It was not very talkative.

Perhaps it was based upon principle, but it had never been the conversational type. More of the 'hide in the shadows' type. Of course, it's not like it had many people to talk to.

Emptiness. That was all that greeted it as it walked across the dirt plains. Lifeless, motionless, soundless except for the wind.

The reason everything in this plain is dead has long since been forgotten, for all except the few like it.

Of course, it, too, would forget in time. Time is, after all, the great healer of all scars.

It walked on silents steps across a plain where no one could hear it. There was no grass, no trees, just occasional puddles of poisonous water.

For two weeks, it walked through this dead wasteland. For two weeks, it saw nothing but devastation.

Then it reached the coast.

---

Have you ever said a word so many times, that it lost all meaning?

The girl had failed so many times, had been hurt, had tumbled and fallen, been broken into an unrecognizable heap so much that soon, it did not matter.

She would descend on her cord, fail, then start over again. Weeks, months, years-time blended together. Food was hard to find, but after a couple weeks of exploring the cliff, the resting places of birds became known to her like the back of her hand.

She would descend from the top in the dead of night, walking sideways on silent feet, and scoop up sleeping fowl.

For a long time, this was how she lived her life. Attempt to get the bottom, fail and get hurt, go hunting, repeat.

And then the cycle was broken.

Just like any other day, she was prepping her cord for her descent. There was a change in the wind today, something about it spelled...opportunity.

She took the weighted end of the cord, wound it around a rock outcropping, then stepped off the side.

The sense of falling, of weightlessness...no matter how many times she experienced it, it never lost its' meaning to her.

Then the cord slipped off of the rock outcropping, due to the increased moisture in the air making the rock more slippery.

And suddenly, the girl was in free-fall.

No cord held her up.

No ledges stopped her.

All that she had was her feet, clad in leather.

For her, that was more than enough.

Yanking the cord into her hand, she threw it at an angle at a jutting rock, while running down the mountainside. Using the cord to change and redirect her momentum, she started running across the mountain.

Then she had an idea.

As she passed the jutting rock, she flicked the cord off of the rock. Then, instead of letting gravity hold onto her, she began running at an angle down the sheer side of the cliff. Not once did failure enter into her mind. And not once did she hesitate or pause for fear of messing up.

Had she done so, death would have become a much closer friend.

Switching her angle, she continued her descent, slinging herself along with her cord. And before she knew it...

She had reached the bottom.

Gasping for air, she rested on her knees and looked up the heights that seemed to loom high above her. Then she, too, set off into the forest that had changed little, except for the trees, since the first sapling came to grow there.

...

Grass. Rolling plains of grass. Such a mind-numbing amount that spread from what seemed like one end of the world to the other. How in the world did the earth possibly produce enough space to house all this grass?

As she walked through the rolling plains, she marveled at the number of individual beings that made up those strands of grass. But she had more important things to worry about.

People.

The girl moved stealthily through the plains, avoiding all human interaction. After all, who knew what they would do if they knew what she was going to do.

The people lived in tents, but that did not discourage them from cutting down trees and sawing them into usable planks. Several groups of these people were spread throughout the plain, but there was so much space they would be unlikely to ever meet. Who would take the time to walk two weeks away from your family when there was work to be done?

Poisonous ponds lay everywhere, fouling up the air and killing any insects stupid enough to attempt to nest there. As the girl was almost to the coast...

She was intercepted. Six men, all brothers.

No words were said. Whether the men knew a language was questionable. When she prepared to fight them off...

They showed her a cabin, prepared for her. As she rested and recovered from the nastier of her wounds, she had to wonder...

Just how did these men know she was coming? And how did they know about her? Perhaps...

Well, she was not the first. A rather nasty dent on the mask, accompanied with a little dried blood, was proof that she was not the first to wear this mask.

So what did the previous owner do?

---

Steel is heavy, it thought idly.

Surrounded by two-dozen men wielding clumsy clubs, this thought crossed its' mind.

As they closed in, letting out battle cries-

It leapt.

Like a souring arrow, it flew from the circle of hostile men and began sprinting. It was too tired from lugging its' steel gauntlet to fight, and these thick sabatons weighed down its' feet pretty heavily. Besides, it wasn't allowed to kill anyone but the emperor.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

The tall grass allowed it to escape detection by the clumsy men, and it quickly got back on track. On the way, it stopped to take a drink from a stream-the lakes were poisonous, and would kill anyone that drank from them.

As it continued, it made sure to stay low-to-the ground, in order to remain undetected to avoid more confrontations. Soon, the sea came within sight.

Here, it met three brothers and two sisters. They were dressed in white woolen clothing, and carried staffs of wood. Wary of a trap, it followed them to a cabin. Here was an abundance of herbs, which it gratefully applied to the scraps and cuts caused by sharp rocks that didn't like it invading their mountain. When it was done, it lay down to sleep.

Two days later, the brothers and sisters approached it with a request.

---

The boy could not think. He could not breathe. He could barely walk. Pain was his life, his breath, his very being.

When he stepped out into the sun, he looked into the light, and fell to his knees.

There, at the edge of the forest, his wounds consumed him and he was defeated.

...

He opened his eyes.

Surrounding him were several scores of people, and he was laid out on a table. He examined his body, and found that his wounds had been treated and his broken bones set back into place with splints. He was in a large wooden hall with a thatched roof, Right next to him sat an elderly man, dressed in feathers and furs, carrying a staff topped with an animals' skull.

The elderly man said one word...

"Help."

---

It spoke that motto once more, having encountered another unfortunate event. It said, "Chance is a bitch." as it was led away by two mailed guards that had found him while he was trying to sneak past their city. It was promptly thrown into a dungeon and forgotten about for two years.

...

When the shaking of the earth wrent the earth in two and tore the cell bars off, it was almost willing to abandon the motto. That is, until invading soldiers found him wondering about, ecstatic about being free, and captured it to become a slave. For seven years, it toiled on the fields to satisfy its' masters, only to be sold or discarded for one reason or another.

When the chance arrived, it took it with both hands.

"Did you hear? They say that The Band recruits freed slaves..."

"Bullshit, they just spread those rumors to make us slaves hopeful. Makes us work harder."

"Oh...okay, guess you're ri-"

It slung its' arms around the two slaves, smiling in that sarcastic way of its'.

"So, mateys, how bouts you and I find out about these rumors for ourselves, eh?"

The two slaves looked afraid, then laughed nervously. "Impossible. How would we get free, anyway?"

It took out a clawed gauntlet and ripped off their shackles.

"Like this, see, me mateys?"

---

I have trouble believing that the world is as it has always been.

Why do some people live in cities, and some live in the fields? What's the difference? Who decides?

As I walk along these paved roads, I have to wonder.

Who labored to set these stones that I step on? Why that person, and not someone else? Why do some people pay others to do things, while others take that money and do it? Who says that is how it should happen?

As I arrive at the gates to a magnificent city, the only thought running through my head is, will I be thrown in prison for being a stranger? Or simply persecuted?

Why do men hate that which is different from themselves? Why protect their family, yet attack others? Why can they not think ahead? How can people be so narrow-minded?

I pass through the gate, stepping like a shadow to not wake the sleeping guard. As I walk on the streets, I wear my cowl low and blend in. When someone in bright colors walks by, I bow and scrape, when someone dressed in rags walks in front of me I kick him out of the way.

Why do I do this? Because if I stepped around the ragged old man who worked honestly everyday of his life, instead of giving him a savage kick, I would attract the attention of the guards, and they would know I was different. Perhaps when my goal has been reached, when I no longer have a purpose, perhaps then I can speak out. Maybe then I can be a decent person.

I walk past an alley where a woman is being assaulted. Do I stop to help? Do I call the guards? Do I challenge the men doing so?

No.

I just walk past, and pretend I didn't see anything. Why?

Because if I stopped, then I would stand out, and then I would be unable to complete my work. Even if I hate myself to the depths of my being, I cannot rest, cannot waver, cannot hesitate, to do everything in my power to kill the emperor.

What happens after is not important. Suicide is always an option for assassins, after all.

What happens when hell rejects me for being too despicable is another matter entirely.