Fri Oct 15, 2004 7:38 pm
The wind swept across the frozen landscape, stirring the fallen autumn leaves. The forest had reclaimed this place, an ancient farmhouse whose builders and inhabitants were long gone; little remained, save for a circle of moss-laden stones that had once been the outer defenses. The rest had rotted away long ago.
Not far from the remnants of the old stone wall was a man, dressed in elegant, tailored clothing. A high necked black shirt was held close to his muscled torso by a tailored brown vest, embroidered in gold filligree, that just brushed his knees. Around his waist was a wide belt, from which hung a formidable sword. His boots were spurred for riding, black leather, the uppers covered in brown cloth that buttoned up the side and was embroidered with matching gold filligree. Over all of this he wore a cream overcoat with half sleeves and a hem covered with stylized figures and symbols. Purely for decoration, a brown half-cape with gold filigree was draped over his shoulders. The freezing wind brought a flush to his cheeks, tinted his arrogant Roman nose, and plucked at the edges of the cape and the ends of short, light brown hair. His absinthe eyes were hooded and watchful, waiting for something, or someone. He crossed his arms over his chest and settled, the epitome of patience, at least in seeming.
In the shadows of the forest surrounding the farmhouse, a shadow-swathed figure waited and watched, forcing the elegant man who surveyed the forestline to wait, perhaps to worry. Slowly, the figure slipped from the trees' embrace, unconcerned by the sharp glance that was immediately directed his way.
The figure was dressed in a close-fitted robe of dark, blue-black silk, with sleeves that fit close to his arms and covered the edges of blue-black kidskin gloves. The robe buttoned close to the figure's narrow torso, but was open in the front from the ground to mid-thigh, showing blue-black suede breeches and matching, thick-soled boots. The robe was hooded and completely covered the figure's face. The opening was a black shadow through which nothing, not even eyes, could be seen. The figure did not seem to be carrying any weapons, but appearances could be, and often were, decieving. Predictably, the assassin made no sound, even while walking on the fallen leaves, and he stopped about twenty feet away from the elegant man who had waited so patiently for him.
"You're late," the courtly stranger said in a sharp voice. He dropped his arms and curled one of his hands over the pommel of his sword. "Not a good first impression. However, I have heard you are the best at what I need." He rolld his shoulders in resignation, his hooded eyes slightly admonishing. However, his swift, concise speech and his obvious confidence could have made the assassin wonder if the elegant man had known he was being watched.
"I am never late," was the assassin's predictable, clichéd reply. "I alwaysss arrive precisssely when I mean to." His voice was soft and androgynous, easily either a tenor or contralto. The only accent in the voice was the sibilant 's' that was a reflection on the assassin's namesake, the Ebon Viper. The assassin's voice was difficult to place in origin, and would be difficult to recognize elsewhere without the 's' that was so obviously pronounced.
The assassin smoothly vaulted himself over the low stone wall and moved closer to the stranger. It was difficult to tell the assassin's feelings or mood when his features were hidden underneath that unpenetrable shadow. "I am not ssso arrogant asss to sssay that I am the bessst that their isss, but I -am- the bessst that you will find on short notissse, and the bessst in Myrken Wood." The assassin was both haughty and humble in a single statement, a move designed to retain his ambiguity.
The stranger smirked, an ugly sight on such a handsome face. It was as if the muscles had to painfully and unnaturally contort to make such an unelegant gesture. "True. I can only judge by your reputation. Are you familiar with Myrken Wood's Council?"
"I am," was the assassin's simple, no-nonsense reply.
"I need you to dispatch Councilor Joseph O'Cynen." The stranger went straight to the point, his body betraying not one bit of waryness, though his hand remained on his sword.
Both of the assassin's hands were visible to the stranger's watchful eyes, but that did not mean that the shadowed figure did not have easily accessed knives up his sleeves. Though the elegant stranger was rumored to be a very formidable man, and so naturally would not be particularly -afraid-, it was still intelligent, in the assassin's mind, that his hand remained on his weapon. After all, someone -else- could have hired the Ebon Viper to kill -him-. The assassin inclined his head, the hooded shadow leaning slightly to the right in acknowledgement. "Mussst he be dissspatched by a sssertain time?" the assassin asked, businesslike, in the manner of one long used to such discussions.
The stranger's eyes flickered; perhaps a natural response to the incoming wind, or some betrayal of deeper emotion. "As quickly as possible. And as -quietly- as possible."
"Do you wish hisss death to appear accsssidental or natural, or do you wish it to be obviousss that he wasss asssasssinated?" The assassin's shoulders relaxed, just slightly, as they got down to what was obviously the real business of this conversation.
"Accidental," the stranger responded immediately. He, too, shifted into a more comfortable stance; his other hand joined the first, laid over the pommel of his sword. "I want no mistakes; no guesses as to the why's and how's of his death. Your reward will be... substantial."
The assassin nodded, and forced the gesture to be obvious by half-bowing his head. "I will be sssertain to ussse means that cannot be proven to be lesss than accsssidental." A plan was already forming inside of the assassin's mind. There was a pause, and then he said, with a touch of distaste in his voice, "Am I to presssume that your policsssy is not to pay until after the deed isss done?"
The elegant stranger never even bat a lash. "Of course. You -will- be compensated, that I will promise you. If you will forgive me for being less than trusting, then I will give you a little extra. As a bonus, of course." Assassination was risky business, and even this man wanted to take no chances.
"I am in the habit of requesssting partial payment, even a sssmall sssum of the whole, beforehand. Thisss isss to cover expenssses incurred during the procsssesss, which usually involvesss purchasssing thingsss neccsssesssary to commit the crime, asss well asss my own room and board while I remain in thisss region." The assassin no longer seemed offended. Instead, he explained himself to his soon-to-be employer in a way that he believed could be easily understood. "I underssstand the dissstrussst that isss rampant in thisss busssinesss. It isss expected."
The stranger inclined his head. "If I have offended, then I apologize." He paused, apparently mulling over the assassin's words, then nodded stiffly. He moved a hand beneath his coat, and unhooked a small bag of coins. "This is mostly silver. A few gold pieces. If all goes well, you will recieve the rest of your payment." He tossed the thick with practiced ease towards the cowled man.
"You have not," the assassin said in reply, while the stranger reached inside of his coat to fetch the bag of coins. He caught the bag with graceful ease and let it dangle from his fingertips, unopened. "Thank you for aquiesssing to my requessst. I had hoped you would sssee that it isss not unreasssonable." The assassin paused, and whatever lay behind the empty black shadow of the hood stared directly into the stranger's eyes. "If all goesss well, he shall be dead within a fortnight. It hasss been a pleasure doing busssinesss with you, sssir."
"I am not an unreasonable man. Your payment will be left here, as soon as I hear news of his death. A good night to you." The stranger inclined his head, though he did not move from his spot. Instead, he waited, for the Ebon Viper to proceed him.
"Indeed, you are not. Good evening." The assassin inclined his head as well, then casually turned, to make his way back towards the forestland out of which he had emerged. The assassin easily vaulted the low stone wall with the pouch still in his hand, and made walking silently over the leaves and slipping invisibly into the forest's shadows look like childs play.
The stranger waited awhile, letting the chill, frosty night seep deeper into the cracks of his elegant outfit. Eventually, when he was certain that he was alone, he pressed gloved fingers to his lips and uttered a sharp whistle. Soon, the stranger was astride an elegant warhorse, and he, too, disappeared into the forest.
Unfortunately for Councilor O`Cynen, it seemed that his fate had just been decided for him, and his future did not look promising.
Mon Dec 06, 2004 6:03 am
Not for the first time, the sun had disappeared. Not for the first time, the farming community of Myrken Wood - specifically, those who worked and lived around Councilor Joseph O'Cynen, as those were the ones he knew personally - scrambled to do the best with what crops were available, and hoping the sun would return soon enough to delay or destroy future harvests.
O'Cynen and whoever was able in his household moved in the dark fields, bringing along their own light. All but a few were on high alert, tense; ready to use their tools against any would-be otherworld attacker. Joseph himself ventured only so close to the woods not far from the edge of his land, working by only a dim light bright enough to avoid tripping. Glare was a bad thing when one wanted to keep an eye on the almost invisble treeline that housed God only knows what.
Beasts were on the councilor's mind; certainly not assassins. Had he known, perhaps we would've taken somebody with him - without the knowledge, he took the logical route of gathering as much of a variety of crops as they could before things started dying. That meant a spread of manpower rather than a concentration. They were at least close enough to gather quickly should the beasts appear.
The farmer worked through the night...or day...only occasionally glancing at the trees and the sky, tense for any signs of the creatures.