"Yes, My Lord."
Since childhood, Torrent has been forced to hide behind the shackles of servitude. But having witnessed a conspiracy threatening the survival of her king and his subjects she can sit idle no longer. She must escape, or allow the empi...
"Evenin' mister Dibrom." The barkeep's grin greeted Raven as he walked through the tavern doors.
"Mister O'Shay." Raven returned the smile before taking up residence at a table in a corner nearest the bar. As he sat, a customer in a scarlet cloak with a deeply shadowed cowl stumbled toward the door. Shouting obscenities in a voice thick with drink, the man tripped over nothing and fell into mister Dibrom's lap. Vomiting his dinner onto the floor, the stranger fumbled before he regained his feet and tottered away.
"Sorry 'bout that." O'Shay apologized for the drunk's behavior and saw to it that the mess was cleaned. "Now-" He returned to his post behind the bar. "Hot tea, cold milk, and the cook's finest breakfast?" O'Shay prided himself in remembering what each client customarily ordered.
"Always right." Dibrom offered a nod and tossed him coin enough for two meals. "Keep the extra."
As the Raven, generosity was an action that could not be afforded. Hunters were cold, methodical. The only emotions acceptable to express were morbid humor, or a hunger for blood. But, as Mister Dibrom, or any of his other aliases, Raven was comfortable conveying a number of human emotions, generosity being one of them.
As he waited for his meal, Raven counted the coin his employer had surreptitiously dropped into his lap. It was all there, the second installment of eight-hundred-thousand in gold. Raven would not be opposed to doing business with the man in scarlet again.
Although.
He leaned back in his chair and ran thick fingers through dark hair.
It wouldn't hurt to find a new way of receiving funds.
"My Lord."
A bar maid interrupted his thoughts.
She served him with her head bowed and in a manner which almost made Raven feel ashamed of letting such a defeated creature wait on him. Shame though, was not one of the emotions he wanted to feel. Yet, when the maid curtsied her leave and swayed back to the kitchen, he did allow himself to experience a twinge of desire.
"Who's she, O'Shay?" Raven asked around a mouth full of food when the girl disappeared.
"Her?" He grinned. "She's our Lord's new favorite. He saw her passin' through some town durin' his last leave." O'Shay leaned across the bar and lowered his voice. "He fancied the way she looked and had his guards pull her into the hay load. She put up quite a fight she did, but in the end they broke her will to run. For now, he has her workin' the fields durin' the day and waitin' tables at night. He says she can sleep when she goes to his bed."
"Sounds like a gentleman," Dibrom grumbled.
Pity was a loathsome emotion, one he didn't often have to work hard to keep at bay. Yet, for some reason, the sight of such a beautiful creature in captivity, being forced to fight in order to guard her innocence-
Dibrom chuckled at dark thoughts and his pity melted away. Ogling the girl's seductive curves and the entrancing way she carried herself, he doubted "innocence" was on her list of precious possessions. Finishing his warm meal, Raven set off to find if he hadn't yet received another chance to Hunt.
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His guild was located not far from the outskirts of a series of small villages. Inconspicuous in the thick of Hallowveil, it was difficult to stumble across for those who didn't know it was there.
"Finished already?" Fang crept away from the dark and to his dismay, he found Raven two steps ahead of him and quite literally at his back.
"A simple task requires little undertaking." He shoved Fang to his knees. "Your arrogance will be your downfall. It's a risk for even an adept to challenge a master, but for you?" He paused, and the silence cut like a knife.
"Master Raven?" Fang whined and Raven sneered at his back. A Hunter should never grovel.
"Speak, Fang"- he stepped away- "and get out of the dirt."
"You yourself challenged your masters when you were nothing more than an apprentice." He stood and dusted his clothes. "I try only to follow the example of my masters."
"Don't flatter yourself." Raven brushed past him and flowed like night towards a towering oak. He levered an undetectable latch, and a well-hidden door swung wide.
Stone stairs led down into the catacombs. They were dimly lit by scattered torches, but the flickering light did nothing to hinder his sight. Fang, on the other hand, shuffled behind him cursing loudly as he shouldered into walls and stumbled on steps that weren't there. Raven narrowed his eyes at the dark and scoffed at the thought of such a man striking fear into the hearts of others.
"Unlikely," he mumbled.
"What?"
"Be on your way." Raven stifled the urge to disembowel the man.
"As you say, Master Raven." Fang pouted as he slinked away.
Moving down a twisted hallway, Raven migrated towards the shadows, passing by Hunters unnoticed. Upon reaching the great room of the Assassin's Guild, many recoiled as Raven stepped out of the darkness, a specter in the haunted hallways. Their awed expressions beaded off him like water and Raven rolled his shoulders at their attention. He needed a holiday.
The guild was once his safe haven, a sanctuary from the outside world, a place where people understood who he was and shared a kindred spirit. But as young blood came in and veterans admitted defeat to age, Raven found himself alone. Few remained who remembered the old ways and even fewer lived them.
At twenty-eight years, he was just entering the prime of life. Yet Raven felt as though he were part of a dying breed, the last of his kind. This reality aged his soul.
Sloughing off these thoughts, he stalked to a thick oak bureau and kicked the feet of the man behind it.
"I'm busy," Hornet groused without raising his head.
"You're sleeping." Raven sat on a corner of the desk and raised a brow.
"Oh!" Hornet opened an eye. "It's you." He closed it again and shifted in his chair, ready to doze off.
"Do you mean to tell me I've nothing?" Raven slammed his hand down on the table and shuffled through stacks of parchment.
"Not for three days." Hornet yawned and managed to open both eyes to glare at him. "Take a rest, Raven. You look like you need it." He kicked back and within moments was snoring.
Raven couldn't believe it. For the past ten years he'd been the most sought-after assassin in the known world. The volume of his requests forced him to turn work away. This sudden absence of employment seemed unnatural. But Hornet was not prone to disorganization. Raven found it hard to believe the deficit of requests meant anything more than a lack of work.
Taking one last glance at the stacks of contracts and letters of proposal, Raven shook his head and left.
