Post by The Smith on Sept 16, 2008 0:18:43 GMT -5
The moon was hidden behind ominous clouds on the dark Pentoshi sky. Flea moved on the balls of his feet, noiselessly, Scav a few steps behind them.
Before them the Green Salamander Inn, occupied by Sellswords in the pay of Rhaegar Velaryon.
And some in the pay of Flea himself. Thirty of Flea’s men had hired themselves in to Velaryon’s service, waiting, and watching for when the time was right. The fact that the young master of Shallowgrave was in Pentos at the time, was a mere bonus.
A candle appeared in the front window of the inn, blinking out a code.
“They’re in position inside,” Flea whispered quietly to the hulking man beside him.
“You know you don’t have to do this boss,” Scav replied quietly, “We can handle this guy.”
“I know. My coming isn’t a reflection on your abilities. But I’m here, so I might as well come along. We can’t abide traitors.”
“No boss, we can’t.” Scav nodded, and the two swiftly crossed the alleyway to the back door of the inn. A quiet “Tap tap…tap” of rhythmic code gave the single, and after a short while, the latch was throne and the door opened.
“He’s upstairs, last bedroom on the left. Jax and Slyte are about to relieve the guards at the door now. Our boys are ready for action if there is a problem. We’re the ones with the white handkerchiefs around our necks, so don’t go killing us.”
“Worry not.”
They waited.
Upstairs, Jax and Slyte approached the two sellswords guarding the door.
“You guys ready to hit the sack?” Slyte said softly.
“Aye, I thought third watch would never come.” The sellsword at the door muttered. “You boys keep your eyes peeled, Lord Velaryon ain’t one to tolerate slacking.”
“Rightly not, Slyte snores anyway, so if we fall asleep, he’s liable to wake me up again right quick,” Jax japed. His partner gave him a dirty look.
“Alright, well he’s all yours.” The two men said, departing from the door, and moving to their room.
The assassins waited patiently. Thirty minutes, enough time to let the door guards fall into a restful sleep, before moving on.
When the time had passed, Flea and Scav advanced through the inn’s front room, a bar layout, indistinguishable from a thousand other inns anywhere in the world. They crept up the stairs, one by one, making sure to keep their feet to the corners of the steps, where it was less likely to creak.
When they reached the top, Flea flashed a hand signal to the two men on guard, who answered back appropriately. Behind that door the Seahorse lord slumbered.
He’d served a traitor, he was himself a traitor. He’d consorted with pretenders and usurpers. He’d raised a flag of rebellion and allied with foreign enemies.
“Root them out.” Flea whispered quietly to himself, as they opened the door.
The Lord of Driftmark lay in his bed asleep. Flea withdrew his dagger. It was a shame; he thought briefly, that such a tool should be first wetted on traitor’s blood. But then, it was for the blood of such it had been commissioned.
Scav watched carefully for any signs of trouble as his master approached the bed.
Flea was methodical with his blade. He’d learned it from one of the best. Like a surgeon his first stroke cut deep across the man’s throat, through larynx and arteries. He couldn’t have screamed if he wanted to. The next blows were deep pierces. One slipping through the ribs into the lungs, one through the side into the liver, and the last through the underarm under the heart.
Wiping his blade clean on the bed sheets, Flea carefully retraced his steps towards the door. Opening it quietly, the two nodded towards Jax and Slyte. They would wait for one hour, and than follow suit.
Flea and Scav headed out through the backdoor, their man closing it cautiously behind them.
Results:
Rhaegar Velaryon stabbed to death in his sleep.
Flea improves to Grandmaster Stealth
Scav improves to Expert Stealth
Before them the Green Salamander Inn, occupied by Sellswords in the pay of Rhaegar Velaryon.
And some in the pay of Flea himself. Thirty of Flea’s men had hired themselves in to Velaryon’s service, waiting, and watching for when the time was right. The fact that the young master of Shallowgrave was in Pentos at the time, was a mere bonus.
A candle appeared in the front window of the inn, blinking out a code.
“They’re in position inside,” Flea whispered quietly to the hulking man beside him.
“You know you don’t have to do this boss,” Scav replied quietly, “We can handle this guy.”
“I know. My coming isn’t a reflection on your abilities. But I’m here, so I might as well come along. We can’t abide traitors.”
“No boss, we can’t.” Scav nodded, and the two swiftly crossed the alleyway to the back door of the inn. A quiet “Tap tap…tap” of rhythmic code gave the single, and after a short while, the latch was throne and the door opened.
“He’s upstairs, last bedroom on the left. Jax and Slyte are about to relieve the guards at the door now. Our boys are ready for action if there is a problem. We’re the ones with the white handkerchiefs around our necks, so don’t go killing us.”
“Worry not.”
They waited.
Upstairs, Jax and Slyte approached the two sellswords guarding the door.
“You guys ready to hit the sack?” Slyte said softly.
“Aye, I thought third watch would never come.” The sellsword at the door muttered. “You boys keep your eyes peeled, Lord Velaryon ain’t one to tolerate slacking.”
“Rightly not, Slyte snores anyway, so if we fall asleep, he’s liable to wake me up again right quick,” Jax japed. His partner gave him a dirty look.
“Alright, well he’s all yours.” The two men said, departing from the door, and moving to their room.
The assassins waited patiently. Thirty minutes, enough time to let the door guards fall into a restful sleep, before moving on.
When the time had passed, Flea and Scav advanced through the inn’s front room, a bar layout, indistinguishable from a thousand other inns anywhere in the world. They crept up the stairs, one by one, making sure to keep their feet to the corners of the steps, where it was less likely to creak.
When they reached the top, Flea flashed a hand signal to the two men on guard, who answered back appropriately. Behind that door the Seahorse lord slumbered.
He’d served a traitor, he was himself a traitor. He’d consorted with pretenders and usurpers. He’d raised a flag of rebellion and allied with foreign enemies.
“Root them out.” Flea whispered quietly to himself, as they opened the door.
The Lord of Driftmark lay in his bed asleep. Flea withdrew his dagger. It was a shame; he thought briefly, that such a tool should be first wetted on traitor’s blood. But then, it was for the blood of such it had been commissioned.
Scav watched carefully for any signs of trouble as his master approached the bed.
Flea was methodical with his blade. He’d learned it from one of the best. Like a surgeon his first stroke cut deep across the man’s throat, through larynx and arteries. He couldn’t have screamed if he wanted to. The next blows were deep pierces. One slipping through the ribs into the lungs, one through the side into the liver, and the last through the underarm under the heart.
Wiping his blade clean on the bed sheets, Flea carefully retraced his steps towards the door. Opening it quietly, the two nodded towards Jax and Slyte. They would wait for one hour, and than follow suit.
Flea and Scav headed out through the backdoor, their man closing it cautiously behind them.
Results:
Rhaegar Velaryon stabbed to death in his sleep.
Flea improves to Grandmaster Stealth
Scav improves to Expert Stealth