Eastern Moonrise Empire, Imperial Palace

2000 years ago the moonrise empire had spanned the length of the known world. From Endless Sand's dessert in the South to The Great Forrest in the North, the empire had spread itself to every inhabitable corner of the continent, but it was not to last. Over time, with no enemy to focus themselves on, the high ranking officials and nobility of the empire could only squabble amongst each other. The slow, festering evil of petty and jealous men in positions of power led to a large rift in the unity of the empire. Helped along greatly by the fire of young warriors, who had been raised on glorious stories of their fathers and grandfathers gleefully slaughtering the last remnants of resistance to the emperor, the southern portion of the empire declared independence... and war.

Earth shaking battles were fought, on such a scale where millions of men could die from a single skirmish. The blood flowed like rivers, dozens of millions were slaughtered, the atrocities too numerous to count, and, over the course of a decade, an entire generation was nearly wiped from existence. After "The Decade of Death", as it would come to be known, a terrible peace was reached. Not from any agreement. Having drained the blood from a generation of its people, there were simply no more men left to do the fighting. The southern lands were left destitute and soon dissolved into the chaos of competing warlords vying for power amongst each other. Over time, kingdoms rose and fell to eventually settle into something close to the configuration it maintains today.

 As for the north, many of the people there had lost faith in their emperor and demanded his brother rule them. The emperor, having seen the fate of the southern lands, decided to do something drastic to save his empire. He split his lands in two and handed half to his brother, on the condition they sign a treaty and vow to forever be allies and support each other in all endeavors. Thus the eastern and western Moonrise Empires were born.

The new eastern imperial palace, known to all as The New Moon Palace, was constructed entirely of black, white veined granite and polished to a high sheen. Built East of the capitol, Thoth, on a gentle rise in the natural terrain, with two domed towers connected to either side of a sprawling six story mansion, the grand estate and place of governance would sparkle like dark gem under the light of a full moon. Tonight was not a full moon. Tonight was a new moon. The lack of light casting the world into shades of charcoal grey and midnight blue. Within this bleak and oppressive landscape, hidden stealthily behind one of the many demon like gargoyle statues that line the mansion's rooftop, a shadow moves. A small patch of light-sucking darkness amidst the near pitch black of the moonless scene. A shadow in the night filled with malicious intent. An assassin...

Corbin Hargrave did not consider himself to be an evil person...  (demon) In his mind he felt more akin to a victim of circumstance. (hahahaha) He had been born to kill. Equipped from birth with the tools to take life. He didn't always believe this but over time the evidence had become overwhelming. Gazing down at the void-like mist that obscured his body completely, he pondered, for the 10,000th time, if some dark entity had tricked or raped his mother to sire him. (just so, just so... hahahaha) If not a demon, then something... Something had given him (cursed you) these powers.

 Even though he was the first born son of House Hargrave his parents ignored him completely. Even the servants, forced to be around him, constantly wore looks of unease when they were near him, eternally fidgeting and jumping at his slightest movements. On the brighter side this had left him all the time he wanted to research and try to discover the origin of this strange power he possessed. Pouring himself into finding the answers to his questions since the age of six, a decade had passed and not even a clue had been unearthed. For the last three years his experiments and study of magic had become extremely expensive. So much so that even the finances of the noble Hargrave household could not hope to accommodate him. Having only one skill and needing money, and more importantly answers, he took up the only profession that made sense. Murder. (youkilledheryoukilledheryoukilledher)

[SHUT UP!!] he bellows mentally to the voice in his head.

(hahahahahah!)

He had spent far too long in his "shroud" as he called it. A dark mist that completely obscured him and was able to match the shade of any shadow, rendering him, for all intents and purposes, invisible anywhere darkness was or a shadow was cast. Obviously a useful skill for an assassin but it came with a price, like anything he did with the darkness. The longer he maintained the shroud, the louder and more frequent the voice of the insane little girl came. It had taken almost a full day and most of a night to reach the rooftop, stealthily slipping from shadow to shadow. Avoiding servants and staff he crept his way right through the middle of the palace and gained access to the flat rooftop. This method would be, for any other person alive, absolutely insane. Under no circumstances would this method ever be possible for a normal man and even for him it was the most taxing and difficult task he had ever undertaken, but the reward was worth it.

No money or rare enchanted item this time. His reward for this monumental and practically impossible task was equal to the difficulty. A book. A very special book. Whispered about in only the highest circles of wizardry and magic, its very existence was considered by most to be a myth. Marduk's Tome. A dark and mythical mage of some time long since forgotten, it was said he could command a man's own shadow to spring forth and devour him whole. Having heard of this legend through various means some years ago, Corbin had nearly shat himself when he had seen it listed as the reward of the contract that had been left for him at a dead drop south of the city. Finally a clue!! The soul binder contract all assassins used assured the reward was genuine. The enchantment on the ring left with the contract would dissipate and it would transform into the book upon the successful completion of the contract. Should the issuer fake the reward or the contract not be completed within a specified time frame, the spell on the contract would activate and one or the other would die. This was the standard practice, and a good practice it was if you asked Corbin. When calling for murder, one should be willing to place his own life on the line as well. (killerkillerkillerkiller)

[Too long... far too long.] he thinks staring intently at his shroud again

[Fine then... shall we visit his imperial majesty?] he questions himself or perhaps the girl in his head. Even he isn't for sure which.

Using the void aspect of his shroud he manipulates it to absorb all sound and slips silently from behind the gargoyle. Looking down at the giant semicircular balcony five to seven meters below him he prepares his shroud to slow his descent and steps off the rooftop to glide quietly down to the landing below. After turning and approaching the balcony doors he extends a sliver of the mist-like shroud through the crack in between the two doors and surrounds the latch on the inside. Muffling the sound of metal scraping metal with the mist he unlatches the door and opens one side just enough to slip through.

The room is dark. Even darker than the moonless night outside. Soft snoring from the large canopy bed at the far end of the room can be heard and the bitter woody smell of strong expensive liquor can be faintly detected.

[His Honorable Majesty got shit-faced drunk last night it seems... how accommodating] thinks Corbin, as he walks casually and without a sound toward the edge of the bed that the sleeping figure is on. Reaching through his shroud he retrieves the tool for tonight's work. A thin spike about 15 cm long, fixed to a thin black wooden grip. Simple. It was Corbin's preferred method for dispatching a sleeping mark. Preparing himself Corbin's heart begins to pound as it always does just before he takes a life, but this time was especially adrenaline pumping. The answer to what his power is, possibly to his very origin, lies just ahead. His hands slightly tremble as he realizes how important this moment is, and Corbin must pause his actions to calm himself. Standing there over the sleeping defenseless emperor, he takes deep silent breaths. Seeing his hands stabilize he wastes no time and thrusts the spike with blurring speed into the temple of the man's head, angled slightly to drive deep into the brain. Shockingly though, the king doesn't immediately die. Legs and arms jerking, hands clenching tightly, the mans whole body flops like a fish out of water and a not so quiet "Hgguuuu" of a grunt escapes from his lips as he convulses repeatedly.

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[Fuck!] exclaims Corbin in his mind. Quickly he swishes the pick back and forth inside the man's skull, effectively scrambling whatever might have been left of his brain.

As the, dead now, emperor stills and his last breath escapes him in a silent death rattle, the gurgling sound of diarrhea is heard while the stench of a high fiber diet permeates the room. Corbin watches him intently for a few seconds ensuring there is no further movement then removes the spike. Surprisingly there is very little blood seeping from the small hole in the side of the man's head. Corbin looks him up and down for a moment.

[Somehow you seem reduced, lying in your own filth, my lord.] a strange urge to giggle rises in him as he stares at the less than noble corpse.

(King of the bed shitters)

His humor rises and he nearly loses himself to laughter at the girl's observation, just barely managing to maintain.

(All hail King Stinky Britches!!)

That's it... that was too much.

"KEEYAAHAHAHAHAAA!!" he laughs loudly, sounding every bit the insane person he hopes that he's not.

*Pound* *Pound* *Pound*

"My Lord? Is everything alright?" asks a deep and imposing sounding voice from the other side of the chamber door.

[SHIT!!!!!] (flee, flee, run for you life, hahahahah!)

Corbin spins, cursing the psychotic little girl in his mind repeatedly, and exits the same way he entered, not forgetting to lock the door to the balcony behind him as he escapes.

Simultaneously in a separate part of the upper palace the soon to be crowned, future emperor of the Eastern Moonrise Empire, Elethan Mordred, is screaming at the top of his lungs while he holds his brother's blood soaked body. The dagger he had just recently plunged into Aremus' heart was still sticking out of his brother's chest as he rocked back and forth with tears in his eyes screaming repeatedly.

"ASSASSIN! GUARDS! TO ARMS! ASSASSIIIIN!!"

Bursting through the door, three men adorned in gleaming plate and mail armor rushed toward the bed where the two brothers were. As they approached they assessed the scene with a sense of impending doom slowly settling down upon them. A court royal, the Imperial Heir no less, murdered while under their watch. A clean death could well be the best these honor bound and death sworn royal guards could hope for after tonight. Drawing near the bed with utter shock painted plainly on his face, the most senior guard quickly assessed the situation. Knife buried to the hilt through Aremus' heart, Elethan clutching his brother's corpse with tears streaming down his anguished face, both covered in blood that was still bright red and had not begun to clot. This had been done recently... very, very recently. In fact, when they had allowed Elethan in, muttering some nonsense about a terrible dream, to wake his brother, the young lord may very well have chased off the killer. Fully understanding the urgency, and the terrible gravity, of the situation, the senior guard begins snapping out orders in a loud voice to ensure he could be heard over Elethan's wailing.

"Marcus! Gather men, the killer is probably still within the palace... Seal the room, seal the hall, seal each floor, then triple the guard on the first and second floor and block every exit! Sound every alarm!"

"Sir!" says the guard before running back through the chamber door to fulfill his mission.

"Gerald! Make safe the Emperor. Gather as many men as you can on the way but do not pause. Inform him that his son is dead and that the assassin is likely still in the palace. Go! NOW!"

"Sir!"

Gerald had no more than just disappeared through the dark, white veined, granite doorway when the resounding peel of heavy bells began furiously chiming.

*DONG! DONG-DONG! DA-DONG!*

Hearing the palace emergency alarm made the lead guards brows furrow even more in confusion and dread.

[Too soon...] he thought, confused. [How fast could a message be sent to the bell towers? Four minutes? Perhaps three?] It had been less than a minute since he was standing outside the room, quietly conversing with Marcus and Gerald.

Suddenly the sound of many running footsteps can be heard from the hall and a cold knot forms in the senior guards stomach. As if he had swallowed a chunk of ice in the winter.

[Too soon!...] he thinks, hands beginning to tremble. [Gerald just left! How could so many already be coming?!]

As if thinking the man's name was a magic spell, Gerald stumbles back through the door breathing heavily. Straightening himself, the man raises his face, which is so pale he looks as though his own dead mother had just appeared before him and condemned him for his evil ways.

"Gerald!" screams the senior guard furiously. "What the fuck are you doing!? Get your ass to the emperor and guard him with your life!"

"Mickael..." he says in a near whisper. "His Highness, Emperor Kennethan Mordred is dead... Assassinated in his sleep."

As alarm bells vibrate the air far behind, a shadow flows silently across the flat rooftop of a high class boutique in the wealthy shopping district near the palace grounds. Drifting gracefully down into a darkened alley between two storefronts, the formless shade lands in a hidden alcove between two locked wood sheds. Now that it was out of sight of the nonexistent people on the deserted streets, the dark haze began to dissipate to reveal the form of a scrawny youth with short dark hair. Leaning weakly against a red brick wall with beads of sweat clinging to the forehead of his sickly pale face, the skinny boy took deep shaky breaths.

With the guards beating on the door, and the psychopathic little girl roaring with laughter in his mind, Corbin had been forced to abandon his planned escape. The entire palace would be locked down in minutes, so quietly slipping out before daybreak was off the table. Hence, Corbin had gone with the only idea his panic stricken mind could come up with. He ran across the balcony outside the kings chambers with blistering speed and leaped off the edge using every bit of power in his small frame. Commanding the darkness to slow his descent, he drifted silent and invisible toward the five meter high palace walls. Gritting his teeth to remain conscious, he calculated the distance and speed as the darkness drained him of vitality. He had only recently discovered this strange use of his shroud and even using it for a moment or two left him feeling weaker. Covering this one hundred meters to the outer perimeter of the palace grounds left him so feeble, he barely had the strength to lift his legs as he sailed over the wall by the barest of margins.

Slowly regaining himself, the teen stands and peers about, getting his bearings, then heads deeper into the alleyway, disappearing from sight.