Running Shadows
Morroc---a desert kingdom ruled by guild houses of the most powerful assassins and contract killers in the history of Rune Midgard. Even then, these guild houses fought against one another for supremacy in a trade where the loss of life became a means of living for another. Like merchants, the assassins knew they had competition; sabotage and infiltrations into enemy groups were common among their kind…but such threats were not easily ignored, and of course, this is where guild guardsmen come in—a group tasked to protect the guild house from attack.
On one such night, a guardsman stood alone outside his guild, poised at attention as he watched his seniors and several high position assassins pass him by with hardly a glance. It was a common sight…guardsman though he was, he knew the assassins did not give a damn for his duty — he was but a display of some sort, a man with a duty created simply for formality's sake for he knew the assassins could very well protect the guild without need of his services.
Raucous laughter could be heard even before a trio of assassins emerged out the door of their guild house, their faces clearly eager for a riot out in town, and the weight of zeny in their pockets more than ready to be spent on drinks and women.
"The assignment I got was nothing more than a piece of cake! I took one look at the guy and he died of a heart attack!" one of them bragged, laughing out loud for emphasis, while his companions commended and patted him on the back.
"Ei right on Laquan! Very soon…Morroc will have a new group of assassins to fear," one of them laughed. "The veterans better make way for the younger generation… We'll kick their old rotting behinds with the points of our boots!"
The guardsman snorted loudly at the comment. Everyone knew that in Morroc or any other place in Rune Midgard, only two assassins vied for the title of most deadly. These Iteenagers/I would be like porings to a boss monster compared to the duo.
"Arrogant little pups…," he muttered under his breath.
"Eh! You have something to say guard?" another of them grunted.
The guard stiffened and pretended not to hear until all three disappeared into the city… He never noticed the blur of a shadow upon the desert sand as it slipped past his watch and into the guild house.
O
He managed to slip past the guard…now the easy part was over. The trespasser cloaked himself against the walls, carefully hiding himself in the shadows of the guild house… making sure the light from the lit torches never touched him. He knew for certain that if they did…the merest outline of his shadow would betray him into the hands of the guild.
He carefully controlled his breathing and slowed the pace of his heart as he moved, making the least amount of effort to keep his movements from being too hurried and awkward enough to be detected. Every so often, the hall would echo with the voices of its guild members, and more than once, he'd stuck himself so closely to the wall he felt like a pancake… He'd done this all to avoid even the slightest brush of the men's suit against his person.
"Where is it?" he thought angrily as he weaved himself through the many hallways of the guild house, opening doors so carefully with the perfect skill of a practiced interloper… it was impossible to tell that it had been picked. "Damn! Where is it!"
Soon enough, his question came answered when a portly old man emerged from one of the rooms — glasses fell halfway down the bridge of his oily nose, and eyes squinted and small from reading hardly came up from the tower of books he carried in his arms. If his guess was correct…the man was none other than the archive manager.
A grin slowly appeared on his lips. He found the right room…
The archive manager was too distracted with his load to even notice the quick movement of the intruder's hands as it slipped through his pockets and retrieved the key to the guild archives. As soon as the coast was clear, he uncloaked himself and walked soundlessly to the door, opening it with the stolen key and peering into its darkness—rum and burnt out cigarettes made a distinct scent from within.
"Looks like the archive manager does more than just read in this room…"
He took out a transparent bottle and shook it in his hand; it bubbled from within and slowly began to glow. Its luminescence inside the dark room served as his only means of vision as he carefully set its glow upon several rolled out parchments, hardly even taking interest in each as he moved from one to the next. He already knew what he was looking for…and none of the titles he'd read were even close to that he was searching for…
The vial in his hand began to grow dim.
"Hell! I'll kill that alchemist! It was supposed to glow for an hour!" the intruder cursed as he squinted even harder to look at the parchments. A large grin broke on his face as he rolled out a rotting piece of paper and read the openings of a riddle…
Beads of sweat broke on his fore as he carefully rolled it and tucked the item into one of the many pockets of his suit.
Several footsteps resounded from outside the room of the guild's archives and he stiffened, carefully cloaking himself to the walls. A thin line of light fell across the floor as the door of the room opened, the head of the archive manager peeked in. The hidden prowler bit back the urge to curse as he concentrated his efforts on keeping himself camouflaged.
"Eh?" the archive manager stared at the mess of parchments arrayed in the library of his guild house, the man's eyes widened in alarm. "Good God in Asgard! We've been intruded!" He began to back away out of the room to warn his guild mates.
"Damn! Getting too caught up in my search… Damn!" he cursed mentally as he immediately appeared out of hiding; using his quick agile to weave through the bookcases in a matter of seconds to block the man from exiting the room.
"Good God!"
The archive manager hardly managed to utter a cry of help when the man's hands clamped the sides of his head and twisted it, his neck broke…and his body fell with a thud upon the parchments.
The intruder's eyes stared at the archive manager's dead body for what seemed like a minute before making a decision. He patted the rolled piece of parchment bulging in his pocket—he already had what he came for.
Drawing a match, he lit himself a cheroot as he casually leaned against the closed door, oblivious to the presence of a dead body right in front of him. He took one long draw from his stick and threw it into the mess of paper in the library. In less than a heartbeat he was gone…leaving the archives to catch fire and burn into a blaze.
"Let the old archive manager take the blame for it…," he grinned as he carefully stole out of the guild house…his presence kept unknown all throughout the course of his theft.
O
Minutes from his successful intrude on the archives, the same man travelled through the city of Morroc. His movements were a blur as he scaled rooftops in quick step, barely even making a sound upon the homes of the sleeping civilians as he bounded from one roof to the next. His eyes were slanted in full concentration but a smile lined his lips, pleased by the weight of half-a-million zeny in the pouch of one of his pockets, and the bulge of the stolen old parchment in another...
He landed on the rooftop of an old tavern—the smell of beer and perfume of whores was overwhelming… but the scent told him he was at the right place.
He grinned. "He's probably around here…"
As if on cue, he heard the sound of a familiar voice ranting and raving from within the establishment.
"You messed with the wrong guy ditch crap!" a loud voice roared from within the pub.
Several crashes coupled the sound of breaking glass as tables and chairs broke through the windows… followed by three figures of assassins badly beaten and wounded limping hurriedly out of the establishment.
The man on the rooftop chuckled, removing the ghost bandanna on his head as he squatted to take a better view of the commotion. "He's here all right…"
A tall evenly built man emerged from the pub, his face contorted in serious ferocity.
"Come back here you desert dogs and finish what you started! Cowards!" he shouted at the trio of retreating assassins, and as if he wasn't through with them, he threw stones, hitting one square on the head. "Don't let me see your faces again or I swear I'll kill you!"
The quiet observer remained silently amused and watched as the man grumbled and cussed threats. Seeing the man was still distracted with the outcome of what was evidently a barroom brawl, he deftly drew a dagger from the side of his shoe and carefully aimed at the fuming figure,
With one flick of a wrist, the dagger whistled through the air causing the man to reflexively jump back out of its line.
"Hell!" he cursed as his neck suddenly craned to look at the figure on the rooftop.
The other waved a hand in a playful salute of a greeting, and grinned as he jumped off over the rooftops and disappeared.
The attacked man remained rooted to his place just a few feet from the dagger that was previously aimed for him and bent down to pick up the piece of parchment tied on its handle.
"How bout a drink…same place?"
He glared at the piece of paper for what seemed like forever, and a smile crept on his lips. "Wily bastard! Couldn't have just said it himself without trying to kill me…"
With that said, he suddenly burst out in a fit of laughter, ignoring the strange looks the bartender and customers from within the pub were giving him.
O
A/N…
Tanuki: Comments, flames, suggestions are very much welcome!
Kitsune: so click the button… go on… click it…
Tanuki: you shouldn't force them!
Kitsune: I'm not forcing them, tanuki… I just want them to click it.