Disclaimer: I don't own Ragnarok Online. If I did I could probably pay people to write this for me.
Author's Notes: While not my first piece of writing, this is my first time placing one here. That said, please comment. If you have an opinion, then share it.
Prologue
Intent
"Hold position! Steady at the rear!"
Orion sighed from his position on the wagon, if more in frustration than simple annoyance. Had his position not been obscured from view he would have stood out as the only man not on edge. Between the swordsmen and knights brandishing their weapons and the merchants edging anxiously to the rear of the convoy, such behavior would have been more than noticed. He stroked at his cerulean hair with one gloved hand – a habit he had taken up when things did not work out as planned – and cast his gaze beyond the mass of people and across the fields. He could make out several pinpricks of light that seemed to float in the night sky; torches lining the southern wall of Prontera. Here he was, not even a mile away from the city, when something had to happen.
Orion merely shook his head in disbelief, more irritated that trouble had to spring itself upon him at the last second than worried for his life, and calmly stepped out of the wagon.
The man in merchant's garb calmly strode to the head of the four-cart caravan, where a gathering of ten mixed sword-wielders had formed a defensive line against the unexpected company. Orion himself did not stop until he was several paces beyond the barricade of blades, painting himself as the head of the pack. Opposite him was a relatively small gathering of individuals.
The first to acquire Orion's notice was, oddly enough, located at the back of the group. This was probably because he stood a whole head taller than everyone else. He appeared solid and well-built, with a clean-shaven head that only seemed to add to his titanic appearance. This build confused the watcher to some degree, as he bore both the garments and staff of a wizard. Someone I should keep an eye on, Orion noted inwardly.
His golden gaze shifted to the next biggest man of the bunch; an overweight individual who could be recognized as a monk. This was equally odd, considering that his obese form and squat limbs seemed to indicate what would normally be a lack of mobility. He also took note of the man's facial features, which were clearly foreign. If Orion had to guess, he would assume he was looking at a native of Kunlun. Or perhaps Louyang. Not that it made a hell of a difference.
The third member of the mixed band was easily identified as an assassin. In sharp contrast with the previous two subjects of Orion's gaze, this man was quite wiry. His hair was a shade of green that rivaled the present foliage, but more interesting was the blinker he wore. This band of vision-inhibiting cloth, combined with his shark-like grin, would have sent a chill up the spine of most onlookers. It positively reeked of foul deeds gone unpunished.
The final three members of this band, by comparison, were relatively nondescript. A blonde blacksmith with what might have been the cockiest grin Orion had seen in several years, a glasses-wearing alchemist with purple hair styled unusually long, and an aged knight with all the facial expression of an earthen cliff. Though distinct in their own natural ways, they seemed rather plain when paired with the rest. It was not very pleasing on the eyes. Regardless, they were among the gathering that stood rigidly opposite of the caravan. None made a motion. They only stood.
Oh, and their clothing was almost entirely soiled with blood.
There was a moment of silence between Orion and the mob. A brief breeze blew past, as if nature itself held the same level of anticipation as the caravan. Every man present heard the pounding of his or her heart, beating an ominous cacophony into their ears from the safety of their chests. Every now and again a knight would shift, producing an odd creak as gauntlet interacted with sword hilt. Even Orion, collected as he was, was not immune to this odd sensation. It seemed as if every minute sound in all of Rune Midgard could reach his ears, regardless of volume or distance. Somewhere off in the distance he was sure he could hear the "plop plop" of Porings traversing the grassy field. The crack of his twitching finger, the hum of his breath, the buzzing of some merchant's stomach; all came to him. He was not one to rush things, but he found himself begging for a conclusion to this standoff.
His prayers were answered.
The pack of marauders parted suddenly, producing a twitch or gasp from the caravan. From within the newly made path tread a new face, previously concealed from view. This newcomer was clearly a hunter, as indicated by his choice of attire, the bow at his back, and the quiver at his waist. His hair was a shade of gray. Not silver or purest white, but gray. And yet he only appeared to be in his early thirties, indicating that it was his natural hair color and not simply a result of the aging process. A necklace hung about his neck, strung with some manner of small, white objects. Orion's initial assumption was that they were shells or stones of some kind. Upon closer inspection, however, they proved to be human teeth. This did not unsettle him though. What did was how the stranger smiled at him. The way his lips curled, his brilliant emerald eyes encased his gaze of gold.....Orion felt a chill despite his best efforts.
The man's approach halted at several yards distance, positioning him just opposite of Orion. Unlike the rest of his posse he did not allow the silence to linger.
"Did I come to the right place, I wonder?" the hunter mused aloud, scratching his chin in a manner that might have been comical. "I do so hate mixing this sort of thing up...."
Orion's eyes narrowed as he crossed his arms. Who the hell does this guy think he is? "If you're not sure," he responded coldly, "you could just pack it up and leave. Advice from one man to another."
To Orion's surprise, the hunter laughed. Not a full-on cackle, but something closer to a giggle. He was amused about something. "I thank you for the advice, dear sir, but I believe I already have a method for that."
Orion raised an eyebrow, but maintained his hostile appearance. "Oh?"
The mystery hunter, seeming to be entertained by the back-and-forth, folded his hands patiently. "It's quite easy, really. It all hinges upon one vital fact." Something flickered in his eyes for a brief moment. Something dangerous. Something opposed to his existing attitude. "That fact being, of course, that you are Orion the Nightshade, Assassin Cross in the personal service of King Tristan III."
Orion's eyes registered surprise almost immediately. What the....? He did his best to push it down, and within a second his gaze had returned to it's prior cold self. Seeing as how his stint as a merchant was clearly over, he calmly undid the pouch hooked to the back of his belt and retrieved his katars. He did not much enjoy the clothes of the merchant anyway. "Lets say I am. What happens next?"
In his usual manner, the gray-haired hunter only smiled back at Orion's steel gaze. His tone was soft, patient. "Then I go and retrieve my prize." He tilted his body to the left, as if to get a view of everything behind the exposed assassin. "Third wagon, fourth box from the front, left row." He returned to a full upright stance. "Am I right?"
Now Orion felt it. A terrible cold all throughout his body, as if some otherworldly force had wrapped him within its foggy tendrils. His vision struggled somewhere between blurred and intense. His heart worked double-time, turning his veins into a speedway of plasma and adrenaline. The air in his lungs grew heavy, forcing his chest into a workout. Sweat fell from every pour on his body. This was fear. Fear brought on by the overpowering killing intent radiating from smiling man with the bow. Never before had Orion felt this way. Many a man had threatened his life, but he had not felt this emotion from such a challenge! His throat dried. His knees wavered. The hands which brandished his favorite katars seemed numb, lifeless. Why does no man run? he pondered from within the confines of his skull. Not even a single soldier has dropped his weapon and fled! Why? Are they stupid! Surely they can feel this! He will murder them all! He will murder ME!
"Who.....who are.....what are...." He stammered. He could not help it. No coherent thought could enter his head in the presence of this demon.
The hunter's smiling lips curled back, revealing rows of shining teeth. "Ask around when I'm finished. I'm sure someone else in hell will be familiar with me!"
End Notes: Ok, so even I admit that was kinda forced. I had an idea of what I wanted but not how to execute it. But now that this is over, I can get to the real story at hand! Smooth sailing from here, I say!