The assassin was eager to make the kill. His body ached and yearned for it. He had spent months planning and preparing the kill. And now, the time had finally come.
He was wearing a black cloak, walking along a road to the city where his target would be. The wind whipped around his hood, chilling the tip of his nose. In the distance, he spotted the city. He licked his lips, in eagerness for what was to come. Nobody could have ever been prepared for what he was about to do.
It was about midday when he approached the city gate. The guards snickered as he walked past them, thinking he was some amateur thief, or an edgy student, due to the black cloak and his youth. He knew the black cloak would draw attention to himself, which is why he wore it. Those who saw him would believe him to be exactly what the guards thought. A true assassin and a knowledgeable guard knows that wearing black while committing deviancy is a terrible idea. If he drew attention to himself now, nobody would be looking for him later when he wore his true outfit.
He approached the city center, and followed his senses to find the poorest part of town, knowing full well that guards were watching him the entire time. He found a rundown inn, but did not go inside just yet. He looked around, and introduced himself to a nearby beggar, sat down, and got to know him. He then excused himself, telling the man to wait there for a few minutes. He saw a couple of guards distantly down an alley walking in his direction on a “routine” patrol, so he briskly walked into the inn to rent a room.
The inn was filled with a warm glow from the hearth, and with beams of light shining through the broken shutters. He removed his cloak, and approached the wrinkled innkeeper.
“I’d like a hot meal, and a room”
She looked at him, and in a cranky voice said “5 coppers for the room, 2 for the meal”
He handed over the coin, and she beckoned him to follow her. He stopped her, and said
“This isn’t for me, it’s for the beggar outside”
She looked disgusted “Well go on then, get the old cripple”
“One gold piece, you get him, give him this cloak as well, and point me towards the back door”
She snatched the cloak from him, he handed her the coin, and she pointed towards the northeast corner, cackling as she walked to get the beggar.
The assassin quickly ran out the door, and hid himself among the other wretched souls. He would await here until nightfall. He was now wearing a worn brown shirt and tan pants. These soon became even filthier as he rested in a sty. He ate a few apples he had in his pouch, covered his eyes with a sock, and slept.
Night came, and the assassin awoke. He heard laughter and fighting from nearby pubs, and knew this would not be a good location for the final preparations. Taking care to walk in the middle of the streets as to avoid attention, he moved towards the financial district of the city. In this place, there would be little risk of a bystander seeing him. He was on the lookout for a dark corner to make a quick change yet again, but saw guards standing too close for comfort to his ideal spot. But he was clever, and knew exactly how to get the guards to leave.
He began to stagger, pretending to be drunk, and was yelling about a woman. The guards looked at him with wrinkled noses, and walked away briskly. He got into his corner, continuing to yell. He ditched his shirt and pants, now wearing close fitting grey clothing. His yelling became more unintelligible, and he simulated a sound of dropping to the ground, now silent. The guards would of course assume that he has passed out from the alcohol, and was no longer anything they would have to worry about. The assassin was now ready, and quickly climbed to the rooftops, making his way towards the castle.
Tomorrow would be the beginning of a summit between dozens of monarchs and nobility from all over Elyria. The assassin’s target would be there, and their death would be a symbolic statement to everyone who saw and heard of it. Nobody was expecting anything bad to happen at this event. The most recent known assassin had been killed a few years prior, and all recent assassinations seemed to have been done by different hands, and some of them were. But many had been by this one man. He had a very specialized skill: No two assassinations were similar. Because of this, he was not known by any name. Everyone assumed that every precaution had been taken, and that nothing could happen. But they were dead wrong.
Reaching the castle, he ascended the wall, and climbed in through a window to a deserted hallway. This wing housed many of the nobility for the summit, and he made his way past their rooms, pausing at each one. From the room of von Reunthal he heard the loud gooshing sound of snoring, and was glad he wasn’t Lord Grunwald, who was staying in the adjacent room and was likely not getting much sleep. He neared the end of the hallway, turning the corner and finding the door to the upper level of the council room. He peered over the railing, seeing the floor below and the numerous seats surrounding a crescent table where the summit would be held. He found a dark corner, and sat down, and began the long wait for the opportune moment to make the kill.
Morning came, and after the nobility had finished breakfast in their rooms, they filed in and took their seats, waiting for the summit to begin. Duke Caspian called the meeting to order, and the lords and monarchs were presented. The first meeting began, and the assassin watched closely, itching to make the kill. His target was an odd one, it wasn’t even a very high ranking person. But it would still make a statement that would send ripples across the known world.
The meeting dragged on, sometimes boring, sometimes interesting. The shouting matches were very amusing. But as time dragged on, people began to lose interest in what was being said. Many were even dozing off. If there was any time to make the kill and send the greatest shock factor, now was the time. The assassin stood up, took a final stretch, and was ready. He walked towards the railing, stood on it, and yelled,
“Stop! Stop writing roleplay that is total fluff! This is getting out of control, and is more cringy than Twilight and 50 Shades combined. There’s either no symbolism, or way too much. Literary devices exist for a reason, and you need to use them. We all learned about them and how they are used in high school. Be better. And stop praising fluff when you could be providing tips, or even constructive criticism. Even this rp was terribly written, and I accept that. We need to work together to create the highest quality rp, and teach others how to do the same. Just stop writing lower quality fanfic than Sonic OC’s!”
The author then leaped, plunging towards the floor of a record of downvotes on the forums.
