Tyl: An Unsavory Contract ®
The moonlight reflects off of the beautiful ivory-colored structures in the elven capital of Lostariel. It is a calm night with the normal infrequent passing citizen on the streets of the city. Most of the night Lostariel is well-lit to accommodate the busyness of the elven capital. However, in the tallest tower of the king’s castle, the light from the busy streets doesn’t reach. This is where most of the meetings between the king’s counsel and Morohtahr, a team of assassins in charge of clandestine missions, take place during the darkest hours of the night. The white walls and floors help the moonlight keep the room dimly lit.
“So have this done within the month as the king requires.” A well-dressed politician, who uses his high importance to the Elven Nations as a means for looking down on everyone, is speaking to an assassin. “We can’t afford to have an uprising from our own kind catching any momentum during such a crucial time.” His brash words are visibly having no effect on the shadowy figure sitting on the window sill. “Well, don’t just sit there silently, Tyl! Do you understand what your superior is telling you?”
The assassin stands from the window without changing expression. His slender figure is accented by his tight leather armor that is adorned with blades of all types. The moonlight gives him a dark silhouette save the shine off of his brilliant hair. The red in his hair entwined with the shiny orange gives it a fiery look. It is pulled back with strands passing in front of his ears and the large ponytail looks like a fireball on the back of his head. “Just hand me the instructions and I’ll kill the leader, Draugolë.”
“You think you’re so good, don’t you?” The politician mocks.
“That’s why Bellrauthien chose me. I’m, effective.”
“You’re going to get to Bregolien that easily then? He is a lord over an upper-class elven city! Only a handful of officials in Lostariel know that he is organizing a resistance. The vast majority of The Elven Nations think of him as an elf of high importance. He will be heavily guarded and if we let people catch wind of what he is doing, the movement would be sure to catch momentum.” Draugolë steps closer to Tyl and points at him with the dossier containing his mission information. “What makes you think this will be so easy?”
The hit man snatches the paperwork from the politician. “Like I said,” he pauses to pull the cloth collar from under his chin over his nose, “I’m effective.” With haste and grace he turns and dives out of the window. Draugolë rushes to the opening and peers down with a look of horror. The assassin is nowhere to be found. The councilman glances around for a moment with a look of disgust before throwing his robes aside and turning toward the stairs.
“So have this done within the month as the king requires.” A well-dressed politician, who uses his high importance to the Elven Nations as a means for looking down on everyone, is speaking to an assassin. “We can’t afford to have an uprising from our own kind catching any momentum during such a crucial time.” His brash words are visibly having no effect on the shadowy figure sitting on the window sill. “Well, don’t just sit there silently, Tyl! Do you understand what your superior is telling you?”
The assassin stands from the window without changing expression. His slender figure is accented by his tight leather armor that is adorned with blades of all types. The moonlight gives him a dark silhouette save the shine off of his brilliant hair. The red in his hair entwined with the shiny orange gives it a fiery look. It is pulled back with strands passing in front of his ears and the large ponytail looks like a fireball on the back of his head. “Just hand me the instructions and I’ll kill the leader, Draugolë.”
“You think you’re so good, don’t you?” The politician mocks.
“That’s why Bellrauthien chose me. I’m, effective.”
“You’re going to get to Bregolien that easily then? He is a lord over an upper-class elven city! Only a handful of officials in Lostariel know that he is organizing a resistance. The vast majority of The Elven Nations think of him as an elf of high importance. He will be heavily guarded and if we let people catch wind of what he is doing, the movement would be sure to catch momentum.” Draugolë steps closer to Tyl and points at him with the dossier containing his mission information. “What makes you think this will be so easy?”
The hit man snatches the paperwork from the politician. “Like I said,” he pauses to pull the cloth collar from under his chin over his nose, “I’m effective.” With haste and grace he turns and dives out of the window. Draugolë rushes to the opening and peers down with a look of horror. The assassin is nowhere to be found. The councilman glances around for a moment with a look of disgust before throwing his robes aside and turning toward the stairs.
The next day Tyl arrives at Eäryendë, his target’s town, on foot. His travelling attire and his backpack allow him to visit the town with the appearance of a traveller. As the home to the largest elven port, Eäryendë is normally bustling with travelling strangers so he shouldn’t have any problem blending in. A gust of wind carries the salty sea air across his face as he enters the town.
Tyl’s eyes never rest from the moment he walks into town. They are constantly judging, calculating, planning. The dark warrior didn’t become the best by accident. While he can make accurate decisions at a moment’s notice, he works better with a calculated plan. Being part of a government faction that practically no one knows about gives him the advantage of being able to get in a good proximity of his target in the light of day while passing unnoticed as a commoner. In assignments passed, formulating a plan and looking for escape routes this way has helped him eliminate targets, and saved his life.
As he arrives at Bregolien’s Manor, he adjusts his backpack, where he has stored his gear, to make sure it is still as heavy as when he arrived. He glances to the left, three guards atop the wall at the corner with spears, smalls shields, and likely a short sword behind the shield. Mail armor that could be penetrated with some slender arrows. He’ll need to pick some up. He glances to his right, two more soldiers like the first three. I’ll have to find another way in. He thinks. Suddenly he picks up the sound of a twig snapping behind a building amongst the bustle of the busy city. Undercover guards watching for people scoping the castle. This is going to be a challenge. He casually, but quickly, walks away from the manor wall to lure his pursuer away.
If I let him live, he’ll tell the other guards to watch for me. I just need to find a dark alley to provoke him to attack me. He runs his finger along a dagger sheath hidden beneath his shirt to make doubly sure he stowed it, though he knew he had. He keeps his pace up and makes erratic movements to keep his follower’s attention. In a few moments he finds an alleyway and walks in with a look of confusion to make the soldier think he is helpless. He makes certain to single out the soldier’s footsteps behind him to know that he is in fact being followed and that he didn’t mistake the twig-snap for an animal. It was not an animal, he is being followed. When he gets to the end of the alleyway he stops and drops his bag. He stands completely still for a moment and listens. If he turns around too soon, the person following him will know he is on to them and sneak past him to get the upper-hand. His moment of pause pays off. He hears a quite step in a puddle just a few feet behind him.
In one motion Tyl leaps off of the wall to the left, kicks into a flip from a low hanging ceiling in front of him, and pulls his dagger. Almost silently he runs his dagger across the man’s throat and lands behind him in a crouch as the disguised soldier hits the ground with a thud. He makes a quick glance around as he runs his curved, elvish dagger back into it’s sheathe. A quiet shuffle seems to echo in the all-but silent alcove as Tyl drags the man to the darkest corner in sight. He begins checking the soldier for useful items when his finger runs across something odd in the man’s pouch. He pulls a shiny medallion with an elvish insignia engraved on the front that he is not familiar with. Realizing he has already spent too much time over the fallen man, Tyl stuffs the necklace into his pouch, grabs his backpack, and heads out of the alleyway. He has a contact in this town, and he is going to find out what that insignia is.
Tyl’s eyes never rest from the moment he walks into town. They are constantly judging, calculating, planning. The dark warrior didn’t become the best by accident. While he can make accurate decisions at a moment’s notice, he works better with a calculated plan. Being part of a government faction that practically no one knows about gives him the advantage of being able to get in a good proximity of his target in the light of day while passing unnoticed as a commoner. In assignments passed, formulating a plan and looking for escape routes this way has helped him eliminate targets, and saved his life.
As he arrives at Bregolien’s Manor, he adjusts his backpack, where he has stored his gear, to make sure it is still as heavy as when he arrived. He glances to the left, three guards atop the wall at the corner with spears, smalls shields, and likely a short sword behind the shield. Mail armor that could be penetrated with some slender arrows. He’ll need to pick some up. He glances to his right, two more soldiers like the first three. I’ll have to find another way in. He thinks. Suddenly he picks up the sound of a twig snapping behind a building amongst the bustle of the busy city. Undercover guards watching for people scoping the castle. This is going to be a challenge. He casually, but quickly, walks away from the manor wall to lure his pursuer away.
If I let him live, he’ll tell the other guards to watch for me. I just need to find a dark alley to provoke him to attack me. He runs his finger along a dagger sheath hidden beneath his shirt to make doubly sure he stowed it, though he knew he had. He keeps his pace up and makes erratic movements to keep his follower’s attention. In a few moments he finds an alleyway and walks in with a look of confusion to make the soldier think he is helpless. He makes certain to single out the soldier’s footsteps behind him to know that he is in fact being followed and that he didn’t mistake the twig-snap for an animal. It was not an animal, he is being followed. When he gets to the end of the alleyway he stops and drops his bag. He stands completely still for a moment and listens. If he turns around too soon, the person following him will know he is on to them and sneak past him to get the upper-hand. His moment of pause pays off. He hears a quite step in a puddle just a few feet behind him.
In one motion Tyl leaps off of the wall to the left, kicks into a flip from a low hanging ceiling in front of him, and pulls his dagger. Almost silently he runs his dagger across the man’s throat and lands behind him in a crouch as the disguised soldier hits the ground with a thud. He makes a quick glance around as he runs his curved, elvish dagger back into it’s sheathe. A quiet shuffle seems to echo in the all-but silent alcove as Tyl drags the man to the darkest corner in sight. He begins checking the soldier for useful items when his finger runs across something odd in the man’s pouch. He pulls a shiny medallion with an elvish insignia engraved on the front that he is not familiar with. Realizing he has already spent too much time over the fallen man, Tyl stuffs the necklace into his pouch, grabs his backpack, and heads out of the alleyway. He has a contact in this town, and he is going to find out what that insignia is.
As the sun is starting to set, Tyl arrives at his associate’s bookstore. There are rarely any customers in this bookstore though, the owner intentionally keeps books that won’t sell to businessmen and upperclassmen. The Morohtahr use it as a front to keep someone watching over the town.
“Welcome, Tyl! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come on in, let’s have a talk shall we?” A hearty old elf slaps Tyl on the back. As he pulls the door to the shop shut, the owner lowers his voice. Only slightly. “Orthorien got my message about the rebellion I see. I’m glad to see he put you on the job.”
I’ve told this old bag not to use my name, but saying something now will only cause him to make a scene and draw attention. The assassin thinks as he drops his bag on the counter. “Listen, I found a charm with an insignia that I am unfamiliar with.” He pulls the trinket from his pouch and hands it to the bookshop keeper. “Can you tell me what it is?” The shopkeeper takes the amulet from Tyl.
“Let me see that.” He focuses on the symbol on the necklace. “Yep, that’s the resistance’s symbol. Where’d you get it?” As Tyl takes the token back, he thinks to himself.
Ah, so he has some of his goons from the resistance watching his castle. That must be why he was hiding out behind those houses instead of watching from a tower. Bregolien definitely wouldn’t want his government-appointed guards knowing that HE is the one leading the resistance. He looks back up at the shopkeeper and realizes how long he has been waiting for an answer to his question. “Long story. Give me any information you can about Bregolien’s defense and getting into his castle.” The shopkeeper chuckles.
“Always to the point eh, Tyl? His guard keeps a pretty tight reign on their duties. Their shifts overlap each other so there aren’t any holes in security.” The bookstore owner pulls a map from his coat pocket and sprawls it out across the front counter. “I’ve been to ceremonies he has held in his castle yard many times and I haven’t seen any feasible way to get inside without being invited.” He looks over Tyl’s shoulder to see an elf sheepishly peeking in around the door. “What do you want?”
“I was just looking for,”
“We don’t have it.” The owner looks back to his map as the shaken customer quietly closes the door. “As I was saying,” he puts his finger to his mouth as he pauses to reflect.
“Getting into the castle.” The assassin says abruptly.
“Ah yes. You see there isn’t any real way to get someone in without being invited.”
“Well I don’t have that option. If I mingle with the guests they could remember my face and cost me future assignments.”
“Ok.” The shop owner looks back to the map.
“Just tell me where the guard is the weakest or fewer in number.”
“Well, the bell tower is the only place that isn’t covered by two or three guards. But it’s the highest point in the city. There wouldn’t be any way to get you up there from the ground.” The shop keeper continues his gaze at Tyl as the hit man looks down in thought. A clock gives a hollow ticking sound in the empty store as the two elves remain in thought. Suddenly Tyl looks up at the shop keeper with a look of determination.
“Then I will enter by sky!” The owner looks on in puzzlement as Tyl steps into a door to the back room to grab a quiver full of thin arrows before walking toward the front door.
“But how? There’s nothing big enough.” His eyes widen in horror. “You don’t think you’re going to ride a Thunderbird do you? Those reptiles would rip you apart!” Tyl throws the front door open with intent as he walks into the city. The shopkeeper rushes to the door and yells out in a last attempt to emend the assassin’s opinion, “Consider what you are doing!”
“Welcome, Tyl! I haven’t seen you in ages! Come on in, let’s have a talk shall we?” A hearty old elf slaps Tyl on the back. As he pulls the door to the shop shut, the owner lowers his voice. Only slightly. “Orthorien got my message about the rebellion I see. I’m glad to see he put you on the job.”
I’ve told this old bag not to use my name, but saying something now will only cause him to make a scene and draw attention. The assassin thinks as he drops his bag on the counter. “Listen, I found a charm with an insignia that I am unfamiliar with.” He pulls the trinket from his pouch and hands it to the bookshop keeper. “Can you tell me what it is?” The shopkeeper takes the amulet from Tyl.
“Let me see that.” He focuses on the symbol on the necklace. “Yep, that’s the resistance’s symbol. Where’d you get it?” As Tyl takes the token back, he thinks to himself.
Ah, so he has some of his goons from the resistance watching his castle. That must be why he was hiding out behind those houses instead of watching from a tower. Bregolien definitely wouldn’t want his government-appointed guards knowing that HE is the one leading the resistance. He looks back up at the shopkeeper and realizes how long he has been waiting for an answer to his question. “Long story. Give me any information you can about Bregolien’s defense and getting into his castle.” The shopkeeper chuckles.
“Always to the point eh, Tyl? His guard keeps a pretty tight reign on their duties. Their shifts overlap each other so there aren’t any holes in security.” The bookstore owner pulls a map from his coat pocket and sprawls it out across the front counter. “I’ve been to ceremonies he has held in his castle yard many times and I haven’t seen any feasible way to get inside without being invited.” He looks over Tyl’s shoulder to see an elf sheepishly peeking in around the door. “What do you want?”
“I was just looking for,”
“We don’t have it.” The owner looks back to his map as the shaken customer quietly closes the door. “As I was saying,” he puts his finger to his mouth as he pauses to reflect.
“Getting into the castle.” The assassin says abruptly.
“Ah yes. You see there isn’t any real way to get someone in without being invited.”
“Well I don’t have that option. If I mingle with the guests they could remember my face and cost me future assignments.”
“Ok.” The shop owner looks back to the map.
“Just tell me where the guard is the weakest or fewer in number.”
“Well, the bell tower is the only place that isn’t covered by two or three guards. But it’s the highest point in the city. There wouldn’t be any way to get you up there from the ground.” The shop keeper continues his gaze at Tyl as the hit man looks down in thought. A clock gives a hollow ticking sound in the empty store as the two elves remain in thought. Suddenly Tyl looks up at the shop keeper with a look of determination.
“Then I will enter by sky!” The owner looks on in puzzlement as Tyl steps into a door to the back room to grab a quiver full of thin arrows before walking toward the front door.
“But how? There’s nothing big enough.” His eyes widen in horror. “You don’t think you’re going to ride a Thunderbird do you? Those reptiles would rip you apart!” Tyl throws the front door open with intent as he walks into the city. The shopkeeper rushes to the door and yells out in a last attempt to emend the assassin’s opinion, “Consider what you are doing!”
After travelling all night, Tyl arrives at the edge of the Thunderbird Fields and sets up camp. While these winged lizards typically only land in their nests in the nearby mountains, they do most of their hunting for young bison around dusk in these fields. He wouldn’t have time to climb the mountain so the fields would be his only chance to get close enough to the beasts. The hunting time is perfect for Tyl to mount one and ride it back to the castle soon enough to have most of the night to get to Bregolien. A bison grunts in the distance as he pauses to think. I’ll need to get as much rest as I can before nightfall. I’ll expend a lot of energy capturing one of those monsters. He turns the only opening to his elegant elven tent toward the east so the wind doesn’t carry his scent too far into the fields before nestling in for the day.
“Scraaaawww!” A deafening screech from a creature overhead causes Tyl to jump to his feet in a crouch. His training in Morohtahr has taught him to always be prepared for moments like this when you are on a mission, so he sleeps in his armor. He grabs his bow and quickly pins himself between the string and the stick. As he throws his quiver over his shoulder, he peers out of the opening to see a Thunderbird flying low above the weeds in the field. It has long features that give the reptile a bird-like appearance. It’s long head runs from its leathery beak to the long protrusion off of the back of its head. It has long arms with fingers at the bend of its wings, and talons on its feet. Tyl doesn’t have time to be terrified of the creature though. He needs to form a plan if he is going to get into the manor by nightfall.
There must be prey nearby. Barely a sound is made as he pulls his mask over his nose and hustles in a crouch into the high wild plant of the clearing. It’s only going to get close enough for me to grab near the prey, so I have to find it before the Thunderbird makes its next pass. His fiery red hair looks like a sunrise as he slowly peeks over the top of the tall grass. A quick glance around gives him no hints of life other than himself in the field. The Thunderbird makes a large swooping turn back toward the field in the distance. Tyl’s time is running short. He quickly lowers his head into the weeds and peers through them to watch the beast’s eyes as it begins heading back toward him. They jut around while the creature scans the field for a moment before finally locking on a location. Tyl quickly looks in the direction of reptile’s gaze to notice the tall grass rustling back and forth. As the Thunderbird begins to descend with haste toward the movement in the brush, Tyl rushes for the location as well. The assassin can’t match the creature’s speed from his crouched position though. His heart races. Is it from his body straining to maintain the immense speed needed to catch up to the beast, or is it from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at the sudden understanding of what he is about to do? He comes to the realization that he is not going to get close enough to the Thunderbird at his current pace so he stands from the cover of the brush and runs in a full sprint. Fortunately the creature’s gaze is locked ahead of him so he remains unseen, but he still isn’t fast enough. He makes a last-stitch effort and uses his elven athleticism to leap into the air toward the monster. It feels as if he falls for days as he approaches his landing. The sound of metal dragging across leather carries faintly across the wind whipping past his ears as he pulls an elven dagger from a sheath on his upper-arm. He reaches his arm to full-length in hopes of making contact.
Shink! His blade plunges into the Thunderbird’s back right above its shoulder blade just moments before it picks up a small boar in the thicket. “Rrreeeaa!” The lizard’s yelp is almost loud enough to make Tyl want to pull his other hand from its shoulder to cover his ear. With two big whoops of its mighty wings the animal is back far above the treetops of the neighboring forest. Its beak claps as it tries to reach back and pull its parasite from its back. Fortunately, Tyl is able to pull his legs up over its leathery shoulders before it gets the chance. He breathes a sigh of success, but it is short-lived. The Thunderbird is flying the wrong way! He puts both hands on his dagger and gives it a heaving shove to the side, causing the lizard to cry out as it turns to his command. After a few stabilizing twists of the dagger, Tyl and his new “friend” get back on course for the castle.
There must be prey nearby. Barely a sound is made as he pulls his mask over his nose and hustles in a crouch into the high wild plant of the clearing. It’s only going to get close enough for me to grab near the prey, so I have to find it before the Thunderbird makes its next pass. His fiery red hair looks like a sunrise as he slowly peeks over the top of the tall grass. A quick glance around gives him no hints of life other than himself in the field. The Thunderbird makes a large swooping turn back toward the field in the distance. Tyl’s time is running short. He quickly lowers his head into the weeds and peers through them to watch the beast’s eyes as it begins heading back toward him. They jut around while the creature scans the field for a moment before finally locking on a location. Tyl quickly looks in the direction of reptile’s gaze to notice the tall grass rustling back and forth. As the Thunderbird begins to descend with haste toward the movement in the brush, Tyl rushes for the location as well. The assassin can’t match the creature’s speed from his crouched position though. His heart races. Is it from his body straining to maintain the immense speed needed to catch up to the beast, or is it from the adrenaline coursing through his veins at the sudden understanding of what he is about to do? He comes to the realization that he is not going to get close enough to the Thunderbird at his current pace so he stands from the cover of the brush and runs in a full sprint. Fortunately the creature’s gaze is locked ahead of him so he remains unseen, but he still isn’t fast enough. He makes a last-stitch effort and uses his elven athleticism to leap into the air toward the monster. It feels as if he falls for days as he approaches his landing. The sound of metal dragging across leather carries faintly across the wind whipping past his ears as he pulls an elven dagger from a sheath on his upper-arm. He reaches his arm to full-length in hopes of making contact.
Shink! His blade plunges into the Thunderbird’s back right above its shoulder blade just moments before it picks up a small boar in the thicket. “Rrreeeaa!” The lizard’s yelp is almost loud enough to make Tyl want to pull his other hand from its shoulder to cover his ear. With two big whoops of its mighty wings the animal is back far above the treetops of the neighboring forest. Its beak claps as it tries to reach back and pull its parasite from its back. Fortunately, Tyl is able to pull his legs up over its leathery shoulders before it gets the chance. He breathes a sigh of success, but it is short-lived. The Thunderbird is flying the wrong way! He puts both hands on his dagger and gives it a heaving shove to the side, causing the lizard to cry out as it turns to his command. After a few stabilizing twists of the dagger, Tyl and his new “friend” get back on course for the castle.
As the sun sinks behind the horizon, Tyl approaches the fortress. The assassin carefully measures his speed and the distance to the castle from the Thunderbird’s back. He pulls back on his dagger causing the creature to fly up into the clouds and out of the sight of people on the ground. The cool wind helps to calm him as he sits upright, closes his eyes, and counts to keep track of his distance. The cloth in his mask gets damp from the moistness of the clouds as he floats through unnoticed. Finally he places his feet in on the shoulder of the animal and crouches over. In one motion he pulls the dagger from the Thunderbird’s back and leaps blindly into the clouds below, extremities outstretched on all directions. As he picks up speed in his dive, he pulls the dagger from his other shoulder. The bottom of the cloud bursts open as he flies through. He sees the bell tower for the first time in his jump. He is on his mark. The guard in the tower is turning to face the hit man and will surely alert the castle if he sees him. To pick up speed, Tyl puts his arms at his side, straightens one leg, and bends one leg beneath him.
As the two make eye contact, Tyl throws his two arms forward and sink the daggers into the elf’s chest. They slide across the floor and stop inches before hitting the ringer to the bell. With a glance at the bell and a shake of his head, Tyl hops into a knelt position. As he inspects the guard for useful items, since this will probably be the only opportunity he will have time to do so, he comes across a set of keys. It’s not likely I will have time to use these, but it couldn’t hurt to carry them with me. He opens a hatch on the floor and begins his decent down a spiral flight of stairs. He pauses as he reaches the last turn on the stairs to glance around the corner. There are two soldiers watching the room with the door that leads out of the tower. The assassin sits for a moment and theorizes how he could take the two guards down while remaining quiet enough to not alert anyone outside the pylon. It’s not going to work. I’ll have to find another way out. Seeing a movement of a bird-shaped shadow in the moonlight out of the corner of his eye draws his attention to a window a short distance up the stairs. With a few steps and a quick leap, the elf is perched in the opening.
Tyl remains crouched in the window as he surveys the area to see two guards that are watching the city directly beneath him. He peaks around the wall to see another guard walking the perimeter. Quickly and silently he slings his bow from his back. His arrow makes a quiet sliding sound as he draws it from his quiver. A thunk of the string from the nocking of the arrow is followed by a deep breath. Suddenly, he leaps from the window toward the two standing guards and takes aim at the guard walking around the tower. In fluid motion he looses his arrow, puts his bow on his back by spinning his body between his bow and string, and draws two daggers from his shoulders in his descent toward the unsuspecting sentries. The arrow hits, the daggers are plunged into his enemies, and with a thud the three men and the assassin land simultaneously. Without hesitation, Tyl rushes in a crouched sprint toward the guard that was walking around the corner. He makes a sweeping glance to assure that he is unseen before dragging the guard back with the other two and pushing them into a dark corner under an awning on the ledge.
Tyl’s shadowy silhouette glides around the back of the castle on the ledge. He stops above a window and crouches down. A quick glance to the top of the building helps him judge how far down he has travelled. This window should lead into his chambers. He turns back to face the wall behind him and stands to his feet. A soft sliding sound penetrates the dead quiet of the night as he runs his fingers along the tower wall. After a moment he reaches back into his quiver, grabs a few arrows, and jabs them into a small gap between the stones in the wall. He ties a small rope from a pouch on his quiver to the arrows and lets it down above the window. A couple quick tugs assures that the rope will hold his weight. He holds tightly to the rope as he leans back then leaps off of the ledge to rappel down the wall. The rope is just a little too short to reach the window. Gah. Can’t see. Let’s hope this is it. He kicks out away from the wall and releases on his swing back, shooting him right into the opening. The quiet slide from the landing is deadened by the lavish furniture in the room.
The elf looks up to realize he is in a hallway that is dimly lit by two candles sitting opposite each other atop two lush, wood desks. Great. Wrong window. He thinks. There are three closed doors in the hallway; one to his immediate left, one about halfway down the hall on the right, and one straight ahead. He stands to his feet, pinches some powder from a pouch on his belt, pulls his mask down, and drops the dust into his mouth. As he lowers his head, he closes his eyes for a moment. After a brief pause his eyes open to reveal a swirling vortex in them. The walls and doors of the room become translucent to him under the effects of the chemicals. Images of the rooms appear distorted like he is looking through frosted glass, but he can make out a figure in two of the rooms. The last room appears to be the stairwell leading up to this section of the castle. After studying the actions of the figure in the room next to him, he determines it to be a female likely cleaning laundry. So he sets his gaze on the other figure at the end of the hall. Its self-righteous composure affirms his suspicion that this is his target. A look of angered determination shows in Tyl’s eyes as he begins to walk down the hall. Without losing stride he grabs a flower vase and dumps the water into his mouth letting the flowers fall past his face. Ahead, the figure appears to turn its back to the door. He gulps the water down and the vortex dissipates from his eyes, returning his vision to normal. He presses his back against the wall before tossing the vase into a nearby cushioned chair.
He pushes the door gently. It’s locked. He remembers the keys that he pulled from the guard earlier and tries one on the door. To his amazement, it is the right one. He slides the keys back into his pouch as the door silently opens just enough for him to sneak through before he pushes it back closed. He hurriedly rolls behind a tall mirror just as Bregolien turns toward a window. The assassin peaks his head around the mirror to familiarize himself with the room so he can plan out his attack on his target. The room has curtain-draped windows from one end to the other on the three walls that don’t lead into the fortress. The dark wood on the lavish, white bed matches the wood from the desk that Bregolien just stepped away from. Only the outside edges of the floor show the hard wood from underneath the elaborate white and burgundy rug in the center. The rug should give me a silent route, unless the floor creaks. I can’t risk that. I’ll have to be quick. He looks at the city lord to plot his strike. The dim moonlight glimmers off of his extravagant robe. His short, blonde hair seems to accent his sharp features and pointed ears. No armor. Is it naivety or arrogance that causes him to be so bold? Does he think his guard is that good? As the fleeting thought leaves his mind, Tyl draws a dagger from each hip as he begins to lean into a leap.
“You can show yourself, assassin.” Bregolien startles Tyl as he speaks, never moving his gaze from the window. “You’ve been successful in your silence thus far, but I’m afraid your mission ends here.” Realizing his opportunity for a quick, surprise attack was gone, Tyl stands cautiously from his hiding spot.
“You’re right that my mission ends here, Bregolien. You knowing that I’m here doesn’t change the outcome for you.” The lord turns to look at Tyl with a conceited smile on his face. The elf’s confidence causes a fiery rage in the assassin. That flame is quelled though as he begins to hear distant footsteps from the nearby stairwell. Bregolien reads the shock in Tyl’s eyes.
“What you are hearing is Eäryendë’s finest soldiers coming to make sure you don’t succeed.” He says with a chuckle. “As to you mentioning the outcome,”
“It was decided before you arrived.” A voice calls from a darkened corner of the room. Tyl quickly turns his body so his back isn’t facing either men and looks back to the corner that the voice is coming from. A well-dressed figure steps out of the shadow to reveal itself.
“Draugolë.” Tyl says through gritted teeth. The look of expected betrayal on the assassin’s face only deepens the politician’s dark smile. The city guard bursts in the door and surrounds Tyl with their long swords pointed at him.
“I love seeing you so helplessly infuriated, Tyl.” Draugolë says as he turns to the window and raises a hand in the air. “Guards, dispose of him.”
As the first guard steps toward Tyl, he leaps into a kick in the enemy’s face. He spins his body and lands another kick in the next guard’s face before landing. In one fluid motion, he uses his dagger to block a warrior’s overhead swing, uses his other hand to slash an exposed area on that soldier, and spins into a dagger-jab in the next enemy. He jumps over a slashing sword from behind and shortly after landing slams the attacker into the wall with his shoulder. A quick spin helps him avoid the thrust of a blade from behind that lands in the guard he had just pinned. Before the grunt from the stabbed soldier ends, Tyl has landed a jumping-kick in the attacker’s face. He lands in a crouch and bursts into a leap toward Bregolien with his daggers outstretched. Seconds before he hits his mark there is a blunt force that connects at the base of his skull and everything goes black.
As the two make eye contact, Tyl throws his two arms forward and sink the daggers into the elf’s chest. They slide across the floor and stop inches before hitting the ringer to the bell. With a glance at the bell and a shake of his head, Tyl hops into a knelt position. As he inspects the guard for useful items, since this will probably be the only opportunity he will have time to do so, he comes across a set of keys. It’s not likely I will have time to use these, but it couldn’t hurt to carry them with me. He opens a hatch on the floor and begins his decent down a spiral flight of stairs. He pauses as he reaches the last turn on the stairs to glance around the corner. There are two soldiers watching the room with the door that leads out of the tower. The assassin sits for a moment and theorizes how he could take the two guards down while remaining quiet enough to not alert anyone outside the pylon. It’s not going to work. I’ll have to find another way out. Seeing a movement of a bird-shaped shadow in the moonlight out of the corner of his eye draws his attention to a window a short distance up the stairs. With a few steps and a quick leap, the elf is perched in the opening.
Tyl remains crouched in the window as he surveys the area to see two guards that are watching the city directly beneath him. He peaks around the wall to see another guard walking the perimeter. Quickly and silently he slings his bow from his back. His arrow makes a quiet sliding sound as he draws it from his quiver. A thunk of the string from the nocking of the arrow is followed by a deep breath. Suddenly, he leaps from the window toward the two standing guards and takes aim at the guard walking around the tower. In fluid motion he looses his arrow, puts his bow on his back by spinning his body between his bow and string, and draws two daggers from his shoulders in his descent toward the unsuspecting sentries. The arrow hits, the daggers are plunged into his enemies, and with a thud the three men and the assassin land simultaneously. Without hesitation, Tyl rushes in a crouched sprint toward the guard that was walking around the corner. He makes a sweeping glance to assure that he is unseen before dragging the guard back with the other two and pushing them into a dark corner under an awning on the ledge.
Tyl’s shadowy silhouette glides around the back of the castle on the ledge. He stops above a window and crouches down. A quick glance to the top of the building helps him judge how far down he has travelled. This window should lead into his chambers. He turns back to face the wall behind him and stands to his feet. A soft sliding sound penetrates the dead quiet of the night as he runs his fingers along the tower wall. After a moment he reaches back into his quiver, grabs a few arrows, and jabs them into a small gap between the stones in the wall. He ties a small rope from a pouch on his quiver to the arrows and lets it down above the window. A couple quick tugs assures that the rope will hold his weight. He holds tightly to the rope as he leans back then leaps off of the ledge to rappel down the wall. The rope is just a little too short to reach the window. Gah. Can’t see. Let’s hope this is it. He kicks out away from the wall and releases on his swing back, shooting him right into the opening. The quiet slide from the landing is deadened by the lavish furniture in the room.
The elf looks up to realize he is in a hallway that is dimly lit by two candles sitting opposite each other atop two lush, wood desks. Great. Wrong window. He thinks. There are three closed doors in the hallway; one to his immediate left, one about halfway down the hall on the right, and one straight ahead. He stands to his feet, pinches some powder from a pouch on his belt, pulls his mask down, and drops the dust into his mouth. As he lowers his head, he closes his eyes for a moment. After a brief pause his eyes open to reveal a swirling vortex in them. The walls and doors of the room become translucent to him under the effects of the chemicals. Images of the rooms appear distorted like he is looking through frosted glass, but he can make out a figure in two of the rooms. The last room appears to be the stairwell leading up to this section of the castle. After studying the actions of the figure in the room next to him, he determines it to be a female likely cleaning laundry. So he sets his gaze on the other figure at the end of the hall. Its self-righteous composure affirms his suspicion that this is his target. A look of angered determination shows in Tyl’s eyes as he begins to walk down the hall. Without losing stride he grabs a flower vase and dumps the water into his mouth letting the flowers fall past his face. Ahead, the figure appears to turn its back to the door. He gulps the water down and the vortex dissipates from his eyes, returning his vision to normal. He presses his back against the wall before tossing the vase into a nearby cushioned chair.
He pushes the door gently. It’s locked. He remembers the keys that he pulled from the guard earlier and tries one on the door. To his amazement, it is the right one. He slides the keys back into his pouch as the door silently opens just enough for him to sneak through before he pushes it back closed. He hurriedly rolls behind a tall mirror just as Bregolien turns toward a window. The assassin peaks his head around the mirror to familiarize himself with the room so he can plan out his attack on his target. The room has curtain-draped windows from one end to the other on the three walls that don’t lead into the fortress. The dark wood on the lavish, white bed matches the wood from the desk that Bregolien just stepped away from. Only the outside edges of the floor show the hard wood from underneath the elaborate white and burgundy rug in the center. The rug should give me a silent route, unless the floor creaks. I can’t risk that. I’ll have to be quick. He looks at the city lord to plot his strike. The dim moonlight glimmers off of his extravagant robe. His short, blonde hair seems to accent his sharp features and pointed ears. No armor. Is it naivety or arrogance that causes him to be so bold? Does he think his guard is that good? As the fleeting thought leaves his mind, Tyl draws a dagger from each hip as he begins to lean into a leap.
“You can show yourself, assassin.” Bregolien startles Tyl as he speaks, never moving his gaze from the window. “You’ve been successful in your silence thus far, but I’m afraid your mission ends here.” Realizing his opportunity for a quick, surprise attack was gone, Tyl stands cautiously from his hiding spot.
“You’re right that my mission ends here, Bregolien. You knowing that I’m here doesn’t change the outcome for you.” The lord turns to look at Tyl with a conceited smile on his face. The elf’s confidence causes a fiery rage in the assassin. That flame is quelled though as he begins to hear distant footsteps from the nearby stairwell. Bregolien reads the shock in Tyl’s eyes.
“What you are hearing is Eäryendë’s finest soldiers coming to make sure you don’t succeed.” He says with a chuckle. “As to you mentioning the outcome,”
“It was decided before you arrived.” A voice calls from a darkened corner of the room. Tyl quickly turns his body so his back isn’t facing either men and looks back to the corner that the voice is coming from. A well-dressed figure steps out of the shadow to reveal itself.
“Draugolë.” Tyl says through gritted teeth. The look of expected betrayal on the assassin’s face only deepens the politician’s dark smile. The city guard bursts in the door and surrounds Tyl with their long swords pointed at him.
“I love seeing you so helplessly infuriated, Tyl.” Draugolë says as he turns to the window and raises a hand in the air. “Guards, dispose of him.”
As the first guard steps toward Tyl, he leaps into a kick in the enemy’s face. He spins his body and lands another kick in the next guard’s face before landing. In one fluid motion, he uses his dagger to block a warrior’s overhead swing, uses his other hand to slash an exposed area on that soldier, and spins into a dagger-jab in the next enemy. He jumps over a slashing sword from behind and shortly after landing slams the attacker into the wall with his shoulder. A quick spin helps him avoid the thrust of a blade from behind that lands in the guard he had just pinned. Before the grunt from the stabbed soldier ends, Tyl has landed a jumping-kick in the attacker’s face. He lands in a crouch and bursts into a leap toward Bregolien with his daggers outstretched. Seconds before he hits his mark there is a blunt force that connects at the base of his skull and everything goes black.
“Why are we keeping him alive? He almost killed me!”
“Quit your whining. He didn’t, did he? He’ll be dead soon enough anyway. Besides, I want him to be awake when we finish him. I want to hear his cries of pain.”
“You’re sick, Draugolë. Purely ruthless.”
The muffled voices of the elves are hard to make out through the throbbing pain in Tyl’s head. Once he starts to come to, he notices the cold shackles that are holding his hands behind his back. His legs are cold from sitting in a wet puddle in the dark dungeon. He lifts his head to look around. The prison is much smaller than most other prisons he had been in. The only chilling conclusion to that thought is that they don’t keep many living prisoners. A fact that is highlighted by the instruments of death that decorate the room. As he begins to sit up on his knees, every muscle in his body screams in pain. A quick glance at his shoulders confirms his suspicion that all of his weaponry had been taken while he was out. As he looks up at the two elven officials and the single guard, the haze from his eyesight begins to clear up.
“It appears our friend is awake, Bregolien.” Draugolë says as he turns toward Tyl. “I trust you rested well.” He pulls the assassin’s head back by his hair with their faces inches apart. “It will be the last rest you get in this life.” He drops Tyl’s head and turns as he puts his hands behind his back. He begins to pace as he speaks. “I’m sure you are beginning to wonder why I would go to all of this trouble. Why I am so eager to see you dead. Well don’t flatter yourself, whelp. This is a part of something much bigger than you.
“You see, Tyl, we need this war to get started for the elves to take their rightful place as the superior race of Elqanah, and we all know that neither Aryeh or Orthorien are going to make the first move. So we need something to ignite this war.” He places his hand on Bregolien’s shoulder. “That is why I had you attack my friend here. We need an event to unite the elven race and turn us against the simple-minded humans. You weren’t going to succeed from the beginning, peasant. Why else do you think I agreed to pay your ridiculous fee? It certainly wasn’t your skill.”
“Putting this assassination attempt off on an elf isn’t going to unite us.” Tyl interjects. “It’ll only cause confusion and add fuel to rebels’ fires. Besides, people think Bregolien is leading the resistance.”
“I fabricated his role in the resistance to make you think I had a reason to have him killed. As to your concern’s for an elven assassin; that’s exactly why this assassination attempt won’t be put off on an elf. It will take a little,” Draugolë looks at one of Tyl’s ears as he uses his fingers to make a scissoring motion next to his own ear, “alteration, but we can make it appear as an attack by men.”
“So why not just hire a human? Why drag me into this?” Tyl tries to keep the conversation going as he continues to plot his escape.
“It would have cost far more for an elf to hire a human to enter an elven fort and attack a high-elven official. And they would have wanted their fees upfront. I knew you were proud enough to collect after the task, so you were an obvious fit. Your reputation may intimidate others into paying after the fact, but I, on the other hand, won’t have to pay for services from a dead assassin.” He turns and heads past his captive, slowly walking toward the exit. “Once word of this reaches the capital, Orthorien’s hand will be forced. If he doesn’t act, he will face an uprising amongst his own people. I know the king though. He will rally our kind into a militarization this world has never seen. While he has his shortcomings, having people follow him is not one of them. He has a way of inspiring his kind into action. This doesn’t matter to you though, because you’ll be dead. Unfortunately, I am running late for a meeting in Lostariel, so I won’t get to hear your cries of pain after all.” He pauses to look back over his shoulder. “Bregolien, take care of this pest.” He turns back and walks out of the dungeon.
Bregolien motions for the soldier that immediately begins approaching Tyl. Clanging of armor echoes as he walks through the dark dungeon. So weak, Tyl thinks, don’t know if I have the strength to… His thoughts trail as the ornate, elven axe glimmers in front of his face.
“We don’t have a block, so you may want to sit still. His aim isn’t the best.” The elven lord gests. As the executioner raises the axe, Tyl musters all of his strength to spring to his feet. He immediately leaps and brings the clasps from behind his back into the swing of the large blade, causing them to shatter to pieces. As he lands, he throws a quick kick to the guard’s throat causing him to fall to his back. A few short gasps sputter out before the executioner’s eyes close. Tyl slowly reaches down to grab the axe as he begins walking toward Bregolien. The official begins stumbling backward with his hands out to protect him. His words sputter in fear.
“Assassin, now you don’t want to do this. I can pay you. I can give you mountains of money.”
“I was hired to do a job, and I have never failed to complete a contract.” The lord trips onto his back and looks on as Tyl stands over him. His ominous silhouette casts a shadow on the fallen elf’s face. The assassin makes a single swing and begins walking to the exit. “I don’t plan to start now.” He steps though the door into a grassy meadow. The early morning breeze catches his messy ponytail as it blows a stray leaf past him. The dungeon is not in the city. We don’t want people knowing what we do with our prisoners then, do we? He turns and looks back to the city in the distance. His eyes focus on the towering keep toward the edge of town. He pulls his mask up and thinks, Now to go collect payment for my contract.
“Quit your whining. He didn’t, did he? He’ll be dead soon enough anyway. Besides, I want him to be awake when we finish him. I want to hear his cries of pain.”
“You’re sick, Draugolë. Purely ruthless.”
The muffled voices of the elves are hard to make out through the throbbing pain in Tyl’s head. Once he starts to come to, he notices the cold shackles that are holding his hands behind his back. His legs are cold from sitting in a wet puddle in the dark dungeon. He lifts his head to look around. The prison is much smaller than most other prisons he had been in. The only chilling conclusion to that thought is that they don’t keep many living prisoners. A fact that is highlighted by the instruments of death that decorate the room. As he begins to sit up on his knees, every muscle in his body screams in pain. A quick glance at his shoulders confirms his suspicion that all of his weaponry had been taken while he was out. As he looks up at the two elven officials and the single guard, the haze from his eyesight begins to clear up.
“It appears our friend is awake, Bregolien.” Draugolë says as he turns toward Tyl. “I trust you rested well.” He pulls the assassin’s head back by his hair with their faces inches apart. “It will be the last rest you get in this life.” He drops Tyl’s head and turns as he puts his hands behind his back. He begins to pace as he speaks. “I’m sure you are beginning to wonder why I would go to all of this trouble. Why I am so eager to see you dead. Well don’t flatter yourself, whelp. This is a part of something much bigger than you.
“You see, Tyl, we need this war to get started for the elves to take their rightful place as the superior race of Elqanah, and we all know that neither Aryeh or Orthorien are going to make the first move. So we need something to ignite this war.” He places his hand on Bregolien’s shoulder. “That is why I had you attack my friend here. We need an event to unite the elven race and turn us against the simple-minded humans. You weren’t going to succeed from the beginning, peasant. Why else do you think I agreed to pay your ridiculous fee? It certainly wasn’t your skill.”
“Putting this assassination attempt off on an elf isn’t going to unite us.” Tyl interjects. “It’ll only cause confusion and add fuel to rebels’ fires. Besides, people think Bregolien is leading the resistance.”
“I fabricated his role in the resistance to make you think I had a reason to have him killed. As to your concern’s for an elven assassin; that’s exactly why this assassination attempt won’t be put off on an elf. It will take a little,” Draugolë looks at one of Tyl’s ears as he uses his fingers to make a scissoring motion next to his own ear, “alteration, but we can make it appear as an attack by men.”
“So why not just hire a human? Why drag me into this?” Tyl tries to keep the conversation going as he continues to plot his escape.
“It would have cost far more for an elf to hire a human to enter an elven fort and attack a high-elven official. And they would have wanted their fees upfront. I knew you were proud enough to collect after the task, so you were an obvious fit. Your reputation may intimidate others into paying after the fact, but I, on the other hand, won’t have to pay for services from a dead assassin.” He turns and heads past his captive, slowly walking toward the exit. “Once word of this reaches the capital, Orthorien’s hand will be forced. If he doesn’t act, he will face an uprising amongst his own people. I know the king though. He will rally our kind into a militarization this world has never seen. While he has his shortcomings, having people follow him is not one of them. He has a way of inspiring his kind into action. This doesn’t matter to you though, because you’ll be dead. Unfortunately, I am running late for a meeting in Lostariel, so I won’t get to hear your cries of pain after all.” He pauses to look back over his shoulder. “Bregolien, take care of this pest.” He turns back and walks out of the dungeon.
Bregolien motions for the soldier that immediately begins approaching Tyl. Clanging of armor echoes as he walks through the dark dungeon. So weak, Tyl thinks, don’t know if I have the strength to… His thoughts trail as the ornate, elven axe glimmers in front of his face.
“We don’t have a block, so you may want to sit still. His aim isn’t the best.” The elven lord gests. As the executioner raises the axe, Tyl musters all of his strength to spring to his feet. He immediately leaps and brings the clasps from behind his back into the swing of the large blade, causing them to shatter to pieces. As he lands, he throws a quick kick to the guard’s throat causing him to fall to his back. A few short gasps sputter out before the executioner’s eyes close. Tyl slowly reaches down to grab the axe as he begins walking toward Bregolien. The official begins stumbling backward with his hands out to protect him. His words sputter in fear.
“Assassin, now you don’t want to do this. I can pay you. I can give you mountains of money.”
“I was hired to do a job, and I have never failed to complete a contract.” The lord trips onto his back and looks on as Tyl stands over him. His ominous silhouette casts a shadow on the fallen elf’s face. The assassin makes a single swing and begins walking to the exit. “I don’t plan to start now.” He steps though the door into a grassy meadow. The early morning breeze catches his messy ponytail as it blows a stray leaf past him. The dungeon is not in the city. We don’t want people knowing what we do with our prisoners then, do we? He turns and looks back to the city in the distance. His eyes focus on the towering keep toward the edge of town. He pulls his mask up and thinks, Now to go collect payment for my contract.