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The blade slipped soundlessly from its sheath, the dull glint of steal the only thing marking its presence. In the shadows the man wielding the blade waited, his time would come soon enough, but until then, his patients must be kept. He had gone through this scenario many times before in his mind, always ending with success. He had a plan for every possible reaction his target could give, and every plan was perfect.
Finally, the man he waited for appeared from around a corner, the same routine every night, Flac had watched him night after night, learning his habits, knowing everything about the man he was meant to kill. His name was Terro Cortan, he was a merchant, known for not providing the best values to his customers. He had finally crossed the wrong man though, resulting in the hiring of Flac, the assassin felt sorry for his target, but only for a moment, then a sly smile crossed his face, the merchant should be honored, he was going to be killed by the best there was.
The shadow was over the man before he even realized what was happening, the blade in the shadows hands burring itself deeply in his chest, and in a moments notice, he was dead, and his body was left in the dark streets on which it fell. The glinting blade returned silently to its sheath, and the shadow that owned the blade vanished into the night air.
The next morning Flac awoke in his house, he lived out in the forest, an hours travel from the city in which he worked. His work was not a business on which he needed to be on time after all, he could afford to be away from the city as long as he liked. Anyone that wanted to hire him, would wait, for with the best, came a price, and he was certainly the best.
Flac prepared his morning meal soundlessly, when it was finished, he consumed it and went about his morning tasks. He must put his acquired gold in his vault, and shine his blades, then he would clean his house. Then it was off to the ale house, to await a new job, and enjoy a few mugs of ale.
Flac was not like most assassins though, he was not a heartless killer, what he did was an art, an art that he excelled in. When he killed, he did not kill to complete the job, he killed to enjoy the beauty of life and death. He was not some foolhardy thief either, he was a master of fighting, whether by stealth, or revealed confrontation, he was able to get his job done faster than any other in the field.
A smile crossed his face as he strapped his short sword to his hip, and placed two small daggers in his boots. -Today will be a good day to enjoy some ale- he thought to himself. As he left his house and began walking to the city, he couldn’t help but begin thinking to himself about how his life had turned out. He was only 16 after all, and he was already the best assassin there ever would be.
Ten years earlier though, he wouldn’t have even thought of such a profession. Not until he was 7, and he met the man that changed his life. The mans name was Quaril, he was a warrior by declaration, but Flac soon learned that he was much more then a simple warrior, he was an assassin, but only to those that he deemed worthy of such knowledge. Flac had been one of those people.
It all started when Flac was working at the alehouse, and had asked a simple question to Quaril, he had asked, “What’s it like?” and Quaril had replied simply “What’s what like?” and bright eyed Flac had said “Using a sword, and fighting” that had been how it started, had he known how it would end, would he have asked the question? Yes, he would have asked it none the less.
How had it ended? Or has it ended yet? He was not sure of the complete story, he had known little of Quaril, but he now believed that it was more than that simple question that had started it, and so, he could not help but wonder, what had been the ending. He believed, of course, that it had ending with Quaril revealing himself as an assassin, and taking on Flac as his apprentice, but as Flac now knew, when Quaril was involved, things were never as they seemed.
“Truth is simply what we know and what we feel comfortable with, it is in no way, reality.” As Quaril had said repeatedly during his training sessions with Flac. “yes, I learned fast, said you, but I feel like I know nothing compared with what was yet not taught to me” Flac muttered to himself.
Flac arrived at the alehouse, and ordered a mug of ale. This was where he did business, he heard everything that happened here, and he listened to every conversation, when he heard something he liked, he approached his soon to be employer as a shadow, a faceless, a thing without substance, that asked one question, “how much will you pay me?” and then was gone.
The ale house was strangely quiet today, most talk centering around the merchant that had turned up dead. A sly smile crossed Flac’s face while he listened, and ordered another mug of ale. He knew that no one could ever trace the killings to him, he was thought a simple man, who lived far away, and came daily to the alehouse, then went home. He was not an assassin, the shadow was the assassin, his master had been the shadow as well. No one quite knew how it worked, the shadow was said two have been alive for over 80 years, and yet he still lived, still killed.
In some places, the shadow had existed for longer, but it had died, and been reborn in other towns, one might be able to retrace the shadow back to the beginning of time, if one had a desire to go through the effort. Flac was told the history of the shadow when he had become an assassin, Quaril had told him, but he had also said, that not even his master had known the beginning of the legend.
Flac was awakened from his daydreaming the sound of the alehouse doors opening and closing. Looking up he saw a young woman approach the bar, strange he thought, most women don’t come here for a drink. She seemed distressed, yet not altogether worried about one thing in particular. Listing now Flac heard here ask the bartender if he could give her something to drink, though she had no money. Of course the man would not, thought Flac, this bar was the home of the most greedy man in the city, no one got anything from the bartender for free.
Flac stood slowly and walked over to the counter. Slapping down a few copper pieces he nodded to the woman and walked back to his seat to resume his thinking. He was not short on money after all, if she was thirsty, he could afford to give her a drink…
Once again he was thinking of his former master, the training sessions he had been given were intense, but he had done all right, Quaril had pushed, him to his limit, but never further. “Quaril was a good man,” a voice said, as he looked up he noticed the woman standing next to his table. “you knew Quaril?” Flac stated, baffled by why she would bring it up to him. “Yes, he was my master as well, but not in the same field as you. As she sat down Flac noticed that her eyes had a tendency to shift between colors of green and blue. “I’m sorry for prying, but I needed to know why a stranger would buy me a drink, I am telepathic, therefor I may read your thoughts.”
Flac was amazed, telepathy, he had heard only story’s of people with such abilities, no one could prove if they had the gift or not, but he believed this woman was.
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Tell me what ya think

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