The Blades of Stygia, v.1

The first iteration of two fanfics written in order to illustrate my RP character for the upcoming Age of Conan game.

 

The clamor of busy pedestrians going about their daily business barely reached Zhan's ears as he nimbly strode atop the roofs of Old Tarantia's Noble District. His silk-padded boots made nary a whisper as he came slow to a stop, eying a cross-bow wielding sentry, eagle-eyed on the busy streets below.

Odd, Zhan thought to himself, didn't see any guards in the common district, and not even the market. Guess the peasantry is for the fishes. With a shrug, he silently drew his dagger, nestled securely at his side. Slowly, certainly, he stalked behind the watchful marksman until he was within arm's reach of the man. He slowed his breathing before swiftly – in a fluid movement committed to muscular memory – placing his hand over the man's mouth, twisting away to bring him off balance, and smoothly sliding his dagger's edge across the guard's neck. A sickeningly warm, metallic-smelling liquid spewed onto his hand. He promptly let go of the man, his soon-to-be-lifeless body meeting the rooftop with a thud. Zhan held his hand in front of his face, examining with odd curiosity the crimson fluid coating his hand. It wasn't as if he didn't know what it was; He'd gotten blood on his hands many times before. He knew how to clean it off of anything to the point that the untrained eye would never been able to tell it had been there to begin with. Yet, it never ceased to fascinate him. A fiery red in the bright light of the sun, but near black in the shadow of the steeple that towered above him. Remembering why he was there, he once again began to briskly carry himself over the rooftops.

After a few minutes of undisturbed travel, he reached the spot his informant had marked for him. The mark of the guild, sketchily inscribed on the rooftop. This was the place. He glanced warily over the edge of the rooftop, looking down at the street below, and then the side of the building he stood upon. He was fortunate; This particular area of the District was slightly less traveled, so he shouldn't have to worry about being spotted. The window was already open; Not that he could blame them. It was a very placid day. A cool breeze was blowing, and it must have felt nice. Zhan wondered if that breeze was worth the price the resident was fixing to pay.

Probably not.

Zhan knelt down and grabbed the edge of the rooftop with his gloved hands. He swung from the roof, then on the return deftly slid feet-first into the window. He landed softly on his feet, then quickly stood and drew his dagger. The room was empty. It was a socializing area of some sort, outfitted with fine sculptures, a variety of house-plants, and a few pieces of wooden furniture that provided seating for the host and his guests. Zhan decided he'd admire the opulence of the household later. Moving with great import through the exit to the room, Zhan began to stalk through the house. The washroom was empty, as was the kitchen. He entered the living room, eyes darting about, when his upper back was introduced to the business end of a heavy, blunt object. He fell with inelegance to the wooden floor. Catching himself barely before his head met the ground, he sprung to his feet while doing his best to ignore the throbbing pain in his back. He turned to face his attacker, but realized he was not alone. He was surrounded by three men, each dressed in a uniform marked with the insignia of the house he was currently intruding upon. They did not attack, and neither did he. They stood, each holding an intricately designed mace, clearly more ornamental than anything else. But they could still pack force, as Zhan could attest.

Footsteps clicked in the silence from the door beyond the living quarters in which the group currently stood. Through the frame entered the owner of the household – a rather trim man, perhaps in his fifties with a half-circle of black hair about the sides and back of his head – followed by a figure garbed in a raiment that appeared nearly black in the dark, but showed to be a deep red in the light that filtered through the curtains drawn over the room's windows. A hood was pulled low over his face, obscuring his eyes entirely from Zhan's view. But Zhan knew who he was; He knew what was going on.

“You son of a b***h, you set me up,” he snarled, still standing ready for a fight.

“Why, Zhan, would I let you get away with this when I could turn you over and get paid tenfold what we would be splitting if the job had gone over,” was the hooded figure's reply. “Honour amongst thieves?” He let out a venom-coated laugh. “Such naiveté. There is no honour here; Only blood and money. Namely, your blood and my money.” Arms crossed, the crimson man stood in defiance before Zhan. “Kill him.”

The curtains ruffled only slightly as the bolt zipped in through the window, planting itself deeply into the neck of the guard to Zhan's right. The mass of flesh and chainmail fell almost immediately. As the others in the room looked upon the crumpled body in shock, Zhan whipped arm sideways, slashing his blade across the nearest soldier's neck before planting a firm kick in his abdomen which sent him tumbling backwards into the wall, blood pouring from the wound. The guard who landed the initial strike on him moved to attack, arcing his mace overhead in a path toward's Zhan's skull. A sidestep and a counter-attack planted Zhan's dagger to the hilt in the guard's side. His knees gave way and he dropped to them. Leaving his dagger stuck deep in the man, Zhan positioned himself behind and grabbed the man's head, twisting sharply. His neck snapped with ease at the assassin's trained hands and he rocked face-first into the ground. He whirled back into a fight-ready position and faced the remaining two men.

“You thought I wouldn't bring help?” He laughed mockingly. “Such naivet é.” Reaching into a pocket in his red-silk garment, Zhan withdrew a spare blade kept for just such occasions. His eyes darted to the home-owner. “Sit the hell down. Don't move.” The man scuttled quietly to the corner in compliance. He moved his eyes to the crimson-clad character. “And as for you,” he grunted, lunging his blade into the stomach of the unprepared figure. “No one betrays the brotherhood.” He twists the blade, jerking it upwards. Blood drips onto the pristine oak floor as Zhan draws the blade to the side once more, eviscerating his former partner. The body fell like all the rest, twitching in a pool of blood.

“If you want to be the only death in your family,” he began, turning once more to the lord of the house, still cowering in the corner, “you'll give me the money you were going to give him.”

Hoarsely, in more of a whimper than a statement, the man stated, “It is in th-there.” He gestured with a feeble finger to a chest in the corner of the room. Zhan had missed it before. After one more silent murder, Zhan crossed the room to the chest and broke off the lock, examining the chest's contents. Little more than a few jewels and a sizable sack that jingled when Zhan lifted it. Coin, and lots of it. After removing his dagger from the fallen guard's side, he left the way he entered and promptly began his trek back to Khemi. He would feast well tonight.