Contract Killer

Contract killer

Phase 1: Contract

Arothor tossed the messenger a single copper coin. The starved looking beggar boy nodded with a thank you sir and ran off. The dwarf re-bolted the door and settled into a sturdy oaken chair, slipping the letter out from one of his many pockets. The Inn was quiet this late at night; Arothor was the only patron still awake. He lit the wick of a small candle on the centre of the desk and then scanned the letter. It bore the seal of one of the many Stormwind Noble houses; he didn’t recognise this particular seal. Slipping the letter from its envelope Arothor read through it slowly, his dark green eyes darting across the flowing script. The letter was short and swift to the point.

It has come to my attention that you are an assassin of some skill. I am in need of such skill at this moment in time. There is a certain rogue noble, a threat to Stormwind that needs to be eliminated. The target’s name is Lashela Alania. She is a spell caster, trained in Dalaran. But I am confident one with your reputation can kill a single mage. Bring proof of her death to the Blue Recluse tavern in the Mage Quarters of Stormwind when she is dealt with, inform the barman of this. He shall complete the transaction with you. Should you accept this task, you will receive fifty gold coins on delivery of proof of death. This contract needs to be carried out soon. You have a fortnight.

The letter was unsigned. Arothor read through it a second time and then folded it away into a hidden pocket. Arothor Rockjaw was not one to turn down a contract. Nobles tended to bleed a lot easier than other targets. He smiled to himself, this would be an easy fifty gold coins for him.

Phase 2: Locating

A bear padded through the woods. Freezing suddenly, casting its gaze around, ponderously moving its head from side to side. It bounded over to a bush where a black, dwarven figure crouched. Sniffing him, the bear regarded the dwarf for a long moment before dismissing him as not prey and padding off into the wood again. Arothor let out a sigh of relief and pressed a hand to his lens again, letting it zoom back In on the two figures walking through the hillside. One wore black armour and a full face covering, blood red hood. The other had strange armour on, all purples and reds. Arothor assumed it was some sort of Mage battle gear. He had been watching the two for the most part of a day, Arothor was confident he could take the one that was clearly Lashela Alania easily.

Phase 3: Termination

With painstaking care Arothor slid one of his few Armour piercing rounds into the sniper rifle before him. Then he settled onto the ground, the shrubbery hiding him perfectly. Arothor took a glance around; assessing the immediate area was safe before fitting the sniper rifles scope to his lens’s eye piece.

The dwarf lay there, still and silent, his weapon trained on the old beaten stone tower's door. Eventually the two figures emerged, Alania was in front slightly. Letting out a deep breath Arothor steadied his aim, letting the targeting reticule hover over his target. The familiar feelings swept over the dwarf as they always did when he had the power of life and death in his hands like this. After a moment of savouring the feeling, he pulled the trigger. Arothor barely felt any recoil as the thorium bullet exploded out of the firing tube violently with a snap and hurtled towards his target. A split second later the back of the bullet exploded, propelling it faster towards its intended target.

The moment Alania dropped to the ground the other figure let out a loud, terrifying growl. Arothor jumped up hurriedly and slung his rifle before breaking cover and running back towards the nearby town. Besides the rapid beating of his own heart Arothor could hear the snapping of twigs and a growling from close behind. Twisting his head back Arothor spotted the Female figure running up the slope after him with inhuman speed, eating away the distance with horrifying rapidness. With a curse the dwarf willed his own legs to move faster as he approached the town of Southshore.

The assassin slammed the bedroom door closed and fumbled with the lock. Bolting it. “You can’t hide from me,” came a voice from somewhere close by. Backing away from the door Arothor slid his hatchet and blade from their sheaths with a soft hiss. A sudden unnatural overwhelming fear clawed at the dwarfs mind. Closing his eyes and drawing on his years of experience Arothor hid his thoughts and fears deep. He reopened his eyes after several minutes. He could hear a faint tapping noise at the door, the handle moved down and the sound he was dreading came. Click… Un-slinging his gun Arothor let out another curse as a small metal object bounced into the room…exploding. The room lit up suddenly, rivalling the sun for a blink of a moment. “Where the bloody hell are yer lass!” The dwarf cried out, His eyes watering and rendered useless. “Stop hidin’ and fight properly!” “Oh I shall” came the answer, the voice holding a growling note to it. At the last moment Arothor spun around, the woman was right behind him. Before he could let off a shot a blade came down, slicing into his right hand, his gun falling onto the bed. Arothor’s left hand flew across to draw his hatchet from his sheath, at the same time as he flung himself back to avoid a crippling blow to the groan. Quickly assessing his chances of dispatching this dagger wielding woman, Arothor bolted for the open door. He grinned to himself as he reached the doorframe, it faded as an explosive pain seared through his back. Pitching forward Arothor staggered and fell to the ground. Azumi was on him in moments, pinning him to the ground painfully, holding a dagger to his exposed neck. “This is your destiny. Submit to the Brotherhood or die”

Phase 4: Delivery

Arothor smirked to himself and surveyed the building in front of him. It was a sprawling three story manor built from a dark red coloured brick. Gardens surrounded the house on all sides. Easy to enter without anyone knowing he thought to himself with a sly grin. Heaving himself out of the small stunted tree he had been hiding in, Arothor nimbly, for someone of his build, rolled to the ground and proceeded towards the house, keeping low to the ground, his jet black boiled leather armour blending him with the darkness of the night almost completely.

The Assassin’s fingers danced across the small panel running along the side of his lenses, bathing the nightscape in a soft emerald light. Arothor cast his gaze around, searching for a more immediate way of gaining entry to the house than using the most likely watched, main entrance. After several long minutes of silent searching he came upon an open window at the second floor level. Grinning to himself, Arothor rummaged through the small woollen pack slung across his shoulders. Then with the ease that comes with countless hours of practice, twirled a grappling hook and launched it at the window ledge above. With a cautious tug Arothor leapt onto the rope, rapidly scaling it and heaving himself over the open window ledge with a minimum of noise. The dwarf moved a hand to his lenses again, flicking them back into the normal spectrum of light, then crouched low he slid a long silver dagger from one of his armour’s many pockets. Arothor slowly made his way down the long and deserted hall he found himself in, wincing at every seemingly echoing creak the floorboards made. He passed several closed and dark rooms before coming across one with light leaking from where door met frame. Arothor’s hand descended on the brass door handle and gently exerted pressure on it. After several rapid heart beats the door moved open a fraction. With a silent sigh of relief Arothor continued to gently push the door open for what seemed like an eternity before it was sufficiently wide enough for him to slip through.

Arothor silently unslung his rifle, slipping a soft round into its firing tube. The dwarf assessed the room quickly as he loaded the rifle. The small room before him was a study of some sort, desks and shelves were pilled dangerously high with books and parchment. At the far end of the room below a small window sat his target. He seemed slumped slightly as if he had fallen asleep in the chair. Arothor approached carefully, aware of the old looking floorboards between the rich silken carpets. Standing in front of the dozing noble, Arothor pulled forth a small strip of dirty cloth from his pack. Mindful of what his mentor has instructed him Arothor silently and slowly began tying the cloth around the sleeping human’s mouth. The man twitched and seemed on the verge of waking for a moment before going still again. Grinning Arothor stood back and aimed. Firing the bullet into the humans left knee with a loud snap. Immediately the noble sat bolt up right his eyes flashing open, a muffled scream coming from his gagged mouth. Calmly Arothor slung his rifle and moved forward, slipping the dagger to his targets throat. “Now dunnae move.” The dwarf instructed him coldly, his voice and face devoid of any emotion. The Nobles eyes seemed to light up in recognition, rapidly followed by an accusing stare. Arothor slowly moved the dagger away from his throat then at the last moment it flashed in, burying itself into the nobles right eye. The human thrashed in his chair, kicking his legs out, trying desperately to push his capturer away. “Now yer makin’ things difficult fer yourself” Arothor informed him before hammering a solid punch into the human’s left temple. Stunned, his thrashing seized. Arothor ripped the cloth from his target’s mouth then stood back, dragging the dagger out from the wreckage of the man’s right eye. The nobles face was awash with blood by the time he spoke, some minutes later. “Why…” “Nothin’ personal, they offe’d more.” Arothor replied, no emotion evident in his cold voice. Arothor slid another bullet home into his rifle, shouldering it. The noble began to sob pitifully. The assassin snorted in disgust. A crack rent the air as a bullet leapt from the barrel explosively. His target screamed in terror feeling the bullet streak past his head to burry it’s self in the oaken chair he was seated on. He watched Arothor pleadingly, still sobbing. “I...I can offer you more than Alania is. If it is money you want, I have more than enough.” But the dwarf was deaf to such pleads. He darted forward again and plunged the dagger through the half blinded, sobbing man’s left eye, before dragging it out again in a spray of blood. Before the man could react, Arothor’s other hand smashed into the human’s temple like a sledge hammer. The noble’s head slumped forward against his chest silently. “Now lets see what th’ fates ‘av in store fer yer” whispered the dwarf before slipping out of the room and into the black of the night. Leaving Lord Malker to face death alone.