In a tavern in the crowded port city of Zolem, Eastern Seppora, an elf sits on the counter requesting for more booze. Half-alive due to drunkenness and reeking of the stench of alcohol and maybe if one sniffed deeper, pain and sorrow. Yes this was one sorrowful elf as he had done the unimaginable. This elf who's name was Ilkrig from Nordur in the north of Seppora was a broken man and he came to this tavern every single day to drink himself to oblivion. "Oi, ye piece o' shit…" said the barkeeper in the seaside Zolem accent, "…you haven't missed a day in me tavern in over a year, yeh?". "One of these days, ye'll drink the whole of Zolem's booze stash dry and I'll have no more to give to other of me customers". "…Oi shut up and pour me another cup bozo" replied Ilkrig in drunken stupor.
Ilkrig is, or maybe you can say "was" a death-merchant. The death-mercahants are a small force of specially trained assassins who nobles used to settle scores once and for all. They helped start and end feuds, settle petty quarrels, keep mouths shut forever, avenge victims, settle scores, etc. Ilkrig had joined at a young age in order to reduce the mouths that needed to be fed in his family. He spent his early life in their secret base in "no one knows", called such because no one but the "Shadow-lords", the leaders of the "death-mercahants" knew the whereabouts of this place as recruits were drugged on their way coming and after completion of their training if they survived were drugged again when taken back to civilization. The assassins upon completion of their training were made to swear a sacred oath to complete a mission or they would lose their own life instead. After the oath a spell was cast on every assassin and if ever he/she failed to complete a mission, they would slit their own throats.
Ilkrig had always been a prodigy and he did his jobs cleanly and effectively. While assassins had a wide array of knowledge on lethality and knew how to kill a person in a myriad of ways, they specialized in a particular killset. From archery to knife-art to poison to straight out bludgeoning their victims to death, each assassin had a speciaty. For Ilkrig of Nordur, it was knives. Sharp, lethal knives. He could slice with them, throw them, poison them and kill a person by just scratching them. He had all sorts of knives of different shapes and sizes but none longer than 6 inches.
A year-and-a-half ago he had met Merelda, a beautiful girl. He was awestruck at first glance and he struggled to contain himself so as to not come off as the shy maiden between both of them. The girl was curvy as a ripe pear, a stunning beauty. She captivating his heart and senses and her golden locks cascaded down like honeyed light.
Her emerald eyes sparkled bright and green and her skin was smooth as alabaster, delicate as a rose, inviting him to bask in its gentle glow. In all his life Ilkrig had never seen such a beauty. He had gone to the market to purchase some bread and found some bandits trying to rob her in an alley. He saved her and she thanked him. Smitten he spoke to her some more and found that she was as fair a maiden at heart as she was in looks and. One thing led to another and they started meeting regularly although it was against the code of the death-merchants to indulge in matters of the heart.
The two lovers kept secrets themselves as Merelda was a highborn, a noblewoman and only House Wince and was betrothed to another. The marriage was arranged to strengthen relations between her family and another noble family and while Merelda didn't love the man she was betrothed to she didn't object as it was for the good of her family. She never told Ilkrig too just the way Ilkrig never told her he was a trained assassin. She didn't tell him about her heritage or engagement because she didn't want to hurt him and he didn't tell her because he didn't want her to hate him. They were both happy being secret lovers.
"You have been summoned at the shed", said an informant to Ilkrig who went straight to "the shed" , a place where death-merchants came to get missions. At the shed Ilkrig was given a mission to kill one Esmeralda, the daughter of a nobleman whom someone wanted dead. "She is the only daughter of the Wince family and a client wants her dead by the end of the 7th day from today" said the paymaster in the shed. He continued "…her finger will fetch you 1200 pieces of gold", "you are to infiltrate the Wince estate and kill her and when you deliver her finger, your dividend will be paid to you". Ilkrig nodded taking the piece of parchment and sticking it in his pocket wondering why the girl's death was so important to cost so much and why her drawing looked a bit familiar.
As Ilkrig began to investigate, he eventually found the Wince estate. It was quite magnificent and we'll guarded and he knew he had to get in one way or the other. Lean and slender as he was Ilkrig was quite nimble and agile and intelligent too. For three days he came to sit at the gate of the Wince estate disguised as a beggar. He watched the coming and going of the guards and overheard them discussing the arrival of a carriage which was coming in to the estate with foliage and hay for the Wince family horses the following day. The next day he fell a tree and blocked the path the carriage was supposed to pass diverting it into taking another route.
He laid ambush to the carriage and knocked out the driver. He donned the driver's attire and rode into the Wince estate undetected. Now his next agenda was to infiltrate the castle. "Hey, where can I ease myself around here…" Ilkrig asked a servant who had come to shovel the hay to the stalls for the horses. "Oh sure that way" the servant pointed in the general direction of the castle's rear. Ilkrig nodded and went and urinated so the servant wouldn't suspect him. As the servant looked away, he started scaling the castle walls determined to get into the castle's main keep and find his target. As he scaled the wall and climbed into the keep, happened to enter the hallway of the family's living quarters where by a stroke of luck he saw the only daughter of the Winces going her chambers. He followed her stealthily and entered into her chambers with her.
When she removed her scarf and revealed her golden-blonde hair, and he saw her emerald-green eyes, he immediately recognized her. "Merelda…?" Ilkrig called out. "…Huh?" Merelda said startled. "Oh, Illy, it's you…?", "…how did you find my home?" asked Merelda. Ilkrig was silent and shaken. He was sent to assassinate the woman he loved. "Hey, Mer…" Ilkrig asked, finding his voice, "…are you Esmeralda Wince?". "Why, well I am, that's my name" replied Esmeralda. "No, no, no, Mer, no…!!!" said Ilkrig, "…why is this happening to me?". "What are you talking about Illy?" asked a confused Esmeralda. "I'm a death-merchant by profession and I was sent to kill you…" said Ilkrig shakily. "What? What are you talking about Illy?" asked a now visibly scared and shaken Esmeralda. Ilkrig began to tell her his story and why he became a death-merchant. "I'm sorry I never told you Mer…" said a downcast Ilkrig, "…I thought you'd hate me…". "I'm sorry I never told you I was a highborn too my love…" said Esmeralda with tears in her eyes. "I know that if I told you, you'd never have accepted this mission". "I will never hurt you my love…" said Ilkrig, "There's a spell on me that will make me kill myself if I fail to kill you…", "…I'd rather die than kill you Mer" he continued.
Ilkrig tried to sheath his knife but his hand became stiff. He suddenly couldn't control himself anymore, he began to expose his neck. Seeing this Esmeralda rushed at him and impaled herself on his knife and suddenly, the spell broke. "I love you Illy" she whispered in his ears as the light disappeared from her eyes. "NOOOO…NOOOOO!!!" screamed Ilkrig as he prevented her corpse from falling to the floor. He wept profusely questioning his life choices. He wished it were him.
His screams had attracted the servants and guards in the main keep and he slaughtered them in a blind rage. He left without claiming her finger as he jumped through her window into the yard. Ilkrig threw stealth out the window as he walked brazenly to the gate cutting down any guard that stood in his way. Ilkrig swore on Esmeralda's blood still fresh on his hands never to use a raise a knife again. Ilkrig was a death-merchant no more. No. He was a man no more.