The First of Many Failures
Lynia stealthed through the market, using the shadows of the many wagons and carts to hide herself. Even in the bright sunlight, minimal effort was required to keep herself hidden; the shouting of the vendors rose over her footsteps, and the spells on her dark cloak shrouded her from any casual observers. Only if someone were looking very hard for her, would they see her lurking in the shadows.
She was incredibly nervous. This was her first assignment, ever. She was sure that she would do it well. During her training, she'd always pictured herself as the queen of assassins, dispatching her targets quickly and silently; and she was certain that she would succeed in every task that she undertook. This was her first job, and she couldn't afford to mess it up.
She fingered the knives on her belt as she searched for her mark. A high elf named E'daril. Noble by birth, thief by calling; and the only member of his House to be expelled in over two centuries. As it were, E'daril stole precious goods just like she drank water. And he was supposedly pretty damn good at it as well.
But he'd gone a little too far, and stolen from one of the members of the Royal Houses. They'd contacted the Guild to eliminate the little bugger. Lynia felt sorry for him – he'd just chosen the wrong pocket to steal our of – but had to do her job anyway. It was part of life.
And so, quietly, she ran through the market. She ran through the description of E'daril in her mind, while her keen eyes searched the milling crowd. High Elves were pretty squishy; a quick and painless thrust in the back would finish him off.
She found him by one of the jewelcrafters. He was holding up a necklace to the sunlight, casually conversing with the vendor, and looking for all the world like an honest buyer. The merchant was obviously enamored by him, and didn't even notice as his hands flashed with the power of a quick charm.
He dropped the necklace back into her hands, and giving her a wink, walked away – with the real jewel safely in his pocket. Lynia was impressed. His tongue was so glib that it was practically shining in the light.
But nonetheless, a target was a target, and Lynia would have to kill him. She stealthed towards him from the sides, ready to throw a spell-guided knife through his chest. With any luck, he would be dead before he hit the floor, by which time she would be gone, her first task completed and her boss happy.
She summoned magical energy in her throwing hand, hoping that her strength of mind was enough to guide the blade on its course. She stood up and took a step back, holding the knife to eye level and preparing to hurl it –
When suddenly E'daril turned to face her. She froze and dropped her knife, hoping that the charms on her clothes were enough to keep her hidden. He glanced curiously in her direction, and she pressed herself against the wall, not even daring to breathe. A moment later, he saw the blade clatter to the ground –
And he ran for it. The high elf sprinted down the street faster than Lynia's eyes could register, but her hands were swifter and grabbed the knife from the ground, throwing it after him. It whistled through the air, a flash of silver, drawing a few screams from passer-bys –
But slid harmlessly into the opposite wall. Lynia cursed, and scaled the wall behind her, pulling her legs up and vanishing above the rooftops just before anyone could register what had just happened. She had failed in her very first mission!
Quickly, she gathered herself and ran across the rafters. The worst thing that could happen now was if she was caught. As she ran, she gave a little sigh; she couldn't do anything right, not even the most low-down and filthy job she could imagine. Being an assassin had not particularly appealed to her, but it was the only option; better a murderer than a vagabond. But she couldn't even kill anyone properly!
She sighed, and ran back towards the Sanctuary. Next time, she promised herself. From now on, I will succeed in every mission I undertake.
She was certain that she would never encounter E'daril ever again. What were the odds?