Assassins of Aquilara

Death had come for him. Swift and silent, a shadow stalked the narrow streets. While the man slumbered in his bed, the shadow moved from house to house, stalking his prey. The night was quiet, only chirping insects and the faint sound of waves lapping at the distant shore could be heard. A light breeze moved through the Imperial City, swirling the dust at the shadow's feet. The Imperial City was the capital of the mighty Empire of Aquilara, built in an oasis between the desert and the sea. It had stood for a thousand years and was crowned by the Imperial Palace, which stood on a hill in the center of the city.

The rest of the Imperial City, its shops and houses, radiated out in a circle toward the desert and the sea. While the Imperial Palace was built with a fine, eggshell colored stone, most of the rest of the Imperial City was built out of fired mud brick, brown and rusty red, from the desert sands and dirt dug up from underneath or ground from hillsides near the sea. Tiled roofs sat atop the buildings, also in red and brown, obscuring most of the town from above, but also making it easy for someone with skill to move from building to building.

The shadow scrambled deftly from the street, up a wall, and onto a roof a few streets over from his destination. He wore all black, loose pants and a shirt wrapped in the middle with a black sash. His head and face were also covered. Only a small slit above his nose exposed his deep amber eyes to the night, and his hands were free to grasp any weapon of his choosing. The shadow's name was Zorrik Vorn, and he was one of the highest Masters of the Assassin's Guild.

Zorrik quickly covered the distance between streets as he crossed the rooftops of the Imperial City. The night air was warm, but the nearby sea produced just enough humidity to keep it from being unbearably dry. The wind was kicking up more and more, though, causing dust to fill the air and grate in the lungs. Zorrik ignored it, focused on his mission. He'd been sent to the home of a local merchant, a man who traded with ships from the North of the continent. It wasn't his trading practices that had come under scrutiny, though, but instead, his political affiliations.

Aquilara had a simple system of government. The continent was run from the Imperial City, with the Royal House in charge, followed by regional governors and district magistrates. At the very small, local levels, towns and villages generally chose their own mayors or councils, but they were still beholden to the district magistrate and Aquilaran rule of law. Not everyone was satisfied with this system, though, and now and then uprisings and rebellions would disrupt the natural way of things. The Imperial Palace had been alerted that this local merchant may have become involved with rebels from the North, and it was Zorrik's job to find out the truth and deal with the man accordingly.

Zorrik knelt atop a steeply roofed market building. It was long, and taller than the rest of the buildings, allowing him to get a better look at the surrounding streets. Though the dust was starting to obscure his vision, he could still see that the streets were empty, save for a couple of stray dogs and a wandering beggar. His quarry was in the next street over, in a large house at a dead end. Zorrik ran to the end of the market building, his soft-soled shoes making little sound. The next building over was further than he'd anticipated, though, but he made the jump anyway. Zorrik was small for an Imperial Assassin, short with a slim build, but he was also very fit, and the power in his legs allowed him to push off strong, and carry him through to the next rooftop. The landing was hard, though, and one of the roof tiles broke free. The movement caused Zorrik to strumble, and as the tile slid down to the edge of the roof, he almost went with it. At the last moment, he righted himself, but not in time to catch the falling tile.

Zorrik froze, his breath catching in his throat, as the tile fell and shattered on the dirt street below him. He waited, still as the night, to see if anyone had heard it. In the distance, one of the stray dogs bayed, and a light came on across the street. He ducked down, making himself as invisible as he could, a skill he was adept at. It turned out, he didn't need it, as the light went back off a few minutes later. Still, Zorrik waited. He knew he had all night, so he took another moment to slow his breathing and clear his mind. Then he straightened up and continued his journey along the rooftops.

His plan had been to simply climb down from the merchant's roof and through a window into his house, but as he reached the right street, he realized his plans would have to change. The merchant's house was set back, away from the connected maze of city rooftops. He would have to take to the street again, and either climb the house's wall or go through the front door. Either would be a simple task for an Assassin who'd been honing his skills for over thirty years.

It took only a moment for Zorrik to make his decision. He pulled a small knife, with a wide curved blade, from the sheath hidden under his sash, and gracefully jumped down from the roof. The merchant's house loomed ahead of him. Unlike most of the surrounding buildings, it had two stories and no visible way to climb it. Zorrik shrugged. The front door would have to do. He crouched low, once again moving on silent feet, and made his way toward the house. He'd made it to his quarry, but a few steps before the door, he suddenly realized he was not alone. A sound from the side alley caught his attention, and Zorrik turned a moment before the attack.