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A quiet and soft mist of gray and white obscurity slowly settled over lands, the soft hillocks valleys slowly filling in with an almost primordial soup. To the east, the land lay flat and redundant, with soft scrub and low trees and shrubbery. To the west, the small hills slowly turned into foothills, and eventually merged with the great towering mountains. To the south the mist crept across swamped lands, murky and humid, full of unsettling creatures and draping trees. The northlands were dense forests, the paths almost invisible in the settling gloom.

In the midst of the small hills in the middle of the great and huge country known as Xiyad sat the small province of Lanit. Its’ capital city was a small yet beautiful town surrounded by high and mighty granite walls, enchantments fairly dripping from the soaring buttresses. The city was home to the countries’ most famous guilds’; the schools and universities within its walls unsurpassed. Thieves, mages, assassins, rangers, and various other trades were all welcome within its boundaries. Welcome to Dondestan.

Dondestan was home to a most diverse population, both race and religion wise: from the average human to the academically gifted centaurs to the mystic elves and on and on. So many people, with so many different goals, outsiders saw conflict as unavoidable.

However, Dondestan was a beautiful and gifted city, and being in it was pure joy. This was well understood by all within its boundaries, and for that reason they respected the simple rules laid down by Dondestan’s council.

Far more amazing than the simple cooperation of all to respect simple rules of courtesy was certain guilds’ and races’ going out of their way to even cooperate and work together. Thus it was that each was made stronger, helping and being helped by the other.

Enter our adventurers, eager for bounty, excitement, glory, honor, and love.

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It was towards the evening of what had altogether been a rather balmy day when the city guards came upon a violent scuffle. They had been merely completing their usual rounds when they stumbled upon the two men in open combat, surrounded by a circle of onlookers.

One was obviously an assassin of some sort, the other combatant a darkly clad elf. The two were shouting at each other and brandishing their daggers, the voices of the surrounding crowd rose to join the melee. The guards immediately disbursed the group of townspeople watching and grumpily moved to stand between the two figures.

The leader – a towering Minotaur of ruddy coat who was obviously a captain by the insignia embroidered upon his cloak, glared at the two and harrumphed noisily.

“Well, me lads, what have we here, eh?” Two guards stood beside each man, another two between them. The assassin grumbled and the dark elfling practically growled.

“That is the assassin who killed my sister! I vowed revenge on her still-warm blood, and I am here to collect it!” He brandished his dagger wildly, and one guard stepped forward to restrain his arm.

“Now, now. Upon entering Dondestan you were read the cities rules and you agreed to abide by them while within our walls. Any conflicts you had prior to entering must be set aside; we are all brothers here and the Council will tolerate no fighting amongst us.” The captain shook his shaggy head grimly, sighing. New comers were all the same, he idly thought.

“But ... But ... But he killed my poor little young sister! She was barely in bloom and had her whole life ahead of her... He took that from her!” stammered out the elf. The Captain grunted, but before he could speak the assassin broke in.

“Aye, and I killed her. ‘Twas quite a bounty on her head at the guild – she was a whore and a tart. A former lover, whose child she had magically killed within her womb, had issued the request for her death. He was infuriated and filled with hatred, and I merely did as he bade for the gold pieces he offered.” The assassin launched a stream of spit that landed between the elf’s feet and he lurched within the grasp of the guards.

“Liar! My sister was a paragon of virtue,” he sneered. “Obviously something you would know nothing about!” The elf flailed and struggled against the meaty arms that held him. The assassin turned to the Captain and gave him a simple salute of pulling his fetlock as he inclined his head.

“I apologize for the inconvenience – ‘twas I that had the serf boy fetch you. I was merely trying to defend myself and spare my hide ‘afore ye got here.” The Captain looked dubious.

“We shall see about that, guild-member.” He eyed the small and simple brooch pinned to his vest and sighed. “There is little I or you can do here, my elf friend.” Thus saying the Captain took the elf’s shoulder in his massive hand and turned him away, slowly walking with him towards the nearby tavern.

“As stated, your problems outside Dondestan are yours alone. Once you are here you agree to be peaceful and cooperative with all within. Should you wish to settle your score with the assassin outside these walls…” The Captain’s voice trailed off and he shrugged. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed the assassin had already disappeared into the shadows and he gave a small smile.

The patrol, a motley group of varied races, escorted the confused and blathering elf into The Sign of the Swan, and the Captain’s thick arm planted him on a barstool. He waved over a wench and glared down at the elf.

“Here, let me buy you a draught, on me!” He smiled slightly before bending low and placing his face into the confused man’s. He snorted violently through his distended nostrils, letting his harsh, moist breath bathe the man’s surprised features. “Let me make one thing clear. You cause any more trouble in my town, and I will have you tossed in the gaol. If you go before the Council with repeat charges of fighting within Dondestan you will be assigned to mining duty for at least a month.” His black eyes fairly burned and the elf shivered. “Is that CLEARLY understood?” The last words were barely a whisper, but the voice was ironclad and the threat real.

The elf nodded and took a long drink from the pewter tankard that had been set before him.

“Y-yes yes sir!” he said in an almost whining tone. The Captain gave a grim nod and strode out, his white cape flaring behind him as he ducked through the doorway.

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The grand city of Dondestan.

Home to the heads of the twelve guilds that make up the different societies within Xiyad.

Home to the huge ivory palace of the Augustus; the ruler of the lands.

A city that protected and cherished every person who stepped within its' walls – every race, every calling, every nationality.

Or so they proclaimed.

The city was built in a huge circle; its hub being the Great Pillar. A huge black marble pillar, it stood in the center of the town, where the six major roads converged, in the midst of the Grande Plaza. Each guild's headquarters resided here. In placement of the hours of the day, with the Great Pillar as their center and the major roads as arms they lay.

The first guild was of course that of the Historians – scholars by nature, scribes by trade. They documented, saved, and researched all the great history of the world as it occurred. They also used it to prophecy what happened next - a hardly ever successful endeavor.

The second guild was that of the Philosophers. The great home of debate and theology was housed within. From here came the deep thinkers, those who pondered life's existence and all too often answered the questions of great import. At the same time, most of them whiled away the days sitting about and merely discussing their own philosophies, with hardly any room for those of others.

The third guild was that of the Musicians. Few realised the import that players, bards, and performers carried – except for them. Of course they knew exactly how special they were; fortunately the city did else wise, which is why they were the third guild within the town.

The fourth guild was that of the Cartographers. They that explored, traveled, and found the world. Those that built the huge map that every school and almost every home utilized. Half the trade of the world, whether caravans or sea-faring, depended on the detailed and in-depth maps provided from their treasure troves. Half the guild was full of the adventuresome, who dared to set out for months or even years at a time. The other half - well, lets just say that the better half was hardly ever there.

The fifth guild was that of the Astronomers. The building was littered with huge telescopes, and its members contained not just the elitist and well-informed but also the simple palm and tarot readers. All who depended upon the stars for guidance; all who studied the stars and their unceasing glory.

The sixth guild was the last of the knowledge’s, and yet was viewed as being the most powerful. The guild of the Healers; all the country relied upon the people trained and built within the rose-quartz walls. Many emerged from these walls as highly skilled; most emerged as competent. But the traits they taught and imbued across the kingdom were those that ensured the survival of all races.

The first six guilds, those of the knowledge’s, were considered the most important. Whilst anyone might visit any guild around the Great Pillar, acolytes wishing to study would join one guild and specifically direct all their studies within those walls.

The last six guilds were those of profession; those that taught the skills of being a 'class'.

The seventh guild, the first of the classes, was the guild of Light. This guild trained magic users; all those who based their talents upon elemental magic summoned from the streams of energy surrounding the world they walked in.

The eighth guild, second of the classes, was the Merchants guild. These were the traders and people who made the economy what it was. Constant shouting matches were heard from within; but bartering is a skill not easily taught nor easily utilized. Where would the kingdom be without someone to set flat prices for items and control inflation?

The ninth guild, third of the classes, was the guild of the Rangers. These were trackers, attackers, fighters and minor mages. They specialized in land-magic and utilizing Nature. In truth there was very little known about the guild or its students.

The tenth guild, fourth of the classes, was the Assassin's guild. Very elitist, they were a much smaller guild by choice. However, a graduate from the guild in Dondestan could probably have killed the King himself without difficulty; were it not the Royal Amnesty that protected Assassins throughout the kingdom.

The eleventh guild, fifth of the classes, was the most despicable Thieves guild. They took pretty much anyone who wished to join, passing their unsavory habits and mannerisms to countless generations. It was actually not that uncommon to meet a high Lord who could pick locks, pockets, and eavesdrop without being detected.

The final guild, sixth of the classes, was again considered the one with the most impart within the classes. Merely titled the Warriors guild, they taught every manner of combat known within Xiyad. From hand combat to archery to jousting and utilization of any weapon created. Every class, at some point in time, had to visit the Warrior's guild to learn at least one weapon. There were those who never left the guild, continuing to learn and in turn to teach as they progressed.

Each seat on the council represented each of the guilds within Xiyad. Each councilmember's duty was to represent their guildmembers. Each guildmember paid tithes and performed duties for their guilds; in turn learning and growing.

Dondestan's population were not, of course, all guildmembers. As a matter of fact, a majority of them weren't. There were other trades and industries within Xiyad; only the most powerful needed guilds. The smaller classes and knowledge’s merely had 'associations,' who's heads were scattered across the land: bakers, farmers, seamstresses, etc. Those that made up the majority of the work force in minor increments.

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Braiden stepped lightly through the indigo streets, her head bowed as she lost herself in thought and rumination. Attired in a black cloak, its hood drawn to shield her face, she was simply another shifting shadow in a city filled with them. The sun’s rippling edge finally dropped fully behind the mountains to the west, and while gloom swallowed the bulk of Dondestan’s mass, her glittering, ebon-streaked gold eyes remained locked on the beautiful myriad of colors dancing across the horizon. Her mind was almost completely empty – her being preoccupied with absorbing the sites and sounds that constantly drifted towards her face as she walked into the cool evening breeze.

Dondestan was, ultimately, a city full of light and happiness. It was populated from a people who did not shrink from much, and boasted homes to all and sundry – from the panhandler to the staggeringly rich merchants. Most would think a city of such diversity would draw only the shadier elements to it, and yet civilization had balanced itself out quite nicely.

Children and young adults dashed home through the winding streets, their voices lifted in laughter and gossip as her tall, willowy figure slowly wound itself down the hilly streets of uptown and towards the circular plaza around the Great Pillar. Her chin was tucked against her chest, but the slightest of smiles ghosted across her features as one particularly adventuresome pair of youngsters chased each other around her shadow-clad figure. In a few heartbeats, a grubby and questing hand had insinuated itself inside the folds of her cloak – and encountering her own palm already splayed loosely against the roundness of her coin purse, slipped away just as quickly. Her smile turned wry as she tipped her head slightly, causing the metallic clasp of her cloak to flash.

The lantern lighters were just beginning to make their rounds, and the streets became dotted with circles of gold as they moved through them.

“Apologies, guild member, they meant no disrespect,” spoke an adolescent lounging against the outer wall of a tavern in an amiable voice.

Braiden laughed softly and inclined her head towards him, shrugging slowly to show him she understood the mistake even as her long legs continued their swift pace ever downwards.

She entered the glowing plaza of the Great Pillar, smiling to herself, and crossed it towards a compound surrounded by a high stone wall topped with metal spikes. The main gatehouse was well lit, torches to either side of the portcullis making a pool of dancing light beneath which stood two burly, well armored figures. One male, one female, they stood in a relaxed pose that did nothing to hide the alertness of their senses. As she drew near to the glittering copper crest of sword and shield suspended above their heads, she reached up with her left hand and tipped back the hood of her head.

“Good evening, Major Lirimaer,” called the female guard, a human of medium stature. Braiden nodded in response to her greeting and smiled warmly.

The male guard was an elf, and she expected, nor received, neither greeting nor acknowledgement from him.

She knew that were he ever to be assigned to her battalion, she would not have to deal with blatant disrespect; neither would he offer her more than perfunctory respect and obedience.

She was, after all, one of Xiyad’s most viciously renowned Drow.

Still smiling faintly, she stepped through the gates of the Warrior’s Guild and cut across the practice fields for the interior halls – and her quarters.

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-----"What is it?" Nyx eyed the dark amber liquid suspiciously. Crouching on the tall stool, her chin resting on the wooden surface of the bar, she poked the glass forward a bit seeming unable to decide whether she should drink it or seal it up, deem it hazardous material, and hope to all things holy that the contents of the cup didn't mix with the atmosphere.

-----"Just try it. You'll like it. Trust me." The lanky Elven man behind the bar smiled pushing the drink back in her hands. Poor dear. Unlike his poise and graceful brethren, Eöl seemed in a perpetual awkward stage. That can't be easy for an Elf. But it doesn't mean she should have to force any more of his strange and possibly deadly concoctions down her throat.

-----"The last time you said that, I ended up working the mines for a week." She grumbled.

-----"And do you remember why that happened, elf boy? It was because after consuming your 'drink' I was suddenly under the impression that I was a Shepard and proceeded to try and 'shear' all your customers. Believe it or not, people don't really like crazed Naiads running at them with sharp objects."

-----"Come on. How many times do you want me to apologize for that? I--"

-----"And do you remember what finally stopped me? It was right about the time I attempted to remove all the hair or 'wool' off a particularly upset centaur's backside. Of course, he wasn't fond of my actions and so decided to send me hurdling toward the nearest wall! And that wasn't even the worst of it!" She pushed the glass back at him, careful not spill it. Who knows? It might burn a hole in the bar. By this time her head was up and she was shaking a silvery blue finger at him in quite the scolding manner.

-----"Don't worry, Nyx. I got it right this time. I promise."

-----"You said that last time." She moaned rolling a pair of dull grey eyes toward the ceiling. Her chin found its way back to the edge of bar once again as her fingers traced the along the wood's grain.

-----"Come on." He coaxed, sliding the glass across the bar's surface once more.

-----"Fine. Give it." She snatched up the glass and before any part of her brain had a chance to react, she downed it all. After a moment of staring at the now empty cup waiting for any side-effects to kick in, she found to her surprise, nothing happened.

-----"Hmm. Not bad. You know, I guess you didn't scr--" She suddenly found herself on her back sprawled on the floor one of her legs still entangled in the stool.

-----"What the hell?!" She looked up to see Eöl's smiling face.

-----"Really knocked you on your a**, didn't it?" He asked, just beaming looking particularly proud of himself.

-----"Eöl, when they say that, they don't mean it literally." She replied very matter-of-factly from her position on the bar room floor.

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The morning was clear and crisp, a chill wind occasionally swept through the streets of Dondestan… raising clouds of dust that danced and swirled before settling, once again, upon the Earth. The marketplace was coming to life as vendors peddled their wares, constantly trying to out screech their nearest rival. It was common knowledge that the loudest one would end up with the most customers. Proclamations were made for the lowest prices, the freshest fruits, and the most succulent meats. Customers who had already decided on a vendor added to the clamor as they began to haggle for the lowest price possible. The din was deafening and it wasn’t even the rush hour yet. By then the size of the crowd would double, so too, their volume.

A little girl had accompanied her mother to the market as she had done countless times before. This time however, the girl noticed something peculiar. Amidst this hustle and bustle of the market, there was a man sitting on an old, overturned crate that had once held corn. Normally, a lone man would go unnoticed is this hub of activity, but this man was different. It wasn’t the man’s skin which was leathery, rough, and had the same pigmentation of the brown dust that covered his clothing, as the people of Dondestan were accustomed to all manners of creatures and colors. And his black hair, though unkempt, was no cause for pause. Nor was it that clothing, in so far as the shoddy bundle of vestments he wore could be called ‘clothing.’ An old, worn shirt that at one point may have been white but now seemed undecided as to whether it wanted to remain so or give in to the yellowing that had begun in patches along it. As well as a pair of tan pants with a hole torn at the knee of the left leg. Perhaps it was the eyes that differentiated this man from the multitude, for his grey eyes were penetrating. They seemed to see everything and nothing. Eyes that longed to view the present but, for some reason, were destined to simply replay the past. These eyes reflected a soul who had seen many horrors, and suffered many hardships, but they also exuded strength and determination. After all, the man had survived his traumatic past and was sitting there before the little girl now. The young girl’s eyes widened as she finally understood what set him apart.

Amidst the buzzing beehive of the marketplace, people were generally sucked into the tempo. Even if they were in no particular hurry, the activity and sense of urgency that pervaded the area eventually permeated itself into them. But, not this man. It was if he and the world were on two separate pages. He sat there, an anachronism that defied the tempo that the world tried to force on to him. The world he lived in moved at a pace that was entirely his own. The little girl was inexorably drawn towards the man. She took a hesitant little step forward, and then another, and another. In what seemed like hours to the little girl she stood at the feet of the mysterious stranger. He turned his piercing gaze to her and she suddenly felt as if she were laid bare. All of her deepest secrets were like an open book to this man.

“Um, e-excuse m-me…” she began haltingly.

At that moment the man stood, rising to his height of six feet, and looked down at the visibly trembling girl. Then, he did something the girl never expected that he was capable of. He lay one of his large, strong, and calloused hands on the little girl’s head and smiled. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as if she had reminded him of something from long ago. The smile was gentle, soft, and so incongruent with the rest of his appearance.

“My name is Randal,” he said simply before removing his hand and disappearing into the crowd.

The girl stood stunned as she watched him disappear. She realized that Randal had his demons, but she also understood that she had seen another side of Randal, perhaps a side of him that he had buried in the sands of time long ago. Maybe she had reminded him of that side that he had lost and helped him to remember it, even if only for the moment. She smiled.

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Ivanu leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking slightly under his bear-like shape. He slurped down the last of the goblet before him and patted his rounding belly lovingly, eyeing the now-empty platters before him.

The dishes remaining from the dinner he had just eaten sat atop a long, massive trestle table. Over six lengths long and one length wide, it was home to the Council of Dondesdan.

The Council itself was comprised of twelve men and women; each of his compatriots he knew all too well. Each member on the Council represented the twelve most powerful guilds within the realm.

Of course, no Council member had ever been a member of the guild they represented. That would make their job all too difficult with their allegiances split between the needs of their constituents and the needs of the city.

It would also conflict with, in Ivanu's case, the allegiance of the Council to itself.

Ivanu was the representative for the thieves’ guild; as such he utilized his powers within the guild to the fullest capacity. He had built for himself a vast information network - spies and coverts and just all around rather no good sneaky people. They suited his needs perfectly. Ivanu was the most well-informed member of the council. He was all too aware of every rumor that spread through the walled city; he was all too aware of every personal act of heroism recognized and every little deed that the common people deemed as worthy of praise.

God, how he hated the commoners - even worse than those who lived around them were those who stood before him. The criminals and disrespectful vagabonds he had to deal with constantly were, to him, quite wretched, and he abhorred each and every one. Loathing eked from every hairy pore in his ursus (A genus of Carnivora including the common bears) shaped body as he continued to ruminate about the forthcoming night, and his stomach began souring in response.

Ivanu shuddered and drew himself away from his feelings of dread about his forthcoming shift. For the next three nights he would sit as night judge; hearing all cases brought before him by the city guards from dusk until dawn.

The night brigands were the worst... It was because of them that they had had to double the usual patrol sizes and hire almost a third more guards. The whole city was falling to ruins in his opinion, and he failed to understand why His Majesty did naught about it.

King Migos... that old hibernating fuddy-duddy - there was another story altogether.

Ivanu sighed and slowly rose from his chair, moving to a heavily engraved humidor to remove a hand rolled cheroot which he lit from a nearby candelabra. He was glancing uncertainly about the hauntingly empty room when a young page skipped in, trotting over to whisper in his ear.

Rising slowly, Ivanu moved to retire to his personal hearing chambers.

He had company.

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Nobody paid any attention whatsoever to the tall elf in dusty robes, clasped at his neck with their gilded insignia when he entered the cartographers’ guild. The elf had two long and rather heavy tube-cases that like the ones used for big map carrying. Why should some boring cartographer interest anyone anyways?

Once inside the "cartographer" went to the stairs and walking like a man who walked this way a thousand times strolled down the corridor until he reached on of the doors. Pulling out a set of keys, the elf opened the door and entered one of the map-makers workshops. The room was tidy and had a large window with a curtain. It was also completely empty.

Then, an "ordinary cartographer" did something extraordinary. He opened his tube-cases and instead of rolled up maps pulled out of one a crossbow stock made of black wood and out of the other a short adamantine lathe or bow, black strings, a loading mechanism, and a few bolts carved of an ebon wood.

It took the elf about ten minutes to assemble the rather good sized crossbow, but he didn't appear to be in much of a rush. Pulling the string through the wheel of the mechanism, he whistled quietly between his teeth. Then he bent, plucking up one of the ebony bolts, tipped in brass, and carefully adjusted the pale white fletching, his gaze rising occasionally to watch the curtain and the doorway opposite the window. With a final, finite adjustment of the crank, he lifted the contraption to his shoulder and tipped the framed window outwards just a crack. Through the slit he clearly saw the Assassin’s Guild entrance, the only gap in its otherwise high, blank walls.

Walking back to the table, the elf prepared three more bolts and put them on the wooden ledge at the base of the window frame. He then turned, the stock of the crossbow still nestled against his shoulder, and lifted it – sighting down its length and still remaining inside the depths of the window, the curtain drawn tight between him and the light of the afternoon.

After several moments of observation, he drew the edge of the curtain back slightly, making sure to lower the crossbow so that its gleaming parts and the metal tip of the bold would not attract notice. The elf paused to measure the sun’s position against the Great Pillar, using it like a sundial, and then nodded briefly. 'About half an hour more,' he said to himself. The elf then stood there motionless, bow sighted and ready to shoot, for many minutes – his gaze not wandering at all away from the thick wooden door of the Assassin’s Guild entrance and its iron bindings.

After almost thirty minutes, the door opened - letting out a tall figure with a golden broach on his shoulder. The same movement drew the sun to spark off the rubies inlaid in the soft, almost pure gold setting – and in an instant the elf’s finger pulled the lever, releasing the bolt.

The recoil of the device hit him in the shoulder while the bolt flew across the square in an arc, impacting right in the center of the tall, pale young man framed in the doorway. The force of the missile through his unarmored body threw the man backwards, his body sprawling limply on the marble floor within.

The elf wasted no time, his jaw firming as with his right arm he expertly rewound the mechanism, his left hand snatching up one of the remaining bolts and his fingers held it as his thumb made minute alterations to the fletching. Within seconds, the crossbow was once again loaded, and the elf brought the weapon back to bear against his shoulder.

An assassin, cloaked in swirling fabric the same color as the blood pooling across the otherwise flawless white marble floor leaned over the elf’s first target, and a moment later, the second crossbow bold protruded from his skull. All within another thirty heartbeats, the third bolt embedded itself in the back of a clerk who had frozen in terror at the portal, his arms full of ledgers and sacks of coinage. The fourth and final target was an assassin who had scurried across the visible slice of floor and was attempting to drag the man with the gold and ruby broach, and the elf cursed under his breath when he only managed to hit his thigh.

The few observers nearby had no idea where the bolts had come from, since it seemed they had been launched from the Great Pillar itself.

In the few moments it took for some off-duty soldiers from the Warriors Guild and a pair of novices from the Guild of Light to arrive, three of the victims had already died. Even though his femoral artery had been struck, the last target had managed to bind his wound enough to prevent his bleeding out before the healers could tend to him. Sadly enough, the first target had been the Guildmaster.

Moments later, a slender, dusty figure attired in traveling robes stepped out of the Cartographers’ Guild, his guild pin glinting as he slung a pair of map tubes over his shoulder and stepped off, whistling through his teeth.

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Life is a game of chance. So the question is, are you as lucky as you think?

The soft, solemn of clicking heels signaled her arrival. The black boots she wore tapped out her steps as she walked down the street. The growing darkness did not disguise her, not that she needed it to while she wore the hooded cloak. Though the evening was not cold she shivered slightly, the vague feeling of something wrong entering her mind. But then again it could just be all in her mind. She pulled the cloak tighter around her, the scabbard of the sword she wore striking her left leg softly as she stepped. The silver trim of the cloak gleamed in the lamp light of the street.

Precious few see through the mask. Precious few see the real Pax.

A slight gust of wind blew back her hood, light illuminating the features of the woman they called Pax. Her sharp blue eyes peered out into the dim night, set against a tawny elven face. Sharply pointed ears protruded from long straight hair that was raven black save the single silver streak down the front. A small scar shimmered near her right eye, the remnants of a battle not forgotten. She let go of the cloak, allowing to move back with the wind, and the moonstone pummel and silver hilt of her sword glittered. Her slender hand hovered over the hilt briefly, as if to grab and draw the blade before she dropped it back to her side. The laces at the neck of the white shirt she wore were undone and a silver chain could be seen and she leather pants she wore fit snug against her lower body.

Serenity Pax, how ironic that such a woman would have such a name, had lived in the city most of her life, leaving to fight evil creatures and returning as if she had done nothing. The sarcastic, many times cold and distant, cynic lived alone. She was well known enough that many stayed out of her way and for the most part respected. She rarely brought her fights back to the city with her and was more than willing to aid in the fight against trouble when it came. But she stayed to herself for the most part, shopping in the marketplace and visiting the tavern. Many of the young people seemed to be attracted to her, gathering around to question her about her latest missions. On rare occassion would she speak to them, but the cold shell she wore did fall on occassion when looking out at the eager faces.

Men found her mysterious and sometimes attractive, though she was typically unapproachable, and some had even proclaimed that she might be beautiful if she weren't such a cold and distant woman. Few were able to make friends with her, turned away by her demeanor. But she was not unduly cruel. Such was the woman called Pax.

Now she headed for the tavern, as she did after every mission, for a drink and some food she didn't have to cook herself. The silver trim over her cloak swirled as she turned the corner and headed for the building. Another night, another mission over, and another chance. For what she had no idea.

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She hadn’t been here all that long, or not by her measurements, though she’d watched her fellow townsmen and guild members age considerably. The merchant’s guild had gone through two master merchants in her time traveling in and out of her haven, and while this saddened her, it occurred to her when she was at the side of one of her old companion’s, whom she’d once considered a mere child, death bed that her sense of measurement for these things might be a wee bit skewed, what with her ageing so slowly and all. She may have even been immortal, she wasn’t entirely sure; she’d know when she died and update all that she met in the afterlife that she was in fact mortal, for she had met a mortal fate. For now, though, she’d just live as she wished, not worrying about those things, as at this point she looked to be only around 18 or so.

Her shop wasn’t in the main building of the merchant’s guild as many were, but instead a small one on the outskirts of the town. She told all that asked the same. It was a right turn right after walking in the main gates and the on the left side of the roadway with a rose on the sign above the door. The door was locked at night just in case, despite the fact that the town was a known haven, and had in bold script, “The Rose’s Thorn”, a little cart right outside boasting dried meats and herbs, and often powders to help heal sores, with delectable smells leaving the shop’s depths, tempting those who walked by.

From the outside it looked almost like two buildings, a main one with a door on the left and a window on the right, with a little pathway leading from the first building to the next, a wall on the far side and a terrace allowing people to see into the pathway, and those on it to see out, the lattice work having roses of all colors weaving up and down, much like the earrings of the woman waiting within.

Inside there was a dimly lit room with a staircase in the back left, spiraling up beyond view to her own home when she stayed here, and a door on the right, going into the lattice worked path to the other section. Inside there were all sorts of herbs hanging to dry and fresh ones in vases and magical potions and an entire shelf of things to spice up life. The merchant’s guild had little effect on her, all in all, and she took the cart out to other towns every other fortnight, selling her goods to other people in other towns. Some couldn’t make it to this haven, and it wasn’t right that they couldn’t have access to the same spectrum of good things that the people here did.

Of course, one might argue that they could surely get the same herbs and medicines and other goodies from their own local shop owner that they could from the petite blonde woman, though somehow they would always flock to her nearly floor length white gold hair when she came around, begging for her faerie magic for this and that. Perhaps that little bit more that she had in her cart was what they wanted, yet despite the magic and glamour in her cart, she pleaded human when people asked to see her true self. She’d laugh it off, of course, and tell them soundly that there was no such thing as faeries, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

This was, of course, a lie, as all the children who met her knew. Children hold a sort of magic that no adults could ever know, and there were scars that she held hidden on her back that would prove otherwise to those who had lost their child magic, scars that had, at any given point, led to pink wings, sometimes sprinkled with black, sometimes black sprinkled with pink, and at times when she left the town for a week or two every new moon, they were pure black, only the glimmers from her ears betraying her presence to those she was around, and at one particularly traumatizing point those scars had led to bloody stumps. She could just die thinking of that, her gray eyes would darken from silver to pewter she would get that sinking feeling in her stomach. But of course this would turn back into a happy grin once more, just like she greeted the small children who ran into her store looking for sugar candies and licorice with.

Some times she took days off, closing the shop, but leaving it unlocked, her big balck panther with it’s dragon wings and tail left to guard, on watch with treats for all that happened in. The panther-dragon’s name was Nix, and though he wasn’t wholly an actual panther-dragon, that wasn’t actually an issue in the haven.


Today was one of those days off, it hadn’t been particularly busy, as most people were done their early morning runs and that was her busiest time and she couldn’t leave that to Nix, but that was over, and people would understand if they could only have sugary concoctions and not the groceries they were looking for.

Sometimes she just wanted to walk, her skirt falling long, and looking rugged and worn, yet colorful, and it was lined with silk, so she didn’t mind, though no one else knew that. She surely looked like the typical storekeeper, her shawl covering a rather elaborate (and tiny, albeit) shirt over the skirt, and she always had a basket of herbs and goodies with her.

It was for this reason, with her skirt dusting the ground and the bells on her ankle tinkling faintly, that she wandered into the crowded street that was lined with all the other stores, smiling at small children and giving them candy. She loved children, they made her feel tall at 5’ and they had such magic about them that she’d yet to find anywhere else.

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The full, inky darkness of night had swallowed the square. The Great Pillar jutted upwards, pointing what almost felt like an accusing finger skywards. The doorway of the Assassin’s Guild – indeed, the entire plaza – danced with torchlight, its bright orange glow supplanted here and there by glowing orbs of various colors cast by members of the Guild of Light. A crowd had gathered at the entryway to every Guild, huddling together and speaking in hushed, uneasy voices.

At the changing of the guard, the on duty captain, a towering minotaur with ebony fur and one spiraling horn (the other long since disappeared in a brawl) turned and grunted down at his replacement, a robust, spry little dwarf.

“Captain Arau,” the minotaur intoned, lowering its head slightly.

“Captain Minos,” answered the dwarf, waddling his way over, thumbs hooked in his belt. With a gusty sigh that send his mustache ends dancing, he turned to inspect the still on-going examination of the scene, his brows beetling together until they disappeared into each other. “Harrumph. I’m sure you’ve seen the irony of it, aye? The Assassin’s Guildmaster – assassinated.” The dwarf gave another harrumph and toddled a little closer as the minotaur’s huffing laughter shook Minos’s shoulders.

“Yarr, I’ve thought on it. The magicians have already cast their spells on the bodies, so we had them removed for the undertakers. It was warm enough today that it started to smell.” Captain Minos watched his much shorter counterpart with almost no expression, his burly arms crossed on his massive chest. The horned helmet Arau was wearing bobbed up and down, the only signal that he was even really listening. “A’right then. Council’s in session now – the Guild of Light is unraveling their castings and whipping up amulets for something or another. I’ve done all I could think of – or had orders for. I’ll leave it in your capable hands tonight, Arau.” The dwarf turned to give the minotaur a brief, scowling look from one eye.

“Fine, fine. Home wit’ ya. Leave me with a bumbling batch of duregar and drow and Goddess preserve us what else because it’s the only sledge they can drag up for night shift around here anymore.” The grumbling complaints were, if anything, a ritual between them, and Minos wordlessly nodded his head. “Aye aye fine fine – get ye gone. Imma get me someone from the Warriors Guild and see if we can find anything out about these weapons – the mage’s spell’em already?” The minotaur bobbed his head and Arau snorted. “Fine. Go to bed.” The dwarf spun around on one heel and marched into the midst of gathered watchmen.

“Disperse those crowds – curfew’s in effect, as of now. Dispatch rounds enforcing it. Get me some experts on the mishmash we’ve got left – and did we figure out yet where the damned shots came from?” The dwarf, for all his lack of height, had a pair of lungs more powerful than a singer. Within fifteen minutes, his orders had been enforced with an efficiency almost amusing to watch.

Terror had spread its massive blanket across the city, smothering it with the darkness. The council was in a terrified uproar – at sunset that day, all the city gates had been closed. The watch upon the walls and within the city had been doubled. More troops had been streaming into the city, support from the outer vassals. The townspeople were already frustrated and upset; those that were trapped within frantic to get home, those that were trapped without were eager to once again be in the safety of Dondestan's massive walls. Already there were small encampments being built surrounding the city by those who wished to be in the walls but couldn't be.

"Whether or not Dondestan knows it, they are standing on the edge of a huge movement. The people will be in an uproar! I don't know about you, but I don't think our garrison is appropriately outfitted to control the kind of riot and revolt we are going to see!" Councilman Nedad paced before the Council, his hands gesturing as he spoke vehemently. "I am struck to the quick by this unmitigated attack; however, I think that were we to demand retribution of the entire town, they will end up taking it out of us." He paused and glanced at the other Councilmen.

They were gathered in the great hall, all twelve Councilmen having called an emergency meeting. An angry, uneasy crowd had begun to gather outside the council building.

Councilman Nedad sighed gustily.

"Obviously this was intended to strike at the Assassins Guild - we create a lot of enemies." He frowned slightly, but Councilman Ardwa leapt up.

"You don't know that! How do you know that this isn't some huge political effort from some enemy nation trying to destroy Xiyad! Everyone in the realms *KNOWS* that Xiyad relies on its' Guilds... We are the BACKBONE of this country. Without us, there would be no order and no King; there would be no structure and there certainly would not be the prospering economy we drive it to!" Ardwa was the Historian's Guild's leader, and could truly speak from some knowledge even though he had never been a member.

A female figure slowly rose; willowy and pale, she stood silent and let her sapphire robes glimmer the room into a hushed awe.

"You will think what you wish. Personally, I think it a far better thing that we proceed overly-cautious, and assume that the truth of the matter is that all the Guilds are targets. It will keep us the safest." She paused, her near-black eyes skidding around the Hall to each councilman. "Even if it turns out to be a false alarm, it will, in the long run, prove to be a safer measure than if we did not take this seriously." Councilwoman Olanthe - the only female to have ever served on Council, she was the leader of the Healers guild.

Nedad slowly shook his head.

"But that's like jumping at shadows! Every perceived threat we should shut down the city and lock everyone up?" he looked incredulous.

Councilman Garr was silent. The Council slowly gazed around at each other: some looked warily and others with concern. But they all looked to each other for guidance. The Council's first seat and primary voice slowly stood, gazing down upon Nedad.

"Considering it was your Guild that was struck, Nedad, I am amazed at how hesitant you are to any reaction from us at all." He gave a smirk. "If I didn't know better I would suspect you had planned the assassinations yourself." There was a collective gasp and Nedad's face turned black. Doma laughed, raspy and low. "I jest, truly I do." He folded his knobby hands before him, tucking them into his arms.

"I do, however, agree that being too cautious can be better than not responding in kind." Doma's gaze turned stony, his eyes glazing slightly. "We will enforce the curfews, and keep the gates closed." The Council settled into a quiet silence that was pregnant with their unsaid protests. "The Rangers will begin tracking; all Guilds are to cooperate!" Doma's voice thundered and the word echoed about the chamber. "We will all work together; if any Guild should suffer anything that looks remotely related, we will convene again." He turned to glare at them, his black robes swirling.

"Do not hesitate to aid your fellow Guilds; do not hesitate to cross knowledge and class barriers. We must protect the structure that this country was built upon." Doma's voice turned soft, almost silent. "And we must protect each other."

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The night seemed to be setting in quicker than usual today, as the sun began to fall behind the horizon creating a purpleish red glow that was the result of a strange mixture of day and night. But soon the red was all but completely overcome by the purple and then blackness set in. The lamps lined the streets as Sen made her way from her the tiny shed like house that she called home, that lay near the outter walls of the city, and into the darkened streets that had already been lined with the golden glow of the laterns. She took a deep breath of the cool night air as her form glided silently along the streets careful to keep to the shadows and stay out of the way of any others she may happen to pass.

Sen was a demon woman who came to this city nearly ten years ago when she was only a child. No one knows where she came from, she had no friends nor any family to speak of. It was as if she were a ghost who just appeared on the front step of the city one day. In fact when she first arrived many would come to call her a ghost because of her startilingly white skin. Now she was twenty one years old and not much has changed since she came to this place. Sure her firey red hair had grown from the small of her back down to ankles, and yes she filled out a womanly figure and now stood only an inch or so from six feet tall. But her skin was still white as snow, and her eyes were still an empty grey color that seemed to always be fixed upon the ground.

That night Sen was wearing a pair of beat up black work pants and a long black tunic over top. She was on her way to a local tavern where she worked a night job as a kind of general maintenance. They wanted her to be a barmaid but she didnt think she could handle the sociabilty of being around so many people at once, so instead the owner offered her a job washing dishes, cleaning up, and fixing anything that might have worn out or become broken. Sen was a hard worker, she wanted to make an honest living on her own. Durring the daytime Sen studied books on mechanisms and invented strange little gadgets, and in process she had gained quite a bit of knowledge on fixing things, and if something broke somewhere it was more often than not they would call upon Sen to fix it.

Sen was a well liked woman, and reliable when it came it to her craft, but despite the natrual harmony between people here Sen could never find herself being social. Even after ten years she still had no friends, she always kept herself at an emotional distance from everyone she came in contact with. Then again no one had ever really tried to get inside her head and open her up. She always saw herself as that ghost on the front gates of the city, and made herself live up to that name. She was a mere ghost, there only for what needed to be done then gone just as fast. Back into her own world of lonliness.

Tonight was no different than any other. She had finished a few fix-it assignments around her neighborhood then dressed in her worn out work scrubs and headed to the tavern. She slinked silently into a back ally and headed for the back door of the inn to begin her night at work.

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Sen arrived at the tavern shortly after the darkness of night had set in. She had managed to get this job which was convienantly close to her home. She pulled open the heavy wooden door to the back of the tavern. Light and sounded flooded the dismal allyway, Sen could see a line of bagged trash waiting to be picked up along the outter wall, and she could hear the usual bustling voices from inside the bar.

She stepped inside, taking a moment to let her eyes and ears adjust to the new surroundings. She walked over to the large basin where she usually washed the dishes. With a sigh she peered into the brown soapy water and saw a rather large ammount of dishes left of her. She figured that would happen. No one else likes to do them so they like to let them pile up until Sen got there. With another sigh she grabbed the leather strap she kept strung to a nail near the basin and tied up her emensely long firey red hair and dove into the murky water and began her nightly tasks.

She washed in silence, It seemed the more she washed the more empty ale glasses seemed to pile up next to her. She just couldnt seem to wash as fast as people could drink. She could hear bits and pieces of conversation coming from the front bar area. Her ears perked up a bit as she started to pick up little tidbits of news that the head of the assasins guild had been assasinated. Soon things began to get quiet and Sen wondered what was going on, it was still rather early and the tavern was never this quiet until at least when the moon was past its highest point in the sky.

The owner of the tavern, who happens to live in small apartment above the bar, peeked into the backroom where Sen was. Usually at the end of the night she would sweep the floors, wipe down the tables, put all the dishes and such in their proper places and stack the bar stools and chairs upon the tables. But tonight was different. He told her to forget her other duties and head home, that he would take care of cleaning up tonight. He told Sen that there was a curfew in effect and the city was shutting down early tonight. There was an incident, as he would put it. He shoved a few coins into her hand, the usual ammount if she had done all her job, and ushered her out the door.

Sen was slightly worried by the turn of events. In the past ten years she had spent here nothing like this had ever happened. Luckily she only live about a ten minutes walk down the road, but she still hurried off down the dimly lit streets toward her home a little nervous that she might be caught wandering around after cerfew.

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The assassination of the head of the Assassins’ Guild had thrown the city into chaos. The air was heavy and rank with the stench of pure terror. As Randel walked down the cobbled street, he noticed the complete absence of the regular night time activities that normally took place in this part of town. Most of Dondestan’s residents had barricaded themselves in their homes for fear that they too would fall prey to the unknown killer.

He walked alone with his hands forced deep into the pocket of his pants. His eyes scanned the buildings that lined his path searching for a bar that, in spite of the current uproar, valued commerce over caution. Every time his eyes fell upon another house, he saw the curtains hurriedly drawn or a candle immediately extinguished. It was the morbid curiosity of every being in existence. Though they feared for their life, they still didn’t want to miss the next big event that occurred right under their noses.

Though the residents had taken shelter, it seemed that the Council had decided to double their number of roving patrols in the faint hopes that they could still find and apprehend the assassin. Often during his hereto fruitless search for libations, he heard the call of one guardsman to another or saw a lamplight as it passed down one of the adjacent streets. He had been lucky up to this point to not run into any of these patrols. After all, he was walking alone down an empty street while everyone else was busying cowering under their beds at home. Death and killing were two things that he had experienced enough during the course of his life. Besides, this assassin didn’t have anything to do with him. He had long since severed his ties to any of the Guilds and this attack seemed to be directed at them. Therefore, he saw nothing wrong with wandering the streets searching for a stiff drink.

“You there!” came a deep, booming voice from behind him. Randal stopped walking and silently cursed whichever deity had decided to abandon him at this juncture. “Turn around slowly and remove your hands from your pocket!” He did as he was told, seeing how cooperation was the only prudent action at this time. As he turned he was blinded by the bright lantern that he suddenly found inches away from his face.

“So what might ye be doing out here at such a time?” This voice was more gruff then the one that had first ordered him to stop. Randal concluded that there were at least two guards which fit the profile of the pairs that he had spotted previously.

The voice of the Guard One sounded again, “You’ve been asked a question. Did you not hear about the assassination that took place today? We’re supposed to be searching for suspicious characters, and you look pretty suspicious to me.” As Guard One concluded his statement, he lowered the lantern and Randal took the time to blink away the afterimages that obscured his vision. He was now able to discern that he was correct in his assumption that there were two guards. He was also discovered that they were both human, approximately equal to his height, and from the emblems that were pinned to the lapels of their cloaks, they were both members of the Rangers’ Guild.

For a brief moment Randal was flooded by memories upon seeing the emblem. How long had it been? Five? No, six. Six years since I gave it up…Six years since I first met her…

Guard Two shook his shoulder roughly, snapping him from his reverie. “If you don’t have any place to be, we can take you to a nice cell and hold you there.” Randal raised both of his hands in a non-threatening gesture and said, “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I simply stepped out to try and find myself a drink. This business with the assassin has me a bit on edge you see? I figured good, stout ale would take the edge off and help me relax.” It seemed that the deity who had placed him in this situation decided that it had had enough fun watching him squirm.

“Aye, very well,” Guard Two said as he released his grip on Randal. “There’s a tavern what should be open down the road a might. I suggest you make haste and I don’t want to see you out here again tonight. Understand?” He nodded and watched as the two guards turned on their heels and strode into the night until their cloaks had fully vanished into the darkness. Then pivoting himself, he followed the directions provided to him and found himself outside the lit tavern.

The eyes of the already seated patrons snapped to him as he entered, but he didn’t notice them at all. He sat himself down in a stool at the end of the bar furthest from the door. He motioned towards the elf that was tending the bar. “I’ll take the strongest thing you can muster.” The elf nodded and started working on the concoction. The memories that had been stirred earlier began trying to resurface. Randal fought hard to subdue them. He watched the elf as he mixed various liquids. This drink can’t come soon enough…
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