Sevran spoke to his friend, placing both his hands on the bar, waiting for the eventual reply. Ethan thought for a moment, his gaze shifted to the bar. "A Theavalon noble, Lord James Ecbert. Come with me, we can discuss the details in the back." Ethan states, gesturing his head to the left.
Sevran nods and lifts his tankard to follow him. Walking around the bar, Ethan opens the door, guiding Sevran to enter and shutting the door behind them. Yvette's magical gaze continues to track them, shifting through the wall and into the back room. Inside the small room are several barrels of ale, all neatly stacked on shelves. They are aligned up against the back wall, opposite the entrance.
To the left are two large crates, next to each other and several empty barrels on the right-side wall. Sevran and Ethan move to the left near said crates. Ethan places his right palm on the wall slight shimmer morphs into a rectangular shape. A few moments go by and a small wooden panel, indented into the wall suddenly emerged.
Pulling the small handle open, a panel revealed stacked parchments within. Grabbing the one on top and pulling it out. Closing the panel, before turning around to face Sevran. It suddenly vanished once the parchment was removed and placed onto the crate. Depicted on the parchment is a man's face, with several sentences written below. The drawing is of a middle-aged man, with long hair draping down his shoulder and a square jaw with a small vertical scar on the right side of his chin.
Sevran moves over and stands to the right of Ethan. Both cast their gazes to the parchment, Ethan holds it in place, explaining the contents of the parchment. "This is Lord Ecbert, the client has offered three hundred gold pieces for his death. They have stated that it can't look like an assassination." Explain the situation, Sevran nods periodically.
Finishing his sentence, Sevran asks a question, his hand coming to his chin in contemplation. "So, are we saying the client wishes we stage an accident. Alright, do we have an opening, nobles are cautious by nature and will be well guarded?" He queries.
Gesturing his hand forward with his palm facing upwards, exaggerating his question. Ethan turns his body to face him. "Yes, there is a royal gala within a few days. Lord Ecbert will be in attendance." He explained.
"Okay, we are going to need two tickets to the gala, one for my alias Lord Harold Davenport and of course his wife. Yes, bringing a date will be less suspicious." Sevran explains Ethan's eyes widen at the statement, and confusion crosses his mind.
Coming back to his senses he asks a simple question. "Wife, who will fill that role. Would you like me to call on Lutessa to assist?" He asked.
The assassin flashes a fearful and soon after contemptible expression. The mention of the name, the expression lasts only for a moment, exhaling his breath and calming himself. "No need to bother her, I have a good idea of who will fill the shoes of Lady Davenport." He said, delivering a slight smirk.
Yvette continues to observe, noticing a slight rustle to her side, and an angry voice rings out. "Watch where you're going, kid!" A gravelly voice resounds before a loud bang can be heard.
Yvette continues to observe Sevran as events unfold around her. Sevran spoke to Ethan but is alerted by a faint banging through the door. Paying it no mind he continues his conversation. "So, let's talk about the other details, we will need to make further arrangements." Sevran stated, placing his hand on Ethan's shoulder.
Yvette still gazing upon them, another closer voice resounds. It was as if directly in front of her, but nowhere to be seen. "Hey, there pretty one, why are you hiding that beautiful face under that hood. Come on let me see!" The crass voice emanates in front of her.
Soon a hand swiftly tears forward, grabbing her collar, causing her hood to fall back revealing her face. Her eyes still closed, prompting the voice to eagerly rage. "Come on open up I want to see your eyes!"
His voice rose an octave, far more aggressive the before. Her vision of the clandestine meeting faded. Opening her eyes she noticed a dark-haired and green-eyed man. He had a faint old complexion set upon his leathery face. Her gaze casts downwards, to see him grasping her collar. Behind him are three men, holding the young bar worker to the wall. Shift her gaze to the left, noticing his left-hand, flat on the table and that mischievous smile. His gaze is shamelessly cast to her cleavage.
She smiled with teeth, likely making the rough man excited. She clenched her dagger tightly, swiftly unsheathing the blade, violently tearing from its sheath and upwards. The blade facing downwards descended upon the man's undefended hand. Piercing the skin, a stream of red blood spewed forth. The blade pushed through his hand, indenting into the table and locking him in place.
"You bitch!" The man bellowed, part in pain, part in anger.
The sudden sharp pain of the dagger compelled the man to rage against it. Releasing her from his grasp, she ascends to her feet. Quickly grabbing the back of his head, she violently smashes it into the table. The wooden structure cracks from the force, and a small wooden shard pierces the man's forehead. Falling to the ground, he gets caught by his hand, yanking on the blade.
Yvette continued to smile before taunting him. "What did you call me?" She asked with a malevolent grin, twisting the dagger anticlockwise before violently withdrawing it.
The blade cleanly exited flesh, spraying blood and staining the wooden table. The man grunts in pain, falling to the ground clutching his bleeding hand and shuffling back. The commotion spurs the other patrons to quickly ascend from their seats and vacate the premises. Leaving only Yvette, the bar stewards and the three men.
The other two turn their gaze to Yvette, their eyes locked on the blood-soaked dagger. Their hands clutched the young man and pinned him to the wall. He was still seated on the floor, his back to the table, desperately compressing his wound. The downed man grunted in pain, turning to his friends and screaming at them. "Get her!" Those two words prompted his associates to act.
Out of the two, one is much larger than the other. The smaller man continued to pin the boy to the wall and the larger man set to attack. The predatory expression was written all over his face, his piercing eyes and large stature barrel forward. Undeterred, Yvette clenched her blade and readies herself for the fight ahead.
The large man wearing brown leather armour, layered over his grey tunic, draws an iron short sword. Raising the blade, the edge thrust forward. Slowly move forward, maintaining his even stance. Swaying slightly left and right, he slowly covers the ground.
Yvette noticing his advancing stature raised her fists and dagger, and she fell into a combat stance. The large man with deadly intent emanating from his eyes lunged forward. His blade flew forward in a swift motion, slicing vertically and downwards. The blade descends upon her, directed at her head. Just before it reaches her, she arches her back and ducks. Raising her left hand, she swiftly grabs his arm, just at the wrist.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Pushing the blade away from her body, she raises her dagger above his arm and then swiftly plunged the blade into his forearm. Blood seeps from the wound, and the man grunted loudly in pain. His hand shaking in pain, he loses his grip on the sword. Clenching in an attempt to hold on, he had not noticed the dagger rushing forward and swiping across his face.
The man pulls his face back as a spray of blood stains his face. Angered he pushes her away with his shoulder, sending her into the wall behind her. Jostling she rises to her feet and retakes her stance. This occurred and the man with the injured hand, rises to his feet, still grasping his injury. Standing just to the right of the much larger one, the third man. pinning the fearful young man to the wall turns his gaze to the incident.
Lingering for a moment, grabbing the boy's head with his left hand and pushing him against the back wall. He moves forward and joins his cohorts, grouping up as they surround her. This occurs just as Sevran and Ethan open the backroom door and re-enter the tavern. Sevran exits first as Ethan trails behind.
Returning to the tavern, they both witness the three injured men with short swords. Advancing on Yvette, Ethan's eyes blaze with fury. He steps forward with violent intent. His right foot firmly planted forward, Sevran prevents his advance. Turning his gaze to the left, Ethan gives a confused expression.
"Not yet, I'm curious to see how she will fair." Sevran states calmly. His eyes dart back to the scene, a teacher observing their students' merit.
Ethan reluctantly stops, relaxing his shoulders, and standing alongside him. The larger man moves forward, and the two others trail behind and follow him. He reaches the table to her left, gripping the side and flipping it over and out of the way. Her adversaries approach her, she taunted, unafraid of the clear number disadvantage. "Well, what do we have here? A couple of brainless brigands want to gang up on me. Well, come on then, let's see what you are made of!" She gestures, her arms outwards in a taunting manner. A wide grin upon her face, as well as a strange sense of confidence.
The man's eyes engorge, their anger reaching such a height, she suspected steam would come out of their ears. Gritting their teeth, they snarl in unison, like rabid dogs. She remained undeterred, instead smiling. Turning her gaze to the left, a small chair exists, only two feet away. The larger man lunges forward, both hands wielding his blade with deadly intent. His sword's hilt near his hip, he charges forward. The blade aimed directly at his enemy. It propels through the air and Yvette's gaze turns back to him for a moment, sheathing her dagger.
Her enemy approaches like a mad bull, barrelling towards her like a barbarian, ready to crush skulls. He swiftly approaches and she turns to quickly grab the chair. Gripping it tightly, she ferociously slams the piece of furniture into his side. Breaking on impact, the chair collapses to pieces, wood splinters propelling in each direction.
Injured he stumbles to the ground, blood seeping from the cut at his left temple. Dazed and confused he drops his sword. Seeing an opening she drops the shattered chair, and unsheathes her dagger. Reaching for the left side of his face, pushing it slightly to the side. she plunges the dagger into his neck.
Cradling his head, the body starts to twitch sporadically. The blade slides deeper into his neck, prompting him to gag loudly. Blood pours into his throat and foams out of his mouth. Holding the dagger in place, her gaze turns to the other two, now frightened men. The fear was obvious to anyone with half a brain. Their individual expressions are in a state of shock. Watching helplessly as their friend twitches and jerks, a dagger in his neck. Now with a cold gaze, she smiles maliciously, that sinister grin before making a chilling statement. "It's easier to slaughter a rabid dog than a pack of wolves." The words leave her mouth, the sheer brutality evident in every syllable.
The two men step back a few paces, clearly wary. Her gaze turns to the young man at the back, a bruise on his left cheek. She nods to the door, signalling for him to leave. Replying with a reluctant expression, he immediately shuffles around, leaving the tavern in haste. The two men look at each other for a moment, returning their gazes to their enemy. Pulling her blade from his neck, his limp body tumbles to the ground. Hunched over with his face to the floor, the blood spills from his neck. The crimson liquid forms a dark red pool, growing ever larger.
Ethan is still beside Sevran watching current events. Ethan with a shocked expression, frantically speaks. "Sevran, stop this she is breaking my furniture now. I just had those replaced from the last brawl!" He begged.
Sevran turns his gaze to meet Ethan's and with a slight smirk, he says nothing. His gaze is firmly placed forward at the two grunting men. Their blades firmly grasped, and their sights set on Yvette. They both stand on the opposite side of the bar, unaware of Sevran's presence. He slowly walks forward, exhaling a breath and shrugging his shoulder. He makes his way across the tavern, before the man with the injured hand notices. His frowns, eyes squinting at the sight. His slight neck curved to the left, and his sword remains fixed on his enemy.
Sevran continues to walk slowly, with only a few steps remaining. The man grunts angrily, turning his whole body to the left. Yvette looks confused, her arms relaxing to her sides. The man now clearly recognising another threat, bellows at the top of his lungs. "Who are you, what do you want?!" He queries.
Sevran pays his no mind, continuing forward with an even pace. Reaching just a few feet away, the man angrily shifts his sword to the right. Slicing his blade towards his new opponent. Sevran's eyes squint, and his facial muscles tense. His gaze darts to the left, the sword growing ever closer. Gliding through the air, he pushes his right foot forward, leading into a rigid stance.
Shifting his right forearm across his body, his fist pointed to the ceiling. His arm collides with the man's wrist, pressing against it. Pushing the blade away, he swiftly plunges into his enemy's reach. Rising to grab the sword's hilt, he grasps it tightly, constricting the man's wrist. Forcing the enemy's blade to stop, he viciously turns the blade backwards and plunges it into the man's chest.
Giving a final remark, Sevran spoke calmly as the man dies. "When a stranger approach you, don't talk, ask who they are or what they're here for. Just assume they want to kill you, that way you won't ever be surprised when they shove a blade into your gut." Sevran spoke coldly, his gaze examining the man as he dies.
Blood drools from his mouth, spitting up, and he desperately gags for his breath. Grunting a few times and falling to his knees. Looking down at the deceased man, his own sword plunged into his chest. Soon after he ignored his existence or lack thereof. His gaze turns to the last fearful man, a few metres away.
Sevran’s icy gaze pierces the shivering and blubbering mess he had become. Likely watching the deaths of his associates had deterred him. His sword gyrated in sync with his terrified heart. Sevran's expression conveys complete indifference as if he hadn't just taken a life. Moving forward as if death was inching towards him, his heart filled with dread. Peering at his fallen comrade, he summons up what little courage he had left. His blade rises high above his head, as he propelled forward for one last attack. Reaching his enemy, he descends the blade with all his strength.
Sevran's gaze flicks to the blade, before delivering a right hook to the man's left cheek. Colliding with his face, his other hand, parried the blade away. The man now dazed and confused, Sevran shifts his right arm over the man's head and grapples the back of his neck. Delivering a swift knee to the man's stomach.
Grunting in pain, he drops his sword and keels over. Sevran releases his arm and firmly grasps his chin, holding the back of his neck. Gripping tightly, he savagely twists it anti-clockwise, snapping his neck. The man drops to the floor with a loud thud, his limp body descending like a marionette with his strings cut.
Sevran gazes at the deceased man for a moment, before lifting his gaze to the shocked Yvette standing a few metres away. He cocks his head to the right creating a slight snapping sound with his neck.
Returning upright he gazes at Yvette for a moment, before exhaling a deep breath and delivering a chilling remark. "We are assassin's, not butchers. Cold and calmly do we dispatch our foes, with precision, absent fury. But other than that good show." He critiques.
Yvette flashes a slight smirk before moving past the bodies and standing directly in front of him, a few feet away. The sound of approaching footsteps is heard to the left of them, with each step a slight creak on the wooden floorboards. Arriving a few feet away from them is Ethan, appearing with a disgruntled look and crossed arms. It was abundantly clear he was not a happy man.