Tybus's Assassin

Bale lurked in the shadows across the street from the tavern, watching, waiting. He liked the shadows. He had learned to use them to his best advantage over the years. They would hide his movements, give him shade and comfort, and sometimes even allow him to slip between worlds. Here in an instant with murder in his eyes, then gone a moment later. That was why people called him a shadow walker, or a mist man- but he really didn't like fancy titles. He was named Bale Fynn, and he was known throughout the city and beyond as a heartless killer. An assassin, plain and simple. That was fancy enough for him.

He stood silent and unmoving as he waited. The one he was here to dispose of was in the tavern- The Drunken Rat, it was called- probably drinking himself into a stupor. The assassin smirked into the darkness. Cold blue eyes and black hair caught the glint of a passing torch. It would only make his job less difficult. A drunken fool was always easier to kill than a sober one. How many men had walked blindly to their deaths because spirits had dimmed their wits? Too many to count. Calloused fingers caressed the dagger at his belt. The weapon was beautiful- his most prized possession. The blade was wickedly curved, and sharpened to a deadly point. It was set into a handle made of bone and painted black, then bound with leather. That dagger had taken many lives- and it would soon claim another.

Bale shifted from a relaxed stance to one of alertness when he spotted his target emerge from the tavern door. The fellow was grinning like an idiot as he stumbled down the steps. The shaggy, medium cut of the hair, the fitted green tunic, the satchel over his shoulder- yes, this was most certainly the one. The assassin noticed with some amusement that his victim had pointed ears. So, this Tybus Goldrunner person was a half-elf after all. He had not really believed it at first. That was something new. Of all the people he'd slain, Bale had never spilled elven blood before. His lips perked into a dark grin as he gripped the dagger. There was a first time for everything.



Tybus waved goodbye to the barmaid at the door as he stepped into the cobblestone street. She waved back with a rosy blush to her cheeks, and the half-elf chuckled merrily as he adjusted his satchel. It had been quite a pleasant evening at The Drunken Rat. The tavern- as rickety as it seemed- was the one establishment in all of Trifalia where he could enjoy himself without being stared at. It was because everyone there knew him, half-elf or no, and most of them had used his wares before. As a seller of magic he was always glad to have happy customers, and his visits to the 'Rat usually ended with more coin in his purse than when he arrived. There was also fine ale, good food, and sweet wenches. The wenches were especially fond of him. But the hour had grown late, and Tybus had work to do in the morning. With a pleasant buzz in his senses he headed down the street, making for his own small shop. It was in an out of the way building, barely there at all. Still, there was a hearth, a bed, and a full pantry aside from the shop itself- and he was looking forward to falling into bed (though he was sorry the barmaid had not come with him). The lamps on either side of the street cast an orange glow on the cobblestone beneath his feet, and buildings here and there still had lights in their windows. It was a quiet night in the city, as far as it went- or so it seemed.

When he turned down a darkened alleyway between buildings, Tybus felt at once that something was wrong. He slowed his step and cocked his head to the side. His half-elven senses had not abandoned him, despite the many mugs of ale he'd downed. It felt like he was not alone, yet he saw no one. Before he could get his hand on his sword, though, a shadow swept out of nowhere and grabbed him, throwing him against the wall. His head hit the stone with a snap, leaving him stunned. In the next instant he felt a sharp pain explode in his side, and gasped as a blade plunged into his flesh.  

It was only then that he saw the face of his attacker. It belonged to a man with black hair and icy blue eyes. He had a strange smile and his gaze was one of death.

"Tybus Goldrunner," he said in a low voice, "I am to tell you three things."

"Get off!" The half-elf grunted and shoved at the man. The blade was forced deeper into his side and he groaned in pain. He gripped the man's wrist, but could not move it.

"Three things," the assassin went on, "First, I was hired to kill you by an old friend of yours. He sends his absolute best regards."

The blade twisted in his side and Tybus sucked in a sharp breath as the pain of it flared throughout his body. His thoughts were racing as his heart pounded. This man was hired to kill him? Who would want him dead?

"Second, the blade is poisoned. If you do not bleed to death first, the poison will kill you. I expect it will be a rather gruesome death."

Another twist of the dagger. By this time Tybus's world was spinning. His side throbbed and he barely heard the man's last words as he fought to hold on to consciousness.

"Third, my name is Bale Fynn. Pleasure meeting you. Goodbye, Tybus."

With that Bale stepped back and removed his beloved dagger from his victim's flesh. The half-elf slumped to the ground at once, and the assassin shook his head as he wiped the blood from his blade on Goldrunner's tunic. Too easy. No effort at all. With a step as silent as shadow he turned and stepped back into the darkness. His body seemed to melt into the black, and then he was gone.