I, on the other hand, have the disadvantage of being a deep sleeper. In fact, some may venture to say I am a narcoleptic.
I've remedied this problem with a number of alchemy reagents provided to me by the most skilled of alchemists. My beloved and long-dead mentor recognized this problem in me early on and nipped it in the bud before I mucked up a contract.
"Better to resolve this before you fall asleep on your blade," he would say.
Markus was his name. I never knew his last name, because most assassins dropped their original sir names given that they either killed their families or were vagabonds on the streets prior to recruitment.
We were...close. But he met an untimely death at the hands of a bigoted man.
We were...close. But he met an untimely death at the hands of a bigoted man.
Anyway, I digress.
My sleeping is still an issue. I cured my narcolepsy, but I still sleep so deep, that I could sleep through a dragon burning a village.
My sleep habits almost proved to be my downfall one night when some sell swords came after me.
I didn't know where they came from, but they caught me with my pants around my ankles.
I didn't know where they came from, but they caught me with my pants around my ankles.
I awoke to a sword plunging into my vulnerable side. Dark figures stood over me, grinning in satisfaction as the blade slid into my flesh, just missing some vital organs.
Fortunately for me, I carried a "breast blade" between my breasts. Despite the pain in my abdomen, I fought the urge to fall unconscious and skillfully sliced my enchanted ebony dagger across the Achilles tendon of my assailant.
He collapsed. The other two; one woman, one man; swung their axes at me. My reflexes were quicker and I barely dodged as I rolled out of the way, clutching my painful, bleeding side.
'Markus would be sorely disappointed in me right now,' I thought to myself. 'This is not how you would want me to join you...'
As the woman swung her sword, I drew throwing knives from my boots and caught her in the wrist with one, crippling her sword hand.
The man came at me, but I grabbed the woman's sword and sliced his axe hand off.
While the brutes were incapacitated, I used the distraction to crawl to my potion stock in the kitchen and find healing potions, an anesthetic and blood thickener.
"Love of fuck! No healing potions. These will have to do," I cursed.
I threw back both like swigs of cheap whiskey, whincing at the burning sensation snaking its way down my throat, and coiling around my stomach. Within seconds, I felt less pain and less dizzy from blood loss. Clarity returned to me.
Heavily armored foot steps thumped along the wooden floor, steel clinking against steel all the way to the kitchen.
"You three make up for your lack of cunning with your tenacity," I taunted them.
I unsheathed my sword, Dick Slicer, from my belt. The man with the axe came at me. I barely dodged his swing, while the axe blade knicked my shoulder and sliced off some of my chestnut braid. A mixture of blood and hair drifted away from me in slow motion.
Close calls are always in slow motion.
Dick Slicer carved it's way into the man's groin. His floppy, fleshy appendage flew from his chain mail greaves in a fountain of blood.
While his female companion stood stunned at the bloody, twitching member, I rammed my ebony dagger up her cavernous vagina.
The screams were a beautiful symphony. The man's voice reached an octave he would not have normally accomplished, and the woman sang soprano that night.
Still blind with controlled rage, I stalked to the living room where the other incapacitated sellsword lay. I stared down at him with nothing but darkness in my eyes.
"You're not dying well tonight, my friend." Ebony black plunged into man's side, cutting through vital organs, and then removed his most prized organ of all.
I rummaged through the three sell swords' belongings to find anything that could heal my wounds.
I came up with nothing of the sort. However, I did manage to find a bounty letter with my name on it.
It read:
Eliminate the assassin by the name of Selenia. She is a human of small stature, but armed and deadly, so proceed with caution. Bring her head back as proof of execution, and you will be rewarded 1,000 gold.
Sincerely,
N. Bartholameu.
My heart stopped in my throat at the name. Nicholas Bartholameau was the captain of the guard who sought out and eliminated almost everyone in the Assassin's Guild ranks.
Including Markus.
My heart raged in my chest; my hands trembled and went numb. Dizziness returned. Panic-stricken, I sat down to gather my wits. He's still out there. I need to warn the survivors.
I gathered my belongings in my satchel, and left the cabin.
++++++++++
No longer safe in my cabin at the edge of the wilderness, I doused it in oil and threw a torch on it to cover my tracks.
All of my important possessions in tow, I summoned my ethereal horse, Nutstomper, from her spiritual plane and rode it as fast as I could to friendly turf. The nearest town was ten miles, and my blood clotting potion was wearing off, as was my anesthetic.
My next best option was to visit my fabulous friend, David, in Witch Grove cave, less than two miles from my former residence. Nutstomper would get me there in an hour.
David, my fabulous cave-dwelling vampire friend, hunts at night, but I might be able to catch him home since the sun would be up in twenty minutes.
Within the hour I arrived at Witch Grove cave, and none too soon, for my bleeding wound had quickened the pace. I'm pretty sure I left a trail of blood behind me.
I dismounted Nutstomper, left her to graze and I approached the rotten wooden door of the cave. Creaking it open, I slid inside carefully so as not to let any sun break through.
Using the element of surprise, I stick to the walls hugged in shadows. I creep my way to a great hall-like area. There is a long table covered in human flesh, rib cages and blood. Torches scatter along the walls in sconces to create some light, but there is still too much shadow for me to see.
I hear a rustling of robes, and before I can react, I am pinned to the wall with hand not so lightly grabbing my neck.
Dots mar my vision as my air is cut off. Bright purple leers at me from the darkness. 'He hasn't changed a bit,' I think to myself.
"How much can a vampire change?" he quips at me out loud.
He can read minds.
"It's nice to see you, too David," I rub my neck as his hand releases me.
"Oh, honey! Don't be so nervous. You're always welcome in my humble cave," David offers as purple dramatically arcs through the air invitingly.
I rub my side. David doesn't need to look down to know I'm wounded. He smells the copper sweetness of my blood.
His face goes grave. "What happened, sweetheart?"
He leads me to a mattress on the floor of a cell where he normally keeps his prey. No where else was suitable unless I wanted to lay on a stone slab.
He places extra straw under the bedroll and pillow to make it softer. The glow of David's friendship makes the cave a paradise in comparison to my former dwellings.
"Always the VIP treatment with you," I limp over to the bed, my side hurting more.
"Girl, you're a VIP," he guides me to the bed. "Now what happened?"
Again, he switches from his usual garish voice to one much deeper in tone.
"It's not good," I say and hand him the letter.
He casts a healing spell on me; his long, deceptively delicate hands and purple finger nails glow with the radiance of the magic.
He reads the letter.
"Love of fuck!" he said, his voice changing to a baritone as his emotions grew darker. "I thought we eliminated that bigoted piece of shit!"
I coughed. "It must have been a stand-in."
David scoffed. "I wouldn't put it past Bartholameau to feel important enough to have a stand in. The man thinks he's an emperor."
A wicked smile played across my lips, "Well, we'll just have to give him the VIP treatment."
"Honey, I've always liked your attitude," David stands up, his purple cloak dancing in the air. "You need sleep. We'll discuss the VIP treatment tomorrow.
No longer feeling despondent, I lay into the bedroll, close my eyes and drift into a peaceful, dark sleep where I visit Markus and fuck his ghostly brains out.
"Girl, you're a VIP," he guides me to the bed. "Now what happened?"
Again, he switches from his usual garish voice to one much deeper in tone.
"It's not good," I say and hand him the letter.
He casts a healing spell on me; his long, deceptively delicate hands and purple finger nails glow with the radiance of the magic.
He reads the letter.
"Love of fuck!" he said, his voice changing to a baritone as his emotions grew darker. "I thought we eliminated that bigoted piece of shit!"
I coughed. "It must have been a stand-in."
David scoffed. "I wouldn't put it past Bartholameau to feel important enough to have a stand in. The man thinks he's an emperor."
A wicked smile played across my lips, "Well, we'll just have to give him the VIP treatment."
"Honey, I've always liked your attitude," David stands up, his purple cloak dancing in the air. "You need sleep. We'll discuss the VIP treatment tomorrow.
No longer feeling despondent, I lay into the bedroll, close my eyes and drift into a peaceful, dark sleep where I visit Markus and fuck his ghostly brains out.
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