The Faceless Executioner

* * * *

Cellana lay before him, her throat torn open from ear to ear, the white sheets stained crimson by all the blood. The assassin had struck when she was at her most vulnerable - in her sleep. Her naked body was painted a soft gold by the sunlight slanting in through the large windows leading towards the lavish garden. Solan had found his mother, along with the assassin it seemed. The boy had put up a valiant fight, the gashes and stab wounds all over his body showed that much. Gabreth allowed himself a thin smile. He had trained the boy well but the assassin had been better. Much better. The trail of skillfully executed guards told him that much.

He sighed. For the last century, he had been Cellana's blade. Her silent, implacable wrath. She had ordered him to execute each and every figurehead of the revolt which cost Speaker Lothain's life. Sirian, he had thought, should have been the last, the one who struck down the Speaker. Obviously, someone had found out that Cellana, seeking refuge in the small hold of Sunleaf, was the one behind all the accidents, disappearances and obvious hits targeted at influential members of Everbrook royalty. That someone had hired an assassin as well.

A capable one, who probably wouldn't let him walk out of this room unchallenged. Gabreth breathed deep, then looked up.

"You may come out. I know you're still here."

There was a rustling overhead. Gabreth stepped back just in time to avoid a black-clad, hooded shadow dropping to the floor. His face was shrouded in darkness, nose and mouth covered by a cloth or shawl. Only the eyes, two golden orbs set in shadows, were visible.

"And you're on the list, executioner," the assassin whispered. His command of the trade tongue was admirable but Gabreth could easily hear the slight sibilance common amongst the speakers of Drow. "What gave me away?"

"The smell from oil on your daggers. The soft scraping of your leathers against the ceiling. And," Gabreth drew his blade, "the emanation of magic from your cloak."

"You have a reputation as a fearsome combatant but you're also blessed with keen perception," the assassin hissed. A swarm of projectiles burst from the depths of his cloak as he rushed Gabreth, a deadly cloud of razor-sharp edges and points. Gabreth, still advancing, yanked up the carelessly dropped duvet Cellana had slept under. Only a few throwing blades managed to penetrate the fabric. Gabreth tossed the covers at the assassin and vaulted through the bed, landing to the side and slightly behind his attacker. Half-buried by the duvet, the assassin nonetheless was prepared, twin daggers at the ready to parry Gabreth's strikes. The elf ducked low, sweeping his leg at the assassin's knees and slicing at his groin at the same time. Laughing, the assassin levitated upwards, kicking Gabreth's head with vicious abandon. With his free hand he grabbed the assassin's boot. Snarling, Gabreth twisted, fighting the magic keeping his opponent aloft. To his surprise, the assassin cancelled the levitation magic and went with the twist, his second leg catching Gabreth behind the ear. They stumbled apart.

"Very impressive. Too bad I'll have to kill you," the assassin panted. "C'mere! I'll give you one last good fight."

"Who sent you?" Gabreth asked, his free hand checking the bruise on his head, never breaking eye contact. The heel of the assassin's boot had been sharpened. His fingers came away wet.

"Come on, you know that's not how this works," the assassin taunted. "I'm bound to not tell anybody, not even my mark." He charged, a flurry of dagger stabs, cuts and kicks hammering down on Gabreth who evaded or countered most of them. Those that got past his guard glanced off his armor. Snarling and hissing like great cats they fought, deadlocked, until, from outside, the Watch horn rang.

The hooded assassin elegantly dodged Gabreth's feint to the heart and slid back, out of weapons range. He bowed with a flourish. "Saved by the Sunleaf watch. You are one lucky man, executioner. Today, you'll live. But I'll be back. My client would be most displeased if I didn't finish the job."

Suddenly, everything went dark around Gabreth. He stepped back as well, moving within the inky blackness until his heel brushed the foot of the bed. There was the nearly inaudible rustling of an unfurling cloak, followed by the fleeting pitter-patter of soft soles on gravel far below as the assassin fled. The orb of darkness had been the last bit of evidence for Gabreth to know that his opponent had been a dark elf. He shrugged. They would meet again, there was little doubt. Their next meeting, he decided, would be the final one.

Using the bed as a means of orientation, he made his way out of the impenetrable globe, then out of the room. With Cellana dead, there was no reason for him to remain in Sunleaf. With a determined drow hot on his heals, the less bystanders were around him, the better.

* * * *

Ten years later and many miles away from Sunleaf, in Horwath Point they indeed met again. Once a bustling harbor, connecting the elven realms to the Southern and Eastern Continents, Horwath Point had decayed along with the elven realms and teetered on the brink of ruin. Gabreth, wandering aimlessly across the Western Continent, always looking over his shoulder for the assassin, had decided to toss his lot in with the local crime boss. He knew his particular set of skills could be valuable and he had no illusions that righteous folk would not be kind to one such as him. So, working for scum like Thergaz the Rat Lord was his only option if he wanted to stay fed, clothed and armed. The trouble was finding him. Even in a rat hole such as Horwath Point, the true criminals kept out of sight. Gabreth wandered the rubble-strewn streets for a few hours, quietly learning the lay of the land. The guards made their own laws, apprehending easy marks and extorting money from shopkeepers, but they didn't seem to work for anybody other than themselves.

Near the waterfront, Gabreth decided to actively inquire to the whereabouts of any Thieves' Guild. He didn't need to look for long, there were enough beggars and destitutes around. The man was in a sorry state. His right arm was missing from the bicep down, the stump a gangrenous ruin. His clothes weren't in much better shape, formless rags wound around his emaciated body. Staring in disbelief at the gold coin in his good hand, the beggar looked up at the stranger.

"Wotcha want?" His voice teetered between disbelief and suspicion.

Gabreth crouched next to him and tried not to wince at the stench assaulting his nostrils. "Thergaz the Rat Lord. I need to find him."

"No idea. Tha's not the kinda company I'm keepin'" the beggar wheezed. "But maybe I know someone who knows." He greedily fixed Gabreth's coin pouch with a meaningful stare. The elf shrugged and flicked another coin the beggar's way.

"In tha' Salty Barrel, there's always someone workin' for the Rat. I know tha cook, an' 'e says ya can't miss tha feller."

"Thank you," Gabreth said and rose.

The Salty Barrel was the kind of pier-side watering hole every reputable sailor tried to steer away from. Ragged and sick-looking whores plied their trade, offering their diseased snatches and rotting mouths to those even more desperate than themselves. Shifty-eyed, golden-tongued seducers fished for gullible farm folk, to haul them away as unwilling sailors or slaves. Gabreth, his elven features hidden under a formless cloak, scowled. When had he blinked? Everywhere he looked, it was the shorter-lived races multiplying. The dingy, stinking taproom of the Barrel was stuffed to the gills with humans, half-orcs, rat men and worse.

Who could be the Guild contact? Only two tables had vacant seats. On one, a heavily armed dwarf stoically drank what passed as ale in this place, the opposing half of his table red with freshly spilled blood, a decapitated rat man laying unheeded in the dirty straw. Everyone gave his table a wide berth.

The other table, in the far corner, held a single occupant as well, a stick-thin dark elf, brazenly displaying his short, unruly white hair and black skin for everyone to see. Even among the desperate and the foolish, the threat of a single dark elf had enough weight for him to be left alone. Across his chest, he wore a slender belt hung with knives and daggers.

Gabreth shook his head and headed for the dark elf who looked up. Eyes like twin gold coins widened as he drew closer and apparently without moving them, he had two daggers in his hands. Gabreth stopped in mid-stride, fingers closing around the hilt of a dagger of his own.

"Fancy meeting you here, executioner," the dark elf purred. Gabreth heard a boot click against the underside of the table. "You here for revenge?"

Gabreth didn't ask how he had been recognized. Dark elves had very keen senses, especially in dim light. The few sputtering oil lamps haphazardly dotted around the Barrel's taproom were barely enough for him to see by but he assumed the assassin could see as clearly as in broad daylight, even under his hood.

"Did you bother to follow up on your promise? The one you gave in Sunleaf?" Gabreth asked, waiting for his opponent to make the next move. "Or was that another empty drow threat?"

The assassin blinked twice then his lips spread in a relieved grin. "Turns out my client didn't mind me sparing you. She figured without Cellana, you'd have no reason to go after her. Seems she was right." He relaxed visibly. "How about a drink?"

"Are you working for Thergaz?" Gabreth bluntly asked, still not releasing his weapon.

"The Rat Lord and I are loosely affiliated at the moment, yes. You looking for work?"

Gabreth took the empty seat. "Yes."

As quickly as they had appeared, the daggers were gone and the dark elf waved for a serving wench to appear. "Wine. The good one. Three cups. Preferably clean." He threw her a dangerous look through slitted eyes. Blanching, the disheveled human woman fled.

"I may have a proposal," the dark elf said, a glittering smile on his lips. "It's horribly risky. Just the right thing for guys like us."

"Us?" Gabreth cocked an inquiring eyebrow. "You don't even know my name. How can you know what is right for 'us'?"

"How impossibly rude of me." The serving wench was back and the dark elf took her offerings, placing a cup in front of Gabreth, one to his left and one in front of himself. The serving wench looked at the cup, then at the dark elf. He tossed his head back and barked a short laugh. "No. Not for you. Get lost already." He flicked a coin at her, not caring if she caught it or not. Another coin, a gleaming gold piece, he reverently dropped into the cup to his left before filling it with wine. He murmured a swift prayer, then he offered to fill Gabreth's cup. The executioner nodded. Finally, the drow poured himself a drink. By the time he was done, the vessel to his left was empty, neither wine nor gold coin remained.

"What was that all about?" Gabreth asked, curious despite himself.

"I've asked for the Trickster's blessing upon this meeting. No undue bloodshed shall occur at this table as long as either one of us has a cup of wine to drink from. Acceptable? By the way, the name's Tsabrak."

"Gabreth Es'raul," the elf said, carefully sipping the wine. It was horribly sour, more like vinegar than anything even remotely enjoyable.

"That's not a name, that's a title. Even I know that," Tsabrak said with a scoff. "'Unflinching Slayer'. Who are you really?"

Gabreth took another sip. Tsabrak was full of strange questions. Who was he really? The answer was simple enough. "Gabreth Es'raul."

"Suit yourself. Gabreth then. Like I said, Thergaz and I are allies at the moment. He pays me, I see to it his competitors disappear and his enemies die in a suitably dramatic manner. Honestly, after nearly getting hanged for sparing you, I've decided organized crime was a much better fit than elven politics. Anyway." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I think my alliance with Thergaz will soon come to an end. He might be the fattest fish in this fetid sewer but I know someone who's got bigger teeth. You get my drift?"

"Is that wise?" Gabreth asked, steepling his fingers under his chin. "He might not take kindly to us usurping his operation."

Tsabrak's eyes wandered over Gabreth's face, taking in the high cheek bones, slightly slanted eyes and soft chin. He licked his lips, then whispered: "He will know it only when we stab him in the eye. Listen. I've worked for him these past three years. I know his network inside and out. I know he maybe has twenty truly loyal men and only one troll as bodyguard. Come on. We've killed better-trained men on an empty stomach. Between you and me, it will be a very short night of flashing daggers. What do you say?"

Gabreth drained his cup and looked Tsabrak in they eyes. "If nothing else, it will be decent training."

* * * *

Tsabrak threw five daggers in quick succession. They buried themselves to the hilt in the troll's back, evenly spaced from the neck down. The fifteen feet tall creature grunted in annoyance rather than pain, a meaty paw slapping at the stings even as its skin knitted, fusing the daggers in place. Then Tsabrak whirled away, short sword and dagger whirring in a dizzying display of steel as he took on three of Thergaz' men. Gabreth understood what his partner had done. Grinning viciously, he sprinted at the troll and ran up it's back, using the dagger hilts as makeshift steps for his fleet ascent. Before the troll knew what was happening, Gabreth was upon him, one hand dug into it's filthy topknot, the other brandishing a long knife coated with a deadly neurotoxin, which he rammed deep into the soft skin between the monster's neck and shoulder. Trolls had incredible healing powers. Wounds which could kill a normal being healed within moments. Weapons cutting its skin could, on occasion, be trapped by the thick, leathery epidermis knitting around them. There were only two surefire ways to deal with such beasts. They couldn't regenerate what had been burned and their supercharged metabolism left them curiously vulnerable to poisons and diseases introduced into their bloodstream. Even as he unsteadily rode the troll's shoulders, the beast spasmed and went to one knee, clutching helplessly at its own neck.

Gabreth hopped off the dying troll and turned his attention to Thergaz the Rat Lord. The garishly dressed, bloated ratkin huddled behind his throne, crossbow in hand. His hands shook too violently to get a bead on either of his fast-moving assailants.

Gabreth slowly walked closer, ready to dodge at the first sign of trouble. At his approach, Thergaz dropped the crossbow and raised his hands, squealing for mercy.

"You've won! Please! There is no need for such hostilities! I'll give you anything you want! Money! Women! Drugs! Just name it, uagh!"

The tip of Gabreth's knife tickled the ruffled fur on Thergaz' neck. Tsabrak had been very clear on the kingpin's fate. He had to die, as a warning and proof that the new crime lords of Horwath Point were not to be trifled with. For a moment, something like pity fluttered in Gabreth's heart. He had no quarrel with the ratkin. But then he only needed to remind himself of the things he and Tsabrak had witnessed on their way through the Rat-Lord's den, the barely coherent men and women desperately sucking on hookahs, destroying their bodies and minds with sweet-smelling and highly addicting drow hallucinogens, the sex slaves of all ages and races being properly "groomed" by brutal taskmasters and the inhuman torture those fallen out of the Rat-Lord's favor had to endure.

The knife flicked across the ratkin's throat, the blade still coated with venom strong enough to kill a troll. The weapon barely nicked the skin. The Rat-Lord looked up at Gabreth, opening his pointy snout to say something. The venom was faster, much faster, and only a strangled squeak managed to escape him. Gabreth watched as Thergaz rolled on the floor, unable to suck air into his screaming lungs.

"That pig didn't deserve such a quick death," Tsabrak, cloak blood-spattered but unharmed, panted. He went to his knees next to the feebly writhing ratkin. "I'd have liked to see him take a ride on all the fancy torture devices he has back there. Oh well, can't be helped." Grunting, Tsabrak turned Thergaz onto his face and whipped out a long, slender knife. He cut the ratkin's neck, several precise, overlapping incisions forming a tiny, bloody flower.

"What are you doing?" Gabreth asked, more puzzled than outraged. Why should they defile the corpse any more?

"For a professional, you surely don't know much about how a proper assassin operates. I've marked him with my calling card, obviously," Tsabrak explained, pouring a fine powder into the cuts he had made. The wounds turned a startling blue.

"So those who will find the corpse know that you did this?"

"Exactly." Tsabrak slapped Thergaz' skull fondly then rose. "Everybody who knows anything about this operation is aware of my calling card. Seeing that I just took care of the boss rat will let them know not to mess with me. If you plan on building your own reputation, you should think about your way of marking your kills."

* * * *

Gabreth came to, his head hammering mercilessly. He was on a gargantuan bed deep within the former Rat-Lord's lair. Next to him was a pale-skinned, red-headed woman, the fair skin on her back and ass stained with dried ropes of cum. Next to her, grinning even in his sleep, Tsabrak. The room reeked of wine and sex. The far side of the room was strewn with broken bottles and bent goblets.

Like gas bubbles in a viscid swamp, images rose from his mind.

He and Tsabrak, naked, arm in arm. Toasting their new partnership while the red-headed beauty, kneeling before them, alternated in sucking them off.

Tsabrak, kissing him hungrily, his hand wrapped around Gabreth's rod.

Gabreth on his back, the woman's hair draped over his chest and stomach like a crimson cloak as she hungrily devoured him. Tsabrak knelt next to him, his rampant hardness eagerly sliding into Gabreth's hungry mouth.

Tsabrak, panting excitedly, bent over the red-headed beauty, balls deep in her shaved nethers. Gabreth kneeling behind him, gently driving his own rod into eager, yielding drow ass.

Gabreth shook his head. Things clearly had gone out of hand last night. If their partnership was to have any future, he would need to steer clear of such excesses.

* * * *

"You called?" Gabreth closed the padded office door behind him. The curtains had been closed, letting only the occasional ray of light pass into the luxurious room. Behind an oversized desk, garbed in white clothing, sat Tsabrak, sipping from a crystal snifter. The wooden aroma of dwarven brandy hung faintly in the air.

"Yes, indeed. It's so hard to get a hold of you, my continent-wandering, neck-slitting, backstabbing partner," Tsabrak purred. "I heard you were back in town. Checking up on our operations? Visiting the Harbormaster? Maybe his handsome son?" Tsabrak tossed his head back and laughed.

"Isn't it incredible? Two hundred years ago, this place was a dump, about to be swallowed by the next big storm. Now?" Tsabrak rose and pulled a curtain ajar. Below him, Horwath Point gleamed in the summer heat, red shingle roofs, cobblestone streets and good-sized houses as far as the eye could see. "All this is ours, Gabreth. The city council. The guards. Enough shipping companies to keep us fed, drunk and entertained for millenia."

Gabreth nodded. All the city needed to recover was stability. Without constant turf wars, without power struggles and with healthy injections of coin into profitable businesses, the city soon recovered. Soon, ruthless business owners who had no problem sharing streets with drug traffickers and slavers settled in, lured by the protection Tsabrak and Gabreth offered. People went where the money went and, within two centuries, Horwath Point had eclipsed even its former glory. Tsabrak and Gabreth didn't rule the city, they had a council of merchants to do that, but they had the final say in important matters. The city did blistering trade, both with the decaying elven holds and the constantly expanding human nations on all three continents, in things both legal and illicit. Theocracies on the Eastern Continent prized consciousness-expanding hallucinogens as much as the drow holds Below craved slaves. Everybody needed weapons, clothing and food. It was the perfect arrangement.