Raven Black hair cascaded down past her shoulders, lightly covered in a royal blue dress. She looked like a Lady. Could have passed for noble's arm decoration if she so choose. She does not, instead she stands looking over the streets below of her city, the dark marble statue of a woman mimics her composure. Hard, rigid and beautiful. For those that know her, she is a demanding Ma'dam. Demanding but not without compassion. She did not turn from me when I was wanted for murder. She did not turn from me when I saw ghost in every shadow. She did not turn from me, even when she was thought dead.
This night, she turned to me. Four of her own were lost, beneath the city in the sewers. Four days they had been missing, with not a word from them. Take the others and find them. Their fate would be known, and if possible returned to her.
What they were doing there I do not know. I didn't ask, it wasn't my place. I give my assurances that it will be done and turn to the door to leave, to gather the others.
"Vastiani"... she pauses for a long moment.... "last chances have been given and exhausted. The one does not come back."
"Ma'dam?"
"It is not an easy decision, Vastiani, and one I do with a heavy heart, but it is for the good of business." She seemed sad to give that order, and truth be told I was not happy to hear it. But an order given all the same.
"As you wish Ma'dam" a cold, emotionless reply, I exit the chambers.
I gather the others, including the "mark" and we desend into the sewers thru a passage that few know of. It takes only a bit and we hear voices. For those that do not know, voices echo oddly in sewer corridors and it was equally as quick and we were lost, in a section of the sewers thus far untraveled in our dealings.
We find ourselves back at the entrance we entered into the sewers. The three of us, deciding our best course of action, when suddenly a flash of blueish white light. I dive to the ground, coming up from a roll, blades in hand ready to battle whatever demon had taken an interest in our presence. My other companion gripped the small crossbow in her hands, aiming at the light and ready to fire.
No demon appeared, no foul burning magic. Simply gone. The "Mark" had vanished. Simply vanished into the blueish-white light. Gone.
Some would consider the job complete then, for surely it was no parlor trick of her own that caused her to vanish. But that is not what I agreed to. I did not agree that she would vanish, nor did I agree that she would die. I agreed that it would be my blade that took her life. I had given my word.
I do not go back on my word.
Head long the remaining two of us plunge into the sewers.
A muffled cry, echos thru the corridor, as we hurry onward, myself leading my companion hot on my heels. I stop quickly and press myself against the slime and filth covered corridor.
There in a round chamber, covered in green haze was the most hideous creature I do believe I have ever laid eyes upon. Half snake, half man... a Yaun-ti I later learn they call themselves. An altar lays between two smoking braziers and the room is littered with half eaten bodies of those missing from the city. The center of the room is dominated by a large pool of sewer sludge. And it is there that the largest snake I have ever seen emerged and has my "mark" coiled in its body, constricting it.
Chanting fills the room as this Yaun-ti calls out to its unholy god. I sneak closer, my companion guarding the only entrance.
"Release her, it is your only warning."
The snake recoils from its prey, leaving my broken and battered "mark" behind. I move to stand over her. To protect her and my word both. She will die, that had been decided already, but it would be my own blade that did it, not some foul snake man priest of some slithering god.
The Yaun-ti starts to cast, calling upon the power of the its god, and the battle is on. After an initial burn from his unholy powers, I quickly gain and press the advantage. His prayers and own weapons not able to keep up with the speed of my two blades. The silvered long sword slicing thru its scaly hide, followed quickly by the deep black dagger with the razors edge.
It was not long and the scaly thing lie at my feet, breathing it's last breath.
"You were warned." I whisper and step on the things throat as I turn to my "Mark". Their laying on the cold, slime covered floor she laid. I study her, covered in sickly clear liquid. Broken and battered, she looks to me pleadingly.
Did she wish me to help her?
Did she wish me to just end the suffering?
It mattered little. My other companion, the one not vomitted up by the large snake is sent to clear the passage. It leaves me and my "mark" alone, with only the large snake who endlessly swims around the pool in the center of the room.
"Ma'dam's orders, it is just business." I whisper in the "marks" ear.
The look of recognition and relief upon her face. I slide the black obsidian dagger across her throat. She did not plead or try to speak. She took her fate with stoic determination. When her last breath had escaped her lips, she was fed to the snake who graciously accepted the meal, and left me in peace.
"It is done Ma'dam. There were no witnesses."
Later in my own quarters, away from everyone I reflect back on it.
She was sometimes a head ache.
She was sometimes hasty in her decisions.
She was sometimes very good at what she did.
She was only once my "mark".
But Mossi, the irrepressable light fingered hin woman....
She was always my friend.
*****
Thanks Vaelahr - was a class act toon, and she will be missed.
I, not events, have the power to make me happy or unhappy today. I can choose which it shall be. Yesterday is dead, tomorrow hasn't arrived yet. I have just one day, today, and I'm going to be happy in it.~~Groucho Marx
People amuse me. Sure I don't laugh like an adolescent woman-child or make much of an attempt to see comedic shows or the performances by traveling bards that so often frequent the various ale houses within Selgaunt, but they amuse me all the same. What amuses me most is the reasoning people use to justify their actions. Excuses maybe. A man, be it dwarf, gnome, hin or human, has a natural need to justify thier actions, and with that comes the inherent mindset that they are better men since they can justify it.
Take murder for instance. I believe that very few people indeed, regardless of race or creed, are killed for no reason. Most killings are done by someone known to them, someone that has offended them, however slight. Even the soldier that goes to war, has chosen to stand up for his beliefs or his country, thus he has chosen to risk his life to his enemies blade. It was a choice he made knowing, but often not understanding, full well the sacrifice he and his loved ones may suffer.
A man slips in the window of his "marks" house, stays to the shadows and kills his mark silently then slips out again. By most accounts that is murder. A man's life is taken. Somewhere a child will go fatherless, a wife becomes a widow, a mother loses her son. Is this not the definition of murder? What the "mark" did to deserve such a fate is forgotten or ignored, only that he was murdered remains on peoples minds. This act is looked down upon by the righteous and law-fearing people of most lands.
But take combat, where blade meets blade. In the end, a man's life is taken. Somewhere a child will go fatherless, a wife will become a widow and a mother will lose her son. But this in the eyes of the general public is not murder, in fact many consider this honorable. The fact that he choose to meet on the field of battle or a gladitorial arena is glorified, not forgotten or ignored.
Now don't ask me to justify these differing mindsets. Do not ask me to agree nor disagree with them. Honestly and truthfully I care not how you justify it. How you ease your mind so that you may sleep peacefully at night is not my concern.
But do understand this, there are those that do not see the differnce between murder and honorable combat in black and white. Your war is fought on a battlefield and you are honored for it. My war is fought in the shadows of the alleys and I want no notice for it.
So while you pat yourself on the back for being honorable and justify your actions to yourself and your compainions, so that you may all sleep peacefully at night, remember there are those that need no personal justification for the strike of their blades.
It is good to be home. The city has changed some in my absence. But it is home, none the less. Some familiar faces gone and others have returned. The smell of the salt air is oddly refreshing to my senses.
She was glad of my return, and once seeing her smile I could think of nowhere else I'd rather be.
My trip away met with limited success, but success none-the-less. It is odd, that someone such as I have been given the opportunity for politics. No, I do not run for mayor or governor, but my actions directly impact those that do so now.
The city is safer for my actions. Odd, by certain peoples definition this would make me a hero. Hmmm. By even others definition this would make me an assassin. The irony of another case of those hypocrites needing to justify their actions is amusing.
Hero or Assassin? A paradox of sorts I suppose. Selgaunt is safer for my actions, and as such my own interest within Selgaunt are safer. That is truly the difference I believe. The righteous would do so for the city, their own interest coming second. The assassin would do for himself, the cities safety just a byproduct.
I did what others were unwilling to do. I did what others were unable to do. Both from skill, and morale compass viewpoints. Some simply could not have performed the acts that I have in the past few months. They step too heavily, they breathe too loudly, and the strike of their blade is not as true. Others are bound by conscious, or moral restrictions. Sometimes, one simply must cut the head from the serpent to slay it. I see no reason to wake the serpent, simply to inform it I will strike its’ head from it’s body.
The Hero risks his life, leaves home and does what must be done for the good of Sembia, or righteousness. They kiss their loved ones good-bye. They go forth, the sun gleaming off their polished armor and shield to face the growing darkness. They die with prayers to their nation or god upon their lips. They forsake their own desires, their own wants for what they perceive to be the higher road. Upon success, they are bestowed with honor and monetary gifts for their deeds that are no more than an afterthought. To the Hero, this is the end goal. An evil fowled.
The Assassin does much the same. He risk his life and kisses his loved ones good-bye. The similarities stop there I suppose. For they go forth in the darkness, not for the good of Sembia, but for their own goals and desires. The fact that their nation benefits from their actions is simply a byproduct of the actions performed. When the assassin dies he does not die with prayers to nation or god upon their lips, but with silence. Alone, with none to witness their passing. Upon success, they are not bestowed with honor or financial gifts, but with the sense of knowing that their own plans, their own goals will continue on as they have planned. To the Assassin, this is not the end goal, but just another step on the path of greater success.
Hero or Assassin. Does it truly matter when the result is the same?
He had booked passage on the pirate turned cargo ship the Fallen Angel, under the familiar alias Charles Cartwright. It is a name he had used often in the past few years. And truth be told none cared his name, so long as his gold was good. But all the same, he knew not what sort of greeting he should expect at his next port.
He stood at the bow of the ship, staring out at the sea. They weren't long from the Pirate Isles, to the aft they still loomed large, but his eyes were not looking back. They were looking forward, not to where he had been the past few years, but to where he was going.
The smell of sea air flared his nostrils, and the wind blew the white cloak in the breeze behind him, revealing a well cared for longsword and a black dagger that hung easily on his hips. He tightened the band that kept his black hair in a pony tail behind him, staring ever forward across the sea.
He could not see her yet, and wouldn't for about tenday, depending on the weather and wind. But he knew where he was headed. Finally.
Surely things had changed since last he was there. It had been what two, three years since he had left? It was time now. His job was done. He had been sent to the Isles to solve a problem, thus the problem was now fixed.
Now the questions assailed his mind. Was “She” alright? He had sent no letters to tell her of his dealings. She knew he had left, but not to where or why. Had she waited on him? Had she left? Had she assumed him dead and moved on? He could not blame her if she had he told himself.
What of his contacts? Surely some would have moved on or died in the past few years. That would be the first order of business once arriving; to reestablish his network to check on his contacts and businesses.
What of his family? How had they faired in his absence? He knew they were in good hands, but all the same several years had passed.
He looked again to the horizon, across the sea. Still nothing on the horizon, but soon he would see her on the horizon.
He was finally headed home, to his family, to “Her”, to his city; Selgaunt.
He tossed a small gem into the sea, in payment to the Bitch Queen as he mumbled under his breath, “May the salt aired breeze be their only warning!”
There she was. After months on business, across seas, through blood, sweat and tears, I laid eyes upon her. I could not hear her call yet, not really. But I could see her. The lights were evident in the distance, soon, very very soon I would be home. To the city of my birth, the city of my greatest failures, and the city of my constant success.
Oh.. Selgaunt, how I have missed you.
Nothing worries me now, nothing upon my return is a concern. Nothing could have been done, that cannot be undone. Sure, some will have written me off as not returning or worse yet, dead. But few would test their luck upon seeing my.... my almost smiling face.
But Her. Did she wait? Did she leave? My stomach turns in worry. I am amused by the emotion. Little gets to me, all things are business, all things are tools, and calculations to manipulate accordingly. All things but Her. Surely my Brother would have seen to any needs she had, albeit in a cold yet efficient manner. He would expect and receive the same from me.
Soon there would be no questions. No doubts. No worries. My empire was intact or it was not. My investments were paying off or they were not. This would be fixed accordingly.
Did She wait? The only question that had an answer I could not influence.
There are those that would laugh, if they only knew, at the misplaced Dark Prince of Selgaunt over the woman I love as she keeps Her sharpest dagger hidden against my very being.
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