Whimsical Tales of Woe

Rivals

They were on the hunt. Bounding with effortless grace above the city of Lanningtide on a path only the most skilled dared to take. Beings that existed between the old buildings of the proud city and the darkening sky. They were predators whose retributions were swift, silent and legendary. True creatures of night; their skill unmatched by any of their orders. Rivals. Their exploits had earned them the titles of Dreamwalker and CrimsonWisp. Assassins.

Spoken of in revered hushed whispers by the common folk while the city Lords disparaged them with snide commentary; the two knew their place in the city. Their duty was to eradicate the upper class for the sake of democracy. Often it was those underground that employed their services, other times they acted on the orders of those in the circles of politics to bring down an opponent. Never directly from the source of course, but the motives were clear enough to find the trail of blame beneath the scattered leaves of subterfuge.

Dreamwalker danced across the rooftops while the moon captured her silhouette, agile feet leaving no evidence of her passing. It was a good night to kill.

Months since her last target and that embarrassing incident, she was eager to prove to herself that her abilities could not so easily be replaced by another fool playing a dangerous game. This was her target tonight, and Dreamwalker would not allow that smooth-talking demon to take her place. She knew the atrocities the city lords had committed; knew them first hand.

Her foot slipped on a loose tile as she landed her jump. Dreamwalker crouched to distribute her weight and caught the lip of a gutter. She used the momentum to swing down onto a balcony and inspect her soundings. She often felt followed these days.

The streets of Lanningtide were quiet and thankfully no witnesses where resent to see her slip. That would not help her reputation. She pulled down the white laced bandanna from her mouth and took in a breath of fresh air. Her mind plagued her with the icy touch of unwanted hands and the thick stench of cigars. Her body felt hot beneath the pristine cotton she wore.

Another one will know my vengeance this night. Dreamwalker lifted her face covering and slipped onto the balcony across from her. It took barely anytime at all before she became the feared assassin she was once more.

The white collar district of Lanningtide always reminded her of a child's fantasy; land of make-believe in a world of squaller. The city had congregated all the noble leaders and dictators in one convenient location. There seemed to be little challenge in this task however, as Dreamwalker had identified on her morning stroll through the adjacent gardens early one morning. She had spent the last week scouting out her target's elegant town house and neighbourhood.

Lord Narrin was a middle aged solicitor for the chamber of Lords. He had a home further east in the lush green countryside where is young wife and two daughters stayed most of the year oblivious to his debauchery within the city. He was not a part of the middle chamber, not one of the nine Lords that ruled the streets she roamed, yet his word carried much weight and swift action. Taking him out was not only a priority for the rebels of Lanningtide, but it would be a personal pleasure. He had spoken of her often in his daily collum that paperboys advertised with bought enthusiasm on every street corner in the middle class district.

Dreamwalker had initially been flattered; as the man labeled her a 'Masked man of Murderous Intentions.' She had been more perturbed when he had portrayed her as a 'rat of the sewers and barely capable of rational thought'. He had tried to turn the working-class against her by blaming her for the sabotage of the fishing warehouses and the death of innocent orphans. Not only was that incident due to the incorrect storage of dangerous substances, but Dreamwalker had no role in it what-so-ever. It was the Underground mercenaries which caused that devastating run of events.