed, and regarding the male that is surely by now drifting off into dreams again, she finds that her work is cut out for her. He is sleeping on his back facing away from her and there is a pair of vacant pillows just beside him for her to use to muffle any sound he might make should he wake... But something within her will not move any further than to an inch away from the bed's side. At least, not until she reassures herself of that the idle form truly is sleeping which is achieved by more waiting. Of course, had he been awake, he'd likely a long time ago been alarmed by her presence. Before proceeding, she deftly slips out an envelope from her pouch and places it down on the dresser stood by the bed. Her left arm is lifted up into a half ready position and her right goes for the uppermost pillow in the pile of three by his head.
Her previously steady arm has been reduced to a trembling excuse by the time she has prepared things to make as little a mess as possible in the process of ending the life she now holds in her hands and her right has let go of the pillow momentarily to cautiously begin pulling up the silken fabric of the covers above his head, ever so careful not to disturb him.
She wants to simply be done with this and be on her way, but something gnaws at her, and she knows not what it is. Nor does she care. With a fluent motion, her digits tighten about the hilt and her arm steadies itself anew as she brings her arm around in half a sideways arc, then smoothly drives the steel just beneath the left side of his chest. There is only a twitch and a jerk coming from her target as the pierces flesh, and she is quick to bring the pillow down over his head and apply pressure, listening to the muffling sound of him fighting for his last breaths, even though it is hardly a struggle worthy of mention.
Within seconds all is quiet again and she goes to remove her blade from the cavity in which it rests, feeling the warmth of the blood that had pulsed out of the wound. Some of it inevitably coated her hand, but she will have plenty of time to worry about that later. She places the pillow back where she took it from, wiping away the blood from her blade with a cloth procured from a pouch secured to her belt, then stows away the dagger in its sheath by her hip. Right beneath it is another sheath with a dagger of the same kind.
With swift and agile movements, she heads for the window located to the right of the bed, not once wanting to look over her shoulder at what she had just done. There is no pride in her steps once she has shut the window and scaled the wall back down to the ground, just a story down. She has killed before, but never like this. A vial of ink, quill and parchment is brought up from her pouch -- roomy enough to fit most of her necessities -- along with another envelope, into which she puts the parchment once done with it. As promised, it is delivered to a man waiting outside the town's tavern.
The deed is done, I have done what you asked of me down to the last detail.
None saw me enter, and none saw me leave. I was even able to leave the letter behind on the dresser as you wished for.
I will return to your side by dawn in three days.
I only hope that you will find it in yourself to honour your part of the agreement now. I expect her to go loose and I care little for the gold.
- Thelna