Rogue Slayer

AFFILIATION

Alignment: Hero

Team: Sentinels

VITAL STATS

Strength: Standard

Agility: Superior

Mind: Superior

Body: Standard

RECORD

Personal Wins: 1

Personal Losses: 0

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The young man looked down at the scroll in his hand, perusing the carefully written words. They were written in red ink, and the roll had been sealed with red wax stamped with the seal of an eye crossed by twin daggers. I took the man a mere five minutes to read the careful instructions, special rituals, and commit them to memory. Complete, the man struck a match and lit the scroll.~Even as the paper flared, the man was dressing. He was an unassuming, ordinary-looking man, the type of person who could get lost in a crowd easily. The clothes he wore were as out of the ordinary, which means not. The only way to distinguish him from an artisan or apprentice was the twin short swords he had strapped to his belt, alongside several pouches containing the tools of his trade. Hidden under his cloak, only a careful search of his person would reveal who he really was.~He was a Slayer, a member of a specific caste that was commonly known, incorrectly, as the Caste of Assassins.~Slayers were not assassins. It was beneath them to creep in the shadows and kill someone in their sleep. Let the poor, the foolish, the despicable perform those acts. No, the Slayers had a far more important role in society. Their name, derived from a language long dead, translated to "The Caste of Kingslayers".~They were founded by the first king to sit upon the throne of their land, in a Machiavellian flash of foresight. The throne would be open to corruption and tyranny, and if a crafty king ascended the throne he could hold it with an iron fist, mocking the ideals and laws the first High King had envisioned. Thus, from that fear, were the Kingslayers born.~A caste to challenge kings themselves to duels... and to kill them. The high council of the Kingslayers, headed by the Grandmaster, was extraordinarily influential; a king had to command the pleasure of the council to continue ruling... and breathing. This current king did not, and thus, a Slayer was dispatched.

For all his contempt of assassins and contract killers, the Slayer was every bit as cold as the ones he disdained. It was not entirely accurate to say this Slayer was indistinguishable from the common man. Yes, he could be easily lost in a crowd... as long as no one looked at his eyes. They were cold, absolutely cold, betraying the heartlessness that he required for this profession.~He was but the hand of the Kingslayers. The council had condemned the current king of greed and general incompetence; the man would not even be aware of the council's trial until he infiltrated the castle and made himself known to deliver the challenge. Then he could kill the king.~The single-mindedness of an automaton had taken hold as soon as he had read and comprehended the instructions on the scroll. Mind blank, his only thoughts were of those that would better his mission. It was a part of the harsh training and conditioning that enabled such coldness.~In his mind, though, nothing was out of the ordinary. He was a product of his upbringing... and there was a target not yet dead.

Shadow Walker

     Invisibility: Standard

 

The Slayer slunk through the shadows of the night, his clothes serving the dual purpose of hiding him among the masses of citizens and the pockets of darkness of the buildings. Weaving in among the masses and the darkness, he avoided the watchful gazes of the city guards until he was confronted by the sheer, imposing stone walls of the castle. Too high to scale, he would have to find his own entrance.~Like a wraith the Slayer moved along the wall, unseen by the sentries, darting in and out among the shadows. So quiet was he that even though he passed bare feet from a sentry, he was not detected. Finally, he found a promising feature among the heavy granite of the castle walls: a small supply door, lightly guarded.

 

Digging

     Digging: Standard

 

The Slayer crept up to the small entrance and its two guards. Withdrawing a slim dagger from his pocket, he sprung from the shadows. The startled sentries only had a moment to feel a prick as the dirk nicked their skin. Before they could react to the ghost of a man whom had stung them, the Slayer was already hidden among the foliage and darkness. A moment later, the two unlucky guards crumpled to the ground as the weak poison in the blade rendered them unconscious.~The Slayer slunk out of his hiding place, noting the steady breath of the slumbering guards. He as obliged to kill no one but the target; he was no assassin to kill whatever inconvenience that stood in his way.~Turning away from the men, the Slayer peered at the door. The lock was heavy iron, and the wood it was attached to was strong and solid. No matter. Doors and barriers meant nothing to him. Sliding a tool from his belt, he jiggled the tumblers of the lock and opened it. Having defeated the implacable walls of the castle, the Slayer stalked into the interior.

 

Kingslayer

     Slicing Attack: Superior

  • Double Damage to l6v:Master Training

 

Moving among the rafters and through deserted hallways, the man slowly and methodically made his way towards his goal. Even though this was his first time in the castle, the deeply ingrained lessons served him well, and by rote he knew where the king was having his supper.~After quietly ducking into a small niche to avoid a steward, the Slayer entered the banquet hall. Sitting at the head of a great table, alone, the king was slowly eating his dinner. The Slayer stepped forward, no longer regarding stealth, until he was only a three paces from the king.~The king slowly lowered his utensils and looked up calmly at the Slayer. The king was a relatively young man, no older than two score years and, in his personal opinion, a good and just ruler, but his lot in life was not question why. He stared at the king, and, to his surprise, found that the lord was staring back at him, just as hard.~"What are the charges?" the king asked him quietly. "Why have you been sent, Slayer"~The Slayer shifted uneasily on his feet. In all the reports of past assassinations, the target would attempt to wheedle, or beg, or threaten, or bluff, as was expected of an unworthy king. Never... this. "The Grandmaster has found you incompetent and unjust," he recited the charges to the silent king. "You are not worthy of the throne."~The king just gazed into his eyes for a minute. The Slayer felt as if the eyes were looking into his soul. "And this is what they told you, Slayer?" The king shook his head. "I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that the corruption has become this blatant, or that I have finally treaded too far." What corruption? Whose? The king's? "I will not resist you in your mission, Slayer, but promise me that you will see this through... all of it."~The Slayer, despite the coldness of his mind, heard the king and nodded. He slowly drew out one of his short swords from behind his back.~A moment later, a man quietly slipped out of the castle, just as the screams began.

 

Swordmaster

     Sword Master: Superior

 

The following day, the man again entered the castle, this time in broad daylight and through the main gateway, where many pairs of eyes looked down upon the unremarkable man. He wondered why he was being summoned to the castle for his debriefing, and not to the stone building near the edge of the city.~He was ushered into the throne room, and to the Slayer's surprise, found the Grandmaster of the Caste of Kingslayers standing next to the throne, hand grasped on the shoulder of the dead king's young son, the heir apparent. The boy looked pale with fatigue. The Slayer frowned at this odd development, but said nothing.~"Ah, my loyal Slayer!" the wizened master called. "You have come!"~"I am at the Caste's service," he replied, with a bow. He wondered if the Grandmaster noted the specific use of "Caste".~"Ah, I know, I know, loyal servant. Now, I require one last service of you." The Slayer was uncomfortable with how the Grandmaster was using possessives. "Now, finish your job, so I can shepherd this forsaken land. Kill the prince."~At the sound of those words, the Slayer froze. By the laws that governed the Caste, laid down by the first high king, the prince was to ascend the throne with the blessings--and careful watch--of the Grandmaster. They were the Caste of Kingslayers... and they only slayed kings. The Grandmaster trafficked in madness! Suddenly, pieces fell into place. He understood what the king meant by "corruption." He knew that the prince's face was blanched from fear, not fatigue. "I will not," he said to the Grandmaster.~"So be it," the master said, and he heard the rasp of steel being drawn from all around. His own blades appeared in his hands as if by magic, just in time to intercept the slashing metal of other Slayers who had appeared from the shadows. Judging by the ferocity of their attacks, they actually meant to kill him.~But he wasn't going to let them.

 

Bladebreaker

     Immunity: Standard

 

As steel clashed with steel, he realized what betrayal had been made known in this room was not only to him, but to the kingdom itself. The laws and balances created by this land's first king were being cast aside and defiled. The Caste of Kingslayers was to never ascend the throne. Never. The ringing of metal was coming on faster and faster.~Whatever these Slayer had become, these scum were not kings. They were not worthy of the blades that only sought the blood of rulers. And that knowledge, that this kingdom would collapse if usurped by an assassin, drove him and gave him new energy. With a roar, he lashed out with his blades. When the steel of his weapons cleaved flesh, it was not fatal. When his limbs lashed out to strike opponents, it was only to disable and maim.~In seconds, half a dozen disarmed, disabled, and unconscious Slayers lay around him. He looked back towards the Grandmaster, who was still holding the terrified boy. "So, you choose the life of a rogue?" the Grandmaster sneered at him.~"No," he growled as he threw the tranquilizer-coated dagger, "I choose the life of a Slayer."

 

Kingmaker

     Tactician: Supreme

 

Running. He had the stripling of a prince, no more than eight years old, cradled in his arms. He had to flee, flee the city before the corrupt Grandmaster awoke from the poison-induced slumber. Run, run, run. Growing tired, he slid into a deserted alleyway to catch a few moments of rest. He checked his equipment, and, satisfied, instinctively moved into a pocket of shadow.~The young boy followed him. Despite the shocks of the day, the prince was holding up admirably. Considering what, exactly, the shocks had been, the Slayer had no doubt that this young boy would make a fine king someday. But only if the traitor was removed from the throne.~He felt a tug on his sleeve. "Are you my guardian?" the boy whispered. Even without any experience in these matters whatsoever, the boy knew to be quiet. He would be proud to call this boy king when the time came.~But what of the question? He was not sure what to say. With the forces arrayed against him and the prince, he was going to have to call in every favor he had ever accrued. He could find allies among the other Castes of Kingslayers; surely the Grandmaster's move was not accepted by all. Neighboring nations would be wary of a kingdom ruled by an upstart assassin; surely they would provide aid. He was one of the best Slayers; surely he could put his skills of infiltration to good use. And then, maybe then, this boy would be king.~Even as his mind churned through different possibilities and ideas, he came up with an answer to the prince's question. He reached out and scooped up the boy, preparing to run again.~"No, I am your Slayer."