Sivath was always an avid admirer of weaponry. Long blades, short blades,
anything sharp and style. But his favorites were short blades: small, sharp
and discreet. One of these was made of glass, such as the one he carried
now. The glass themselves were melded by the greatest armorers of the land,
glassblowers they were called. These were agile and light with all the
admired qualities a tough conspicuous guard might take for granted but a
surreptitious assassin took as his companion. The blade's inner features
gleamed in his hands. The blade reflected small amounts of light that
happened to pass through the closed drapes of this very shadowy room. It
was a magnificent blade, really, but he still preferred to use a different,
more natural weapon. His conscious told him not to.
His vision floundered through the dark room. To the north was a window, shut closed with drapes he had made sure of. The east side contained the door, with the opening to the north. And he was just south beneath the door, waiting. Footsteps. one pair sounded from afar but eventually led directly to the doorsteps. Sivath had long ago ended his train of thought to focus his direct attention on this duel vibration. The door swung open. The long vertical line where the door creaked open shot in a small thread like ray of light into the room. Sivath lingered out of the way without a sound. His breathing was to the minimal, and was carefully articulated so no ear could sense it. The footsteps continued into the room. Duh. Duh. Duh.
Something about it reminded Sivath of a dead man's rattle. The footsteps were so slow, and for a moment, Sivath wondered if it suspected something. Or, was it simply a man without the urgencies of time? An old man who had long done his fair share to society and now just a hindrance? The door was left open while the dull steps went north, towards the windows, and the drapes. The fish took the bait.
Now was the time!
Sivath turned from a statue to a clawed animal. He pushed himself forward, shutting the door with his right ankle. The old dumner turned, too slow. Was he hoping to see the maid perhaps? By three quarters the glass blade had already been embedded into the neck, through the large air pipe with drooping skin associated with nearly all old men. The distant reply was a rattle, but not the death rattle since air was hindered, but a shorter, quieter sound. Just a huhhh. uhhh. That was it. Sivath helped the body linger and drop, avoiding the thud.
He could feel the red blood drip down his hands, from the blade. He pointed his hands downward. Sivath felt the warmness of the liquid as it slid, leaving a trail off his hand. So much blood. Thought Sivath. Was he feeling guilt? No, impossible. Such a being like himself could not feel such inhibition. He wiped the blood on the victim's exquisite cloth. Then slid through the door.
--
"If the archmagister can produce a crow from thin air, can't he produce one with shiny legs? Or one with succulent breasts?" Replied again that strange someone.
And so on the remarks went, with balefuls of laughter to accompany them. In an atmosphere as light as this, it was easy to get carried away and still remain anonymous. In fact, if you didn't clamor up and make an immense amount of noise, people would often think you were weary of suspicion.
Whilst the noise in the room quieted, Tiber paid the wench a luxurious tip prior to draining his tankard, then set off to tap the stranger on the shoulder. The anonymous being signaled back quietly with a steady brow, and both adventured downstairs to a quieter (and more discreet) locality.
For a while, they sat back; the man, clad in a dark dyed alit-skinned costume, seemingly relaxed, whilst Tiber drew himself for some unmasking. He resisted the temptation to reveal the small note he had found tucked below the doorway of his house in Hiaalu Canton (This is concerning your late loss), and to show it to the unknown man and demand an explanation for such a reticent meeting. They had placed themselves in the corner of the room. Directly in front of him, sat the unknown silhouette, watching the room and Tiber with his vigilant eyes.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
The man searched Tiber with his eyes, brows unchanged, "I am he who avenged the murderer of your father."
Alas! Could it be true? Cried Tiber mordantly in his depths, was here a man whose vengeance matched his own? "You? You are the one whom returned my favor?"
"Quite irrefutably am. You see, I have proof."
"Hold on, before anything - your name."
The assassin's eyes pierced his coldly, "Does the agents of the Morag Tong ever give out their own title? Fine!, perhaps this is one occasion possessing an exemption." The cool eyes did not waver, "I am Master Eno Hiaalu of the Morag Tong Guild." He unveiled a glass blade too small for one's sight. Several moments passed by before Tiber grew accustomed to the dim surroundings, and the greenish, translucent knife.
Thunderstruck by the mysterious assassin's title, now revealed, "This is."
The assassin gleamed at Tiber with beadlike eyes, "how can you not know? Can't you see the contour of the knife matches the same stain left on your father's cloth? Don't you remember image by image of the dead corpse that was your father?"
Tiber said nothing.
"Perhaps, it is only a burden limited to assassins." In no second's count, he quickly pushed it forward at Tiber's body. It was done with a professional elegance, a swift yet smooth precision that brought anxiety to the receptor of the object. Tiber showed reflex against the blade's movement by second nature, but the assassin's benevolent moves outpaced his own. The quick hand left it still, with no sound, placed askance from Tiber's tableside.
So perilously close was the blade to Tiber's waist that any line of vision from any curious bystander could not have sighted it, its line of sight being hidden by Tiber's frame. "This?" Tiber gently, carefully touched the stained iron handle. "So you believe, this is the weapon readied by the man who killed my father?"
The assassin's eyes showed affirmation. "The proof is there. If you do not believe me, take the knife to a loyal cleric and show him the blood upon the handle. Then show yours. They will confirm it."
Tiber concentrated squeamishly at the weapon, then looked up at the assassin, "If the proof is true, what is it you wish of me?"
"Your cooperation."
"To what?"
At this, he sat back resiliently, took in a deep breath. Either on incident, or on purpose, the move magnified his broad silhouette in the dark underground. He talked without moving his mouth, in a manner so low only Tiber could hear; yet in a voice so crisp and understandable - "The dark brotherhood has been under siege for the past seed. The manner it has been done proves yet to be a mystery." Announced the guild master of the Morag Tong. "It is by something so quick, slithering past my eyes even I cannot detect it. An assassin's power lies in his eyes, and his capacity for detecting even the smallest grain of detail, but this, this I cannot see."
The secret dark brotherhood! Infiltrated!
"With your father's killer dead, I know now that I only presumed before, the venerable Morag Tong has not only been penetrated, but whose security has been thoroughly compromised." The master assassin leaned forward, "Listen lad, I know all about you. Your marriage, your standing within the temple. I also know you have done nothing to avenge for your father's death, in which case you have been given an enormous opportunity to do so. There is not one murderer, but many. Death did not come to your father through one man, but through multiple beings. How can you live with knowledge of those who planned your father's death are still alive and breathing? Through only these can you find salvation and justice. Also, it is your job within the temple to achieve justice where there is none.
Tiber waited.
"I am here to acquisition the temple's help." Said Eno Hiaalu.
It was too tremendous an event to be true. Tiber Curio found himself wanting to help, to assist the master assassin to dig harder. Almost immediately, he said "yes, I will."
--
His vision floundered through the dark room. To the north was a window, shut closed with drapes he had made sure of. The east side contained the door, with the opening to the north. And he was just south beneath the door, waiting. Footsteps. one pair sounded from afar but eventually led directly to the doorsteps. Sivath had long ago ended his train of thought to focus his direct attention on this duel vibration. The door swung open. The long vertical line where the door creaked open shot in a small thread like ray of light into the room. Sivath lingered out of the way without a sound. His breathing was to the minimal, and was carefully articulated so no ear could sense it. The footsteps continued into the room. Duh. Duh. Duh.
Something about it reminded Sivath of a dead man's rattle. The footsteps were so slow, and for a moment, Sivath wondered if it suspected something. Or, was it simply a man without the urgencies of time? An old man who had long done his fair share to society and now just a hindrance? The door was left open while the dull steps went north, towards the windows, and the drapes. The fish took the bait.
Now was the time!
Sivath turned from a statue to a clawed animal. He pushed himself forward, shutting the door with his right ankle. The old dumner turned, too slow. Was he hoping to see the maid perhaps? By three quarters the glass blade had already been embedded into the neck, through the large air pipe with drooping skin associated with nearly all old men. The distant reply was a rattle, but not the death rattle since air was hindered, but a shorter, quieter sound. Just a huhhh. uhhh. That was it. Sivath helped the body linger and drop, avoiding the thud.
He could feel the red blood drip down his hands, from the blade. He pointed his hands downward. Sivath felt the warmness of the liquid as it slid, leaving a trail off his hand. So much blood. Thought Sivath. Was he feeling guilt? No, impossible. Such a being like himself could not feel such inhibition. He wiped the blood on the victim's exquisite cloth. Then slid through the door.
--
"If the archmagister can produce a crow from thin air, can't he produce one with shiny legs? Or one with succulent breasts?" Replied again that strange someone.
And so on the remarks went, with balefuls of laughter to accompany them. In an atmosphere as light as this, it was easy to get carried away and still remain anonymous. In fact, if you didn't clamor up and make an immense amount of noise, people would often think you were weary of suspicion.
Whilst the noise in the room quieted, Tiber paid the wench a luxurious tip prior to draining his tankard, then set off to tap the stranger on the shoulder. The anonymous being signaled back quietly with a steady brow, and both adventured downstairs to a quieter (and more discreet) locality.
For a while, they sat back; the man, clad in a dark dyed alit-skinned costume, seemingly relaxed, whilst Tiber drew himself for some unmasking. He resisted the temptation to reveal the small note he had found tucked below the doorway of his house in Hiaalu Canton (This is concerning your late loss), and to show it to the unknown man and demand an explanation for such a reticent meeting. They had placed themselves in the corner of the room. Directly in front of him, sat the unknown silhouette, watching the room and Tiber with his vigilant eyes.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
The man searched Tiber with his eyes, brows unchanged, "I am he who avenged the murderer of your father."
Alas! Could it be true? Cried Tiber mordantly in his depths, was here a man whose vengeance matched his own? "You? You are the one whom returned my favor?"
"Quite irrefutably am. You see, I have proof."
"Hold on, before anything - your name."
The assassin's eyes pierced his coldly, "Does the agents of the Morag Tong ever give out their own title? Fine!, perhaps this is one occasion possessing an exemption." The cool eyes did not waver, "I am Master Eno Hiaalu of the Morag Tong Guild." He unveiled a glass blade too small for one's sight. Several moments passed by before Tiber grew accustomed to the dim surroundings, and the greenish, translucent knife.
Thunderstruck by the mysterious assassin's title, now revealed, "This is."
The assassin gleamed at Tiber with beadlike eyes, "how can you not know? Can't you see the contour of the knife matches the same stain left on your father's cloth? Don't you remember image by image of the dead corpse that was your father?"
Tiber said nothing.
"Perhaps, it is only a burden limited to assassins." In no second's count, he quickly pushed it forward at Tiber's body. It was done with a professional elegance, a swift yet smooth precision that brought anxiety to the receptor of the object. Tiber showed reflex against the blade's movement by second nature, but the assassin's benevolent moves outpaced his own. The quick hand left it still, with no sound, placed askance from Tiber's tableside.
So perilously close was the blade to Tiber's waist that any line of vision from any curious bystander could not have sighted it, its line of sight being hidden by Tiber's frame. "This?" Tiber gently, carefully touched the stained iron handle. "So you believe, this is the weapon readied by the man who killed my father?"
The assassin's eyes showed affirmation. "The proof is there. If you do not believe me, take the knife to a loyal cleric and show him the blood upon the handle. Then show yours. They will confirm it."
Tiber concentrated squeamishly at the weapon, then looked up at the assassin, "If the proof is true, what is it you wish of me?"
"Your cooperation."
"To what?"
At this, he sat back resiliently, took in a deep breath. Either on incident, or on purpose, the move magnified his broad silhouette in the dark underground. He talked without moving his mouth, in a manner so low only Tiber could hear; yet in a voice so crisp and understandable - "The dark brotherhood has been under siege for the past seed. The manner it has been done proves yet to be a mystery." Announced the guild master of the Morag Tong. "It is by something so quick, slithering past my eyes even I cannot detect it. An assassin's power lies in his eyes, and his capacity for detecting even the smallest grain of detail, but this, this I cannot see."
The secret dark brotherhood! Infiltrated!
"With your father's killer dead, I know now that I only presumed before, the venerable Morag Tong has not only been penetrated, but whose security has been thoroughly compromised." The master assassin leaned forward, "Listen lad, I know all about you. Your marriage, your standing within the temple. I also know you have done nothing to avenge for your father's death, in which case you have been given an enormous opportunity to do so. There is not one murderer, but many. Death did not come to your father through one man, but through multiple beings. How can you live with knowledge of those who planned your father's death are still alive and breathing? Through only these can you find salvation and justice. Also, it is your job within the temple to achieve justice where there is none.
Tiber waited.
"I am here to acquisition the temple's help." Said Eno Hiaalu.
It was too tremendous an event to be true. Tiber Curio found himself wanting to help, to assist the master assassin to dig harder. Almost immediately, he said "yes, I will."
--