The beginning of the path to Assassinship for Drither! |
Looking upon a vast field, surrounded by dense forest for as far as the eye can see, Drither begins to wonder what he has gotten himself into. The only sound that can be heard is the gentle swishing as his wings flap, keeping his toes mere inches from the solid earth below them. Something is wrong with the atmosphere of the area. The leaves nearest him should be moving due to the mild breezes created by his hovering, but for some reason the air in the area returns to stillness as soon as it stops touching his thin, dark, leathery wings. The stillness of the air around him is so unnatural. Slowly, but surely, Drither becomes accustom to the stillness and begins to take in the visual aspects of his surroundings. After some studying, Drither notices that all of the trees on the immediate edge of the clearing are the same height. What he finds even more bizaar is the fact that each of the trees is spaced evenly at the base. While not a single tree is next to another tree of the same type, they all seem to have something in common. Drither finally notices what the commonality is; he can hardly imagine why it would be. “How could this be? Why would all of these trees lean away from the center of this field? This is no logical reason. Perhaps the legends are true. Perhaps The Storyteller does still live here,” Drither speaks to what he believes to be himself and only himself. Will he ever know the truth? With these thoughts now voiced out loud, Drither begins to think about the possibilities, and more importantly, the legends he has been told about The Storyteller. The stories that first come to mind are the ones of The Storyteller’s abilities to land a counterstrike before a strike has been made. Drither turns away from the field and begins to walk away, headed for the town, but before he has taken ten steps he stops and begins to speak his thoughts out loud once more. “I would be a fool to face an opponent like The Storyteller,” There is a pause as Drither looks back over his shoulder, “but then, where else am I to learn all he has to teach? He is rumored to be the greatest of warriors, the greatest of scholars, and most importantly,” Drither stops speaking again and finds himself turning completly around to view the clearing,” the greatest of Assassins.” The last word escapes Drither’s mouth as nothing more than a whisper, if it could be called that. Assassins are the most respected, and feared, beings on Asroth. Every child dreams, at one point or another, of being selected to attend the Enforcer’s Guild’s School of Mystery. Very few ever see this dream come true. The Enforcer’s Guild gives one life form from each town a chance to pass the entrance examination each year. The towns are responsible for choosing their candidate. Mothers fear their child will be chosen, and children hope that they are. The reason for this is that no one ever returns from the entrance examination. They either die or are entered into the Enforcer's Guild's School of Mystery. Those who pass the examination are required to forget their former lives and devote the future to the Enforcer’s Guild. The Enforcer’s Guild is a powerful force on Asroth, but they are far from being the most powerful organization known to the world. That title is held by the Assassins. The Enforcer’s Guild produces thugs and ,more importantly, rogues. These rogues know how to do all kinds of horrible things, but they do not have the masteries that the assassins posses. Legends say that on the whole of Asroth, there are only ten assassins and yet, these ten assassins strike more fear into the entire planet than the entirety of the Enforcer’s Guild. This is because the Enforcer’s guild operates under rules and a chain of command, where as, the assassins only have codes of honor among themselves. Legends of old say that through the course of history, only one assassin has ever been killed by a non-assassin. Rigos fell to the hands of a general of a great empire. The general’s name has been forgotten because by the time that he killed Rigos, Rigos had killed the general’s entire army. Of course, the general’s death came seconds after Rigos’s last breath. Rigos was the only assassin to ever be named in history books. The others never allow their names to be known and are eventually killed by the assassin that will take their places. Assassins through out the centuries have waited for a young rogue to come to them. They will only train those that they feel could someday kill their masters. Only a trained, but inexperienced, rogue ever tries to track down an assassin’s whereabouts. Only a rogue would have the skills and recourses to be able to find and reach an assassin’s abode. Sometimes they are successful and find an assassin that is more than willing to train them in the years to come. Sometimes the only thing they find is a cryptic friend, dressed in black robes, carrying a scythe and that is nothing but skin and bones. Well, bones at least. Drither is one of these rogues. Fresh out of the School of Mystery, Drither has followed the legends of The Storyteller for years and has finally tracked down The Storyteller’s last known home. “He has to still be here. Why else would the air be so still? There is not a single bird in the area. Or any other animal… now that I think about it. I have to at least try and make contact. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t. Right?” Drither is somewhat confused with his thoughts. They almost seem to be coming from the tree just over his left shoulder. Drither decides that he is right. There is no way he could walk away from this and live with himself. He will have to try. He begins to walk back towards the clearing. He notices something on his approach this time that he did not see the last time. A simple wooden sign stands roughly two feet from the edge of the clearing. While the trees can be seen on the other side of the clearing, the sign is the only thing that can be seen in the clearing. Admittedly, it is dark in the field and the silhouettes of the trees across the way can only be seen due to the sinking sun. There may be something between him and the other side, but there is only one way for Drither to be sure. He continues to walk forward. He reaches the edge of the trees and decides that reading the sign would be a good idea before venturing further. “Beware the shadows. Know your footing and fear only yourself,” Drither reads out loud. “What the heck is that suppose to mean?” Drither shrugs and takes another flutter forward. His toes brush the grass and suddenly the sun falls below the horizon. The field is completely dark for a moment. Then a fire sparks in the center of the field. Suddenly as the darkness had come, it was gone. In its place there was light and shadows. “Beware the shadows,” Drither thinks out loud as he takes another movement forward. Now Drither finds himself completely in the field and begins to notice something funny about the shadows around him. Some of them seem to be darker than the others. In fact, they seem to be solid. “No way, this can’t be happening,” Drith shouts as one of the shadows to his right begins to stand up. Not a single one of the shadows is the same. They are all different races, different ages, and carrying different weapons. “Know your footing and fear only yourself,” Drither begins to wonder what these statements mean as he digs his feet in and draws his long, thin, glistening fencer’s blade. “I know my footing. That is one thing I am always sure of. Why would I fear myself?” Drither works his way through the field, being careful to never have a shadow facing his back. Now of them seem to move more than the accasional glance in his direction, but Drither could swear that there is something out there moving. He sees it out of the corner of his right eye and turns to face it. When he turns back to continue on his way to the fire, there is a shadow standing in front of him. This shadow is different from all the others. It follows Drither’s movements; every single one of them. It is almost as though the shadow knows what Drith is thinking before he does. Drither notices this very quickly. Unlike the other shadow men, this one looks Drither in the eye. There is a spark of evil deep in the pits of the gaze. There is something different about this shadow that still eludes Drither. He knows that something is out of place about this shadow, but he can not quite put his finger on it. Then it hits him and he jumps back in shock. Every other shadow on this field stands on its own, attached to nothing but the ground. The shadow that now stands in front of Drither can be followed all the way to the base of his own feet. The similarities between shadow and himself are now apparent to Drither. This shadow and his shadow are one in the same. “How can this be? How can my own shadow stand in my way?” Drither stands still, but ready to strike at the smallest movement from the shadow and begins to think. “Fear only yourself; that is what the sign said. The only shadow here that has shown any movement towards me is you and you are me. In some twisted sense. So you are my challenge. I must face you to prove I am worthy?” Oddly enough, the shadow nods to Drither and in a voice not unfamiliar to Drither, but one that he is not use to hear speaking to him none the less; it says “Yes, I am your opponent. He promised me freedom if you fall here and while it has not been a hard life stepping in your footsteps, freedom is a joy I wish to have! Prepare to die.” “Know my footing. I know that much, but then, so do you. Don’t you? You know my every movement before I make it. How can I face you? How can I defeat someone that knows my every thought?” Drither speaks not only to himself, but to his shadow-self. The whole time he is in constant motion, circling and dodging. Then he notices that he is dodging without watching his opponent. “The link goes both ways doesn’t it?” For the first time, Drither sees emotion in the face of his shadow-self and it is an emotion that he likes seeing in the face of an adversary. The look of fear spread across the face of the shadow. Drither and the shadow both begin thinking and while they are thinking the same things, they are thinking in different directions. “All I have to do is act a bit faster than I think!” Drither says under his breath, knowing that it is a feat much easier said than accomplished. They had taught him how to think in a battle at the School of Mystery. They did not teach him how to fight without thinking. They taught him how to think fast. They did not teach him how to think slower than act. It was always, “Plan your move then make it,” but now he would have to go against his training and act without thought. Drither lunged with his shining sword at the ready. The tip racing, three feet ahead of Drither’s hand, barely missed the shadow. If the shadow had moved any slower than it had, it would have had a sword in its chest. “Think slower. I have to!” Drither whispers to himself. Drither begins to attack with the fanciest fencing moves he was taught. With each swing the shadow reacts a split second slower, until, finally, Drither lands a blow. Thinking to himself, “Yes, now I know it can be done,” Drither doesn’t notice the shadow’s counter attack coming at him from the left. Drither catches the thought just in time to step with the blow, lessening the impact and injury. “Damn. It does work both ways.” The shadow and Drither both take a step backwards and look each other over for a moment. They both know they must not think about the next attack. They both know that the other knows this fact. They both know that the next move will be the last. They both lunge. They mirrored one another; Both of their wings folded tight, both of their swords extended straight out, both of their eyes locked on the other, other rolling to avoid the other's blade while adjusting their own to land a strike. Then, as suddenly as they had lunged towards one another they were stopped in mid air. The shadow’s blade was a fraction of an inch from Drither’s eye and his was the same distance from the shadow’s, but neither of them was moving for some reason. “This is the end,” was the only thought going through both of their minds. And then, a wind wiped through the area and all of the shadows disappeared. Drither recovers from his lunge and rolls into a defensive stance. His sword at the ready for any attack, he surveys the surrounding area, searching for any movement. “Zery good. Zery, Zery good,” The voice seems to come from all around. Drither can’t place it and this worries him. The fact that it sounds so familiar scares him more than not knowing where it is coming from. “You’z has done zery well to have defeated you’z zelf. Not many can do’z that. Come. Come sit with me and letz me tell you’z a ztory!” Just then, the fire roared and swirled as though it was caught by a wind. By the fires light, Drither can now see the silhouette of a figure sitting between it and him. He begins to slowly make his way toward the fire. "You are the Storyteller, aren't you?" Drither askes cautiously as he scutes his way forward, his sword tip trained on the silhouette. "Yez. Yez, I'z iz dee Ztroyteller. You'z is a zery cunning Fae to have come thiz far." Drither's face contorts in anger. He attempts to keep his cool and continues to slowly move towards the figure that has yet to turn around and look at him. "I'z never zeen a Fae up cloze. No. No mez hazen't." Drither loses his temper and begins to yell at the figure, "I am no Fae! I wear no color 'cept for the darkest of them all! Purple, black and red! They are not only my colors but the colors I grant my enemies. I have not the butterfly wings of a weakling Fae! I am a proud and noble Arisie! A dark fae as some may call us, but no fae! We stand our ground and fight where our," Drither spits the word,"Cousins, run and hide." The whole time Drither is yelling, he is moving closer and closer to the Storyteller. He has lost all control of his emotions and is now ready to attack the Storyteller. Standing directly behind the figure, blinded more by hate than the light of the fire, Drither draws his saber back and wispers in the small creatures large ears, "And now, I think you need some good Arisie colors! See you in the next life!" Before Drither could blink away the sudden surge of light that was created by the Storytellers movement, there was a large sword at his throat. "You'z iz in need of much training 'fore you'z are ready to make that move," This time the wisper was in Drither's ear. The cold steel upon his neck reminds Drither of who he is talking to and he begins to reconcider his action. He regains controll of his anger and speaks slowly so as to not cut himself on the blade at his throat, "I am sorry. My anger got the best of me. Perhaps we could start again?" "We'z need not start completely over. You'z has pazt dee frizt challenge. Thiz warrentz you a ztory and training if you'z so wish it," the Storyteller speaks as he replaces the blade in it hidden sheath. Drith takes a step away and turns to face the assassin. He flourishes his blade and bows low to the figure, taking him in as he does so. "My name is Fencer Drither Pickerpocker. Most simply call me Drither. I see now that I have found the right assassin for my training. You are the sole assassin that uses only one blade and that is where my training lays as well." The Storyteller tilts the blade enough that it can be seen in its hiding place, "Valgath haz zerved mez well and you were right to seek mez out. I'z would not train any whom would need to uze more than one extension." "If I did not know better, I would say that you are a rat man, but this cannot be. They are but a legend. Long dead if they did ever exsist." "You'z iz wrong. Wez still live. Deep. Deep in dee groundz, wez live. I'z am a Ratonga. Perhapz dee only one to live where dee sun doez zhine." Drither looks at the face of the assassin. Drither actually finds himself looking down to meet eyes with him, is somewhat shocked, seeing as he himself is only 4'6". The Storyteller could not possibly be much more than 4' tall and Drither is fairly sure that the blade that was against his throat was atleast that long. After the intial shock of the assassin's hieght has worn off, Drither notices something else. Something even more astonishing. The Ratonga is blind. Not just blind, but old and blind. "How is it that one as old as you look to be, and blind, is able to move with such presision and speed?" "There'z a ztory for all and I'z think that ztory is one you'z shall hear, but for now, I'z shall leave it at training. Much training." "Mez name is Assassin Binluil Ztickyfingerz. You'z may call mez Bin if you'z wish. Mez experiancez and mez training shall be yourz, but first, come, zit, and lizten," Binluil motions to the log that lays infront of the fire. Dirther finds himself moving towards the log to sit, but keeping an eye of awe on Binluil. He now knows that training is coming. He is now among the assassins. It can no longer be said he is a simple rogue. He is an Assassin. Even if it is an assassin-in-training. He is on his way! His minds flashes to the what the future could be like and is only brought back by the voice of his new master, Assassin Binluil Stickyfingers. "Now, let me tell you a story. It starts many year ago when..." |