isal welcomed the morning with a cold splash of water to his face before shaving. He gazed down into the mirror as he stropped the razor on its stone. A dark movement flitted through the silver field as he prepared to clear his chin of stubble. He spun on his feet and saw a fleet figure conceal itself behind a screen of black smoke. Risal quickly grabbed for his wand and snapped a bolt of energy at the smoke, but knew already that whoever they were, they were gone. He closed his eyes a moment to try and focus on the minds around him, but only received an impression of his fellow guild members. Drowsy thoughts, fitful dreams and fuzzy thinking; he was the early riser among them.

He frowned; whoever it was they could conceal their mind as well as their body. Risal didn’t consider himself a man with many enemies; his guild’s charter was to help refugees from Ascalon. They did not, on the whole, provoke battles or infringe on trade. Still their leader had vanished three months ago with no news of his demise, all of his equipment unused and still in his room. It suggested that he had been killed in the hall and the body disposed of…there was probably a traitor in the hall. All of these thoughts flashed through his mind as he stood near his mirror waiting for the mysterious visitor to show itself.

“Hello there?”

Risal picked up his coat and shrugged it on; in the pocket was his favorite focus, putting his hand on it steadied his nerves a little. He stepped across his room to the trousers and boots he had laid out and sensed movement behind him. He again swept around and this time struck out with his mind. The blurred figure gave a small grunt, but forced itself forward, steel blades flashing. Risal backed away as swiftly as he dared, sending another hex to meet the assassin. A dagger slashed him across the chest and the belly. He scrambled away and started shouting as loud as he could to awaken his allies.

“What do you want?”

“Surrender or I will kill you.” The man said finally. A dagger caught him across the arm; a sting of added misery informed him that it was envenomed. He snapped another spell at the assassin, but it seemed to have little effect; the thin figure rushed forward like a bird of prey. A heavy pommel slammed into his forehead. The world splintered a little and seemed to slow down. He tried to cast again but the assassin twisted his arm and his concentration failed. Risal bit his tongue as he fell with the man atop him. He struggled, but his attacker pinned him easily with a terrible wiry strength that he simply could not resist. Coughing through blood he tried to focus his throbbing eyes on the man astride his chest.

“Now, tell me where you sent Dale?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” Risal replied. “You are assaulting a well known member of the community, how dare you!”

“No one knows I am here….” The man sheathed his daggers and brought out a smaller knife; he seemed to have a small armory of bladed things. Risal panted fearfully as the assassin cut his cheek with an expression of rapt enjoyment. “Now…I know from a source in your guild that you took her in and cared for her. I also know she’s not here. Tell me or I will flay the skin from your pretty little monk after I am done with your face.”

“You can’t hurt Arilee! You savage!” His own fear was overturned by his terror for Arilee; she who he loved more dearly than himself. Angrily he tried to wrench away, but the cruel man thrust the little knife deep into his shoulder and twisted. Risal gave an anguished cry and tried to snap the assassin’s mind with a last hex. The blade sheered through muscle as violet energy flashed and fizzled around both of them.

“That’s not very nice, Risal. Not to mention ill advised since I can slice away at you all day and not kill you, Twistwood only sends professionals.” His voice purred with smugness.

With the threat to Arilee fresh in his mind, Risal blinked through tears. “I put her on the Black Lion to Amnoon Oasis. Gods rot you, I hope she spills all the secrets she knows.”

“Thank you. I believe I said ‘or I will kill you’ earlier. Yes…I meant ‘and’. Those were my instructions.” He set the blade to Risal’s throat and pressed down deliberately. The assassin stood and admired his work until the body stopped twitching and the mesmer’s soft voice was finally silent. He listened for a moment; the walls were thick in the old building and no one had been woken by the guild officer’s distress. He would have ample time to kill the monk before anyone found the first corpse.

Dural Temise strode boldly down the street. He had cleaned a few spots of blood off of his armor at the hall’s central fountain and bolstered his good opinion of himself with a long swig from his flask. With his first two assignments out of the way, it was time to remove the third person. It had been a long night of planning and waiting. The mesmer had been less trouble than he had predicted and the woman had not known the occasion of her death. He had enjoyed the struggle Risal had put up, but the monk’s quiet death had been satisfying in its own way.

He flipped his ragged gray robe over the gleam of leather and daggers as he entered the lower city where the plentiful travelers might recognize him for an assassin. He did not desire recognition and certainly no one should be able to place him in Lion’s Arch that day. At least no one alive. He smirked to himself as he squelched through an alley near the docks. He stopped in front of a rickety inn with a termite eaten placard declaring it The Mermaid’s Rest. The door was locked, but a few skillful probes with a stiletto opened the simple latch. He peered in and saw no one sleeping on the floor. Slipping inside he closed and locked the door behind him; wouldn’t do to have just anyone walk in off the street.

He mounted the stairs to the north side of the building. There were no doors on any of the inn’s rooms in the typical fashion of low dives in Tyria. This saved the landlord the difficulty of eviction and the number of doors that would need replacing. Adventurers tended to be a tough and often damaging group to have as tenants. Dural checked each room until he saw one with a mage, a warrior and a third little figure asleep on the floor. Their ship back to the Battle Isles had been unexpectedly delayed, so here they were still Lion’s Arch. What a horrible coincidence. The assassin smiled again.

Twistwood found Beken and Galyew useful as far as willing dupes who could provide a welcome distraction and drain on Sky Gate’s resources. Oran however had told Pegard that Dale knew the exact location of the vaults on the Isle of Fog; the steward had been careful to tell them that his other guild members did not know. Such information meant that Oran likely knew for himself and therefore had to be removed. Also, forty platinum was more than Gared or the accountant was worth and the guild desired it returned.

Dural slid into the little chamber and knelt beside Oran. He lifted up the accountant’s blanket. Sure enough, he was clinging to a large bag that probably contained some of the guild’s records and the money itself. The assassin eased the bag open and looked inside; silver bars glittered in the dimness. Nodding to himself he drew a thin blade with a tapered tip. It seemed a merciful method for such a weasely individual…Dural had little respect for someone who would sell out a guild member. He opened a small vial, dipped in the blade and gently slid the tip into Oran’s throat. The little man made a moaning noise and paddled at the nuisance pain, but did not awaken.

Once the figure was still, the assassin fetched the bag out of Oran’s frozen clutch. With a last look around the room, Dural slinked down the stairs and out of the inn. By habit he locked the door as he left.