Malediction of a Knavish Wiseman
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Chapter One: Bad Day
The door shuddered violently as it grudgingly admitted men and women of similar intent. How they had found the location was a mystery to me, but that and other such concerns had no rightful place in the moment. My hands moved to the hilts of my blades.
Hearing the rapid approach of more footsteps than I had allies, I dispensed with the formality of looking, instead unsheathing my rapier in a cross-body motion and plunging it behind my back into the chest of the night’s first victim. I decided to leave it there momentarily and turned backpedaling with my dagger ready to catch the next opponent’s. He had been hoping to plant his knife about six inches below and two right of my shoulder blade before I turned, and his dismay was evident as I caught his knife hand and moved in for a stab to the heart (quick kill). As the first victim fell forward, I retrieved my rapier before he landed and brought it around in a risky circular airborne arc, close to Shomen but slightly diagonal and originating from a back guard. The next fell, and technique started to become unconscious. Amidst my handiwork I heard the raging taunts of my informant falter as he began to succumb to his injuries, too far away. I honestly can’t recount to you exactly what I did to the rest of them, only that the golden flashes of my blades entombed in scarlet reminded me of her hair.
It tousled playfully with the wind, knowing it could not be victorious, yet putting up admirable resistance. I looked into her eyes; saw my reflection without the scars. The sun cast the same shadows it always had, but they seemed less important, less threatening. Maybe that’s why.
_Daughter of Everhald, you gave me a chance. At life, hope, love, humanity. You were the part of me I had lost along the way. Our time was neither short, nor enough. It was, however, sufficient to unsteel my soul for the end. There is nothing lower and more base than a failed redemption.
Why do you continue to protect a corpse? There is nothing left worth saving, yet the trinket never fails. I failed, though. No matter how quickly I could kill, it was not quick enough. With all my contacts, I could not find another way. Money could not hire somebody to take your place. Don’t dare to think it; don’t forgive me, ever._
“They haven’t come out, Lieutenant.”
“Send the rest in, I do not fail.”The Rest approached the entrance, more cautiously. The pointman edged the door open with his foot and carefully looked around. Discouraged but determined, he stepped inside followed by five others. The door clicked shut in their wake.
A symphony of screams begat a tapestry of blood, visible over and on my shoulder as I stood in the doorway facing the Lieutenant’s guards.
The job had started when a messenger from the usual people arrived in the commons. Out of breath, he told me as little as possible and rushed off to bother somebody else. I picked up on the details later, and went to find my informant in the docks district. He was in hiding, a diminutive shell of his other title. Proper application of persuasive reasoning and greasing of palms landed me in his receiving room. We had began to see things my way when our mutual problem came knocking. I meant to use him in my plan, but intentions mean nothing to the dead.
“Fark.”
The last guard slid downward off my blade and slumped to the ground amidst his companions, his failed grab having exacted the ultimate inevitable price of his services. The Lieutenant, having offered his assessment, fled. With proper momentum, I leapt, kicking off a wall to increase height, and vaulted onto the rooftop.
My prey’s movements were easy to follow, as few can match my stride and fewer still can beat it. Only an air genasai could leap across the main streets of Peltarch; but here, in the squalid alleys, there was no escape. Sprinting towards a gap in the roof, I pushed off and my cloak swept behind me as I glanced below to observe the fleeing soldier. I put my arm out, unbendable as the elf taught me, and landed in a roll. I came out running, which was unnecessary because I was ahead of him. I paused at the next ledge in a crouch, waiting. The Lieutenant scrambled into a tavern below, stopping to ensure he wasn’t being followed.
I dropped from the roof, cloak shadowing my descent and being tousled by the wind. I circled around the building, found an appropriate entrance, and made my way inside.“Where is he?” I asked the bartender, eying my surroundings.
“Who are you talking about?”I drew my blades.
“Hold on! I don’t want trouble. They’re all in the back.”
I stepped around the corner, and momentarily one of the brawlers noticed me. They slowly fanned out to encircle me, none speaking a word. I held my blades down and out to either side, straightening my posture and looking through them to the next obstacle.
Was this how you died, Helena? At the hands of the ignorant? Alone, too imperceptive to be afraid, but with a gut feeling that Lathander had forsaken you? Tell me how it is, that other “champions of good” did not come to your aid, nor so much as bat an eye at your death. They are no better than me, living only to take the next life and never to save. Your faith was as strong as my fighting spirit will ever be, but it was misplaced. It has taken me long to realize I will never be able to protect anybody: you, her, or others I cared about. But now I see the truth, and . . . I’m glad. Thank you, Dame Helena Morninglory.
The bartender braved a scowl.
“Who’s going to clean this up?”
“In folk tales a gold-gilded rag wipes up any amount of blood.”He caught the pouch and, still scowling, offered commentary.
“You’re crazy. You can’t kill everybody.”
“Maybe. Are there any other exits?”
“Yes, don’t you know this building connects with . . .?”I leaned against the wall, waiting. The whispers will never leave me, it’s as if I’m one of them. It would be like ignoring a bottomless pit gaping in front of me, plunging to a slow and violent death. A part of me is still there, falling. I can always feel it, with its blood red skies and endless sand. What’s left of me is stronger, wiser, vexed, and damned to life. I refuse to die because I lack the qualities necessary to be alive.
The Lieutenant had carried a piece of paper with a name on it. It wasn’t mine. Still, it told me nothing I didn’t know. The conversation above, nevertheless, caught my interest. I listened as a student does, approaching things greater than him undaunted. I learned little, and followed the wizard to a warehouse. It appeared deserted.
Momentarily, familiar uniforms made their appearance. They convened near a stack of crates, and one of them had a sharp eye. I tacked an evasive course through the columns and supplies, reaching the wizard and felling half her companions before she could utter a cry of surprise. An abdominal slash with my rapier and an out flung elbow to the chin sent her reeling into a stack of empty boxes. I continued the momentum with my hips and turned to face two men bearing wicked knives, grins, and scars to rival mine. They acted with perfect coordination, one feinting while the other made dangerously close attempts on my vital areas. I sidestepped and rolled to keep proper distance from both simultaneously, biding my time for an opening. They were professionals, their posture not revealing their next moves as with most combatants. Still, as they pressed harder to break my defense, they began to edge too close to each other. It was only a fraction of a second in which they truly erred, an instantly-corrected imbalance most would fail to notice. I stepped onto a crate and leapt off it rotating diagonally head over heels, entangling both of their attacks in the hilts of my weapons. I landed between them facing the same direction as the knife fighters, still holding their blades in my handguards, and continued the motion to a low crouch that threw them off balance. As both were bent forward attempting to recover their balance and weapons, I instantly stood, slashing one’s throat to the spine with my dagger and severing the other’s head entirely with the Anglachel Cutlass. I didn’t bother to clean off my blades, yet.
The wizard was regaining consciousness, and I offered a bow. She spit blood at me, missed. After I had gotten what I could from her, she weakly held out her hand in protest.
“Wait, I can slow them down. You might have time to run.”
“I’m already dead.”As I turned to leave, my right arm swung through a wide arc that etched a bitterly short lifeline into her throat. Walking out, I wiped the blood from my dagger and rapier as much as is ever possible.
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Chapter Four: Reincarnation
I stepped in with a brutal rabbit punch, allowing momentum to travel through my fist and projecting it through the guard's head. Bull-necked as he was, the guard was merely stunned for a moment, which I used to withdraw a dagger from its place at my side. As I drew back to deliver tsuki to the fourth knot down on his spine, the guard whirled with a backfist that struck my temple firmly. Reeling, I managed a shallow cut on his arm. Driven by the sudden pain, he rushed in for a leg pick. I flipped the dagger over in my hand and reached across his back for the sweet spot, missing just barely and getting slammed into the floor like a sack of flour.
The guard, wasting no time, went for a heelhook while I was still down. I managed to twist out and turn the motion into a leg sweep, following up with two kicks to the ribcage. As he monkey-rolled to protect his side, I used Hsing Tsia to move behind him. When the guard tried to stand, I stepped on his calf and moved for the throat. He took my arm in a crushing two-handed grip though, prying the blade away from his vitals. With a fierce jerk, he threw me forward and I took ukemi.
Knowing that distance was his enemy, the guard was already rushing me when I quickly regained my footing. I made two slashes on him as he approached, then planted the blade in his gut. Regrettably, this didn't stop him as he ripped my hand free of the dagger, moving around for a half nelson. I curled my right wrist to keep it in front of me and bore down on his chokehold with all my weight. The guard's grip loosened slightly, at which point I slid under the chokehold and reclaimed my dagger from his torso, cutting up left-handed beneath the chin in one fluid motion. He released my right wrist, attempted to stagger a few steps, then collapsed.
Wiping the blade clean, I took a deep breath I didn't have the time for.
Everything has gone full-circle yet again. Every other blade in the shadows has my name etched on it. Structures, forms of organization threaten to collapse on their damp-rotted foundations. As always, I happen to be walking on the street at the time, full-face to their facades.
I keep making the same mistakes. Trust, reliability, honor; these three are better killers of men than I. For while I have lost many parts of myself along the way, these follow me as no bloodhound can. To discard them, however convenient, would liken me to the hundreds of masterless beasts who have died by my sword. I must become stronger than an ideal, lest my finer traits cause my downfall.
Perhaps it is time to disappear again. To start anew once more. Must I allow myself to be cast into the Abyss before rising from it? Metaphorical nonsense, I will make my own fate.
"So it begins"
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_. . . Wrong?
Were we . . . wrong?
I can't remember what's wrong anymore. Somewhere along the line, things must have taken a turn for the worst.
Regardless, it ended up like this.
And yet . . ._
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Chapter 3: Conception
But it's never that simple. Today's answers are yesterday's questions, and you're wasting your time if you can't think back.
_"See this stone? Catch it, now!"
"Drop your weapons and fight. Only a fool stakes his life on an edge."
"There's nothing to see, nothing to resist, nothing to fight against."
"When scanning the horizon, do so in increments starting closest to you. Then walk your line of sight forward progressively, seeing all that is in front of you at every distance."
"Look at the ground with your feet, mind your surroundings with eyes and ears."
"Hand to hand is the basis of all combat."
"What is this? A gnome's walking stick? Not to us."
"Perfect. As you've probably realized by now, this form of training is highly unrealistic. In the field you will face different weapons, different styles, and different physiques. The duel of equals, however, leads to a fundamental level of competence without which our other techniques are ineffective."
"See this stone?"
"Sometimes, range is good."
". . . nothing to resist, nothing to fight against."
"Catch it,"
"Drop your weapons and fight me."
"Now!"_
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Interlude: Requiem
I’ve known it for some time, but now I am finally able to understand why I couldn’t protect them. They were killed, I didn’t prevent this, and my failure will torment me beyond the grave. Now though, at least I begin to understand.
Life is too fragile to be entrusted to itself. It exists for the most stalwart dwarf as a silken thread amidst daggers. We stumble, and by chance break the threads of others. This is inevitable, because the lifeline is too thin for most to see.
I am no longer most, though. Through training, refining perception, and so many deaths I can now see the thread linking a being to this plane. It exerts pull on every action, turning even the most ‘selfless’ hero into a puppet whose only release from selfish motivations is death (people wonder why there is an obsession with martyrs).
And death is something I can provide. With the awareness of lifelines comes the ability to sever them deliberately. A clean resolution to a tumultuous existence, all their problems solved by a surgical cut. It seems that my job, then, is that of a healer who restores balance and order.
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Chapter 2: Cloak and Dagger Bedtime Story
“A moment of your time . . .” I mused more than asked.
Hardened stares and nothing else answered.
“I’ve journeyed here to take your lives. Let’s begin.”
In fact, it began long before that. Perhaps while I sat blindfolded talking to a man who, on some deep level, wished my death. These are the same old power struggles, just with more corpses. Various people want a piece of Peltarch, and, consequently . . . me. It comes as no surprise that when I do something that may be remotely construed as beneficial to the common good, people start trying to kill me. Yet in this political pit fight, most opportunity lies in making sense of it all. At bare minimum, this stance has left me with enough enemies to sharpen my teeth on, domestic and abroad.
“Find out what the mercenaries are up to. If you’re spotted, they’ll probably kill you.”
“Inspiring confidence,” I insinuated, the light following suit and dimming.
“Damn!”
“You’re afraid of the dark?”
“More a composite of the location and the company.”
I shrugged, “Do you have anything else to say?” It made me think of lifelines.
The thought was carried and received, addressed by a tentative step back. “That’s all.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I toyed with the first enemy, a careless mistake. As he clumsily exposed himself with an improper yokomen, I simply pushed him back into two of his comrades. This allowed the arcanist a chance to ply his trade. A bolt of acid struck me full-on in the chest and I was glad not to be wearing armor. Pain bringing my senses to acuity, I instantly derived the end of our combat. In that moment, they lost.
I took advantage of the soldiers falling over each other by closing to within the range of their weapons. So much, in fact, that the standard weapon techniques we all knew and loved were ineffective. It became in essence a contest of grappling and balance, issues given insufficient weight by most swordsmen. The elf taught me well, though. He was not a swordsman.
The two swordsmen tried to resist my rush by shifting their weight forward and threatening me with the inside guard. Not a chance. I beat aside one’s steel and let my own drop to my side in a back guard, avoiding the other’s entirely save an insignificant scratch. I gave them the resistance they expected, smashing my one-point into theirs. Upon the mistaken assumption that we were in a contest of strength, the two attempted to grab a shoulder with their free hands and shove me backwards. Leaving my grip on both intact, I allowed them to reach and fumble, unable to find me because I offered no resistance and moved off-line. My one point slightly retraced its course for a moment and both attackers launched themselves forward with its assistance. The hin was dismayed to see his allies airborne and blocking his path to my flank, hopping back to avoid being fallen on again.
From the previously established back guard, I brought my rapier through an uppercut, the thickness of the arcanist’s skull providing punctuation to my martial statement. Alas, not wearing armor did not allow him the benefit it had me. I turned on the remaining three, who were in a loose formation to prevent my escape.
I contrasted my earlier mad dash by walking towards them, deliberately but disconcertingly swift. All flinched visibly. I made as if to approach the swordsman on the left, then abruptly reversed direction by pivoting and messily split the ambitious halfling’s head with a yokomen attack. I slipped forward past the next swing using shinonage, finishing the motion with a quick slash that went about halfway through the back of his spine and continued tenkan to deflect and hold the next attack low. I stepped up onto his blade, and to his credit the soldier did not drop it. As he strained to recover it, however, I grabbed his shoulder with the palm of my sword hand and punctured both lungs and his heart with my dagger. The corpse of the other swordsman hit the ground.
This is the horrible wonderful way in which combat distances us from society. Who we are, who others are, ideologies, our anxieties, our pain, and our sorrows all become meaningless. The world is a question that has already been answered, and its contradictions are nuances. We can know peace.
I sat in the commons, thinking tranquil thoughts. Others engaged in a verbal struggle, one dark and the other light, but the distinction applying more to clothing than anything else. I listened, and realized the situation to be allegorical. Same old power struggles, but I understand them more clearly every time.
“I’d hate to see blood,” I interjected as they seemed to be reaching the end of words.
Again, hardened stares answered me. I was tired, though. The debate ran its course and the two men, far from reconciled, sat in the evening’s silence.
“Since nobody is dying, I’m going to get some rest,” I stood.
And here is a good place to end a story. Sweet dreams.
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Bravo.
