The dank underground of the Castle Silvanus smelt of rotting flesh and human waste. These narrow passageways were where the ill-fated humans were stored, until a banquet was held, that is, and their blood direly needed. Beneath the mud-slicked stone floor were the vast canals all great castles were built over. Few ventured down to that level of the castle, and even fewer returned. None knew what awaited the adventurer, and the dungeon levels the humans occupied were far enough below ground.
A cluster of ensnared humans pricked up their ears in unanimous reluctance at the ever-so faint click of heels approaching their sector. The supposition was unanimous that their day had come. Soon, however, they discovered to the contrary, when the figure stalked by, no more than a shadow. The individual had not so much as spared them a tempted glance, but rather continued down the dark corridor, into the darkness.
Eyes the shade of an evening sky flashed from beneath the tangled web of cord-like hair that masked the pale face of the woman. She was tall, and clad in black, like a masked samurai back from extinction. A subdued leather cape protected her shoulders from the dripping of the stalactites that clung to the ceiling of the cave-like passageway. Across her back was slung a sword sheathed in black mail. At her hips were holstered twin handguns, and silver stakes hung from her belt.
Reaching the staircase, she climbed it higher and higher. It twisted and turned, wrapping around itself and back again, entwined like the fury of a woman scorned. Yet her procession continued fearlessly, certain of her destination.
At last she breached the top. The room she emerged in appeared to be a blood cellar, although she presumed it to be at ground level. She climbed another staircase and entered the kitchen of the château. Not much was done here, as the only sustenance these Nobles partook was human blood, which was retrieved periodically at the designated time. That was not tonight.
And so the woman exited to the front hall, where chairs were pulled up by the fire and various Nobles moved about talking and fighting and kissing. Several glanced up from their engagements, and watched with spiteful eyes her progress toward the forbidden apartment of their Lord.
She did not knock, nor was she inclined to, as this House of Silvanus was not her own. Still she entered the apartment, rubbing off gleaming determination onto the very knob she grasped.
The room beyond was silent, and harbored an aura of a chamber unused to disturbance from an unfamiliar countenance. She passed walls adorned with crimson satins, and swords and shields, and other countless artifacts and trophies for which she had no time or purpose to spare her admiration. Entering the next room, a hemisphere of men and women timelessly aged lounged languidly on couches, as they regarded drinks, and casually discoursed. Alarmed at the disruption, the room silenced.
The masked intruder swiftly drew a handgun, aimed at the throne, and discharged three bullets into the target. The room screamed instantly, and the assassin was charged from all sides, while the man on the throne slumped sideways from head injuries.
She evaluated the room for a clause of escape and made rapidly for an exit on the back wall, behind the podium. She knocked something over as she ran, and slammed shots into guard after guard.
A devastating hum of tension filled the air as her body spat through the exit, and ricocheted off the far wall. The turmoil in the room behind her heightened at her sudden departure, but she left satisfactorily as her point had been proven: a king lay bleeding on his throne.
As she rounded another corner she realized she was being pursued by not many, but one. She continued forward, tearing down the hallway in not opposition but avoidance of her lethal pursuer.
Suddenly he was before her. A dark face bent earthward, and body cloaked in silver, while the assassin stared. The assassin had been caught; he lifted his head, and the inevitable image slowed in her mind. She couldn't speak when she saw his face, for he looked inside her with such disdain that she latched onto his venomous soul with the fatal power of hatred.
His lips moved. "Jaqueline du Beaudillavèla."
"Yes," she said.
"You must come."
He turned, and she followed. She was inclined to slay his vulnerable back, yet perhaps her obedience came because he knew her name. Either way, such a deed would have been unsportsmanlike, for she had an obligation to her opponent.
He led her on through the hallway, and into another passage that ended in an array of doors arranged in a circle. He opened the one at the very back, holding it for her, allowing the lady to enter first.
The area which they were now in was a massive arena. It was open to the night sky and a half moon shone above their heads. Empty stands arched in a semicircle about the fighting area. Directly opposite them on the far side of the arena, the exterior wall rather, was another way in, for which other horrors of entertainment not suitable for the indoors could enter.
He looked at her. "Beaudillavèla, I'll privilege you the knowledge you were slain by Alester Silvanus."
And so le Beaudillavèla turned to face her foe. There would be no cheering audience applauding for either of them this night. The only sound was that of the wind through the pines of the surrounding forest, and the crackle of the torches that hung on the wall, alighting the duel that was to come.
Equally, Alester faced le Beaudillavèla. His white shirt and silver cape sparkled in the moonlight, and he drew his sword. le Beaudillavèla mirrored his actions.
They backed ten steps each. As their eyes met, they positioned their bodies in the traditional stance of Guarde, enabling them both to move seamlessly and defend and deliver strikes as accurately as was ever possible.
The torches crackled.
The moon glinted off swords.
Alester blinked, and the deadly bout began.
le Beaudillavèla approached her target slowly, maddeningly twisting her sword with her fingers so its aim went from shoulder to shoulder. When she could no longer stand the play, she ran for him and their blades clashed high above their heads with a scream of collision. Alester was quick to riposte, but only to the avail that it was just as quickly parried with expertise by le Beaudillavèla, who advanced swiftly as they swung their blades from left to right, parrying the other's attack. Alester then struck her blade down and bore on it enough that she was not able to raise it, and so she pulled it the other way in the blink of an eye, scoring a deadly gash through the gate of 6. They paused long enough for Alester to register this and for le Beaudillavèla to take a moment of pride, before he swung wildly at her head, and she was barely able to duck in time. Their blades clashed together and Alester flung hard, and reversed their positions so they were each standing where the other had been.
The bout went on for what seemed an eternity. The moon sunk lower in the sky until it was visible just above the horizon line and suddenly Alester looked up. As he was distracted by celestial shapes, le Beaudillavèla took the opportunity to send her blade toward Alester's heart. He was able to parry in time, though and sent a deadly thrust on 5 toward her body in riposte. Lost in her previous confidence, le Beaudillavèla was only able enough to parry the blow above her head, and as she did so she sank to one knee. Alester easily knocked the weapon from her hand, leaving her powerless to finish the bout successfully.
Staring into her face, he pressed the tip of his sword to her heart. Then he spoke. "Perhaps it's my aptly achieved longitude, but your ambitions as assassin are a bit hasty. From where you genuflect, consider your calamity fatal." He paused. "I'd normally kill you in cold blood, but you could have been good." He laughed dryly. "If you weren't a lady I'd call you a gentleman—for not killing me when I gave you the chance."
She said nothing.
"But that's not enough right now; you understand?"
She said nothing.
"Then you die."
She did not speak. She reached beneath her cape and pulled from it the handgun and aimed at Alester's stomach. She did not look at him.
He stared down at her, a look of miscomprehension on his face. She had outwitted him, and it was he who would die tonight, if Jaqueline so willed it. Alester stared into her face.
She pulled the trigger.
Then she ran, into the night.