"This," said a man in a dark coat and top-hat, François de la Serre. "This provides us with an opportunity! Bernard's troops will be distracted. He will be easier to strike than ever. Make him pay for the trouble he has caused our order, and free our people!"

"Right, it'll be my honor," the female firebrand said. Her stomach was full of butterflies, her insides nearly tingling with excitement. This was her chance to finally prove she could kill.

The ugly building, the symbol of oppression, was designed almost exclusively to keep intruders out and prisoners in, but Élise knew there was a chink in every armor. Of course, the chaos also opened the front entrance, but even now a direct assault seemed foolish.

She began surveying the exterior, walking along the guard rail. The moat below was dry, which was good, of course, though she knew how to swim. She balanced her pace, quick footed but not running. Shouts and shots at the front gate meant death and carnage, but unknown to everyone but her and her master, also meant opportunity.

She saw the chink in the armor, something only one trained in the ways of an Assassin would spot: a broken piece of wall that formed giant stairs. From there she just needed to grab and transverse a few ledges, and there was a window with its grate missing she could enter through.

Her path was crystal clear.

Vaulting over the rail and dropping down ledge by ledge, she made her way to the grimy base of the dry moat.

The giant's staircase awaited her.

She pulled and lept and pulled her way up. A few shallow ledges provided the rest of her path. She channeled the great strength of fingers as she gripped the unintended support.

She found herself at the precipice of the opened window.

She vaulted herself into the prison, finding concealment in a small indent in the hallway which housed the window. She was across from an empty cell. It was a dingy dungeon, with stray straw, grounded candles, and dangling chains, even this high above the ground.

In one direction, the hallway ended with a door. She peered down the other.

There was one lonely guard, with his back towards her. Likely almost the entire guard staff had been called to deal with the chaos below. The man would be an unfortunate casualty in her path. Her first victim.

She began forward with honed foot falls. She was about to cross that sacred line. The shouts and shots out front provided a small quilt of camouflage to her footsteps, but she had the solid stone floor to thank above all else.

With shallow breaths, she was close enough behind the poor soul to see his neck vertebrae.

He would die.

With one deft motion, she covered his mouth and stabbed through his neck.

His screams were hot against her hand. Her blade had finally tasted flesh. But within seconds he faded into rest, and she gently set body down. His fluids leaked liberally on the cobblestone floor.

There was no one else in the hallway ahead, though if someone were to approach, there were plenty of barrels and shelves to hide behind.

She took out her pistol, her weapon for surprise, emergency self-defense, and began advancing, eyes and ears keen. The prison seemed nearly empty. She did not yet see a single cell filled.

She could hear the commotion from below through a window at the front. She was starting to distinguish someone shouting from inside the building to the crowd below. Could that be Bernard?

Élise could not make out the words, but he seemed to be either barking orders or trying to negotiate. A distracted adversary was always nice.

Getting to the end of the corridor, she found herself in room which seemed to be the messhall, though it was only marginally more inviting than the rest of the prison. But she believed she saw her target. He was leaning out the window, shouting something, flanked by two of his troopers.

She holstered her pistol, planning to make quick work of the three with her hidden blades.

With silent foot falls, the deadly predator snuck up behind them. She would take out his guards first, then him.

Close enough to see the hairs on their heads, she was ready to attack.

She stabbed both subordinates in their necks, jolting them out of their reality and into their doom. She removed her right blade just as Bernard turned around to see meet her eyes. She punched under-handed into his belly.

Abdomen pierced, he crumbled to the floor.

The defeated marquis looked up at her with weary eyes.

"Rest now, Jourdan. The outcome of this battle is in our hands now, not yours."

He snorted, the dark spot on his fancy clothing getting ever bigger. "So this is what I've been reduced to. Killed by a common woman in my own fortress."

"The common people are stronger than you think. We'll rise back up and take what's ours."

"Classic arrogance. Everyone thinks they can bear the weight of the crown...with perfect efficacy and righteousness. But practice always proves them wrong."

"We could hardly do worse the aristocrats of the today."

"We'll see about that," The old man said with his final breath. His gaze froze, and he joined his two underlings in eternal silence.