---Away from the market place.---
A plump old merchant, no longer heading up the long street away from the market, turned off onto the deserted early morning alley, still thinking about the guards commotion outside the inn and the vulgarity it held, shuffling as he went.
*HEAVY FOOTSTEPS.*
A row of sealed entrances on the right side were hidden inside the small alcoves, which remained tightly shut by the rusted locks and boards nailed into the rotting timber of there frames.
Forgotten by the masses, the rotting of wood signalled the poor upkeep of this lost alley of wares, only used by the merchants for storage and back alley dealings. Devoid of people, the thick, dark shadows of the two-story buildings on either side of a simple warehouse district for goods and excess trade draped the large man in a sea of darkness, the fine silks he wore and there colours lost to the veil.
The shuffling moved on up the alley; the small box jostled with the man's shifting weight as he moved on deeper into the void.
*RATTLING AND SHUFFLES OF METAL COMING FROM THE BOX.*
The contents in the box rattled until the merchant reached a point where he came to a halt, the shuffling sound no longer bouncing off the stone walls as he began to wait, looking down into the alley and the thick darkness with occasional glances to the street he had left.
A few minutes went by, the man still waiting on someone to come, acosting whoever it was to an empty space.
Gem Merchant: Just where is he? 'Tutting.' He better not be late again; when I see him, I will make him know that "time" is surely money, my money, that is. How that harlot puts up with his tardiness, I will never know.
Out of habit, the large man shook the box; once more the rattling called out as the hidden wares inside jostled around as the man moved his train of thought from the person he was waiting for. The man recounted the guards in the market; once more, the men in armour and brotherly bonds irked him.
Gem Merchant: The vulgarity of the "Guild's Guard!" That's what our bloody taxes get us! (Shaking a small box.) Scoundrels... The lot of them, be they the lesser or higher guards of that so-called guild. 'Muttering.' If I had my way... If I were in charge...
*SOFT FOOTSTEPS COMING FROM THE STREET OF LIGHT.*
Light plodding of feet moved from the main street; the man lost in his open thoughts paused, listening for a moment, then continuing on with his rant as they dissapeared.
Gem Merchant: If I had my way! (Turning his head, listening to something behind him getting closer.)
A small figure appeared from the street the merchant had left to join the world of shadows; they were making their way to the gem merchant with haste, trying to fill the gap between themselves and the large man in an instant.
Gem Merchant: About time! Look, you can't keep me waiting. 'Pausing.' Wait... you aren't K... 'Gasping.'
Before the large, bulky man could fully see who they were or speak out, realising it wasn't the person he was waiting on, another shadowy figure appeared into tow.
They had trailed the merchant's movements with their quickening footsteps. Both figures turned into blurs that melded into the shadows themselves; a slither of silver reached out, aiming directly for the merchant's chest.
Something slipped between the shadow and the merhcant with the box in his hands, pushing deeper into his chest; a sharp, prickly feeling washed over the merhcant of stones as he called out in a gasping voice and the box fell to the cobbles below.
*CLATTER, FOLLOWED BY THE RATTLING OF THE SMALL BOX.*
Gem Merhant: Ahhh... 'Gasping in pain.' Who...
*MUFFLED CRY.*
Breathlessness overwhelmed the gem merchant as he fought for another bout of air that never came; his chest froze and so did his words locked in place, no longer holding onto his box of treasures as it fell to his side.
*SINGLE STRONG THUMP.*
A guttural gurgling rose up from below as the merchant dropped to the stone with a heavy thump.
Violent shakes rippled through the merchant's body as wrinkled hands felt for the item, reaching for it in an attempt to remove it, now splayed out on his back, reaching for the wound and item left in his chest from the unknown assailant.
An unsettling warmth began to seep out of the merchant's chest and hands, the edges of the silver cutting into his fingers, soaking and staining the dark pathway where he once stood, being absorbed into the fine silks he had adorned on his large body, the colour becoming harder to tell apart in the growing red and shadows.
Glistening, a red stream caught the light coming from the market street as it moved away from the large man, pooling to both sides, growing wider.
The shock finally faded, and the chest fell and rose once more. Still unable to speak, the man gasped for life through struggled breathing.
*STRUGGLING COUGH AND WHEEZING LUNGS FIGHTING INFLATE.*
Above the merchant of stones, two shadowy figures looked down, one taking glee in his act as the other looked on with a cold gaze, stark differences from each other yet the same at heart.
A deep voice came from underneath the taller draped figure in a heavy, dark blue veil, the cloak and the darkness hiding his identity. He gazed down at the dying man once more before turning away to the street they came from, an interest not born from pity but one of disgust, seeing something still left in the chest down below.
Cloaked Figure 1: Was that truly necessary? (Shaking his head in distain.) Look at the mess and mistakes you have made... (Moving his foot to the side away from the coming blood.) The morn is too early for this type of show.
A smaller figure, wearing the same cloak as the other man, reached down as he began to pull out a long, thin blade out of the merchant's chest.
Cloaked Figure 2: It is never too early or too late for what we do... Also, I will be having this back; thank you very much. 'Sadistic.'
Trickles of blood that ran down the edges of the alley turned into a fowing stream, leaving the small but gaping hole unplugged and free to leak warm life where the passing beat of a heart should have been.
The taller figure watched as the kneeling man cleaned his blade on the merchant's chest, not amused by it all, bloodying the soiled silk even further with every wipe and cutting the material as it angled away.
Feeling eyes on him, the smaller figure smiled.
Cloaked Figure 2: What? 'Annoyed.' One should not besmirch the Lord in such a fashion; there are consequences for those who do. (Wiping the blade along his cloak.) We know of this too well...
Unseen eyes rolled upwards, then down from under the hood of the taller figure, not amused at the words trying to scurry out of what he had just done.
Cloaked Figure 1: Do not what me... Mark my words, one of these days your hubris will have that blade turned on you if you keep that up. 'Displeased tone.' Next time, you might find that blade in your chest rather than your hands. Pray it doesn't happen, for you know all to well what will happen then... BOY!
No longer cleaning his blade, the small figure still kneeling turned to look up at the tall figure, not dettered by the words of his so-called wisdom.
Cloaked figure 2: I know this all too well... 'Condscending.' But why should I worry? He is already as good as dead; no one can survive our gift, not even "you" or "I." What's he going to do? Pull it out. If he could do that, then we both would have something to worry about, would we not?
The gurgling turned into spluttering coughs; trying to gasp for more air, the merchant's hands began to move.
Cloaked Figure 2: See... (Gesturing to the dying man.) You worry where worry has no place...
The tall figure grumbled to himself even further; a growing annoyance began to boil over into his words.
Cloaked Figure 1: Worry? Do not push your luck with me! I will not hesitate to instill those learnings into you; even if I have to start again from scratch, do not think of yourself as special. 'Tired tone.' That said, what's done is done. Still, his words didn't warrant this sad end by your hand. (Folding his arms under the cloak.) We are ordered to do what we must, not what we like... Remember that.
*COUGHING GROWING AND WEAKENING.*
Cloaked Figure 2: This is for the Lord, not my own pleasure, you know. (Still, kneeling down with a grin.) Funny... Words are such powerful things, aren't they? They can easily end our lives or enrich them; sadly, for this fool, it was the former. (Standing up.) "If words ever held more weight than the air they travelled upon, none of us would ever move, let alone speak, for we all would be crushed. Still, even now, words that are weightless still crush not our bodies, but our very souls..."
Voices from the market stalls grew louder, making the taller man even more agitated, feeling time not on their side.
Cloaked Figure 1: You could have fooled me... This is no time for your prattling attempts of morale poetry. 'Annoyed.' Put him out of his misery already before someone stumbles upon this mess; we have much work to do... "The wheels of fate don't move on their own..."
Now standing, a sadistic smile shot back at the tall, cloaked form.
Cloaked Figure 2: A bit of poetry I hear? 'Grinning.' Also, I would never try to fool you.
The smaller figure felt heavy eyes on him from under the cloak, not amused at his words.
Cloaked Figure 2: Fine, if you insist, brother! I will gladly do it, though... Where is the fun in a quick death? 'Shrugging.' Oh well...
Pushing through the veil of darkness from which the blue cloak emanated, a boot appeared, slowly moving over the writhing figure fighting for life laying on the ground, coming down as it met something soft, crunching as it lowered.
*LIGHT CRACKING NOISE.*
Death once more fell upon the dying man's throat as muffled chokes cried out and hands batted at the small figure's leg, slapping and grabbing onto the cloak's edge franticly, fighting for life just a little bit longer.
The tall man heard it all and spoke about the guards from earlier they were following.
Cloaked Figure 1: (Turning away.) We can't do anything while they're in there... We must think about our next course of action. After that show, we might have to rethink his plan... 'Vexed.' Complete the clean-up of your mess, and ensure that it appears as something other than nonsensical murder.
As the tall figure turned away, now facing the street of light ahead, he walked on, still berating the other.
Cloaked figure 1: I do not wish for the guards of the guild to look to deeply into this; I will get my contact to make sure they learn just enough to write it off as such. 'Stern.' Pray they do, for I will not cover for you a second time nor will he... He isn't as forgiving as me and you know the price for failure.
The smaller figure, no longer gleeful over the merchant's demise, heard the ominous words, the sadistic smile fading as he heard the last part, knowing full well what he meant. Silence would eventually fall on the alley of hidden horrors, leaving the dying man and his murderer alone, as the small figure's cloak no longer pulled downwards.
Cloaked Figure 2: It always comes to an end sadly. 'Whispering.'
A final gasp was let out from the merchant's chest and the beaten, bloody hands fell back onto the cobbles.
A heavy boot moved away, the cloaked figure now taking an interest in the small box to the side.
Cloaked Figure 2: Death is your final tax, little peddler. (Reaching down.) Maybe in the next life you will be more careful in your words.
A gloved hand reached for the small box that was sitting next to the small puddle of blood.
Cloaked Figure 2: I will be taking this; where you are going, this won't be much help; think of it as you supporting our Lord in the afterlife. (Opening the box and tipping some of its contents on the ground.) Tis a waste, but a much-needed one to play the part of the larger game ahead...
A soft rattling resurfaced and faded as it moved beneath the dark cloak as the small figure moved away, unbeknownst to what lurked in the darkness. Something watched the man walk on, seeing and hearing everything unfold as did something else...
---The tall, cloaked man walked towards the tower that would eventually come to life.---
The smaller, cloaked man caught up to the one in front with a quick stride, not hearing his words as both figures melded into the hustle and bustle of the people on the street, both fading with the crowd, fading into the ripples of people once more as mere shadows.
*RATTLE, RATTLE.*
The little box rattled once more as the one in front spoke.
Cloaked Figure 1: 'Snickering.' Well, well, well, it seems that you are still alive... Brother! So many faces, so little time, and it's all running out. 'Muttering.' Of all the places, you would be here; you can't fool my eyes, not yet at least. 'Chuckling.'
Something atop the tower would eventually move, signalling the beginning of the end...