The Red Talon's Deadly Game
The night was still over the northern road leading from Prince Harris Pennington's estate. The occasional hoot of an owl and the soft rustle of leaves were the only sounds that broke the eerie silence. In the distance, the glow of Count Darian Voss's carriage lamps could be seen, steadily advancing along the winding path back to his manor.
But all was not as it seemed.
Hidden among the trees, Vorin and Brenna, leaders of the Red Talon, crouched in the shadows, waiting. Their mission tonight was not one of direct assassination—they had already planted the seeds of Voss's demise at Harris's banquet, where one of their operatives had secretly slipped a lethal poison into the Count's wine. The poison, slow-acting but deadly, was designed to take effect on Voss's journey home, mimicking the symptoms of a sudden heart attack.
Vorin and Brenna's role now was simple: serve as decoys. They had spread rumors of an attack on the Count, ensuring that anyone—especially their rivals in the Veiled Dagger—who sought to interfere would focus on them, not on the true source of Voss's death. The real kill would happen without so much as a drop of blood being spilled.
As they watched the carriage approach, Brenna's sharp eyes caught movement in the trees behind them. Her hand tightened on the hilt of her dagger.
"They're here," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Vorin's lips curled into a grim smile. "The fools took the bait."
---
The Ignorant Saboteurs
From the shadows of the dense woods, a group of five figures approached the road. They were young members of the Veiled Dagger, new recruits eager to prove themselves. These operatives, unlike their leader Seren, had no grasp of the bigger picture. They had heard whispers of a Red Talon assassination attempt on Count Voss and, against Seren's explicit orders, decided to act on their own.
Their leader for this foolhardy mission was a brash young man named Torran, his eyes gleaming with ambition. He had no understanding of the delicate balance of power between the two factions, nor did he realize that by acting out of turn, he was putting his life—and the lives of his companions—at risk.
"We wait for the carriage to slow," Torran whispered, crouching low beside his comrades. "Once Voss's guards are distracted, we strike. We'll make it look like the Red Talon botched the assassination."
Beside him, Jannis, a skilled thief with a reputation for quick kills, nodded. "The Red Talon will be humiliated. This is our chance to take control."
Torran smiled, his mind filled with thoughts of glory and recognition from Seren. He believed that by sabotaging the Red Talon's mission, they would rise through the ranks of the Veiled Dagger. He had no idea that the real assassination had already taken place, nor that Seren had strictly forbidden interference.
As the carriage neared their position, the group tensed, ready to strike. Torran signaled to his men, and they began to move silently through the underbrush toward the road.
But they were not alone.
---
The Red Talon Strikes
Vorin and Brenna, their senses honed from years of surviving in the shadows, had already spotted the would-be saboteurs. The moment Torran and his team moved, Vorin signaled to his own men—an elite group of Red Talon assassins who had been waiting in silence, perfectly camouflaged in the darkness.
As Torran's group crept closer to the road, the Red Talon operatives closed in around them.
"They don't even know what's coming," Brenna murmured, her voice tinged with satisfaction. She moved like a ghost through the trees, her dagger gleaming in the faint moonlight.
In a flash of movement, the first of the Veiled Dagger saboteurs was taken down. Brenna's blade slid across his throat before he even had a chance to scream, his body collapsing into the underbrush with barely a sound.
Torran's eyes widened in shock as he realized they were under attack. "We've been spotted! Fall back!" he hissed, but it was too late.
The Red Talon moved swiftly and silently, striking with deadly precision. One by one, Torran's companions were dispatched, their bodies falling lifeless to the forest floor. Jannis tried to fight back, but Vorin's sword was faster. It pierced her chest, her body crumpling to the ground in a silent heap.
Torran, panicking, stumbled backward, his heart pounding in his chest. He had been so sure of his plan, so certain they would outsmart the Red Talon. Now, as he looked around at the bodies of his fallen comrades, he realized how wrong he had been.
Before he could run, a figure loomed out of the shadows—Vorin himself.
"Too ambitious for your own good," Vorin growled as he grabbed Torran by the throat and drove his dagger into the young man's side. Torran's eyes went wide, a choking gasp escaping his lips as he fell to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
The decoys had done their job. The would-be saboteurs from the Veiled Dagger were dead, their attempt to interfere nothing more than a brief footnote in the night's events.
"Leave the bodies," Vorin said to his men, his tone calm as ever. "Let the Dagger find what's left of them."
Brenna wiped her blade clean and glanced toward the road. "Voss should be feeling the poison any moment now."
---
The Poison's Grip
Inside the carriage, Count Darian Voss felt a growing tightness in his chest. At first, he dismissed it as nothing more than the aftereffects of a night spent drinking and dining. The wine at Harris's estate had been rich, and the conversations heavy with talk of war and strategy. Voss had been an integral part of Harris's plan to take the throne, using his wealth and influence to secure alliances for the prince.
But as the tightness in his chest grew worse, Voss began to realize that something was very wrong. His breathing became shallow, and a wave of nausea swept over him. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and his hand went to his chest, pressing against the mounting pressure.
The poison had begun its deadly work.
As his vision blurred, Voss's mind slipped back to the banquet earlier that evening. He saw Harris, smiling and confident, shaking hands with powerful men who would bolster his claim to the throne. He remembered the toast—the raised glasses, the clinking of fine crystal as they drank to the future of Ustaria.
And then, a flash—his glass, being refilled by a servant. A man who had seemed out of place, his hands too steady, his eyes too watchful.
The Red Talon.
Realization hit Voss like a hammer to the chest. The poison had been in his wine. It had been there all along, slowly working its way through his system, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. His heart pounded wildly, the pain spreading through his body like wildfire.
He tried to call out to the driver, to warn him, but the words stuck in his throat. His limbs felt heavy, unresponsive, and the world around him began to spin.
As the carriage passed through the gates of his estate, Voss slumped forward in his seat, his breath rattling in his lungs. The poison had done its work—quiet, efficient, and deadly.
By the time the carriage came to a stop, Count Voss was already dead.
---
The Aftermath
The guards at Voss's manor rushed to the carriage as it pulled up to the grand entrance. At first, they assumed the Count had simply fallen asleep after a long night at the banquet, but when they opened the door and saw his lifeless body, panic spread through the estate.
"Call for the healer!" one of the guards shouted, his voice trembling with fear.
But it was too late. The healer arrived quickly, only to pronounce what was already evident: Count Darian Voss had died of a sudden and tragic heart attack. There were no visible wounds, no signs of foul play. To all who looked upon the scene, it appeared to be nothing more than a natural death.
News of Voss's demise spread rapidly through the noble circles of Cressenhold. The shock of his death sent ripples through Harris's supporters, casting a shadow over his growing political ambitions. Voss's wealth and influence had been a cornerstone of Harris's plans, and without him, the prince's path to the throne became far more uncertain.
As the guards and servants rushed about, preparing the manor for the funeral, the true cause of Voss's death remained hidden, buried beneath layers of deception.
The Red Talon had done their job well. The poison had taken its toll, and the decoys had eliminated any interference. The Veiled Dagger's attempt to sabotage the
plan had failed, and those foolish enough to try had paid the price with their lives.
Vorin and Brenna, their mission complete, slipped away into the night, their presence unnoticed by the world above.
For now, their task was done. But in the shadowy world of Ustaria's underworld, the game of death and deception was far from over.