Legacy of the Frozen North: The Eye of the Yeti

[Azurel]

"Names are not important."

WhiteWind headed down the wooden stairs. Assassins lost need for such things as names, and used words sparingly. The next floor was slightly bigger than the one above it and contained the same emptiness. There were two guards, already standing from the footsteps of the guards above, protecting a trap door on the floor. The only other thing in the room was a rope, strung through a pulley going down into a large hole in the floor.

The guards went back to their cautious state as they saw who was coming down the steps, jumping to alert seing a second set of legs.

"WhiteWind!" One of the guards yelled, already halfway across the room, running towards the stairwell.

He stopped, socks sliding on the polished wood floor, as he saw a hand raise from WhiteWind's side.

"Don't insult my abilities, he's with me."

The guared backed off, returning to his post like a dog with its tail between its legs.

WhiteWind walked to the rope and hole, questioning the skill of the guards in his head. The hole was a dark shaft with a small square of light at the end of it, the rope travelled all the way down.

The trap door was for Guild members only, ones who have proven trustworthy of seeing the inner workings of an Assassin's Guild and keeping it a secret. Though, anyone worthy of such trust was bound by death to everything involving the Guild and given the occupation, there were very few leaks.

WhiteWind simply walked off the edge of the hole, dropping into the shaft. The rope was there for assistance in getting to the bottom floor of the Hall. The rope had a basket on one end of it, weighted with assorted objects. A person was supposed to grab the other end of the rope and wait for the helpers at the basket to slowly remove objects until the person descended the shaft at a decent pace. WhiteWind would let the guards explain how to work the shaft.

The light at the end of the shaft was getting closer, so WhiteWind faced the oncoming ground and pressed his hands and feet to each corner of the shaft. His gloves and socks did little to slow his fall against the polished sides of the shaft. He increased the pressure of his arms and legs, actually having an affect on his descent. He came to all but a stop when he reached the end of the shaft, taking pressure off his feet first so that his body would lean and he would land on his feet with more control. He slammed into the ground as he seemingly fell down the entire shaft length from anyone who was on that first floor. The men working the basket, used to this kind of entrance from WhiteWind just shook their heads.

"At least it's one less load we have to do tonight," one muttered to the other.

He stood waiting, taking in the faces, clothes, smells of the strangers that walked about on the first floor doing business with the Guild.

[Zzyxx]

Zzyxx saw Whitewind's decent as a challenge. THe overzealous guards were a bit disconcerting, but other than that, inconcequential. He looked at the rope and at teh dimentions of the shaft. After gadging the size and depth of the passage, he jumped.

He used his duster as a sort of impromtu parachute, and when he neared the bottom of the passage, he kicked off the side wall giving himsel;f enough upward momentum to suspend himself in the air for a moment. He hit the ground only slightly harder than Whitewind, becasue Zzyxx was wearing steel toed boots.

[Azurel]

WhiteWind walked in front of Zzyxx's immediate field of view, implying for him to follow. They walked down the main corridor and came to a standard, wooden door.

"This is the Guild Hall. Keep your hands away from your weapons or you'll be killed, by me if nobody else stands up."

WhiteWind reached for the handle, twisting and pushing the door open with his shoulder. The door was heavier than it looked and creaked as it opened. The hall was a place where the magistrate of this particular Hall did his business and he was somewhat of a paranoid man, most people who had been around assassins for that long are.

They amber light from overhead caused WhiteWind to bow his head, allowing his headband to cast as much of a shadow on his eyes as possible. Two long, wooden tables stretched the length of the hall, with room for 20 men on each table. There were 3 men sitting as spread out as possible in the room; it was night and most assassins were out on assignment. At the opposite end of the room was a raised floor, like a stage. There, sitting in a throne-like chair was the magistrate. Behind him were two assassins acting as guards.

WhiteWind walked forward, passed the tables and kneeled before the magistrate.

[Zzyxx]

Zzyxx entered the room making no effort to hide his face. He hoped this would act as a show of trust. When he approached the magistrate's throne, he knelt as Whitewind did. He looked up at the magistrate and waited to be called upon.

[Therin]

The magistrate eyed Zzyxx up and down, frowning. "You bring me a commoner, WhiteWind. This is no assasin, and certainly not worth the money in his pot. Remove him." The magistrate didn't clarify the order. His subordinate would know what to do.

[Zzyxx]

Zzyxx raises one eyebrow and stands rapidly. His movements become a blur and literally one second later, all the guards in the room fell to the floor, each with a singular shurikan of ice lodged in their throats. he leaps back expecting an attack form Whitewind. He eye's the magistrate again.

"I was hoping to avoid trouble, but i will not be removed quite yet, magistrate. I have questions that need answering. I do not ask that you give these things freely, but i do ask that you give them."

Zzyxx allowed his emotions to exit his body, in one instant, he became every bit the assassin he used to be minus, of course, his shadow abblities. He whistled once, short and high was the note. A black wolf strode out of the shadows behind him.

"I may not command shadows as you men do, but my wolf does. I am Zzyxx Frozenblade formerly know as the Frosted Shadow of the Northern Wastes!"

[Therin]

Just as quickly, the frost elf found himself balanced on a pier of rock no wider than his two feet together, which stretched between opposite sides of a cavern. The ceiling stretched upward into infinity, but the source of the boiling, skin-charring heat which blasted from below was clearly visible. Scarcely ten feet below, the surface of a glowing pool of molten stone bubbled and popped. Zzyxx whirled in time to see Variah plummet from her perch on what was now thin air, and howl in agony as she melted, her fur vanishing into vapor as her skin boiled from her bones. It was a quick death, and merciful. Cracks spiderwebbed from his feet across the stretch of rock, and without thinking, he ran, steel toed boots slamming heavily into the rock beneath him, which caved with every step. Then he reached the side, and there was nowhere to run. He leapt, clawing madly at the wall, the skin of his hands and fingers flashing to ash with the heat, but to no avail. The sides of the cavern were smooth, and completely without purchase. He fell, screaming as the heat grew to intense to stand, as his duster caught fire and burned, as his skin began to melt from his body. Frost elves had never been good at withstanding heat.

In the next instant, he staggered forward, stone, wonderfully cold stone, hard beneath his boots. He looked at his fingers, which still burned with remembered heat. Nothing. His duster sagged reassuringly around his ankles in the dead air. The guards, still very much alive, smirked as the voice of the magistrate boomed at deafening volume across the room. "Do not try to impress me with petty games, boy! A true assassin would know better. Your childish attempt to grab attention interferes with our business. If it continues, you will die. Now get out of my sight, commoner, and do not come here again!"

OOC: Rule number one: Godmodding like that is the perogative of one person, and one person only. He who created the thread, and who writes the story. None other.

[Zzyxx]

OOC: Sorry, didn't realize i was moding...

BIC:
Zzyxx grimaced at the vision, A person who could cammand illusion and hypnotism like was powerful indeed. Zzyxx knew he formidable, but he couldn't stand up to the magistrate. He realized with some sence of despair that the only chance of getting the information he wished was to break into a library somewhere in the town. He had alienated the common folk in an attempt to contact the assassins guild and now his foolish lack of patence had alienated the guild and put a price on his head, no one could see the magistrate without working for the guild and go on living. Zzyxx had to think of a way out... He couldn't fight his way out, his vision had shown him that. He would have to make a diversion and escape the city, or perhaps just steal the information he needed and escape.

Zzyxx had forgotton his wolf was still there. Everything he had seen and thought he did was an illusion. With a slight twitch of the finger, he called Variah to him. He decided to bide his time... Variah could shadow bend him and her out of the guild if worse came to worse. MIght as well see what happens next.

He stood slowly and deliberately and backed up with out turning. He slipped into the ready position of a warrior fienting inablity. He slipped his hands in his pants pockets and took and tried to look like he didn't care. In truth, his heart was poiunding in his chest like a drum. He had never faced assassins this skilled before.

[Azurel]

A dagger appeared on Zzyxx's throat, blade to his esophagus and already creating a line for blood to flow out of. Attached to this dagger was the hand, holding it in a backhand style, of WhiteWind. Putting a hand in a pocket and backing up from the magistrate wasn't the brightest move Zzyxx could have made.

"I have orders to take care of you, let's go."

WhiteWind nudged the dagger into his throat slightly before pulling it away, twirling it to a normal grip, and holding it to Zzyxx's chest. He was trying to get Zzyxx to leave through the front entrance, though he made his intention for the dagger unclear to anybody.

[Zzyxx]

Zzyxx back peddeled through the front door at the beck of Whitewind. Zzyxx ignored the blood trickling down his neck, but he did notice the fact that Whitewind's knife was utterly covered in ice. A gift from the blood of the frostlings.