"Is everything in place?"
The scruffy-looking young man knelt before his leader in a secluded chamber, carefully keeping his eyes glued to the floor. It would not do to give offense to one so powerful, and the master did not like anyone looking at him. The youngster had never seen his master's face, only his boots. They were well-polished and expensive, and it seemed as though he wore a new pair each time they met.
"Report," the master's coarse voice commanded. Rumor had it that someone had tried to have the master lynched once in the past, and while he survived, he still bore the scars, including a harsh, raspy voice.
Being a member of their organization came with both perks and perils. One such peril was that failure held harsh punishments, either from your betters or your intended victims. The perk was that, for higher-ranked members of the order, death could often be avoided, so long as none knew your true nature.
"Yes, master," he announced, his voice showing as much deference as his posture. "I report that all of our agents are gathered and in position. Our warlocks have made all of the necessary preparations and are poised to strike. As to our trump card, she has stated that she will be ready at the appointed time."
The bandit could not help but shudder at that last statement. His master noticed it, and said, "Your fear is noted, and well-deserved. Having the dreaded Midnight Witch is a boon for this operation, but even I wouldn't want anything to do with her, were the prize not so spectacular. The children of dozens of nobles, many of their parents, and even the king himself will be attending that tournament. A grand fortune in ransom, all under one roof, a prize the likes of which our organization has never seen before. It is more than enough to make even the least of you wealthy men."
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The master paused, then added, "Of course, the real prize is the opportunity to shame and weaken this kingdom. This realm sits on the knife's edge, and it will take so little to cause it to fall into chaos. And where there's chaos to be found..." the master said, reciting half of the old formula of their order.
"There's profit to be made," the young man replied. He held a hand against his badge, identifying him as a member of the order, its crest showing a hand gripping a stone, the object clutched tightly as blood flowed freely from it.
The master, approval clear in his tone, stated, "Good. Now rise. Return to your position. We will strike Monday, after sunset."
When the underling left, the man in the expensive new shoes stood in thought for a moment. It would be wise to pay the Midnight Witch a visit tonight, to make sure all was well. There was too much at stake to risk any sort of argument or misunderstanding when the operation began.
Worse, perhaps, such a misunderstanding could easily become a mass-casualty event. His organization had toppled kingdoms through manipulation and sabotage, but the Midnight Witch could do so in a single night, all on her own. Such was the power of she who ruled the darkness, the one who was the queen of the midnight hour.
He rubbed at the scars on his neck, where a noose had once nearly ended his life, back when he was far less than he was now. While a noose certainly wouldn't be a threat to him anymore, he was by no means invulnerable, and if he failed in this task... provided he did not die in the attempt, his masters would make him dearly wish he had. After all, his semi-immortality meant he could suffer for a long, long time before he finally was granted the sweet release of death.