Myrnal listened helplessly as Hakaril decided on his own the terms of some sort of bizarre employment by which he intended to extort amusement from her.

"So we're settled, then."

The hell was she supposed to say? The alternative was to tell him she didn't want him coming with her if all he was going to do was make sure nobody looked sideways at his poor crippled friend. Then again, it was likely she wouldn't even be able to dissuade him then.

Come to think of it, I don't know how to manage him at all, she noted with some surprise. It was true that Hakaril was one of two people she'd ever misjudged, but unlike the last and most recent incident the reconsideration had been in his favor. She'd initially thought him an arrogant prick with a condescending attitude and a clumsy way of trying to worm his way into her pants. She'd eventually learned that there was a more serious side he was careful to keep from his casual acquaintances, and at a time in her life when she'd hated herself most... she had found understanding and compassion from the last source she could ever have predicted.

So she'd been wrong about him. It meant that now she was on somewhat less certain ground. She didn't want him protecting her, but she didn't want to chase him off (on the off chance that such a thing were possible). She didn't know how to communicate to him that she wanted him around without the complication of him... knowing she wanted him around. So she decided she just wouldn't say anything.

Then someone was screaming at her and a creeping dread at the base of her spine accompanied the instant recognition.

Myrnal let her face fall down into one palm as she whispered, "Damn it, Faelyn. You get more like Daidlin every day." She looked up from Somnia to Hakaril, and back again. "Don't worry about it, Somnia. I've already heard it all from this jackass," she said, jerking her thumb toward the offending archmage. "Somnia, this is my friend Hakaril. Hakaril, this is Somnia. She bailed me out last night when we got attacked."

Oh,  f@#$. "My friend Hakaril?" Maybe he didn't notice. I did call him a jackass. It probably evens out.

To know one?s self is powerful, but to know one?s enemy is devastating.

Knowledge is power in the hands of the wise and by coming to understand someone?s strengths; you can quickly discover their weaknesses as well. Whilst Minshara was ushered towards the injured student, with more haste than courtesy,? B?esctra let his eyes wonder onto the remaining pupils and watched in quiet fascination as they practiced the steps of their unique martial art. He knew that each step had purpose, each twist held meaning because by repeating these motions you programmed them into your body?s ?muscle memory? and, with time, reacted instinctively to dangerous situations.

Once they had finished their routine the students paired off into groups and started sparring with one another, honing their skills and laying the intricacy?s of their style bear to the assassin's watchful gaze in the same testosterone charged moment. Far more interesting than their technique however, was the bravado that one teenager sported when he defeated slower and less talented adversaries, almost as if beating people below your level was impressive in this culture and worthy of praise. With each opponent he overcame, he gained more cheerleaders until half the dojo were jeering at his foes for being stupid enough to fight him.

Now personally, B?esctra couldn?t care less if children were slaughtered in their sleep and so had no compassion for the boys victims, but it was the arrogance that interested him and he began to wonder if this child was ?holding back? his true abilities and just toying with his peers for his own amusement. Overconfidence was a sentient that the Drow could never experience because his mind didn?t work in the way most creatures did, he assessed someone?s advantages and then circumvented them so that victory wasn?t just an assumption, it was an inevitability.

Perhaps this then, was the reason he emerged from the shadows when the boy began a fresh series of boasting. ? Hahaha is this the best Sakamoto?s school has to offer? My ancestors would put up a better fight. Come little babies, come and face Mokubah and watch as I beat you into the ground?. Approaching from just outside Mokubah?s field of vision B?esctra announced his presence with words so soft one could have been forgiven for thinking he whispered them? I accept your challenge, don?t hold back on my account?.

Mokubah?s initial surprise was quickly replaced by a confident smirk as the stranger removed his talons and tossed his sword-belt aside, giving him an edge that would let him humiliate this insolent Gaijin. ?Clearly he relies on weapons and has no concept of unarmed combat; this should be a breeze ? he thought as he advanced upon the Drow and began the battle with a few lightning-fast kicks towards the strangers face. The crowd that had been egging the bully onward, up till this point, suddenly fell silent when B?esctra nimbly bobbed back and forth, eluding the formidable kicks as if they were the strikes of an amateur. The assassin was a merciless creature though and didn?t allow Mokubah so much as a chance to adjust his stance before he retaliated, dealing the boy's leg a vicious blow to its joint with pin-point precision so that the entire force struck the side of the knee-joint and expertly broke it.

Wide-eyed with shock, Mokubah howled with pain as his knee was broken and, against the wisdom of his teachers, leapt forward in a blind rage instead of taking the time to assess his quarry and decide if it was time to surrender or not. Inhumanly detached, like a surgeon studying a cadaver, B?esctra waited until his foe committed himself to his manoeuvre and then sidestepped the punch so that it soared harmlessly over his shoulder, rather than colliding with his jaw and countered by planting his own knee firmly into the boy's gut.

A tremendous ?OOF? escaped Mokubah?s lips as the wind was forced from his sails and his body mechanically crumpled, almost as if it was the natural response to receiving such a blow whilst B?esctra circled around behind his crouched form and applied a ruthlessly efficient stranglehold on the outclassed boy. Transitioning smoothly from one position to the next, the assassin placed one hand beneath Mokubah?s chin and the other on the right side of his skull in preparation for the fatal twist, but before he could apply the necessary pressure the voice of the headmaster brought him to an abrupt halt. ? THAT?S ENOUGH! Whoever you are, you?ve proved your point. Let the boy go please. He is a bully but he doesn?t deserve to die for it, I think he will have learned his lesson now. ?

Turning to Minshara once more, Sakamoto hopefully inquired ? ?Perhaps you could treat Mokubah there, in return for our hospitality and continued friendship??. Once he had made his request he glanced back at the grotesque creature and thought ?I wonder?is this the answer to our prayers??. B?esctra considered the weathered old man?s request for a few moments after he had said it and then released Mokubah, shrugging lightly because he didn?t understand what all the fuss was about really, surely someone as stupid as him was a detriment, if anything, to the reputation of the Dojo.

?Strange people, and even stranger customs ? he reflected as the boy thanked the man he had been badmouthing a few minutes before and dabbed at the tears that creased his cheeks while the headmaster himself toddled over to him and quietly whispered ? Please spend the night here stranger, I might have a proposition for you if you do?. Offering Sakamoto another shrug in response B?esctra strode over to his weapons and collected them before following the headmaster out of the training room and across the quaint garden beyond, crossing over a miniature bridge and eventually arriving at the calligraphy room.

? Since you seem to be from distant lands, I thought that this calligraphy might interest you, after all there is just as much elegance in the tip of a brush, as there is in our martial art?. Normally B?esctra would have ignored the headmaster?s comments and demanded he watch the remainder of the students training session, but he had developed a burning curiosity about Minshara?s language ever since he first heard it and reasoned that studying its written form might provide further insight into its structure.

Sakamoto left the Drow amidst a mountain of scrolls and returned to the training room to find out how Mokubah was fairing under Minshara?s delicate touch. ? Sometimes evil is not fought by good, but another kind of evil instead ? he recited as he remembered an ancient Nijionese proverb, concluding finally that ?maybe the Yakuza won?t shut us down afterall!? as he separated the paper door and passed into the training room once more.

"H--hello...ah.  Um.  Battle partner...I suppose you could say that."  Somnia meekly mumbled, more confused than shy at the fellow Myrnal introduced as Hakaril.  He seemed nice enough.  As long as he didn't try to talk too much, or sell her anything strange it would be alright.  Gasping in a breath with her mouth wide open and sighing with her hand against her chest, the girl slouched with most of her angry spirits puffed out.  She looked at Myrnal's cane again, nudging it slightly with the tip of her boot.

"I see.  I see.  You went out to get a cane!  How wonderful!  Now you won't be putting on so much stress on yourself when you walk about.  I MEAN I DON'T MIND YOU USING MY SHOULDER FOR SUPPORT NOT AT ALL I LIKE IT ACTUALLY."

Somnia gasped, her caramel cheeks getting noticeably more red as she stared to the ground and poked her fingers together, shuffling in her boots.  "B-b-but n-not in any wuh-weird kinda way no!" she barely stuttered out twisting from left to right.  While the embarrassing thoughts of beautiful summer lakes with High Elven slaveboys and super built barbarian butlers fanning them with giant leaves and some strange pixie delivering ice cream fell out of her head, she looked at Hakaril again, switching her eyes back and forth nervously.  Another stupid display of social failure in front of a stranger.  Squinting her eyes tightly and turning to Myrnal, Somnia huffed a great deal of displeasure in her general direction.

"MAAAH!  You wouldn't BELIEVE what just happened?!  The guy who I was working a bounty for just forced me AGAINST MY WILL without my consent to GO OVER TO MIRIEL!  What?!  Waste of my tiiiime!  He only paid me 5 gold rods that probably aren't even WEIGHED properly, a sack of gold, and these crappy amethyst cuts that probably came from the LAST time I worked for him."

There it was again.  Somnia's angry, pointing face and ears that could have been puffing steam.  The hazy aura of annoyance that rose from her body like a cloud of perturbed sprites wasn't all too pleasing, either.

"And...how...are...you...two?

Myrnal had certainly found an interesting person to travel with. Hakaril simply stared at Somnia as she spoke, processing her words in silence. The woman was evidently prone to bouts of extreme excitement and frantic shouting which punctuated shy verbal fumbling. In short, she was highly erratic, and Hakaril had to wonder whether or not it was entirely safe to be travelling with someone whose demeanor fluctuated that way. On the other hand, Myrnal's comment about Somnia "bailing her out" suggested that perhaps things were different for the girl on the battlefield.

Perhaps, thought Hakaril, this was some sort of secret identity. Competent swordswoman as necessary, remarkable spaz otherwise. It certainly would've caught him off-guard if Somnia had run around babbling incomprehensibly and then suddenly attempted to cleave him in half with that gigantic weapon she was hauling around. Pretending to be completely helpless was a valid strategy in some circumstances, though it didn't mesh with his earlier assessment of the woman as one of those crazed barbarian marauders.

The visions of topless highlanders returned briefly before Hakaril was able to wrest control of his brain away from his imagination and firmly plant both feet in reality.

"Well, as you can see," began Hakaril, "I'm having to make a drastic change to my original vacation plans. I had intended to return to Nijon for a brief stay, just to see how things've changed in the past few years, but as it turns out, they won't let me in without a pass. I haven't got one, and I'm not particularly interested in filling out a bunch of paperwork. If they don't trust a man of my integrity, which they should quite honestly be able to assess simply by looking at me, then I simply can't be bothered to f*$% around with their nonsensical procedures. I f&*#ing hate paperwork." The mage bristled a little bit as he spoke, words fueled by no small amount of righteous indignation.

"In any case, I fortuitously encountered Myrnal, here, who heard my cries of distress and convinced me of an alternative course of action. I'm going to go with her across the Sailor's Bane and back to Tarsis. We've got a bit of catching up to do, and it's a hell of a lot more entertaining than standing around here and trying to get the natives to understand my Common by speaking very slowly and using small words." The magician shrugged and sighed. "It's so difficult to get anything to go my way lately. And I still can't get those damned barbarian women out of my head." He turned to Somnia, eyes squinted appraisingly. "I have to settle the issue once and for all, or it's going to drive me crazy all the way to Tarsis, especially if you're coming with us."

Hakaril paused and inhaled sharply. "Do you fight topless and covered in war paint?"

Myrnal watched helplessly as Hakaril's words ran away not just from him, but from all proper logic and decorum.

"Do you fight topless and covered in war paint?"

For a moment there was total denial. It was a nice moment, denial being a familiar and comforting thing to Myrnal. Hakaril hadn't asked that. Why would he ask that? Nobody said things like that and it was a good thing Myrnal was mistaken because... no. No he'd really asked.

Then in a flash Somnia was crouched beside her and whispering fiercely in her ear. "What?!" Myrnal exclaimed. "No, what the f@#$ are you talking about?" She twisted around to address Somnia directly.

"First of all, I don't know what all that s@#$ about fae and jars and... and seamstresses was all about... but no. Also no kidneys, no breaking my hips and whether he's wicked or not he is NOT adorable, he is HAKARIL!" She shook her head in frustration. "I don't-- I don't even know how to address all of the s@#$ wrong with that theory."

Suddenly her mouth shut so hard and so fast she heard her teeth click. There was a good chance that Hakaril hadn't heard what the crazy mercenary was whispering to Myrnal and she'd probably given him-- no. It was impossible that Hakaril would have learned anything new from the exchange because Myrnal herself wasn't sure she understood it, and it had been directed at her.

"I... uh..." She attempted to recover. "Look. I'm glad you're looking out for... for something. But ...I... it's fine. Promise. No blades. No... no jars or... or anything either. It's fine. Just.... gods, woman. Just sit the f@#$ down."

And then all in a rush the full horror and weight of the situation descended upon her.

Wait. Wait, Somnia is headed to Miriel. She's... is she.... oh, no. She's... taking the boat, isn't she. I'm going to be stuck. On a ship. With them. She swallowed. I'm going to go insane. I'm going to lose my mind and by the time we reach Tarsis I will... have... convinced myself I'm a sunflower or something.

There was no avoiding it. There was no stopping it or delaying it or changing the course now. Everything was insane, and it was going to get worse; she could feel it.

A journey is rarely appreciated, until it is over.

B’esctra seemed to be engrossed in study as the student entered, pawing over ancient scrolls like a child thirsty for knowledge but when the student extended his hand, the Drow’s arm shot out like a lightning bolt. Hearing his approach from some distance away, the assassin didn’t so much as look up from the desk as his fingers caught the boy about the wrist and twisted it until the tears trickled down his cheeks. “ OWW!! Let go dammit” the student pleaded, fighting to escape the iron-like grip as he delivered his message. “ Master Sakamoto-San told me to give you this letter before nightfall” he said as he indicated the letter he was clutching in his imprisoned hand which, out of sheer reflex, B’esctra thought might have been a dagger.

Releasing his grasp on the offending hand, he rattled off a retort before snatching the sealed parchment and placing it atop the pile he’d already read, leaving the student in no doubt that ‘manners’ weren’t something they had wherever this creature came from. “Consider yourself dismissed then”

When he had listened to the boys footsteps fade, and was certain he was alone, the Drow broke the wax seal and spread the document out before him. Written in common and designed for a sympathetic audience, the words of Sakamoto fell on deaf ears as the assassin had neither pity, nor empathy and was about to discard it entirely when the last two sentences triggered a switch in his mind.

Hello stranger,

I realize that you are new to these lands and probably its history but there is an old saying among my people that ‘life may seem bleak one moment, like the fields in winter, but the blossoms of spring are not a co-incidence, just a matter of patience’.

I have waited many months for someone like you to come along and, though I don’t know your name I believe that we were destined to meet. Many seasons have come and gone as I guarded the borders of my beloved Nijon and, in that time, I have made many friends…as well as a few enemies and it is the latter which I am writing to you about.   

Several months ago, during one of my patrols I intercepted a merchant that was trying to smuggle contraband into the city, unaware of who it was going to and subsequently earned myself a ‘black mark’ with the Yakuza.  All crime in Nijon is governed by these lords because they run the underworld like merciless tyrants and since I have offended them; their leader is making life very difficult for me.  The funding for the school has started to dry up and I suspect that this is just the beginning of my troubles. I’ve put my heart and soul into this dojo and so rather than kill me I fear that he will continue to sap my spirit instead.

You must understand that I cannot allow others to suffer because of me and so, since you have the look of a mercenary about you, I would like to hire you to eliminate this problem of mine. In return for your services I am willing to call in some favours and pay you with finely crafted weapons that Gaijin don’t normally have access to.

If you accept my offer then you will find details of your target on the following page.

An eerie gleam had appeared in the assassin’s eye when he had read Sakomoto’s request because he was conditioned to kill and was therefore unable to refuse a contract, even if he’d wanted to. Gone were the thoughts of Minshara and her language, gone were the fascination and appeal of her culture and in their place lay an inhumanly cold and methodical intellect that would stop at nothing to achieve its assignment.

Gleaning information from the report like a scalpel peeling back flesh, B’esctra memorised the movements of the guards and the layout of the compound and then threw the letter into the fireplace and sped off into the night, leaving Minshara to enjoy Sakomoto’s hospitality while he ‘got his hands dirty’.

Jin Yuen, a shadow comes, and with it comes your doom.



The Golden Tiger wasn’t much to look at on the outside, with its peeling walls and battered sign, but those old enough to remember could recall how magnificent the brothel had been in the past. A plethora of colours had enticed patrons from their dull jobs and boring lives into a world of dancing, excitement and, in most cases, the bed of a harlot as well. The district had been renowned for its tea ceremonies in those days and rich gentleman would come from all over Nijon to sample the elegance of its Geisha, whose beauty was the stuff of legend. Yes, the Golden Tiger used to be the glistening jewel in Rodukumiai’s crown but in recent years it seemed to have fallen on hard times and only the most disreputable of citizens frequented it now.

Unbeknownst to most of its cliental however, the brothel was also a front for the Yakuza boss Jin Yuen and, as his power and influence increased, the need for an elaborate deception had become obsolete. The truth behind the matter was that the Golden Tiger hadn’t ‘hit a rough patch’ at all and Jin simply didn’t waste money on the façade anymore, preferring instead to quietly horde it in the rabbit-warren of tunnels that spread underneath the building.

B’esctra had to hand it to Sokomoto really as he walked in through the door, the old goat hadn’t been kidding when he said the Drow would have no trouble blending in and didn’t need to use a window, after all everyone seemed to be wearing some form of cloak or hood and the faces that peered out from beneath them were almost as scarred as his was! Sidling up to the reception desk as bold as brass, his eyes washed impassively over the plump proprietor while she gave him the once over and proclaimed” First time is it? Want the best do ya? Yeah that’s what they all say bud now fork over the coin and someone will rock ya till you drop, catch my drift?” Playing the part to a T B’esctra shrugged his shoulders and replied “ Was worth a try heh, here you go” and proceeded to place a few coins into her grubby outstretched hand.

Surprisingly, the courtesan that came running when the proprietor rang a bell was quite beautiful, by most people’s standards, but he merely feigned delight at his ‘luck’ and followed her deeper into the den of depravity with a few playful slaps to her arse. Little did the curvaceous whore realize though, that she wasn’t going to be entertaining a sex-starved man tonight but a ruthless assassin instead and led him to her bedroom blissfully unaware of the danger she had just placed herself in. Once the door was shut and her clothes began to fall however, B’esctra performed a subtle flick with his concealed talons and slit her throat without a sound. Peering down at her as she gurgled helplessly, his pearly white eyes were reflections of his monstrous soul as they stared unblinkingly at her and watched as she bled out like a fish, flailing desperately to survive.

Wrapping the body in the covers of the bed, well enough to fool someone that didn’t look too closely, he quietly slipped out of the room and headed off in the direction of the lavatory as if his ‘companion’ had given him instructions on how to get there. Secretly though, he was simply employing the map that Sokomoto had given him and using his excellent memory to purposefully arrive at the basement entrance without drawing too much attention to himself.

Witness were an ugly obstacle that any good assassin faced and fortunately for him the patrons didn’t pay him much attention as he passed, too caught up in their desires and various drugs to notice the cloaked figure flitting from one innocent looking shadow, to the next. When he finally arrived at the room that held the trap-door in it he secured the entrance by jamming the handle with a sturdy broom and then descended into the refreshing darkness of the tunnels beneath him. Normally an assailant would be at a disadvantage if they were sneaking through subterranean passages and avoiding guards that knew them like the back of their hands but B’esctra had grown up in the Underdark and that made this almost simple.

Utilizing his natural infravision, the assassin spotted the guards long before they ever noticed him and spent the better part of ten minutes running circles around them as he crept through the labyrinth with a resolute and unwavering purpose. Disposing of the dim-witted humans would have been childsplay, had the mission required it but Sakomoto had told him to make the job ‘look like an accident’ and a high body-count often gave the game away far more quickly than a massive dagger buried in someone’s back. Moving like a ghost towards his destination he wondered how many other assassins had tried this route, only to grow lost in the blackness and be served up as ‘finely roasted dog-meat’ at some dubious restaurant, perhaps Sokomoto had been right and it was his destiny to succeed, where all others had failed. When the thin winding tunnels suddenly broadened out into a more spacious expanse of caves however, B’esctra knew he was getting close and was now entering the ‘tricky stage’ of the operation.

Jin apparently, had possessed the foresight to position his troops ‘dining room’ directly in-front of his own chambers, which removed the need to station guards outside his door because someone was always stuffing his face day or night. This presented the Drow with the rather sizeable problem of getting past thirty vicious criminals without being seen and would have maybe intimidated a normal person but B’esctra felt neither fear nor doubt and had thoroughly prepared a method to overcome it.

Instead of heading into the dining room on foot, the cunning assassin clambered up the very wall itself and, when a well-fed guard emerged through the door he immediately skittered along the ceiling like a spider and into the room beyond before anyone could spot him. It is quite remarkable how little the average person actually glances at their ceiling because the common misconception is that threats usually come from behind, not above and so Jin’s guards had trained extensively to spin around at a moments notice. This ability only actually applied to people that were stealthily approaching them from that specific direction however and so none of them expected B’esctra to be crawling along the roof and fiddling with a pouch on his belt.

Choosing his timing carefully, he waited until a fresh rotation of guards were coming on duty and then, in the momentary confusion, dropped a large quantity of Khaless poison into the cauldron below him. The active ingredients of this poison were spores from an Oloth’arr mushroom and, once ingested, attacked the central nervous system of the recipient, causing them to fall into a deep sleep for several hours. Stirred in by a few zealous whisks of a ladel from the cook, the poison would be impossible to discern amidst the multitude of flavours inside his latest stew and so all B’esctra had to do at that point was silently watch, and wait.

One by one the guards started falling like flies, yawning and muttering things like “Cover for me Zhao, I’ll just take twenty winks” and “ I really shouldn’t have done a double shift last night” which was B’esctra’s cue to advance along the ceiling and then, silent as a spectre, drop to the floor and walk into the chambers that lay beyond. As he infiltrated into the interior of Jin’s lair the Drow found himself staring at a veritable museum of fine art, expensive sculptures and priceless statues.

These magnificent sights would have probably distracted him from the concealed trip-wires strung across the room, were he actually capable of appreciating them, but the Illithids had removed his capacity to experience lust or even awe and so neither shapely flesh, nor sparkling gems meant anything to him now. Carefully traversing the hidden traps, like a master thief on the prowl, he navigated his way towards a gigantic marble figurine and gazed at it intently for a minute or two before he discerned the scratches on the floor beside it. Clearly something lay behind this and, unfortunately for him, he couldn’t make it budge no matter how hard he pushed.

Wracking his brain for idea’s, B’esctra concluded that his target must be hiding somewhere behind it and, more importantly, if no one could move the figurine from this side then someone must usually open it from the inside. Hastily improvising, as the timer on the guards slumber was dissipating fast, he called out in a gruff voice “ Hey Boss, there’s this Sakomoto bloke to see you, said something about ‘settling his debt’ an all”. A satisfying grinding sound emanated from somewhere deep in the complex as the figurine slowly slid aside and revealed a much smaller room than the one B’esctra now stood in, littered with maps of Nijon and charts of the sea that, he assumed, were used to monitor smuggling routes.

The assassin’s luck seemed to be holding however, as the only person inside the map-room resembled the drawing of Jin Yuen that he had memorised and so before the crime-lord could realize what was happening, he dashed into the room and advanced towards him, weapons in hand. Jin Yuen wasn’t someone to go down without a fight though and hurriedly snatched up a katana from the table and raised it defiantly at the approaching form of the Drow, prepared to defend himself to the end if necessary.

Whilst there were times that B’esctra enjoyed an epic sword-fight, his line of work didn’t usually provide him with enough time to indulge in the fine art of swordplay and so when he neared his quarry he pretended to thrust at him with his blade and then swept Jin’s katana aside with his formidable talons. Any assassin that lived long enough to remember his kills knew that ‘honour in combat’ was just a myth, used by the weak and the foolish to justify the mistake of letting someone recover or flee when they should have gone for the final blow there and then. Exercising this theory to brutal effect, the Drow squarely planted his steel-toed boot into Jin’s groin and, when he collapsed in shock and agony, dropped his sword for a moment and inserted a second pouch worth of poison into his gaping mouth.

Although he had already administered this to the guards, the quantities he used were significantly different in this instance and instead of merely rendering the victim unconscious; it actually induced a full-blown heart-attack in the unfortunate Jin Yuen, who clutched at his chest in horror as pain raced down his left side and his breathing steadily grew harder. Kneeling down beside the incapacitated crime-lord, B’esctra whispered into his ear with as soft and meaningful a voice as he could manage” Sokomoto says hello”.

Anger writhed across Jin’s features for a moment as the assassin’s words struck home but then it was replaced with a portrait of pain as his heart gave out and his life slowly slipped away from him. It is said that when you die, you see events flashing before you, almost as if you were re-living them, but all Jin saw as he crossed from one plane, to the next, was two cold and merciless eyes.



B’esctra returned to the Dojo as the first rays of light were cresting majestically over the horizon, signifying not only the birth of a new day, but a day that was that little bit safer than the one that had come before it and, while he hasn’t exactly eliminated the entire Yakuza, the Drow had still dealt them a painful setback that would alleviate the weight from his benefactors shoulders. Slipping into the grounds by scaling one of its exterior walls it would seem to some, that B’esctra had never left the Dojo at all and had simply spent the night with his nose buried in old manuscripts and dusty tomes.

Sakomoto knew different of course and, an hour later when he subtly went to check if the assassin had returned or not, he found B’esctra scribbling thoughtfully onto a piece of paper. When B’esctra noticed the old man practically beaming down at him he glanced at the note he had been writing and seemed to think better of it, deciding instead to screw it up and simply write a single word in Nijionese. Once he had finished his mysterious musing however, he met Sokomoto’s inquisitive look and mentioned “ It’s been taken care of” as if killing someone to him, was the most casual thing in the world.

Nodding gratefully, the wizened man quietly informed B’esctra that to receive the reward he was promised, he should head over to the Jade Dragon clan in northwest Nijon and mention the old teachers name to the house-guards. Listening carefully to the directions the Drow fought off his instincts long enough to force the scrap of paper into Sokomoto’s hand, indicating it was for Minshara before his assassin mentality set in once more and he set off through the waking city to execute the ‘get paid and get out’ phase of his training. 

Examining the note, once the assassin had departed, the teacher was astonished to discover that in the space of a few hours, the stranger had managed to master the basic structure of the Nijionese letters and delicately inscribed a single word that, he suspected, meant far more than B’esctra could ever truly express. “ Goodbye”.




Rising from his slumber, the assassin’s eyes opened not to a strange inn or a run-down flophouse but the lavish furniture of the Jade Dragon clan’s guest room. As it turned out, the old man had far more sway with the nobles of Nijon than he liked to let on, because as soon as his name had left the Drow’s lips he had been ushered into the house like a treasured friend and brought immediately to the current ruler of the clan itself. It seemed that the leader, who turned out to be an exotic looking woman with green eyes and ebony hair, knew how to ask the right questions without incriminating either Sokomoto or B’esctra in the death of Jin Yuen and eventually, she managed to gather that B’esctra had performed a…service for Sokomoto and that her dear friend wanted him rewarded for it.

The assassin’s choice was an ironic one, given his profession for he didn’t want money, women or even power, no the only thing he seemed to want was sharper blades to increase the efficiency of his ‘wet-work’ as he put it, which the beautiful leader took at face value and didn’t delve deeper into. She had however, told B’esctra that his choice would take some time to create and so while the smithies worked busily on, what they assumed, was the lady’s present to a friend, the Drow enjoyed the hospitality the clan had to offer.

Now that he had spent two days in their company though, he had to admit he was growing rather restless of just sitting around all day, because the blacksmiths had taken his weapons and there wasn’t a lot of training he could do without their familiar weight in his hands. Leaping out of bed and stretching out his joints, which was the warm-up he did every morning, he slipped on his armour and headed out of his temporary quarters, eager to explore the rest of the house while he waited.

Before he had taken more than two steps outside however, an out of breath servant came running up to him and, still panting, proclaimed that the smithies had finished with his weapons and were finally ready to give them back to him. Hurrying off in the direction of the foundry the assassin wondered if the improvements to his blades would be that noticeable, since they were already magical to begin with and there was only so much you could do with skill alone, surely.

The sight that awaited him as he entered the foundry was surprising, even to someone as old as he was, because there in the centre of the room stood a table bearing the fruit of the artisan’s labours, still glowing with the heat of the fires that had forged them. Scattered around this table though, were six exhausted craftsman that looked as if a stray breeze could bowl them over and, as B’esctra entered, six pairs of eyes turned expectantly to him. In the assassin’s mind, these men had just done their duty though and weren’t worthy of any praise, even if the weapons did look particularly exquisite as he approached the table and examined them closely. Judging by the way they were balanced, and the keenness of their edges, his short-sword and talons felt more deadly now than they ever had and, as he saw what one of the craftsman were leaning against, he decided to test their slicing power as well.

Nimbly striding towards the man he pretended to momentarily bow, as if he were thanking him for his efforts and then suddenly brought the weapons down on either side of him so that they collided with his wrought-iron anvil perch. A series of gasps rang out through the foundry as the pure Mithril weapons cut through the anvil like it were butter and split it in three as the craftman’s rump protected his section of it from damage.

An approving nod was all the talented workers ever got for their long days of toil though, because now that B’esctra had gotten what he wanted, his instincts were telling him to get moving again before people wised up to why he’d received these magnificent weapons in the first place. Slipping out of the palace-like house of the Dragons and back into the city, B’esctra crept around the dockyard for a while and then stealthily somersaulted onto the first ship back to Eleneion because if people had journeyed this far to find him then he thought he’d better ‘head home’ and tie up any loose ends.

The waves glittered like the stars in the sunlight as the ship hoisted its oriental sails and gradually faded from view, ferrying a lone assassin out of the Kingdom of Jade and back towards the past he had left behind.