Slowly, Caraain Bedell's eyes fluttered open. Where am I?, she asked no one in particular. Her eyes groggily rolled one side, then to the other; she recognized her location as one of the back alleyways off of the main street of Aelgar's Rahad. Her cheek, tender and swollen, was stuck to the cold cobblestones of the street, and her whole body screamed with pain. She tried to name her exact location by street name, but her vision swayed and spun and blurred. Slowly, clenching her teeth, Caraain tried to raise herself, but instead crashed down onto the pavement once more as wounds all over her body pierced her like needles. She cursed softly , and wiped her nose and chin with one of her sleeves. It came away bloodied. Panic, long-time a stranger to Caraain, fixed itself firmly in her mind.
Still, she wanted to laugh at her ill fortune. She thought back to the very first night this all began, back in the little lordling's manor in Manetheren, where she had thought briefly about the legend that the Dark One harvests the souls of those killed in violence. She wondered if the Father of Lies would be coming for her soon.
One by one, she carefully flexed all of her joints, from the wrists down to her ankles, then tallied her ailments: Left arm useless. Leg feels as though shattered in two places. Two of my teeth knocked out. And judging from all the blood I'm spitting up with each gulp of air, I may have punctured a lung with either of my shattered ribs. She exhaled slowly, wincing with the effort. I'm going to die, she concluded. Light, I can't die!
DEATH IS FOR THE UNWORTHY, came a voice inside her head. Caraain's eyes widened momentarily as she recognized to whom it belonged to. Ba'alzamon. DEATH IS FOR THE WEAK, FOR THE UNAMBITIOUS. YOU COULD CHEAT DEATH IF YOU WISHED. YOU HAVE THE WILL; I CAN MAKE IT SO.
Involuntarily, Caraain asked the disembodied voice, How?
He replied with a laugh that resonated in her head. SERVE ME, CARAAIN BEDELL. WIELD YOR BLADE IN PLACE OF MY HANDS; SPILL BLOOD AND KILL FOR THE SHADOW. FOR ME. JOIN THE SHADOW, AND I CAN GIVE YOU ALL YOU DESIRE. SKILLS BEYOND THOSE YOU HAVE ALREADY HONED. THE INABILITY TO FEEL PAIN. AN ETERNAL SOUL....
Caraain shrugged, mentally. I need none of those things. You try to lure me with useless baubles, like candy for a child. What makes you think I will swear to you, kneel and grovel at your feet?
VENGEANCE.
Caraain paused, and at this hesitation, Ba'alzamon laughed once more.
YOU KNOW WHO DID THIS TO YOU. Images flashed in Caraain's head as he spoke: the gray-and-red cloaked man; the carpet she was bound in; how she was stabbed and dropped from a rooftop and left for dead; and the hallucinations of all her friends, her mentor, and her lover killed when she was little more than a child. Above her, she could hear the faint clanging of swords meeting, and could only assume the battle still raged above between the man in grey and her mysterious would-be savior.
Hate built up and raged inside her, despite the pain she felt. She quivered with anger. TORRIN MALAKAI WANTS YOU DEAD. THE LORD OF THE HOUSE OF ASSASSINS WANTS TO ERASE YOU. BUT I CAN LET YOU GET TO HIM FIRST. I CAN MAKE IT POSSIBLE.
SERVE ME, he said again. BE COUNTED AMONG OUR RANKS. BECOME MY GRAY-MAN. Despite having only a voice in her head, Caraain could imagine Ba'alzamon grinning madly at her. WE CAN MAKE HIM PAY DEARLY FOR ALL HE HAS DONE. WE CAN MAKE HIS SOUL QUAKE WITH FEAR AND BEG MERCY; AND THEN WE CAN BREAK HIM.
Suddenly, a sound diverted both their attentions. A black heavy boot stepped up to Caraain's bloodied body, little better than a corpse. I don't need you, Caraain taunted. Ha! This man will help me! He'll.... Her voice trailed off as the man nudged her hard with his boot. Ba'alzamon seemed to be observing silently.
Once again the man nudged her, only harder. Caraain could see him looking around, over to the Rahad which was just a few yards away. People passed back and forth, never looking down any of the deep and dark alleys off to the sides. Help me! Please!, she pleaded. Finally, the man kicked her hard enough to turn her over onto her back. Caraain winced and grit her teeth as colorful explosions of pain danced in her eyes. She tried to focus her eyes on the man, but couldn't. All she got a good look at was a gold scarab pendant hanging on a cord on his chest, before her vision blurred and dimmed once again.
The man knelt, and rummaged his hands through her blood-soaked pockets. She cursed at him and screamed at him to stop, but in her state they came out as little more than groans and incomprehensible muttering. Blood bubbled and frothed from her lips and her nostrils. She felt his paws of hands lift away her scimitar and her Assassins' kit of blades and tools, her gold-heavy purse, and a heavily-worked gold ring on her finger (the last keepsake she had of her life before becoming an Assassin, and of her mother), and watched his blurred shape pocket each of them. NO! she screamed a final time, knowing it was futile.
When the man was finished, he kicked her over once more, and ran off. Caraain heard his footsteps echo in the alleyway as he fled, as blood rolled down her cheeks from her eyes in place of tears. BURN YOU! she screamed, inside her head.
Ba'alzamon chuckled. SO MUCH FOR THE KINDNESS OF NEIGHBORS. He paused for a moment and then added, SERVE ME, CARAAIN, AND VENGEANCE UPON THOSE WHO WRONGED YOU IS YOURS. SERVE THE SHADOW, AND WE CAN MAKE EVERYONE PAY.
Caraain Bedell sobbed softly to herself in silence, not caring how the pain of her stabbing wound burned her stomach. Light, I haven't cried like this since... well, fifteen years ago! And before that, since I was a child! Stop it! Stop crying! Caraain admonished herself over and over, but could not stop the blood-tears that welled up and dribbled down her cheeks into her clenched teeth. They were salty and sweet at the same time. Her vision dimmed more and more, and she could hardly feel the pain now that her entire body started to go numb. Please, don't let me die! Light, help me!
THE LIGHT WON'T HELP YOU NOW, Ba'alzamon snapped curtly.
There was silence in the alley, save for Caraain's whispered sobbing, should anyone there had bothered to listen for it. Silence.
"I'll do it," Caraain mouthed, her voice barely there. "I swear my soul to you." She lifted up her hand, which was by now crusted with dried blood, and clenched it into a pathetic fist. Her eyes closed and glazed over, and her fist dropped to the cobblestones lamely. And she stirred no more.
The tiny alleyway in the Rahad stood still, shrouded with shadows. Slowly, one of the shadows from a nearby doorway lengthened and stretched, until it was as long as a man is tall. There was no one around, however, to witness as a dark form rose from the shadow, resolving into the size and shape of an extraordinarily tall man.
The man was clad entirely in black, and his cloak, the color of coal, hung dead at his calves despite the slight wind that blew over the city. He turned and looked down one direction of the empty alleyway, and then turned and faced the other direction. He scanned the area, even though he had no eyes; instead he had smooth, sunken patches of skin where eyes should have been. His skin was as pale as new-fallen snow, contrasting with the sword that hung on his back, which was as black as a moonless night.
Content that no one was around, he walked slowly over to Caraain. The man looked down at her with his eyeless gaze, regarding her with an expressionless face. Then, kneeling down, he slowly picked her crumpled form up in his arms, not minding the blood that stained and ran freely over his hands and clothes.
"You are the one the Master summons," he said in a voice much like a graven and hoarse whisper. "I shall take you to Him now."
He moved like a serpent, silent and sure of himself, underneath his armor of overlapping black plates, much like a snake's own skin. He moved with a deadly grace and ease, despite the burden in his arms, and slowly walked into the shadow and vanished without a trace.
- FIN -
Still, she wanted to laugh at her ill fortune. She thought back to the very first night this all began, back in the little lordling's manor in Manetheren, where she had thought briefly about the legend that the Dark One harvests the souls of those killed in violence. She wondered if the Father of Lies would be coming for her soon.
One by one, she carefully flexed all of her joints, from the wrists down to her ankles, then tallied her ailments: Left arm useless. Leg feels as though shattered in two places. Two of my teeth knocked out. And judging from all the blood I'm spitting up with each gulp of air, I may have punctured a lung with either of my shattered ribs. She exhaled slowly, wincing with the effort. I'm going to die, she concluded. Light, I can't die!
DEATH IS FOR THE UNWORTHY, came a voice inside her head. Caraain's eyes widened momentarily as she recognized to whom it belonged to. Ba'alzamon. DEATH IS FOR THE WEAK, FOR THE UNAMBITIOUS. YOU COULD CHEAT DEATH IF YOU WISHED. YOU HAVE THE WILL; I CAN MAKE IT SO.
Involuntarily, Caraain asked the disembodied voice, How?
He replied with a laugh that resonated in her head. SERVE ME, CARAAIN BEDELL. WIELD YOR BLADE IN PLACE OF MY HANDS; SPILL BLOOD AND KILL FOR THE SHADOW. FOR ME. JOIN THE SHADOW, AND I CAN GIVE YOU ALL YOU DESIRE. SKILLS BEYOND THOSE YOU HAVE ALREADY HONED. THE INABILITY TO FEEL PAIN. AN ETERNAL SOUL....
Caraain shrugged, mentally. I need none of those things. You try to lure me with useless baubles, like candy for a child. What makes you think I will swear to you, kneel and grovel at your feet?
VENGEANCE.
Caraain paused, and at this hesitation, Ba'alzamon laughed once more.
YOU KNOW WHO DID THIS TO YOU. Images flashed in Caraain's head as he spoke: the gray-and-red cloaked man; the carpet she was bound in; how she was stabbed and dropped from a rooftop and left for dead; and the hallucinations of all her friends, her mentor, and her lover killed when she was little more than a child. Above her, she could hear the faint clanging of swords meeting, and could only assume the battle still raged above between the man in grey and her mysterious would-be savior.
Hate built up and raged inside her, despite the pain she felt. She quivered with anger. TORRIN MALAKAI WANTS YOU DEAD. THE LORD OF THE HOUSE OF ASSASSINS WANTS TO ERASE YOU. BUT I CAN LET YOU GET TO HIM FIRST. I CAN MAKE IT POSSIBLE.
SERVE ME, he said again. BE COUNTED AMONG OUR RANKS. BECOME MY GRAY-MAN. Despite having only a voice in her head, Caraain could imagine Ba'alzamon grinning madly at her. WE CAN MAKE HIM PAY DEARLY FOR ALL HE HAS DONE. WE CAN MAKE HIS SOUL QUAKE WITH FEAR AND BEG MERCY; AND THEN WE CAN BREAK HIM.
Suddenly, a sound diverted both their attentions. A black heavy boot stepped up to Caraain's bloodied body, little better than a corpse. I don't need you, Caraain taunted. Ha! This man will help me! He'll.... Her voice trailed off as the man nudged her hard with his boot. Ba'alzamon seemed to be observing silently.
Once again the man nudged her, only harder. Caraain could see him looking around, over to the Rahad which was just a few yards away. People passed back and forth, never looking down any of the deep and dark alleys off to the sides. Help me! Please!, she pleaded. Finally, the man kicked her hard enough to turn her over onto her back. Caraain winced and grit her teeth as colorful explosions of pain danced in her eyes. She tried to focus her eyes on the man, but couldn't. All she got a good look at was a gold scarab pendant hanging on a cord on his chest, before her vision blurred and dimmed once again.
The man knelt, and rummaged his hands through her blood-soaked pockets. She cursed at him and screamed at him to stop, but in her state they came out as little more than groans and incomprehensible muttering. Blood bubbled and frothed from her lips and her nostrils. She felt his paws of hands lift away her scimitar and her Assassins' kit of blades and tools, her gold-heavy purse, and a heavily-worked gold ring on her finger (the last keepsake she had of her life before becoming an Assassin, and of her mother), and watched his blurred shape pocket each of them. NO! she screamed a final time, knowing it was futile.
When the man was finished, he kicked her over once more, and ran off. Caraain heard his footsteps echo in the alleyway as he fled, as blood rolled down her cheeks from her eyes in place of tears. BURN YOU! she screamed, inside her head.
Ba'alzamon chuckled. SO MUCH FOR THE KINDNESS OF NEIGHBORS. He paused for a moment and then added, SERVE ME, CARAAIN, AND VENGEANCE UPON THOSE WHO WRONGED YOU IS YOURS. SERVE THE SHADOW, AND WE CAN MAKE EVERYONE PAY.
Caraain Bedell sobbed softly to herself in silence, not caring how the pain of her stabbing wound burned her stomach. Light, I haven't cried like this since... well, fifteen years ago! And before that, since I was a child! Stop it! Stop crying! Caraain admonished herself over and over, but could not stop the blood-tears that welled up and dribbled down her cheeks into her clenched teeth. They were salty and sweet at the same time. Her vision dimmed more and more, and she could hardly feel the pain now that her entire body started to go numb. Please, don't let me die! Light, help me!
THE LIGHT WON'T HELP YOU NOW, Ba'alzamon snapped curtly.
There was silence in the alley, save for Caraain's whispered sobbing, should anyone there had bothered to listen for it. Silence.
"I'll do it," Caraain mouthed, her voice barely there. "I swear my soul to you." She lifted up her hand, which was by now crusted with dried blood, and clenched it into a pathetic fist. Her eyes closed and glazed over, and her fist dropped to the cobblestones lamely. And she stirred no more.
The tiny alleyway in the Rahad stood still, shrouded with shadows. Slowly, one of the shadows from a nearby doorway lengthened and stretched, until it was as long as a man is tall. There was no one around, however, to witness as a dark form rose from the shadow, resolving into the size and shape of an extraordinarily tall man.
The man was clad entirely in black, and his cloak, the color of coal, hung dead at his calves despite the slight wind that blew over the city. He turned and looked down one direction of the empty alleyway, and then turned and faced the other direction. He scanned the area, even though he had no eyes; instead he had smooth, sunken patches of skin where eyes should have been. His skin was as pale as new-fallen snow, contrasting with the sword that hung on his back, which was as black as a moonless night.
Content that no one was around, he walked slowly over to Caraain. The man looked down at her with his eyeless gaze, regarding her with an expressionless face. Then, kneeling down, he slowly picked her crumpled form up in his arms, not minding the blood that stained and ran freely over his hands and clothes.
"You are the one the Master summons," he said in a voice much like a graven and hoarse whisper. "I shall take you to Him now."
He moved like a serpent, silent and sure of himself, underneath his armor of overlapping black plates, much like a snake's own skin. He moved with a deadly grace and ease, despite the burden in his arms, and slowly walked into the shadow and vanished without a trace.
- FIN -
