Northwest Hallway

The night air drifted through the open window, high in the stone wall of the castle's hallway. It was opened to allow air flow and thus lessen the dampness felt within the rooms and halls. Whispered spells allowed a black gloved hand to grip the stone ledge and slowly a shrouded figure pulled itself up and over the window sill to fall silently to the hallway floor. Two more such creatures followed; men morphing from crawling beasts as they stood from crouched positions.

In silence they waited for a sound or light. When none was heard, they each drew a weapon, daggers, and a net. The three were silent as the shadow about them as they went further into the castle's heart. Shimmering, only seen when the moonlight struck their shoulders, the silver and black raven of Mystenia shone in its deathly glory.

Finally, they found where they would wait and settled, with two on either side of the closed door and one hiding above the door to await their prey. Dark elementals they were unseen as the chameleon with the branch.

Beatrix sighed inwardly in exhaustion. Much of her nights recently had been spent evading sleep, opting to formulate various strategies and plans, as well as recruit more soldiers. While she, with her rather inflated ego, personally considered herself one of the greatest Generals of all time, she was well aware that she was nonetheless still human. With that in mind, she decided to take a moment away from researching and plotting and attempt to rest, if only for a moment.

As she made her way through the hallway, she couldn't help but feel a strange sense of foreboding, as well as sense another's prescence in the room, despite seeing no one. Despite the possibility it was perhaps nothing more than her mind playing tricks on her, nonetheless, the warrior side of the General caused her to walk with extra caution, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword, concealed by her cloak.

A slight hissing sound emitted from the lead assassin's deep throat as he signaled for those with him to prepare for the kill. Silently they crept forth from the rock to surround the lone woman, as having spotted their target, they now intended to take the pleasure of death.

The nets were thrown at her up and around so that if they landed properly it would bind the general's limbs. The daggers slashed against each other as each assassin dove to make the kill.

Adrenaline coursed through the General's veins as she sensed and then felt the binds of a net fall down unto her. Quickly, she rolled out of the way, quickly drawing out her own dagger and slicing through the bit of net that clung to her leg. Chocolate orbs scanned the perimeter as she spotted her would-be assassins. Years of training and personal experience had granted the woman the gift of not panicking in a would be nervewracking situation as she yanked out of the many hoop earrings adorning her year and hurled it towards one of the assasin's, revealing that it wasn't merely a piece of jewelry, but a miniature explosive as well.

Scrambling up on her feet, she raced towards the other assasin, pressing the cold metal blade against his throat as she hissed into his ears. "Who sent thee? Speak with haste and I may show thee mercy at the hour of thy death. Hearken to me and speak!"

The assassin screamed in pain, revealing a feminine voice rather than a male as the explosive detonated and she and the other were thrown, either wounded or dead to the floor. Hissing with pain from a leg wound, the leader struggled against the general, only to stop as he felt the cold blade touch his uncovered neck. His face was kept hidden under layers of dark cloth and it was his only comfort.

Whispering in the ancient tongue of his people, he mouthed his sovereign's name only to repeat it in Alranian.
"J-Jahan..." The other two were dead, he could feel their souls writhing as they left the realm of men. Alone, captured and without his target at his feet, he was dead as they were. Now only the mercy of the prey he had sought held his life.

A raven eyebrow raised at the sound revealing that oe of her would-be assasins, instead of being a predicted male, was in fact a female. Despite having a rather high, overly inflated opinion of herself, the General had a tendency to forget that she was not alone, and there were a few other females like herself. She wondered vaguely as she watched the female die if whether or not in another world, preferably one where Mystenia and Alrania were not at odds with each other, they would have been friends.

While her years of travel had granted her an ear for other languages, that of Mystenia was not one of them. She couldn't be sure whether it was a blessing or a curse that he answered her in Alranian; a name that lingered upon all who surrounded her's lips in a mixture of anger, fear, and sorrow.

Jahan...

Her grip instantly tightened, though not enough to kill him, as the other hand not holding the dagger dug it's sharp nails into his shoulders. She whispered lowly into his ear. "What doth thou fear more? Death? ... or failure?"

The cold metal blade slid threatningly against the unknown man's neck as she added in the same tone. "Tell me all that thou knows as well as what Jahan seeks, and I shall let thee choose thy fate, whether it be to die at my own hand, or at the angry hand thy calls Master."

Pain wrapped itself around his cognitive sense even despite his efforts to numb himself. The nails, which he hoped with bated breath, were poisoned, if only to save himself from further agony, dug painfully against his thin skin. There was no escape... such thoughts came to his mind coupled with that of his weeping mother and his little son, motherless and now to be fatherless. Like a mist rising, he stubbornly pushed the thoughts away.

Fear... from a young age he had been taught and instructed to fear nothing... only failure. But he had never been able to truly fear nothing. He had loved his wife, his son too much to sacrifice himself for nothing save duty. This was not how it had been meant to be. The gods must have other plans for the general, he mused, a worse death.

"I...fear...nothing." he slowly murmured. His knowledge of the Alranian tongue was limited but he was fairly certain he had gotten his message across. He could feel the blade move against his exposed neck, flashes of ceremonial slayings of pigs brought to mind.

Nothing, he would tell her nothing. Death would cast him into the darkest pits of hell for his failure; and his master would burn him alive after cutting his limbs from his body. His failure was complete, he had no reason to speak.

"The Vana..." he whispered...glad she couldn't see his pain twisted face. Not knowing what had possessed him to speak when he had sworn himself to silence, he closed his eyes.

"Liar..." she uttered softly. She could feel the his heart pounding within his chest, and sense the fear and anxiety coursing through him. Of course he had fear. He would be an even bigger fool if he lacked any fears. Why, despite professing to be fearless and holding her duty and allegiances above her own self, she still retained a few fears, albeit they were rather different from that of an average individual. In fact, one would never expect the fears that haunted her at night, rendering her into exhausted, sleeplessness.

Mild curiousity illuminated her features at the mention of the Vana. Her knowledge of what it was was rather limited, as she herself held no belief, and certainly no devotion in any Gods others claim to preside over the world. "What of thy Vana? What does it bid thy?"

True... he was a liar, but the darkness that was his power had made him such. Fate and time had given him the gift of elemental darkness... the night was made of the lies of the world. Swallowing thickly, he involuntarily shuddered. His master had been right... he had been too young for this mission.

If only he was ignorant of the knowledge of the Vana... the famed ring of Mystenia. He knew of every legend and myth surrounding it, had listened and begged to hear more about it even in his childhood. It was the gods' gift to the first ruler of Mystenia and thought to be the only true mark of a king ever after.
"He seeks it... to bring himself to power. Alrania shall fall."

A soft scoff escaped the General at his reply. She never held much for those who worshipped Gods, particularly ones who appeared to be deaf to all the pleas the unfortunate believers seemed to shower upon them.

"Pity. It appears a fool is following a fool." she replied in neutrally. As she mentally debated what to do with her would-be assassin, mild curiousity illuminated her features. Slowly, her free hand reached for his mask to reveal the man's face.

Death suddenly did not sound like such a bad idea... although he seemed beyond confused with his thoughts and mixed desires, he began to wish he rather than the other two had succumbed to the explosive. Hissing in a snake like fashion, he twisted, trying to stop the general from removing his black mask. The thin blade hidden away within his cloak suddenly came to his mind and he concentrated on the darkness around him, hoping to bring the weapon to his hand.

It leapt into his struggling hand just as the folds of the cloth fell from his face. A shriek, inhuman and horrid was wrenched from him as the moonlight streaming from the window hit his exposed face and he dropped the knife in his pain and fear. His face was ghastly white with his eyes which he closed quickly dark, with only black and no white. Lips the colour of burnt ash appeared almost translucent over teeth painted black. But despite this all; it was a young face. One of a dark elemental who had only just completed his training.

Beatrix examined the face before her in a neutral expression, not even flinching at the shrieks of pain cadencing away from him, for she had heard, and seen worse on the battlefield. Noticing he had drawn a blade but had dropped it in his agony, she quicklygrasped the blade, keeping it within her armour, away from him. She took a moment to contemplate her next step and what to do with her would-be assassin before uttering one last question.

"Doth thou have a family?"

His family... his true weakness. There was his mother, widowed and old, raising his son for him. His wife, so young and innocent, had died after a short illness of blood. She had been too sweet for the cruel world... he was happy she had died rather than lived to see their village decimated, their people slain and their hope dashed. But still he selfishly wished she had lived... just for him and his son. Only a babe, his son's life was still on the scales of the gods, who at any moment might chose to cut the infant's delicate thread. After the ninth year of life, only then could a child be looked upon as safely.

"A son..." he whispered. His mother he did not mention; she wasn't needed for mention.

The General's face softened at the man's whispered reply. Years of experience had taught her how to read other's faces fairly well. All it took was one look and Beatrix would know if another was being truthful or not. Clearly this man was being honest. She wondered briefly why he made no mention of a wife, and deduced that the woman either died already or simply ceased to exist in some other form. With no hesitation, Beatrix slowly released her hold the man and pushed him away.

"Go. Go before I change my mind. Leave the lands of Alrania and return to thy son. I have no desire to spill a father's blood." she replied, backing away to allow him access to escape. Though throughtout her years as a soldier, she had probably killed tens of thousands of husbands, brothers, fathers, and sons, she had no desire to do so outside of the battlefield. Particularly on the grounds of a Kingdom where the King was a son now left without a father and a mother. Beatrix may be cruel but she was very fair.

His heart felt as though it had ceased beating... for a moment of terror he awaited a strike to his heart or neck. But as the woman's face lost its stony edge and he was released, hope once more allowed his heart to beat.

Spared, by the one he had sworn to kill. Surely there was a high law against such an action. He would only take a step before the god of truth struck him down for his blasphemy of order. Bowing as low as his injured leg would allow, he showed a brief moment of homage to his ironic saviour and then hastened to do as he had been bade. Perhaps the gods would quickly forget the act of mercy, had it been such an act, he pondered, glancing back at the general before leaping nimbly from the window sill... but he never would.

Beatrix sighed as she watched her would-be assasin escape. She knew deep down she had done the right thing, but wondered if others would see the same thing. The man had a son, and a young one at that, who didn't deserve to become an orphan just as she had been growing up solely because his father had listened to a fool. However, she knew others would see him in only one light: a follower of a murderer, and an enemy,

Brown orbs scanned the area for any possible witnesses as she contemplated what to do with the other dead bodies.