Siegred had always found it difficult to believe that Trelaws goals were moral at all. If he had to choose, letting King Ferdinand crumble under the weight of ruling a kingdom that was falling apart as it was would be the best option. Alas, Siegred had to follow out the commands of Trelaw and the rest of the Golden Fist. However, if he didn't follow through with this job, he might be killed.
Siegred hung his head and began to walk out of the main meeting hall of the Golden Fist. His right foot reached the edge of the massive archway leading out of the equally massive domed building. He paused for a moment, something wasn't quite right. He noticed his shadow seemed to get larger, as if there was another person behind him
That's when he felt the cold clammy hand of Neven, Trelaw's right hand man, clasp around Siegred's shoulder. Siegred tensed up. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Neven's hand clutching one of the tiny daggers attached to the end of his waistcoat. The one-eyed man's grip was casual, but Siegred couldn't be careless.
The man's voice came out, rasped and cracking at first. "Before you go, Trelaw would like to see you," his voice leveled out, "In the conference hall."
Siegred gulped, What could he possibly want with me he thought. Fell's Hood! Could this be about– His thoughts were interrupted by Neven's voice.
"Follow me, Trelaw is waiting," he said.
Siegred turned his head to the one-eyed man's smile staring back to him. The grin seemed artificial, as if he was hiding something. "Alright, I'll come with you,"
Neven led him down a dimly lit passageway. The walls were stone, a strange contrast to the polished limestone walls of Fatan city. The two men walked in silence, the only sound was of their footsteps echoing off the walls of the corridor.
Eventually, the passageway came to an end, and was replaced by a wooden stairway leading upwards. A grunt came from Neven, "You go first."
Siegred took his first, creaky step, and Neven followed closely behind.
The staircase seemed to go up forever. Whenever the stairs seemed to end, they would bend backwards. Siegred was so preoccupied with the stairs, that he didn't feel the blindfold come around his eyes. Neven's grizzled and rough voice came out behind him," 'Tis for your own safety."
Doesn't seem safe to me, Siegred thought.
After about a minute later, Siegred could smell the musty scent of Fatan's tall buildings. Fatan was not a dirty city but there was a particular scent to it. Neven started to untie the blindfold that was tightly wrapped around Siegred's head. "Finally," Siegred whispered under his breath.
At last, Siegred could finally see. He gasped when he saw where he was. He was on top of the massive domed building that Golden Fist called home. The curved roof was so massive that the top was nearly flat.
Siegred turned his head to see Trelaw, Golden Fist's leader standing there. He donned a purple scarf that covered most of his face. A tattoo on his forehead covered the slave brand that he once wore.
"Hello Siegred," Trelaw said, "I would like to talk to you about your recent performances on previous missions. You have failed to complete the last three assignments that we have given you," Pausing, he dashed a look at Siegred, his eyes seeming to pierce his soul, "If you fail to complete this next mission…" Trelaw trailed off, expecting Siegred to pick up what he meant.
Siegred took a resentful look across the rooftops of Fatan. Dark green shingles capped disheveled but beautiful buildings. One building stood out to Siegred, instead of one chimney, on the building, there were two. He had never seen such a building before. Siegred took a closer look, and let out a shuddered gasp. "Duck," he yelled to Trelaw and Neven.
Trelaw ducked just in time, for Siegred to reach his hand forward to the arrow that was whizzing towards his superior's head. He caught the projectile by its end. The arrow's momentum lifted Siegred off the ground following the path of the arrow.
He closed his eyes, breathing in. Seemingly, time slowed to a gradual stop. Holding his breath,
Siegred placed his foot on the domed roof of Golden Fist's headquarters. He pushed off the roof and performed a backflip, but stopped at the top of his jump arc.
Siegred released his grip on the arrow and released his breath. Time resumed its normal speed and Siegred skyrocketed toward their assailant. Since he had redirected the path of the arrow as time had stopped,
Siegred couldn't clearly see the man. However, he could make out that the man held a longbow. A large quiver was strapped to the man's back. He had reached intoto the quiver to take hold of an arrow.
The man had the arrow nocked before Siegred could blink.
Siegred felt the arrow hit him in the shoulder with a massive amount of momentum, enough to make his aerial charge stop. He plummeted toward the city streets. His body twisted and turned, writhing with agony and pain.
He was helpless…
Helpless…
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The assassin had never meant to shoot the man, but his instinctual manner had taken over before his body could protest. He walked to the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the street. Pedestrians in ragged clothing dotted the street as they gaped in horror at the mangled body.
The assassin clutched the badge that he held in his pants pocket, feeling the two daggers and quiver that were masterfully carved into its surface.
It was the emblem of the Assassin's Guild, an organization that worked in the shadows, taking out targets that they deemed dangerous. That man, who had appeared suddenly with his poison tipped arrow. The man had come flying straight towards the assassin, and he had reached to the back of his quiver and shot the mysterious man.
The assassin turned his back to the roof's edge, toward a door that had led him to the top of this roof. He put his good hand on the door, slipping his four-fingered one into his cloak's inside pocket.
Opening the door, and walking through the doorway, shadow shrouded his body. The assassin's bow had knocked against the wooden door, leaving a small scratch.
Noticeable, but it could be used as possible evidence, the assassin thought to himself regarding the miniscule scratch that his bow had produced. The assassin turned down a long hallway that was littered by doors that most likely led to food stockpiles or servants' quarters.
At the end of the hall, two framed paintings could be seen, lit by a faint candle. The assassin slowly crept towards the two paintings, the floorboards creaking with every heavy boot fall.
Even though the hall was dark, all but the dimly lit candle, the assassin thought he could see shadows dancing behind him, creeping towards his figure.
He had reached the end of the hallway, his hand now reaching for the larger painting, Which was covered in a thin layer of dust. The assassin brought the painting up to his face, to blow off the dust.
When that was done, he could take a full look at the painting. It depicted two young girls, maybe six years of age each. Both were barefoot, standing on one of the many cobbled streets. They were holding hands, and holding a needle in their free hands. Behind them, the needles had been used to create a sort of tapestry, filled with vibrant colors, depicting a blue serpent in front of a blazing fire.
The most unnerving thing about the painting was the girls' faces. They had expressions of distress, as if the thing behind the canvas was making them uncomfortable.
The assassin felt the air in the hallway begin to chill, the hairs on his neck stood up. With a whirl, he turned around, whilst snatching the candle for light.
Nothing was there, the hallway was empty, save for the storeroom doors. Relieved, the assassin turned back to the painting. Seeing it again, his breath caught in his throat, something had changed in the painting.
Instead of the distraught looks that the girls had previously worn, there were now strange smiles that were almost as wide as their faces. The woven tapestry that they held in their hands was blank, a pale white in place of the blue serpent.
The painting seemed alive, the girl's eyes were blinking, and the tapestry was flowing in a westbound wind.
The assassin could feel his heart beating inside of his chest. His hands began to sweat, causing him to drop the painting. A crack in the wooden frame caused the painting to rip in half. He watched in horror as the two little girls looked at each other, and laughed. The girl on the right held up her hand, and the assassin gasped. The girl was not holding the knitting needle, and it instead was pierced through her hand.
Blood dripped to the cobbled streets that they were standing on. A strange yellow energy pulsed through the needle. It weaved through the girl's body, turning her eyes yellow. The same transformation was happening to the other girl.
The assassin lost his balance, tumbling over and onto the creaky wooden floor boards. His head
was bombarded with sounds that caused him to have many headaches in rapid succession. He closed his eyes as he slipped into a state of unconsciousness.
He was helpless...
Helpless...
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Fen could hear a thump coming from the upstairs hallway. He had heard it while absently scrubbing a mug that had been left on the counter top. He called back to his manager Dallop, "Did you hear that thuddin' noise, Dallop?"
His manager replied with silence. The only sound that could be heard during closing hours was the rattling of dishes and mugs.
"Dallop! Did you hear the thuddin' noise from upstairs?" Fen asked, this time louder.
Impatiently, Fen placed the half-dirty mug on the countertop and started to make his way to the bar kitchens. He placed his hand on the two swinging doors that led to the back of the bar. Pushing his way through the doors, Fen called out again, "Dallop, are you in he-" He stopped his question short and gasped.
What he saw was a horrifying mess. A red substance covered the ground near Dallop. Fen could only fear the worst. It could only be blood. On --no, in-- Dallop's hand was a needle that was piercing through his hand. The scarlet colored fluid streamed down and onto the floor, pooling at his side like one large Amaryllis.
Fen rushed to Dallop's limp body, checking his pulse. Fen's shoulders sagged down, realizing the worst had happened.
Dallop was dead.
Enraged, Fen rushed out of the bar and into the dirty city streets. A whirling storm of sand had made the streets covered in the stuff yesterday and had the street cleaners struggling to clean it up. After exiting the building, Fen took a left, running from what he did not know.
He was helpless…
Helpless…
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Corporal Charva sat at his large oak desk, rifling through a large stack of papers. Halfway through his stack, a red stamped message caught his eye. In bold, red letters, read one simple word, "Helpless."
Then, Charva took another paper from the stack. Again, the same red-stamped message greeted him. A third message is there on the third paper. Corporal tucked the three papers into a green folder and stood from his desk. Taking a final look at his desk, Charva walked out of his office.