I’ve never taken issue with being an assassin. The Agency is extremely efficient in the sharing of information. Lists of wrongdoings with proof of the same were never left out. We only killed those needing killing. Unsanctioned thieves unwilling to join the Thieves’ Guild, bureaucratic contract breakers, traffickers of people and illicit material, and murderers were the primary targets. I worked with a party of adventurers who ended up being pivotal in the War of the Shard, taking on assignments in whatever city or village we found ourselves.

And those times were good. I felt as though what I was doing led to a better Artan. A better Sartak City. I still do.

But then I met Cara. After the Dokkalfar took my eye she had offered to use her druidic magic to fix it. I declined, but she insisted on tending to my other wounds. Maybe it was the desperate nature of war or fate, but we quickly grew close.

She didn’t like what I did, but she understood it. When the time came, the decision was a simple one. I love her more than anything. Certainly more than the Agency.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

So I left. I earned my retirement through blood and death. Over the years, I avenged and revenged for people with little understanding of the nature of death. Of how death affects those around it.

Death is often confused as being the end. Some assume that after death there is nothing. The shades that dwell in the plane of Penumbra alone are proof that this is not true. It both creates and ends pain. It is the cause of war and peace alike. The death of one can save many.

Perhaps my death could have done the same. Perhaps more would have died had I been killed early in my career. I don’t know if my life will be weighted well on Chaldia’s scale, but I know that Cara is a weight to the good. And I will die trying to be better for her sake. 

~Syler Dunn~