Click-a-lack, the great brass lock opened at the slight twist of the lock pick held in Ezereth’s milky hand. Slowly he used his shoulder to push open the broad oak wood door, hoping the servants oiled the hinges often enough that there would be no noise as he snuck into the royal sector of Emendua castle. Dimly lit by sputtering torches, a long hall stretched before him, on each side of the hall evenly spaced oak doors with identical  brass locks stretched as far as the little light he had allowed him to see.

On each door a crest was carved into the surface, a crest for each noble bloodline. Ezereth reached into his cloaks pocket to retrieve a crumpled piece of brown parchment. After moving closer to the nearest torch he memorized the crest scrawled onto the parchment. A tree barren of leaves, surrounded by barren land and a phoenix perched on the highest branch.

Ezereth moved silently down the dim hall, treading lightly on the marbel floor, polished recently enough to reflect some of the sputtering torch light. Stopping briefly at each door he would check the emblem carved into the wood, never pausing for more then a breath or two before moving on. Crest by crest he searched, five headed dragon, striking serpent, fish and net, emblem by emblem he continued.

As the end of the hall came in sight he spotted the crest he searched for. The crest of the Engatta family, the noble inside was known far and wide across the elven kingdom, and even in other kingdoms. He had recently donated a large sum of money to the School of Sciences in Larthenon. While doing this prospered the kingdom he had openly snubbed the Naturalist Guild. The Naturalist guild were a bunch of fools clinging to a dying way of life in the opinion of many, yet they held a powerful sway over many a land. This in addition to the series of speeches Rikhail Engatta had recently given encouraging people to look to newer and better life styles, easier work, man made medicine over herbal remedies, and most importantly, the idea of disbanding the Naturalist Guild forever.

Ezereth’s own opinion mattered not, if a client would pay for his expertise… well then he cared not what the consequences would be. The Assassins Guild was a kingdom unto itself. No one dared touch its members, or try to outlaw its headquarters in any city, at least not as long as certain rules were up held. Long ago the guild had made a treaty so to speak, with the kingdoms of Midguard. As long as all assassins had a legitimate contract for a mark, it was legal, the instant an assassin killed out of anger or for personal reasons he was a common criminal, the guild could no longer protect him. And any raid on a headquarters, or any murder committed to a member allowed the guild to retaliate, although this rarely happened for assassins were hard to kill unless you are one, and then you are sentenced to death for murdering one of your own unless sanctioned by the guild. Few broke the rules, death at the hands of the guild was not something anyone looked forward to. Killing your own kind was enough to get you a week of torture that made the inescapable death at the end welcomed.

Ezereth eased the unlocked door open and slipped inside. Darkness enveloped him immediately, closing his, now useless, eyes the albino listened for the sound of breathing. It was shallow, almost imperceptibly uneven. His mark was awake. This would complicate things only slightly as far as Ezereth  was concerned. Drawing the rune inscribed dagger from its leather sheath he crept over to the side of the bed and reaching into his cloak he retrieved a yellow rune stone, closing his eyes he called on its power to grant him vision. When he opened his eyes yet again his mark lay on his back, unknowingly looking straight at Ezereth. If it had been just a little lighter he would have been able to see his killer, but the pitch black was to dark even for elven eyes.

Putting the rune away he quickly cupped his hand over Rikhail Engatta’s mouth and raised the dagger, Rikhail struggled but was no match for Ezereths strength. The dagger slipped in between the elf’s rib cage and into his right lung, within seconds he drowned in his own blood. Cleaning his blade on the bed sheets he thanked Angwatha’s spirit.

As he prepared to leave he removed a single white feather from his black as night cloak and placed it in Rikhail’s hands which he clasped together on his chest. Closing the dead elf’s eyes he slipped from the room, leaving the tragedy shut in its own small unnoticed corner of the palace. Come morning, the streets would ring with calls of the ‘Snow Owls’ newest victim.

Snow owl was the alias he had taken when he chose to leave behind his innocence, his child hood… his past. He had been called many things before deciding on that one, the streets would ring from things such as heart peircer, deaths shadow, and many others that were lost in Ezereths memory. Then in a tavern one day Ezereth had heard the name Snow Owl… the memory came back so smoothly… as if it were yesterday.

~~

Ezereth stepped out of the howling wind and pouring rain that plagued Garmon T`ae, a small city in the northern parts of the Northern Orch lands. He sat himself at the bar and signaled for the house ale. Sipping at the warm drink that they placed in front of him he contemplated last nights successful assassination of the Arch Duke of Garmon T`ae, Kubise Grawsh, whose castle had been self named. Next to him sat two well dressed orchs, talking loudly over there mugs of that very accomplishment.

“Aye, was the work of the Snow Owl,” said the taller one wearing a red hat.

“`eard they fin`ly got a glimpse of em,” Said the one with the bad accent.

“Heard it was the maid Shela,” red hat responded, “said he was white as flour, an eyes as red as the deepest ruby.”

“`erst one to eva see em an live to tell,” bad accent added to the description.

Leaning to enter the conversation Ezereth made sure his hood was low and said, “Who is this Snow Owl? Some kind of an assassin?”

“Greatest assassin to ever walk some have said,” red hat boasted.

“Where do they come up with a name such as ‘Snow Owl’,” he asked in feigned sarcasm.

“They say he is as silent as a snow owl at night, not a sound in the world.”

“`ndeed, `is marks don` know they been had till he slips his blade through their heart, same place ev`ry time,” bad accent added, “`ats how they no iz em.”

~~

Ezereth had inquired about the maid Shela. That night he had returned to the castle and ended the wretch’s life. Now he could honestly say nobody had ever seen him and lived. That had been the first time he ever left a white snow owls feather in a victims clasped hands and ever since the name had stuck.

Closing the door behind him the assassin crept into the shadows and stole his way to the double doors at the end of the royal sector, pushing them open just wide enough to slip into the lounge and shutting them behind. The room war full of soft chairs and tables, a dimly flickering fire place still shed some light throughout the room. On either side of the fire place were tall windows, latched shut. Silently Ezereth crept to the one on the right and popped open the ornate latch. As he began to lift himself through the now opened window he sensed a disturbance in the calm air of the room. One of the doors behind him had just swung open.

The elven maid gasped as she dropped the fire wood in her arms, as she sucked in her breath for a shout of warning a poison tipped creta flew from his gloved hand. The six pointed disk sank deeply into her throat Slender hands darted to her throat as she gasped for air, as the poison took effect she stumbled backwards and tripped on a fallen log. Crashing down she landed on a cart laden with silver utensils, sending plates and silver ware skittering and banging to the ground. Shouts rang from distant parts of the castle as the noise alerted guards.

Cringing Ezereth slipped through the window and began a several hundred foot plunge towards the palace grounds. Brandishing two metal handled hooks he dug the triple clawed tools into the palace wall, slowing his decent in a shower of stone and spark. As he began to near the level of the surrounding walls he kicked himself away from the wall and dove down towards the walls. Landing silently on the walkway he leapt again over the ledge and towards the grassy hills beneath him. As he landed the claws were reattached to his belt and he began his mad dash for the docks no less then two hundred feet away.

He was reasonably sure he hadn’t been spotted by any of the guards on the wall, and there was no way the nobles body had been discovered yet. Ezereths feet struck wood as he entered the dock, now only a hundred feet more to the boat awaiting his arrival. He passed several barges and a few luxury vessels before turning into the place where a smaller vessel clearly meant for speed was docked.

The watchman gave a whistle as he saw his passenger approaching, and began untying the boat, the sail unfurled and the boat was shoved off. Jumping several feet the albino landed on the deck. The watchmen ran to the front of the ship to attend his duties.

Ezereth relaxed his muscles and slowed his breathing as he removed his black mask. He turned to look passively at the castle silhouetted by predawn light as the alarm bell began to ring loudly. Rikhail had been discovered, or maybe the maid, Ezereth neither cared nor desired to know. His job had been completed and his pay was all that remained. Another successful kill… another piece of his humanity destroyed.