This fic was spawned from my incessant search for an MMORPG which is free and playable on mac.
Disclaimer: I own no characters and/or scenarios from Mai HiME/Otome. If I did, it would already be a H-game.
Chapter 1- Daggers and dancing
In the fair city of Windbloom, peace and trade flourished. It was one of the three principal cities of the Allied Clans, along with Aires and Zipang. Many times a day did boots trample along the whitewashed pavements, across the canals and in the squares, some hurrying to appointments, others shouting out the items for sale, and some even riding great dignified mounts, heading to the keep. The cry of gulls and the crisp morning air seemed to paint the city as the perfect place, with its pure white stone houses and neat blue roofs.
Yes, Windbloom was a city of heroes. Mighty warriors, powerful mages, holy priests and disciplined paladins asserted the rule of the gods of light all around the place.
If you happened to be walking out of the bank and past the auction house at around eleven o'clock, you may have caught a glimpse of a somewhat haggard young man in a shabby set of plate armor, who, after hastily stuffing some grubby scrolls into his saddlebags, mounted his steed and cantered off towards the other prefecture of Windbloom. One might have also noticed the worried look on his face as he turned to check over his shoulder far too regularly. His spiky black hair did nothing to cover the growing amount of precipitation on his brow, and his palms were sweaty, barely gripping his horse's reins properly.
He came to an abrupt stop outside a small shady inn; set back in a small alleyway, so only those who knew where it already was could see it. A small, tarnished sign hanging over the door had a picture of an apple with a dagger trough the centre, and the words 'The Poisoned Apple' were just discernable if you looked carefully enough. The warrior pushed open the door, which let out a loud creak, and stepped through the wall of smoky haze into the bar. Timidly walking up to the barman, a tall, imposing man with a stained apron on looked down at him disapprovingly, grunting to indicate that the knight could order a drink.
"A-ale, please," the knight stuttered, wondering why the stains of the barman's apron looked so very much like bloodstains. Putting down the tankard that he had been wiping with a cloth that looked as though it had been all the way through a horse's digestive system, the barman took another goblet from the shelves and filled it with ale.
"Thirty silver, that'll be," he asked, holding out his huge, dirty hand to receive his payment. The knight hastily shoved the coins into it and scurried off to the corner.
His dark eyes were continuously flitting around, searching and hoping that nobody knew he was here. The door opened again, and soundlessly a cloaked figure entered. The warrior saw it immediately; the practiced causality, the ethereal gait, the constantly knife-edged way that they held themselves. This was his contact. From whence she came he knew not, but he had fallen in love with her the moment she had been sent to do a job for him.
"What is it the gulls cry in the morning breeze?"
"Entombed we are, within our own paradise,"
"Good."
The knight pushed himself upright on his chair and took a swig of beer, hoping to seem manly. All this did, however, was cause the cloaked girl's face to twist in disgust.
"Get on with it then, girl. I haven't all day, you know! I'm a busy man," he joked, leaning over the table.
"Very busy, of course, sir. Busy drinking and bargaining in the auction house, methinks," that sneer again. "I have the information you asked for."
"Jolly good! Hand it over, then!"
"I think not. Where is my payment? You still owe me the two and ten gold from last time,"
"Payment, payment, right-o. Let me see- ah, dang! Sorry, I appear to have left my main purse in the bank of Aries… oh dear me!"
"Just so you know… you're trying too hard. And about the money; if you don't have it by when we meet the next tenday, I will terminate my service," she coldly replied, dropping an envelope on the table and striding out, leaving the warrior alone.
"Mou… she's always so cold…" he sighed, getting up. Following her footsteps, he swiftly exited the inn. Blinking furiously, his eyes adjusted to the light of day after the murky illumination of the inn. He breathed in a deep, clear breath of morning air.
The last Corporal Takeda ever took.
Silent as the very refreshing wind that blew lazily around, causing standards to flutter, a cloaked figure appeared behind Takeda, slitting his throat with a serrated blade with practiced ease. Without even a whimper, he dropped down onto the pavement, a small pool of liquid gathering under him.
The figure began searching him. It took everything he owned, excluding his undergarments. Dragging his body right down the alleyway, the assassin conjured a small ball of fire and set his hair alight, disappearing a though they were dissolved into the very air itself.
Sergay Wang looked around his well-furnished office and sighed. He did not sigh out of frustration, tiredness or relief, he sighed at the tell-tale jingling of the wind chimes outside his window, signaling that someone was outside, waiting to see him. And he knew exactly whom that somebody was.
"Come in, Kuga." He announced shortly, leaning back on his throne-like chair and running his fingers through his hair.
"I have terminated the subject," she began, not even bothering to bow to him. "His possessions await you with that infernal tinkerer in the basement."
"You gave them to Tripsnatch? Surely you know that all he'll do is melt them down and create another useless but ingenious piece of engineering?" Sergay uttered.
"I do only what is asked of me." Was the curt reply.
"Very well. You may go until I may speak to you again."
The girl bowed and was about to make her way out of the door when Sergay stopped her abruptly.
"You need to go and see Grithook. He has that poison you commissioned a few weeks ago ready."
But the mysterious girl was already gone.
"Why, councilor Bravefist, what an honor it is to make your acquaintance," came a much rehearsed polite greeting. Councilor Bravefist was by no means an ugly man, but he was just like every other courtier that her father had arranged for her to see; powerful, old, and rich.
After exchanging the same monotonous pleasantries with the rest of the court, Princess Shizuru gracefully took a seat on her throne beside her mother's. But, of course, her mother, the Queen of Windbloom, was dead. The throne was merely a commemoration of sorts. Her Father, Magthor the first of Windbloom, stood stoic and intimidating on his chiseled throne, the grey streaks in his hair and beard coupled with the power that radiated from his eyes was enough to calm the chatter down at once.
"Order!" He barked, sending dust down from the courtroom ceiling. "I now officially call to order the seventy-second court of the brethren of the Allied Clans. The first issue for debate will be…"
The head of court stood up and cleared his throat. "The growing concern pertaining to the activities the Rogues and Assassins within our Nation and Cities,"
The room became rife with whispers and gasps at his words.
"A few of you may have noticed that Corporal Takeda is no longer amongst us. His remains were found scattered in the canals, and everything but the clothes on his back had been pilfered.
"Though the evidence is scarce, I have reason to believe that the rogues may be operating within the care of a noble from our very city. Possibly one in this very courtroom… but we mustn't be hasty. A few of our priests and mages have scryed your estates to no success, so do not panic. But please, be sure, that if any citizen is discovered to be associated or syndicated with this case, they will be put to death.
However, on a slightly lighter note, a messenger arrived from Romulus this morn, bringing with him the assurance that they will hosting All Hallows Eve again this year…"
Shizuru could not listen any more. Her mind drifted off into dreamland, where she imagined a handsome young knight that would come and take her far away from the tedium of Windbloom Keep and it's constant formalities. They would take her away to some faraway land, where she was not weighed down by her title or standing.
But, alas, she felt no butterflies at the thought of her handsome knight any more. She was eight and ten summers old now, and at this age she should already be married to secure an heir for her ageing father.
Hardly noticing what she was doing, the princess's legs carried her down familiar corridors, behind tapestries and down sets of spiral staircases to her bedding chambers. Falling onto her four-poster bed, she laid awake, eyes concentrated on a knot in the wood of her canopy.
The bell for repast tolled at eight o'clock, but Shizuru stubbornly ignored it, choosing instead to lazily write the kitchen staff a note that she would prefer to eat up in her room. She did this often now, seeing as that when she ate in the Banquet hall, she would be accosted by a multitude of tipsy suitors.
Her smaller sister, Mashiro, snuggling up to her in bed, abruptly woke her at cockcrow the next morning. She sighed and pried the child's ten-year old hands from her waist and got up and about, taking a bath, dressing for the day, doing her hair and whatnot.
Whilst brushing out her hair in the mirror, Shizuru's eyes rested upon a hastily scrawled note pinned up:
Ball tonight. Attendance is mandatory, Shizuru-sama. Your ball dress is downstairs with me. No doubt a new batch of old whiskered men will be there to woo you. Hope that cheered you up.
-Akane
Trust Aoi to write a note like this. Akane Soir was Maria, the head of the Royal maid's helper. But to Shizuru she was like an older sister, seeing as though she was only three years old than her and they had grown up together.
Shizuru sighed and began to get dressed; knowing that is would be a long day.
Windbloom at night was considered a relatively safe place. Aside from a few tramps, there was nothing that would really hurt you.
Well, nearly nothing.
A cloaked figure sat astride a riding tiger, prowling along the canals, daggers glinting in the moonlight. They headed straight for the keep at a casual pace, as not to draw attention to themselves. A strong gust of wind blew the figure's hood back, revealing a striking female face, pale as the waxing moon reflected in her verdant eyes. She had a long mane of silky raven tresses that shined midnight blue in the cerulean night sky. Just the sight of someone so beautiful took your breath away.
The serrated daggers at her belt also took your breath away, very painfully and literally. Her ample chest rose and fell from under her leather breastplate, making her far too perocative for most simple-minded men, such as Colonel Takeda, to handle seriously.
This was Kuga; the assassin. She lived on independence, in the shadows, from other people's pockets. Her being flitted in and out of history, never enough to be there yet never too little to be forgotten. She was a bedtime story told to keep children in their rooms.
And when Kuga had a target, it was promptly terminated, not fuss, no problem.
But this assignment would be different.
Sergay had informed her of a possible attempt at the king's life. The story had been carefully sent out to barkers and street vendors, gossips and criers. It was supposed to come from a member of the opposing faction, the Host Tribes, who had infiltrated the city. But in reality, it was to come on the sharpened edge of Kuga's swift blade. She was to become a maid in the castle and kill the king at the first chance she got. Not a simple get in get out situation, but nevertheless, easy. In his own fort, the king would be guarded less and causally.
Kuga had no regret at killing the king of her own faction; she held ties to nobody. She had been found in a wooden crate on the no-man's land that separated the two divisions of the kingdom of Earl, and only claimed by a group of looters that had bought her back to Windbloom and sold her to the slave trade.
But she was older now, and hardened against the physical and emotional pain of her past. She was not human; no, something both much less and much more. She was a killer.
--O--
Please read and review! This is what happens to sober writers after writing a crackfic.
Emiri