View source for Success and Failure

By: Eliros Posted on: September 16, 2010


It was a calm, cool afternoon, the sun struggling to shine through the web of
cloud cover in the skies. A soft breeze blew from the east, causing the tree
leaves of the nearby Black Forest to rustle softly.
Feyr waited on his vantage point in the trees, observing the land around him. He
scanned the old road nearby and noticed the silhouette of a man approaching him.


"That must be the target." Feyr thought, as he began to prepare for his task
ahead. "He does not seem to have a falcon, that will simplify things."


Feyr secured to his hip the crimson leather scabbard holding his personal blade,
Swift Crescent.
The man was only a few dozen paces away, now Feyr could make out his features.
His face was wizened, with a short beard, short brown-gray hair, and a few scars
evident even from this distance. He was heavily garbed in a green cloak that
obscured his shoulders down to his boots, but through the slight breeze and the
motion of the cloak while walking, Feyr could see the glint of metal underneath.
Armor, or a weapon. Or both. The man was directly underneath him now, and Feyr
seized the opportunity.


Leaping down from the treetops, Feyr attempted to strike at the man from above.
The man did not even look up as he ducked out of the way of the aerial assault.
Feyr landed on one knee, and quickly slid into his battle stance, the whirling
wind stance of Thyr. But the man did not make any retaliatory strike. He spun
around to face his adversary.


"Declare yourself, attacker, I dare not presume you merely fell out of a tree,
blade at your side, at my mere passing."


"I am Feyr Blazefire, of the Quisalis, and I have been sent here to kill you."
announced Feyr "Prepare yourself, Marcus Tireth!"


The man frowned and threw off his cloak, revealing plated armor covering his
torso, and a set of broadswords at his hip. Drawing his blades, he advanced on
Feyr, grim determination in his eyes.


"It was only a matter of time," Marcus said "but I will make you earn your blood
money."


Stepping forward, Feyr drew Swift Crescent, and in one clean motion, sliced at
the legs of Marcus.
Blood trailed in the air after the blade as he smoothly re-sheathed it. Marcus,
momentarily surprised at the speed of the slash, regained his composure and drew
his arms over his head, slicing downwards at Feyr with his twin blades of steel.
As he inched to the left to narrowly avoid the first slash, Feyr quickly drew
his blade and parried the second. Immediately after he stopped the momentum of
the broadsword, he quickly slid his own blade down towards the hilt of the
knights weapon. Stepping forwards again, Feyr arced his blade towards his
opponents chest, feeling no resistance as the blade tip pierced through the
metal armor and sliced through blood vessels, causing Marcus's face to flinch in
pain.


Pulling away, Feyr drew his sword back and sheathed it once again, awaiting his
opponents next move. Marcus, no longer showing the pain he felt a moment ago,
lunged at Feyr, slicing one blade upwards, and the other downwards. Knowing he
could not stop both, Feyr lifted his scabbard up and drew his sword halfway out
to parry the lower blade, allowing the other to strike him in the side of the
torso. Feyr immediately felt the presence of a poison entering his body from
where the blade struck, causing him to sweat profusely, but it was unimportant
and he had no time to remedy it. Sliding to the side to position himself, Feyr
drew his blade in a powerful vertical slice, adding another scar to Marcus's
face, and slicing through his shoulder and causing blood to flow in rivulets
down Marcus's armor. In one motion, as his slash completed, Feyr sheathed his
blade and struck at the very faint glowing point in Marcus's neck. As the strike
hit home, Marcus's expression went from a rictus of pain to horror as his limbs
slowly locked up.


'Let it be known," Feyr said calmly "that it was Cirrus of Ashtan that
contracted your death. Farewell."


Feyr formed his hand into a blade, and struck at Marcus's knees, toppling him
over and leaving him prone on the ground. Marcus could only watch in terror as
Feyr drew his blade, positioned it over the knights helpless body, and drove it
into his gut, piercing flesh, bone, and earth underneath. Blood slowly pooled
around the body of Marcus, coloring the grass and dirt a deep red. Feyr watched
as the eyes of his quarry flowed from fear, to pain, and at last, to
nothingness. Withdrawing and sheathing his blade, Feyr smoothly rubbed over the
subtle glow of pressure points in his torso, and felt the knight's poison in his
system begin to ebb away.


-


The room was quiet, as usual, Feyr thought. It was a small room, enough room for
a desk and a chair and little else. The windows were boarded over, and a series
of magical and non magical locks hung on the door. He watched as the secretary
behind the desk quickly fumbled through the drawers, before finally producing a
fist sized bag of gold.


"Here's your fee." the dark robed secretary said, tossing Feyr the bag of gold.
"I've got another one lined up if you want a go at it."


"I'm listening."


"Alright," the secretary began, as he flipped through some papers "apparently
Cirrus wants someone else disposed of, he asked for you personally."


'I didn't know I could be someone's personal assassin, is that proper Quisalis
regulations?"


"Yep, as long as we get our fee." responded the secretary with a half-grin. "The
targets name is Alec, he's staying at the Dragon's Tail Bar tomorrow, so you
have time to rest. Cirrus even pulled some strings and got an extra key for the
room the target is staying in."


"How convenient." replied Feyr with a monotone "Did Cirrus ever state the cause
of the contract on Marcus?"


"No." answered the secretary "And he didn't for this one either."


Feyr sighed and turned around, heading for the door.


"I'll be leaving for Hashan tomorrow evening."


Feyr ascended the creaky wooden stairs of the Dragon's Tail Bar, blade sheath
hidden by a billowing black cloak he wore for urban contracts. The raucous noise
of the men at the bar below was filtering in from the entrance of the stairs.
The night sky shines in through the windows, stars twinkling, the quiet bustle
of Hashan at night was perceptible through the thin walls of the poorly
maintained bar. He reached the top and paused at the landing, peering down the
small corridor. The coast was clear. Feyr began to quietly walk towards the room
marked '1', making sure his footsteps were unnoticeable. He stopped at the door
and listened intently. Not a sound. Suddenly uneasy, he threw his cloak back and
readied himself. Drawing the room key from his pocket, he slowly placed it in
the lock, then quickly turned it and pushed the door open as he lunged inside.
Scanning the room, Feyr saw that it was empty.


"Did I miss him?"


"Alec is gone," said a voice behind Feyr, causing him to wheel around and brace
himself "you'll not fulfill your contract this day, assassin."


As Feyr spun around, he could only make out a shadow in the doorway before a
flash of steel struck him several times seemingly at once.


"This is a trap!" said Feyr in slight disbelief, wincing as he attempted to
suppress his pain.


"You killed Marcus, and I bet you didn't even know who he was."


"The client did," replied Feyr "and that is all an assassin needs to know."


"I am Andra Tireth. The man you killed was my father!"


Now Feyr could make out the figure in the doorway. It was a woman, with blond
hair reaching down to her chest. Not much younger than him, wearing a set of
blue-gold ringmail, in addition to a long curved sword sheathed in a blue
scabbard at her side. Sheathed, but she just attacked? Engraved in gold near the
top of the scabbard, read the words 'Crying Angel'. Another blademaster?


"I am going to avenge Marcus by dousing Crying Angel with your blood." Andra
calmly said as she grasped her scabbard, her flaming eyes betraying her rage.


"It is the client who is held responsible for the death." Feyr responded, a
stern tone in his voice. "The assassin is merely the means, not the reason. Seek
your vengeance on Cirrus!"


"I care not for technicalities nor formalities, Cirrus will get his due.
However, Marcus died by your hand, and now you shall die by mine."


Andra made no perceptible movement, yet Feyr felt pain blossom all around his
body. He glanced down and saw many bleeding cuts on his skin. He then realized:
this woman was indeed a fellow blademaster, but she was much, much more
powerful.


Attempting a strike, Feyr slid towards the woman, drawing his sword and slicing
at her abdomen. Andra neatly leaned back and evaded the blow. Undeterred, Feyr
followed through with an unarmed strike aimed at her neck. Andra met her
opponents strike with one of her own, her hand knocking his out of the air. Feyr
felt that hand quickly go numb as Andra leaned forward and drew her blade in an
arc, slicing through Feyr's shoulders and torso, causing blood to fountain out
from the wound.


"Had father not been forced to relinquish his own abilities, he would have
crushed you like a bug." Andra said, her voice raised. "He was a good man, even
after his banishment, and now he is dead, because of YOU."


Feyr could barely stand up straight. He had already lost so much blood, his
vision was clouding over. He could vaguely perceive the woman drawing her sword
and placing a hand on the flat of the blade. The steel proceeded to erupt into
silent orange flames.


"I hope you have made peace with Thoth, for you will be seeing Him soon."


Feyr was not sure what happened after that. One moment she was in front of him,
in the doorway. The next, she was gone. He heard the sibilant sheathing of a
blade behind him, but could not force his body to turn around. He could not feel
his legs. Or his arms. Or... anything. He did not feel any pain as he fell to
the floor in pieces. The last thing Feyr could see as everything went black was
Andra standing over him, her face no longer one of anger, but of great despair.
Her lips moved as if to speak but Feyr could hear nothing. She drew her blade,
holding her arms out, she pointed it at herself, the tip digging into her torso.
And then there was nothing.



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