An Assassin's Tale by Cenit (Patreon)

She makes her way down the side of the wall, quiet as the night. The guards do not hear her footfalls as she takes to the ground and sprints through the shadows. All is silent. They laugh and joke as she approaches, unaware they are being watched. They make comments about the day, their job and what tomorrow might bring. Wholly unaware that tomorrow would never come for them. She would see to that.

There is no ambiguity to her movement. No pretense or subterfuge. Without a word she slides her blade from its scabbard and calls upon the deep reservoir of power from within. Her quintessence burns and she focuses it to ignite the hidden power of her blade. The guards do not see the brief flash of dark light, as the mana takes hold and the blade is imbued with preternatural power. A single swing cuts through flesh, armor and bone. Their bodies make a thumping sound as they slump to their knees before pitching forward, headless.

It scarcely means anything at all to the small marten. The bodies are barely to the ground for a second before she is up and listening out for any signs of alarm. Her ears twitch softly as she listens in the darkness.

Nothing. No one has heard her and she is sure no one will. She assess the area, making sure her blade has done its work. When ignited, the energy flowing through the blade both seers and cuts; there should be no blood from her strike. It had done its job, only the faint smell of cauterized flesh could give her away; but it wasn’t distinctive enough to be noticed.

Quickly, she went about dragging the bodies quietly into the darkness; before proceeding with her task.

She made her way through the small fort like a wraith, murdering everyone she encountered. Some were felled by the swing of her sword. Poison darts and throwing knives were the end of others. One particularly unfortunate bison did not go down when he took a throwing knife to the neck. The quiet killer finished him by cutting his legs out from under him and rolling him into the hearth. The cry of thunder and thump of rain masked his gurgle screams as he thrashed about in fiery agony. He soon died, filling the stench of burnt flesh through the hall.

The killings went on for more than thirty minutes before the cloaked assassin finally found what she had been looking for; a large door guarded by two alert kinlings. Obviously it was where the gang’s boss laid his head. She had been searching for him for a week, ever since he had manage to run afoul of her master.

Sir Atreyu had told her to let it alone. The vile scum and his lackeys had been hired to kidnap a adolescent mage, to what end she did not know. But they’d stimeyed her master and his team of Ravens by releasing foul critters in the city. These minor beast of mana attacked and assaulted the citizenry, making chase from the Ravens impossible. They had a duty to protect the people from such creatures, she did not.

She had disobeyed her masters orders to help with the villages defense and pursued the kidnappers. Without doubt she knew that a team of Ravens would not need her help in such a task. Besides, her training and her skills were better suited to other tasks. So she set about the doing what she had been raised to do. What she’d been born for; killing.

Clarissa had been trained as the perfect killer. Raised as an assassin for the ‘Iron Coffin’ from the time she could walk. Having been one of their ‘Bel’hasiers’, the pine marten had amassed more than 230 kills in her short career. That career would come to an end at the age of eleven, when her masters doubled her dose of the mind altering drug they used to keep their little death angels compliant. Her masters had sold her out.

Now she served a new master. A dutiful lord who was barely aware of her past and history; of the weapon he now controlled. A paragon of virtue, Sir Atreyu would never have condoned Clarissa’s actions.

‘Naive,’ she thought to herself. The young master believed in the integrity of people. He would have demanded a surrender. He would have wanted these kinlings tried and jailed, but jail was too good for these kin.

Her mother had sold her to kin such as these as a baby. Kinlings such as these turned around and sold her to the ‘Iron Coffin’. Kin such as these take men, women and children; selling them into bondage and depravity without a single bit of remorse. The only mercy or integrity kin like these deserved was at the edge of her sword...

‘And they shall have it,’ she thought to herself.

Clarissa closed her eyes and again drew upon her inner spirit. Speed would be her weapon and she would wield it with lethal efficiency. Focusing on the guards down the hall from her, she reached out, anchoring herself to the quintessence of her target and pulled.

Like a bat out of hell she came flying toward the two unsuspecting kinlings. The one on the left, a scraggly, grey haired, dhole was the first to notice something amiss. Though he was not adept, the canine could still fill the uneasiness that comes when another is pulling against your soul’s defense. She targeted him on the first pass.

It took mere moments, but moments were more than she needed. She’d again drawn on her blades enchantment to strike down the dhole as she passed. She split the large kin from shoulder to waist, on an upwards slash.

Using the advantage of small size and agility, she pulled again on the flow around her, to turn her body towards the door and released her grip on the invisible bounds of energy that flowed around her. Her feet hit the door, one after the other, making a loud knock. The dholes partner, a mature mongoose, could not react in time to what was happening around her. Clarissa’s blade cut through her like paper; and she toppled over dead.

The youthful assassin wasted no time then, checking the area and finding the nearby window she’d seen on her first pass. She knew that there’d be time. Even with her small frame, she had the strength to move the dead weight of the corpses and push them out. Speed was of the essence and she had to worry about those behind the door. Curiosity may override caution before long and she wanted to be ready when that door opened.

‘Garret, Kaplan?’ a bear called out. The knock on the door had come so suddenly, but then nothing. At first, the grouchy ursa planned to ignore it. The boss had asked to be left alone; and he so enjoyed watching the old pig work. They’d taken a great prize a week back, right under the noses of Raven Knights.

The gang’s leader, a boar named, Otto Leber, was a disgraced knight of Schwinehold. Where he had failed at nobility and honor, he’d certainly excelled in amoral depravity. His second, a bear named Trent had run with Otto for almost a decade. They’d worked in the shadows as a slaving gang, specializing in the acquisition and breaking of young adepts.

Boy or girl, it didn’t matter. Otto always began the breaking of a person by physically and sexually debasing them. To destroy the mind of kinling you must first destroy their sense of worth and then their sense of self. Otto was a master of this dreadful work and Trent was just the kind of pervert who got off on witnessing it.

So he was reluctant to turn his attention away from the spectacle. Otto had the girl, a chipmunk barely eleven years old, drugged and trussed up on ‘the device’. A custom apparatus designed to cause pain, pleasure and all manner of emotions in between. Trent knew that pain would be first on the menu. The girl had been obstinate and defiant and he knew Otto always made them pay for that. If she could be broken with minimal damage, she would fetch a high price Trent knew. But secretly, he was hoping to hear the little bitch scream.

‘What was that?’ Otto asked, turning his attention from his work.

‘Somebody knocked,’ Trent replied. The swine just waved back to him, signaling for him to open the door.

‘Find out what they want and punish them later, things are getting interesting!’ he sneered, running a blade down the side of the girls neck. He cut her thin, not deeply, just enough to make her bleed. To her credit, she did not cry out. She merely grinded her teeth and took it. No, the crying began when the brute began lick and suck the girl’s neck. He had taken a large bite of the citrine fruit he held in his off hand, the juices burned in the open wound so painful that the tiny chipmunk shrieked like an owl.

The hulking bear stopped briefly to admire his boss’ handy work. His smile was both lurid and disturbing. His pupils dilated and his breathing increased. Yeah, he was getting off on it. Clarissa would make sure it would be the last bit of pleasure he ever had in his sick, sad, life. She waited patiently for him to stomp his way to the door and open it before making her grand entrance. She did so with a perfectly timed flip through the rooms window, but neither Trent nor Otto noticed anything.

Staring perplexed out the door, Trent looked around for his guards. They were nowhere to be seen. An awkward smell was coming down the hallway, but it had to be coming from the main hall. Perhaps someone was cooking something in the hearth. Whatever it was, it smelled terrible. He could barely hear anything with the howl of the wind and rain, save the slamming of the window shutters a few feet down the hall.

The old thug daned to call out to his guards again, but decided against it. They would not be missing if there weren’t trouble. So the bear did the smart thing and shut the door tight, locking it behind him. He turned just in time to see a small hooded figure approach him from the center of the room. Dripping wet and wielding a small sword, the wraith said nothing as she thrust the blade through his face.

Trent died instantly, his body going slack as he just hung there like a pinned butterfly. Clarissa took a moment to stare into his eyes and wonder; how many people did the beast send to a fate such as hers. How many little girls and boys were irrevocably damaged. He’d died instantly and she felt only disappointment for it. If she could, she would kill him slowly a thousand times; but he wasn’t the one she wanted. She could let him off easy, but not his boss.

She approached without a word, but made no attempt to hide her footfalls. He would not notice, so engrossed was he in the torment of the little mage. She could have walked up with a marching band and he’d still be unawares. Deftly, she pulled a quill from her pouch, careful not to let it prick her. As she neared, she stared into the eyes of his victim and for the first time that night, allowed herself a smile.

It was only a small prick, but the effect was instant. The pig grabbed his neck and howled in pain as blackness filled his veins. He turned immediately, knife in hand to find his attacker. But he was too tall to notice Clarissa at first. His eyes grew big as he beheld her handy work though.

‘Trent!?’ he asked confused. He looked around, the poison overcoming his defenses, but he still didn’t notice the marten.

The heavy set oinker took two massive steps forward, choking and wheezing, before noticing the girl.

‘Who... Who are... you?’ he managed to gasp. Clarissa ignored him, walking past him as he fell to his knees reaching for her. Casually she began to undo the bounds that held the poor chipmunk to the apparatus.

‘You did this! What did you do to me!?’ he demanded through his pain. Helping the young mage from her torment, Clarissa continued on without reply. She carefully let the tamias fall upon her shoulder and delicately assisted her to the door. The angry boar wheezed and convulsed on the floor, screaming his frustration with profanity-laden threats.

‘You’ll pay for this you bitch! I’ll hunt you down! You will not be safe from me!’ he threatened. The assassin still said nothing. She calmly removed her sword from the face of the bear, letting his body drop. Whistling nonchalantly, she took out a cloth and cleaned the blade. Confused, the worn and wearing mage asked;

‘You’re just going to leave him alive... he’ll come for me again. I know it.’ The scared adept was crying now, her resolve barely keeping her on her feet. Clarissa sheathed her sword and shrugged.

The quiet marten turned to leave, but again the boar bellowed his rage at her.

‘You better kill me bitch! Or I’m going to find you, both of you! I’m gonna break you!’ He snarled through spit and flem. The large boar, scraped nails against the ground as he crawled forward in excruciating pain. He meant to make it to the girls by will alone, his rage powering him through his dismay.

Stopping, Clarissa finally decided to address the board.

‘You’re already dead,’ she pronounced.

‘Your body won’t fully figure that out for days. The ‘waking death’ will do that to you.’ She added. The boars eyes grew big as he looked into Clarissa’s cold merciless ones.

‘You, didn’t...’ he cried in disbelief.

‘Please, no! Just kill me!’ the boar begged.

Thrashing about he tried desperately to pull himself toward Clarissa and the mage, but the two had already began to make their way out of the room. He begged and pleaded for the assassin to come finish him, but his cries fell on deaf ears. This had been girls plan all along. She’d let him suffer and die slowly. For the days it took for him to die would be worse fate than any kin should ever know.

The venom of the Reaper Wasp was not enough to overcome a full size kinling normally, but a highly concentrated, mana infused version was known as the ‘waking death’. When the Reaper Wasp inject its victims, normally small ferals and insects with it’s payload of venom... a little something else comes along for the ride. It’s eggs, smaller than they can see enter the bloodstream. As the target is immobilized by the painful venom, the eggs hatch and begin colonizing the body as larva; growing by devouring blood and flesh. It’s a slow, painful process being eaten alive from the inside; but it was no less than he deserved.

Clarissa closed the door and left Otto to his misery. With the venom doing it’s work, his futile thrashing and pitiful pleas for mercy ceased. She would be halfway back to the Exam before the eggs hatched. Hopefully her master would be there. Sure, he would be upset that she ran off on her own again, but that always came with caveat of care and worry. His genuine concern for her.

He would not mind her actions, because he would not know. She made sure to promise a swift reprisal if the chipmunk ever shared what she had witness. Clarissa wasn’t the type to ask another to lie for her though, she simply said;

‘Say nothing,’ Thankful and more than a little afraid of her savior, the mage would oblige.

The night had ended as it began, silent as the dawn. There were no birds chirping or bugs buzzing about. The halls of the dilapidated fort was a graveyard. Perhaps one day someone will come by and discover her work. Maybe bury the bodies that lie haphazardly in the shadows of the halls. Some soul would read them their last rights and show their bodies the respect they never showed their victims. Clarissa hoped not. She hoped they rotted. A monument to their failures as people and a silent record of how men like them should meet their end.