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| Darkblade - By Little Ninja |
Dark Blade
There she was. Just as he remembered her. Flowing black hair,
silky dark skin, and her eyes… When you looked into her eyes you
could see your soul…
But there will be better times for mourning. Right now it was
time to act. The assassin carefully surveyed the camp in the
clearing. “It’s almost midnight, there will be a rotation of the
guards soon”. He thought.
There, in the camp was his contract, an old but powerful
arch-mage, Sorith. The assassin was to slay him and bring
Sorith’s eyes to Zakar the lich. In return, the undead mage
promised to reunite the assassin with his dead wife.
His plan of action was clear. The two and a half days he spent
staking out the camp did not go in vain. He knew the exact times
of the guards’ rotation, and where Sorith retired to every
night. He even sneaked into the camp the night before to “get
the feel of the place”. And now it was time to act.
Silently jumping down from the branch, which has been his home
for the past two days, he crouched low to ground. He was in his
element again, a shadow amongst shadows.
The wind picked up and the canopy of Elwynn Forest swayed from
side to side, as if in protest.
The camp was in the clearing about a hundred yards from the
closest tree. He will need to crawl. Taking a deep breath, the
assassin traced an ancient symbol with his hand in the air in
front of him. For a moment, the glyph burned with energy darker
then night itself before fading away. As the glyph faded, the
assassin felt energy, older than time, flow through his body
invigorating him and heightening his senses.
He began to move, faster and smoother then before. With each
step his resolve depended and his pounding heart slowed.
He always got this way before a mission. According to his mentor
it was not fear, but merely anticipation of the action to come.
As he neared the clearing, his pace slowed and he stood in the
shadows of Elwynn Forest, taking in the smells and the sounds of
all that surrounded him, as if it was his last time. With that,
the last of his doubts faded away and he began to crawl.
Nearing the camp he paused, looking if the soldiers near the
campfire were aware of his presence. The soldiers, not expecting
an attack, were sitting around the fire swapping stories of
battles and better times.
The assassin did not fear Sorith detecting his presence.
Although the arch-mage was powerful, the amulet the lich gave
him would protect him from even the strongest spells and
incantations.
Crouching in the tent’s shadow, he heard a faint sound of
footsteps. The sound grew nearer. Someone was approaching. The
assassin froze, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Then he
saw him. A lone soldier, probably going to relieve himself.
The assassin could not afford to be discovered. Could not afford
to fail. Too much was at stake on this mission. And failure
meant death. He would not die yet. Not while there was a
chance...
Putting those thoughts aside he concentrated on the matter at
hand, and on the approaching soldier. The man looked to be in
his early twenties, probably a new recruit. As he neared the
tent, the young man paused as if sensing something. A hint of
fear crossed his face. It was as if at that last moment he
realized his fate.
The assassin struck, swiftly and silently slicing the soldier’s
throat with a trained precision of a killer. Softening the young
man’s fall with his hands, he dragged the body into the tent’s
shadow. Nothing would stand in his way.
Smiling grimly, the assassin noted that the men at the campfire
were oblivious to their comrade’s fate.
He produced a blowgun and a small sack from one of his many
pockets. The sack contained a highly potent sleeping powder, and
released its contents upon contact with an open flame.
Careful, as not to be discovered, he moved closer to the
campfire. Pausing for a slight moment to bring the blowgun to
his lips.
Upon contact with fire the sack produced a small spark and some
smoke, virtually invisible unless you knew what to look for.
One by one the soldiers fell into a deep slumber. Nothing stood
between him and Sorith.
As he neared the arch-mage’s tent, the assassin felt a slight
rise in pressure and the air shimmered all around him for a
moment, as if he crossed an invisible barrier. “Looks like
Sorith does not want to be disturbed.“ he noted to himself.
A normal man would not have been able to cross the magical
barrier, but the assassin had the amulet…
Cautiously he peaked inside the tent. The arch-mage was reading
one of the many tomes, which lay on the table in front of him,
deep in his studies and oblivious to the world. Silently the
assassin entered the tent.
Sensing motion, Sorith looked up and met his assassin’s gaze. A
look of shock crossed his face. “ How did you get past the
barrier?” he exclaimed.
“There are stronger forces at work here, mage. Much stronger
than you or me.” The assassin replied.
A word of power shone, brighter then the sun, in Sorith’s mind.
A moment later a ball of green energy appeared in the
arch-mage’s hand, and he flung it at the assassin. The energy
ball dissipated into thin air, as it neared the assassin.
Sorith gasped in surprise “How did you?”
“Enough talk, old man.” The assassin cut him off. “This will be
less painful if you do not resist.”
“But why are you doing this?” The arch-mage asked, his voice
full of fear.
“So many questions, from such a wise man.” The assassin calmly
noted. “You do not need to know of reasons.”
Swiftly and with trained precision, the assassin brought his
sword diagonally across the arch-mage’s chest.
“No love, no light, but that which causes pain. All that you
hold dear will never be near.” The words full of hatred left
Sorith’s lips with his dying breath.
It was nearing dawn when the assassin left the camp, heading
towards the regions of the Undead Scourge, the curse of the
dying arch-mage embedded forever in his mind. |
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