As he stepped into the inn, the smell of ale and barbecue assaulted his senses, along with the shouts and cheers of strong men with strong drink. Serving girls carried food and moved throughout the busy room, with the grace reminiscent of ballerinas, whilst expertly dodging unwanted fondlings from the more rowdy customers.
Honestly, the man hated this type of environment, but had seen it enough times to pretend as if he didn't care. He made his way through the crowd, and up towards the receptionist table which doubled as a bar. The receptionist and bartender was a heavyset woman with a face full of make-up and a mole on her left cheek. She wore a tight-fitting outfit, her bosoms just about ready to burst forth from her bodice. She seemed to be in her mid-forties, and if his intel was correct, she was the owner of this establishment. Big Bess.
"Well hello, stranger!" She greeted with a smile. "It's not often we see new faces around here. How can I help you dear?"
"I need a room." The man replied as he laid a gold coin face down on the table.
"We can definitely help with that." She replied as she took the coin without batting an eye. She then fumbled around under the counter for a few second before she came back up with a key.
"Please do enjoy your stay!" She smiled sweetly as she dropped the key in his hand.
The man held back the urge to scoff at her innocent act. He knew what this place was. He knew why an inn in this city could still get business during spring. Why they could afford to sell their brew dirt cheap and still make a profit. And why she could act as if a gold coin was nothing special.
"Mm." He responded with a grunt and took a breath as he let those thoughts leave him. He turned his attention to the key he had just received. There was nothing special about it. Save for a little rust here and there, it was a normal key, but the key-chain attached was a whole other story.
It was fashioned into the shape of a dragon, but not just any dragon. Specifically those depicted in myths from the far east. The carvings were exquisite. Every scale was made with care, and each added a slightly noticeable bump and grove to the texture of the piece. However, the most eye catching part of the keychain was not the dragon, but the red gemstone locked in it's jaws.
Something moved within the gem. Swirling and flowing, like water…. but different somehow. The man stared intently at the stone, slowly losing himself within the movement.
"Ahem."
He snapped back to reality as he turned towards the source of the sound, Big Bess, who gave him a knowing look.
"So you're one of those." She said donning a mischievous grin.
The man frowned, but didn't answer. Instead, he pocketed the key and turned to find his room, but a familiar face made him halt.
In one of the darkest corners of the room, by a table under the staircase, sat a robust man in a beige hemp tunic and dark brown fur trousers. By his appearance, he seemed to be in his late thirties. He had brown hair and a thick mustache that covered his upper lip.
He sat with his arms cross as he stared at the man in black, then beckoned him over. It seemed he had noticed him for quite a while now.
The man in black went. His room could wait.
"Conrad." He greeted as he approached.
"Drogov! You've finally arrived!" The man, Conrad, greeted cheerfully and raised his large wooden mug into the air, as if to offer a toast.
"Are you my handler this time?" Drogov asked as he sat down, and placed the sack he carried by his feet.
"Somewhat." Conrad replied, taking a big sip from his mug, which left froth on his facial hair. Though he didn't seem to care nor notice.
"Who else?"
"Aamon."
With the mention of that name, even Drogov couldn't help but let a sigh escape him, which Conrad seemed to find amusing.
"I knew you'd have that reaction." He laughed heartily, but for Drogov, this was anything but funny.
"The man always asks for too much." He complained.
"Don't worry about him. He's busy tying up a few loose ends. If not for that, he would be the one meeting you here today. You won't have to deal with him for now."
"Good."
"Anyway, I assume you already know of the crystal?"
"Yes. Where do I find it?"
"That would be in the Duke's palace."
"He has it?"
"No." Conrad shook his head. "At least we don't think so."
"Then who?"
"Lady Annora. Daughter of Marquis Graole."
"She works for the Duke?"
"Not at all, she was captured, but not because of the gem. She ran away from home and came here to hide away. However, she was notice by Duke Wellis who took an interest in her."
"Where is she now?"
"Last we heard, she was thrown into the dungeon for refusing to bed the Duke, but it's unlikely for the crystal to be with her. The Duke had given her a room in the eastern tower of the palace when he took her. Her belongings are still there."
"I see. Was the palace scouted?"
"To a degree."
"Hmm?" Drogov tilted his head slightly. "What happened?"
"The scout was discovered. He was killed by a Nomad of the Savalah who's acting as the Duke's Bodyguard. He was able to leave us schematics of the entrance, the main hall, the Duke's Bedroom and the passage that led to the eastern tower, but that's a bout it." Conrad explained as he pulled a scroll out from inside his tunic and handed it over to Drogov.
"What is the skill level of the nomad?" Drogov asked as he collected the scroll.
"We aren't too sure. But we suspect he might be like us." Conrad said as his face became solemn.
"That's a reasonable assumption." Drogov nodded to himself. "Alright. I understand the parameters."
"Good. So when will you start?"
"Tonight."
"Oh? So quickly? Don't you usually take more time to plan?." Conrad inquired.
"Only when assassination is needed." Drogov answered. "Here, I only need to scout, evade and steal."
"Hmm. Evade, huh?" Conrad mused. "I suppose that could work. I assume your happy to not add on to the blood on your hands."
Drogov remained silent.
"Well, in any case, I pray for your continued success." Conrad stated as he stood from the table. He walked past, ready to leave, then hesitated as if he remembered something.
"Also, the girl," He started, "if you could-"
"My mission is the gem. Nothing else." Drogov said as he turn to face him.
"I see."
With that, the man walked off and in the middle of the room, under Drogov's watchful eye, he disappeared midstep. It was not the first Drogov had seen this, but everytime it happened he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. He hated the fact that his perception could be rendered useless so easily, but at least Conrad was someone worthy of trust.
How does someone like him end up in an organization like this? He pondered.
Drogov picked up his sack as he stood from the table and made his way up the nearby staircase. As he arrived on the second floor, the sounds of pleasured moans and grunts fill the space. It seemed quite a few others were arriving as well.
This was one of the ways Big Bess stayed in business. The first floor was for the tavern and normal renters, the second floor was for… this and the third floor was where Drogov would stay.
Ignoring the sounds, he made his way down the hall, there were rooms on each side each with a noise of their own. As he approached a bend, a door opened in front of him and out stepped a rough looking man his arm slung around the shoulder of a younger lady.
Her lipstick was smeared across her left cheek and her mascara had left multiple lines of black on her face. She held one hand against the man's chest and another on his back as she supported him along the hall. It seemed he was drunk.
The man chuckled foolishly to himself as he reminisced on the moment they had just shared and moved his hand to grab the girl's behind as they walked past.
Drogov stepped aside to let them through, and watched as they disappeared down the stairwell. He took a brief glance at the room and saw an old mattress on the floor with a crumpled yellowish white sheet on top.
He looked away in disgust and turned the bend entering into another hall. He followed along and came upon a staircase which led him to the third floor. As he stepped foot on that floor, the moans and grunts faded. He couldn't help but notice how strange sound moved in this building. It seemed Big Bess had enlisted the help of an enchanter.
Drogov took the key from his pocket, and focused on the gemstone as he made his way down the hall. He had almost reached the end, when suddenly, the gem glowed and the door beside him swung ajar. This was his room.
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he examined the place under the light of the moon which streamed through a far window. The room was spacious and the decor simple. A bed, a table and chair, a dresser and a wardrobe. There was also a door leading to a small balcony outside the room. For a golden coin, it could be considered shabby, but realistically, he knew that was not what the golden coin was paying for.
In an instant, he reached into his overcoat then swung his arm outwards. Three streaks of silver flew through the air and three knives hit different areas of the room. One hit the window, another the wall and the third hit the balcony door.
Amazingly, they all bounce off without leaving a scratch.
Drogov approached the window, placing the sack on the table nearby. He rapped against the glass. It was quite thin, but still didn't break from his knife. It seemed the walls, windows and doors inside were enchanted with some kind of re-enforcement spell. He was impressed.
He could feel somewhat at ease laying his head here at night. It was too bad he would not get to experience that, as he was planning to be gone by the morning.
He opened his bag and rifled through it then pulled out a long roll of cowhide. He unfurled it across the table, and within were various pouches with daggers and vials, in the middle of which was a short sword.
He let them sit where they were as he took off his overcoat, which he hung on the back of his chair. Then it was back to the sack. He pulled from it various pieces of armor. A chest plate with leather straps to keep it in place, a scabbard, a shoulder-guard, plated boots, gauntlets and vambraces.
He quickly equipped most of his armor, leaving the shoulder guard, gauntlets and vambraces on the table. With everything else on, he once again donned his black overcoat as gleams of silver peaked out from underneath. Then, finally he picked up the rest of his armor, wearing them above the coat.
His wardrobe complete, he turned his attention to the cowhide he had unrolled earlier. He packed several throwing knives into the inner pockets of his overcoat along with three vials of green liquid. He also picked up a dagger and strapped it to his leg before turning to the short sword.
He slid it out of the pouch, holding it up in the moonlight. It gleamed beautifully, more so than the others. It was strange that something so enchanting was nothing more than an instrument of death and sorrow.
He played with the blade, swiping it back and forth through the air before sheathing it in its scabbard. Finally, he removed his hat, placing it gently on the table.
The moon illuminated his features. His skin was pale, and his hair was pitch black, combed neatly at the top while the sides were cut low. He had a strong jawline, thick eye brows and hauntingly beautiful black eyes. He was rather dashing, save for a small scar at the corner of his lip and a black line that ran through his forehead and continued around his head in a circle, plus a large black dot right above that in the center.
His hand reached up and over his shoulders to the back of the coat as he pulled up a cowl, and once again covered his face in shadows.
He was about ready, and closed the sack before picking up his room key. He shut his eyes and held the keychain. There was a light hum, then after a few moments, there was a barely audible click. He opened his eyes, and noticed the subsiding glow of the gem, then turned to the area he heard the click.
He took note of the part of the floor sitting slightly above the rest then walked over, sack in hand, and pushed the floor panel to the side. It was a trapdoor, with a hidden compartment filled with weapons underneath.
He ignored the various instruments of death he found, and placed his sack inside before closing the trapdoor, then moved towards the balcony entrance. He opened it, and stepped outside as he shifted his attention to the palace in the distance. It was time.
He leapt onto the balcony railing and grabbed the roof then swung forward, lifting his legs to put him up and over the building. His overcoat splayed across the roof tiles as he landed with the grace of a feline, then pounced forward.
He shot from the roof, clearing the gap of the alley below and grabbed hold of the opposing ledge as he pulled himself unto the building. From their, it was rooftop to rooftop as he approached the center of the city, where the palace lay in wait.
He clung to the shadows, ensuring he wasn't seen as he traversed the city. Nearing his destination, he leapt over a massive wall then suddenly noticed a difference in the quality of housing. There were a few mansions, each with their own personal guard. It wasn't too much of an issue though, the plots of land they sat on were small, leaving just enough space for him to make the jump to each roof.
He knew why these were in a city like this. Nobles who had fled their own estates after their wrongdoings or to escape execution would often end up here. After all, a territory like this was just a playground for corrupt individuals. The king rarely paid this territory any mind. It had no use for agriculture because of all the rain, yielded almost nothing in taxes as a majority of its inhabitants faced absolute poverty, and bordered the a desert in the south with no strong enemies, so there was no tactical advantage to be found here.
It was the perfect place to retire after years of embezzling funds, or when fleeing from a revolt in your estate due to the mistreatment of your people. It didn't mean it was all safe though. When you do something that forces you to flee, there are often others who chased behind, which helped keep places like The Wanderer's Respite in business.
The king would offer them no protection either, as they had broken his laws and chosen to operate in the shadows; and when in the shadows, there was free reign for people like Drogov to come for them.
He wasn't here for that though, and as he thought this, he stopped at the edge of the last mansion approaching the palace. This was a gap he would not be able to jump.
The palace stood at a distance of about 500 meters out, surrounded on all sides by empty space. The walls which surrounded it were fairly tall, about the height of five men, and on top was a private army of guards, as well as two ballistas.
It seemed like this Duke Wellis was quite paranoid, which made sense considering the living standards of his people. He had to make sure he could crush any revolt, or even the will to do so before it could start.
Drogov had wondered why a person like Conrad wasn't made to do the mission since he was already here, but seeing the gap, he now understood. In fact, he was the best option.
He turned away from the palace as he stared at the moon behind him, then looked down at his feet to observe his shadow. He didn't want to use this, but he had no choice.
Crouching down, he placed five fingers on the floor as he closed his eyes. His breathing calmed and his heart slowed as one word emerged in his consciousness.
"Seki." He said it as he thought it and wisps of black energy floated around him then disappeared into nothingness as his body sank into the ground through his shadow.