Ebon Skull Archives: Lean Icesage
From Atlantic Roleplay Wiki
This is reposted from OES documentation for the pleasure of the Atlantic Community. Story by Lean Icesage of OES.
Far below the embrace of the dusk red moon, Lean Icesage waited. How long, he knew not. Nor did it matter. For him, time had little meaning while waiting.The piercing howl of a white wolf caused Lean to cast his eyes rapidly on the dark horizon. His head remained perfectly motionless.
Though he could not see further than beyond the faint outline of the castle, his hearing allowed him to estimate the distance of the howl. No danger existed from the wolf, or wolves, he thought to himself. Now his head turned slightly, ever so slowly so as not to disturb the thin layer of snow that covered him. It was crucial that it remain intact. Any incorrect movement...
There...he spotted the small, faint ball on the other side of the castle walls. Lean smiled slightly to himself. Indeed, she had done
well. The mark would never know a second assassin waited. To the untrained eye, Feather Icesage appeared as nothing more than a snow hill, a perfectly natural extension of the landscape. One far more lethal than even the deepest crevice within the tundra.
Lean now fixed his eyes upon the castle door. He examined the strong, double entry doors, cast of wrought iron and set to withstand even the fiercest of cannon artillery. He recalled the discussion of this job with his comrades. Sneaking through the front door had been out. It could not be picked; such an ice-laden wasteland would take an immeasurable toll on lockpicks, making them brittle and weak. Entry through the windows was out. Footing up the sides of this mammoth structure was simply too treacherous, even for one as sure of foot as an EG assassin. The blacksmith, Remy Wilson, had offered contraptions to aid a climb, but Lean knew better than to risk his life and limb, or that of another on the folly of the climb. One slip...
It was finally decided that the two who could blend in with the terrain and move swiftly, without sound, would do this job. That fell to Lean, and his wife, Feather. Both were masters in moving quietly and undetected. It would fall to them to position themselves, and when the time arouse, quickly and quietly execute the mark. For their efforts, 20,000 gold was the reward. 10,000 of that was already in the bank. Lean didn’t know the real name of the client; he didn’t much care either. As long as he received the second half of the payment, he wasn’t concerned if it was Mondain himself hiring him.
Suddenly, a flash of light dazzled the white landscape. The unmistakable blue hue of a moongate shimmered, and through it stepped the mark. Lean recognized him instantly. Indeed, EG spies had outdone themselves this time. Every detail was described to perfection. The man staggered around and laughed out loud at nothing in particular; this caused Lean concern. A drunken man would nay have the sense to cast minor heal without injuring himself, there was no way this fool had cast moongate travel in his state.
Lean’s concern was quickly confirmed. Just before the moongate spat it’s final shimmer and vanished, through stepped two more apparent friends of the drunk. One was dressed in dull armor, platemail. Strapped to his waist was the gleam of a katana. Lean’s eyes expertly searched the weapon, but no telltale sign of poison was upon the blade. This man too seemed slightly wobbly, and barked laughter at his drunken friends questionable wit.
The other man was of much more concern to Lean. Dressed in a dark robe, and with no visible sight of weapon, he guessed this one to be the gatemaker. A mage. Lean felt like cursing, but held his breath. Now was not the time. Mages were never drunk.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lean noticed the small mound in the snow move. He glanced at the men. They were laughing hysterically, even the mage was chuckling, while the mark searched for his keys. Their backs were turned against the movement. What is she up to, Lean wondered.
Lean watched his wife move slowly out of view of the men. His trained eyes moved quickly back and forth between the group of men and Feather. As he still wondered what she might be planning, he thought he saw her remove her armor. No, he must be seeing things. What was that, she tore her shirt! A small tear, but nonetheless noticeable. A little too noticeable as far as Lean was concerned. And then, Feather Icesage was running toward the castle.
"Oh thank the Gods!" she said.
The men immediately whirled, turning to see the sight of a woman in distress. Quite the stunning woman, too.
"Why look what we have here men, good fortune favors us this night, no?"
Lean quickly shot his eyes towards the men, seeing the mark had made that comment. Killing him would be all the better now.
"Please, you must help me, the orcs... I managed to escape, but...," sobbed Feather. The men now had their attention completely focused on her.
Which was unfortunate for them. From his position, Lean made his move. Quicker than an upset efreet, and quieter than death itself, Lean stole forth.
"Well lass, ‘course we can offer some shelter to ye, for a bit o’ a price, if ye know what I mean...isn’t that right, lads?" laughed the drunken fool.
"I.. I don’t have much I can offer," Feather said. "Except, maybe this..."
Feather reached behind her back. The men, thinking she was about to show them what she might have to offer them, waited with baited breath.
And then, the mark fell over, face first, into the snow. A kryss, dripping with green venom, was embedded within his back. Before he had hit the ground, Feather’s hands were speeding back around, equipped with a crossbow. The single bolt flew forth; the result, one fresh mage corpse.
The last man, in his dull plate, groped for his katana, while mumbling inept curses. He tugged at his weapon. It didn’t budge.
"Ye need to be sure to sheath your weapons in a place like this, lest they freeze to their holsters," hissed Lean, his eyes alight with an eerie fire.
"Please, there is no need to kill me, he wasn’t even my friend really, I.. I.. I have money, I can pay you... please... let me at lea..."
The man’s gurgle cut short his dying epitaph.