Ravens' Cabal - Finale

PROLOGUE: One In A Blue Moon

Brax darted through the streets, his movements hidden and silenced by sheets of rain pounding on stone walls and pavement, as well as the clouds obscuring the moon. As planned, he arrived at an alley near the Blue Moon Inn several minutes before his mark would be due to exit the establishment, heading home inebriated and practically oblivious to everything. That was how it should be. That was not how it was. Ignoring the severe dampness of his cloak and the occasional raindrops being blown by the wind into his eyes, he listened intently.

The inn's door swung open with the accompanying sound of laughter, singing and idle chatter from the common room. Heavy boots made contact with puddle-ridden pavement, slowly and inconsistently. The stagger of a drunken man. A shadow cut across the mouth of the alley, through the wavering lamplight from just above the inn's door. This was his man. Brax waited patiently for the figure that cast the clumsy shadow to come closer.

Come closer it did, and Brax's arms quickly shot outwards, grabbing the startled man and pinning him to the alley wall. Sobriety quickly re-entered the man's flushed face, and his eyes opened wide with fear. Brax continued to pin his head to the stone with his left, and with his right, drew a dagger.

"I suppose you know why I'm doing this," he said calmly with a lightly scolding tone.

The man was still for a moment, weighing his chances, then shook his head furiously.

Brax's eyes narrowed, and he softly recited, "'Varrock's two prominent criminal guilds are the Phoenix and the Black Arm. The Phoenix keeps its operations mainly to information gathering and blackmail, while the Black Arm takes a more hands-on, back-alley approach. However, I have uncovered substantial evidence that points to the existence of a third guild, the Ravens' Cabal, which carries out assassinations in not only Varrock, but also Falador, Ardougne and Lumbridge.' Does that sound familiar to you?"

The man's eyes widened, but he continued to shake his head.

"You wrote that. Come on now, be honest."

The shaking slowly turned into a nodding. Apparently this man had reconsidered his "best" course of action.

Brax gave the man a friendly grin. "I thought so." He plunged his dagger into the man's ribs, keeping his hand over his mouth. Within a moment, the man's eyes rolled up into his head, and his body ceased convulsing. Brax let him drop to the ground, his flowing blood staining rivulets of water flowing between cobblestones red before draining into the city's sewers.

Brax knelt down and turned the man's head over. With his dagger, he calmly engraved the image of a flexed arm onto his cheek, before turning his head back. Wiping his dagger on the man's clothes, he stood and calmly walked away from the scene, muttering, "Some things are best kept dark."

very good i am guessing that there is more 7/8 out of 10 so far

CHAPTER ONE - Dissent

A light rapping on his door woke Brax. He sat up in his sleeping pallet and answered, "Yes?"

The portal opened and a dirty-looking boy entered with a lamp. "Master Brax," he said with a bow, setting his lamp down on a desk beside the door, "the Council requests your presence."

Brax nodded. "Tell them I'll be there in five minutes."

The boy turned and exited quickly, shutting the door behind him. Brax stood and quickly donned a black shirt and his leather armour, buckling it securely before fastening a sheathed dagger to its side. He picked up his short sword and likewise attached it to his belt. He crossed over to the door and grabbed his cloak from a peg, hastily putting it on before picking up the lamp and exiting.

The guild's common room was nothing really more than an old, dried-up cistern with several chairs arranged around a small fire in the middle, with old sewer tunnels and chambers radiating out from it, now converted to rooms for members, as well as a torture chamber for less privileged guests. He did not acknowledge the greeting of one of the men around the fire as he crossed the room to enter one of the tunnels.

This he followed for a minute before arriving at another, smaller cistern, similarly drained. He proceeded down recently-added steps into the centre, and waited in the dripping water and dim light filtering through a grate above.

"Young Brax," a voice said from the shadows to his right. "For what reason have you been summoned?"

Brax stood silently. He did not know, but this was a matter of protocol.

"He is here for a briefing," a raspier voice said from his left. "A client requests the removal of a problem."

Brax held his ground, not saying a word.

"Your kill two nights ago sparked some uproar against the Black Arm in the populace," said the first voice. "That is good."

"The Arm blames the Phoenix for framing them," a third voice, deeper than the others said. "The Phoenix denies this, and any further disturbances will spark a guild war."

"The Arm is reluctant to make a move against the Phoenix, however," the raspy voice said. "We, however, need these two guilds to be diminished in power, so that we may conduct larger operations. On the other hand, they must not be removed, as we may not use them as cover in that case."

Guild politics, Brax thought. He had little patience for these moves by the council, as the guild's philosophy was to bring to heel corruption at any cost, though secrecy was a priority. He stood and waited.

"We need Baraek the fur trader killed. That should be enough to provoke the Phoenix into killing one of the Arm's recruiters in retaliation. Both guilds will do the rest of the work for us."

Brax nodded. He did not feel all too comfortable about the task, but his duty to the guild was above all concerns.

"That is all," the first voice said.

Brax turned on his heel silently and left the chamber. This does not have to happen to further the guild's philosophy.

He walked into the common room sat down by the fire, waiting for one of the junior members to bring him food and drink.

"What did they need, Brax?" the man to his left, a lean, rat-faced assassin named John -- Brother John, to most of the guild, owing to his former station as a monk of Saradomin -- asked.

"Baraek."

"The fur trader? Why?"

Brax took his plate and mug off the same boy from earlier. "To set the Arm and Phoenix against each other. It doesn't further the guild's purpose, only elevates the station of the Masters."

"This is a problem? If it elevates the Masters, it elevates us. We are a guild."

"A guild dedicated to fight the same corruption that our masters are displaying," he said with no small amount of displeasure in his voice.

John nodded. "I take it you're doing the job tonight?"

Brax answered in the affirmative. "The sooner this job's over, the better. I can't stand the way this guild's being handled. When it took me under its wing, it was a group dedicated to justice. Now, it's just another guild of criminals." He stood and headed for one of the main sewer tunnels, leaving his food and drink untouched.

John stared off after him, then likewise stood and headed for the Council chamber.

CHAPTER TWO: A Raven in Hand

Baraek the fur trader did not have a very busy day in the market, though he rarely ever did. At least that was what one would assume if he did not notice the comings and goings of strange men who left nothing but envelopes or hurried whispers for the merchant. As the main front for the Phoenix's intelligence brokering operations, the idea that Baraek was not a very busy man was half-true: he was not a busy fur trader, but he was a hard-working information trader. Hence, Brax had not seen him move from his stall for the entire day that he sat in an upstairs room in the Blue Moon. That was how it should be.

The working day was almost at its end, with the sun barely peeking over the city's western wall. Many merchants were already packing their wares and heading home, though Brax estimated that Baraek would not be leaving until the last messenger had arrived.

Brax sat back and watched. The fur trader was slowly beginning to pack his small amount of stock, and had just finished covering his stall when a man arrived, whispered something in his ear, then ran off. Brax held his position as Baraek began to walk at a leisurely pace toward his home, appearing as inattentive as anyone could be.

Bax hurried downstairs, dropped a few coins on the bar and exited the establishment. He quickly caught onto Baraek's trail and followed him at a distance, keeping to the shadows, though the trader was not glancing about. He loosened his sword inside its scabbard.

The last rays of the sun had been masked by the walls of the city by the time Baraek arrived home. As an unmarried man who kept no pets, he was exceptionally vulnerable. Brax knew this, and would capitalise on it. He pressed himself to a wall as Baraek looked up and down the street one last time before he entered. The assassin had not been spotted.

He rushed silently to the alley that opened next to the merchant's home, and threw a grappling hook to the roof. With two tugs to make sure that it was secure, Brax swiftly climbed up, pulling the rope up behind him. He crept slowly to where the roof would be directly over Baraek's second-story window, and hurled his grapple around the chimney at the peak to secure himself. He heard the muffled sound of a door opening then closing directly below him.

Slowly, he crept over the edge of the roof, maintaining a hold on the rope. His feet touched the window sill, and he kicked off from the wall, swinging back before kicking the window off its hinges relatively quietly, and landing crouched in the room, sword drawn. Baraek was on his bed, and had sat upright as soon as he landed. He did not give the man a chance to shout, as he was on top of him in seconds, pinning him with a hand clamped over the mouth to the headboard.

"Dreadfully sorry," he said as the fur trader shook his head frantically, eyes wide with shock. Brax ended it quickly, plunging his blade upward into Baraek's chest, then withdrawing quickly. The former trader's head lolled to the side, eyes still open, with a trickle of blood seeping out of his mouth.

He didn't have to die.

Brax headed downstairs and walked out the front door, and began to walk to the nearest sewer grate.

He heard a click behind him as he walked past an alley. Several other clicks followed, from both sides of the street, followed by the shuffling of booted feet. "Hold it right there," a man's voice said.

Brax turned slowly. And found himself facing a group of nine guardsmen, all with crossbows trained on him. This is no coincidence.

"Assassin! Move and we'll shoot!"

Brax weighed his chances. This was not the time to ponder how the city guard had learned of who he was and where he would be. He feinted a jump to his left, then ran to the right in an attempt to get cover in an alley. Several crossbow bolts whizzed to where he had feinted, though two of the guards did not fall for the trick, and sent their bolts flying at him. He ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding one as he reached the alley. He stood, and was suddenly aware of a burning pain in his thigh. He felt a dampness there, but kept running, turning this way and that, trying to lose the guards in the maze of alleys, though three managed to stay on his tail.

He reached a dead end.

Two guards crouched, crossbows aimed at him. One spoke, "Come quietly and we will not shoot."

They will torture you into revealing the Cabal. Brax came to a decision within an instant. He ran at the guards, a bolt whizzing past him and another grazing his arm. He lunged at the one who spoke, his blade easily sliding into his throat, sending him to the ground gurgling and spluttering as blood fountained from the wound.

Brax spun around to slash at one of the crossbowmen, though the man leapt back. He spun around again to face the other, only to find the stock of the crossbow flying at his face. He tried to dodge to the side.

Brax's vision flashed red, and the last thing his senses relayed to him was an explosive pain. He blacked out.

CHAPTER THREE: Birdcage

A burning pain woke Brax. He sat up in his sleeping pallet and rubbed his head. What little light came through the bars on the door allowed him to survey his surroundings.

He was in a small stone cell, barely large enough to hold his pallet and a chamber pot in opposite corner near the door. It was cold and damp, and he was painfully aware of the stench of faeces and urine mixed in with the musky odour of the place. Not having remembered being taken in, he assumed his chamber pot was clean, and there were other prisoners with him. The door was made of iron, with bars set in the middle at about head height. The light that filtered in was of a wavering quality, likely from a lamp or a torch.

Brax could only assume that he was in the dungeons of the palace, reserved for the most dangerous criminals. Obviously, the deaths of a prominent merchant and a guardsman were enough to warrant such incarceration.

He stood and crossed over to the door, staring out of the bars into the cell opposite. His gaze was met by a pair of dark brown eyes, much like his own.

"Finally awake, huh?" said the man.

"What do you mean, 'finally?'"

"Guards brought you in last night, out cold and everything. What're you in for?"

Brax went silent. He did not want to inadverdently reveal the Cabal.

"Ah, that's fine. Some of the other lads won't say either. One of 'em I can understand, he's a fellow named Varden. They brough him in kicking and screaming about two years ago. They even had to bring in a couple of lancers so he wouldn't try anything too dangerous. 'Course, he killed the guard who put him in the cell with his bare hands, but that's an occupational hazard, I guess."

A burst of manic laughter erupted from what Brax estimated to be two cells over from his, followed by a loud banging of metal against metal.

"He does that sometimes, smashes the chamber pot against the door. He don't seem to care if what's inside spills out, and that's probably what you're smelling. Anyway, I'm Gart. What's your name?"

"Brax."

"Nice to meet you, Brax. Too bad it couldn't be in a different place."

Brax quietly stared into Gart's eyes for a moment, then said, "You seem to be very cheerful for a prisoner."

Gart gave a laugh. "Comes with getting used to it, I guess. I've been in this hell hole for the better part of five years now. Guards brought me in for rape and two murders. I ain't bitter about it; I mean, I did it, an' I'll accept the punishment. I'm actually surprised I haven't gone crazy yet."

Brax turned around and sat down on his pallet. He would be here for a while.

***

He had been in the dungeon for a fortnight. A week ago, three men were brought in. They said that they were all in the Phoenix Gang, and were convicted of five murders apiece, give or take one. Two days ago, a Black Arm was brought in for murder as well, though his count was seven.

Brax stood by the door, at an angle which allowed him to watch the guardsmen lead all three Phoenixes out. All three were very quiet about the affair. In the light, Brax saw that none of them could have been over eighteen.

"That's what happens with the gangs nowadays, huh?" Gart said softly, with a hint of cold fury in his voice. "Youngsters like that, killing their fellow man and paying the price barely over a week later..."

"What do you mean?" asked Brax.

"Only one way out of here, Brax. Well, two, if enough evidence is presented to the court that you're actually innocent. Not that anyone would actually care to do that for our sorry lot."

Brax knew that the Cabal would not waste its resources to free any members who were incarcerated. "And the other way?"

"Jumping down the leafless tree. Those three boys are going to be hanged."

Varden gave a loud cackle. "Tree the the for ravens! For the ravens tree the!" the manic laughter and scrambled chanting continued for a few more minutes before it subsided.

The tree for the ravens... "Why weren't you hanged, Gart?" asked Brax.

Gart replied, "Oh, hanging's actually the better way to die, the way I see it. 'Course, they figured I was so bad they'd just leave me here to rot away. Wish they would've given me the rope straight away. It ain't easy putting up with the last screams o' those girls echoing in your head over and over. Like I said, I'm surprised I'm not barmy like that Varden fellow."

Brax kept silent as he saw three pairs of boots descending the stairwell down the corridor. The three men, two guards and a slightly more civillian-looking man, began to approach.

"Wonder who they're going to take away this time," Gart muttered audibly.

The three stopped right between their cells. Brax could hear Gart's sharp intake of breath. He knew that the man was hoping that they'd open his door and take him.

Gart was to be disappointed, however, as the man in the middle unlocked Brax's door and beckoned him out.

He could hear Gart's sigh. "Nice knowing you, Brax."

Brax said nothing, and allowed the guards to lead him away and up the stairwell.

CHAPTER FOUR: The Raven with Grey Feathers

Brax stood at the foot of the steps leading up to the gallows. The guard behind him nudged him with the butt of his spear. He began to climb.

The steps continued for an eternity. Every footfall was marked with a dull thump and creak as the wood recieved his weight. Brax was completely aware of what was about to happen, yet he was calm. His heart was not pounding in his chest like Varden in his cell. His knees did not wobble, and he stood erect as he finally reached the platform above, where a man motioned him over to the rope.

The tree for the ravens.

The noose was slipped around his neck quickly, and he stood silently as the noble with the rapier spoke. "You, Brax, are convicted of two counts of murder, and as an assassin, are under suspicion for many more. The punishment for these crimes is death in this kingdom of Misthalin. Have you any last words?"

Brax replied, "Who betrayed me?"

"A man who wore the robes of Saradomin said that he had a vision of you killing Baraek, and told us of the time and place."

Brother John, the thought raced through his mind. Betrayed by the Cabal?

"Have you anything else to say?"

Brax shook his head, and the noble nodded to the man beside him. The man pulled a lever, and the floor below Brax gave way, sending him down and pulling the rope taut. It tightened quickly around his neck, though not tight enough to cut off all his circulation. Pain still exploded in his head, however, as the blood flow was stifled. His vision went black, though he still did not strangle. What is happening?

He felt a shock run up his legs, and he collapsed to the cold stone floor.

"We have executed the assassin who murdered Baraek and guardsman Halden," he heard the noble's voice say from a distance as he lost consciousness. "Make sure that it is printed in the Varrock Herald."

***

Brax awoke in a soft bed with white covers. A woman sat nearby and smiled at him as he awoke. She wrote something on a piece of paper and left the room.

Why am I alive? Thoughts raced through his head as he lay on the mattress. Confusion slowly gave way to planning as he thought of what to do to the man who betrayed him.

She returned a few minutes later with the same noble who had ordered him hanged following her, as well as a man in flowing blue robes.

"Good morning, Brax," the noble said. Turning to the robed man, he said, "Did you finish probing his mind?"

The man nodded. "There is nothing to see there except clouded images of blades and dark rooms. I saw a city built on the inner band of a gigantic wheel floating above a tall spire, though this does not make sense to me. I saw nothing else. He does not appear to have emotions in any form whatsoever. He retains his memories though it is impossible to discern them even with my arts. He is, as you had speculated, the perfect assassin."

"Very well," the noble said. "Brax, you are dead. I am Farcin, Spymaster of Varrock, and you only live because of my will, and thus, you are mine. Do you understand?"

You are bound by honour to serve. You are no longer bound to the Cabal which betrayed you. Brax was silent for a moment, then nodded. "I shall serve until such time as I am betrayed again."

CHAPTER FIVE: A Bird of Prey

"We cannot allow this gang warfare to keep going!" shouted guard captain Tarren from across the table, suddenly standing. "Farcin, I don't know what you have planned, and frankly, I don't care. My men are dying out there trying to protect citizens from turning into collateral damage, and you're sitting here in a cushy office!"

"You don't tell me how to do my job, Tarren!" Farcin shouted back. "I've a right to keep my operations secret from you, and my men are working as hard as your guards to keep the peace."

"We will let it resolve itself," the court mage, Handur said calmly. "We have intelligence that there is a third party involved, and they will likely keep the balance as far as this is concerned."

"The Cabal?" Brax whispered to Farcin, who gave a tiny nod. "We intend to destroy it, do we not?"

Again, Farcin nodded, then said in a calmer tone, "In any case, Tarren, I don't see why you're so worried. In the long run, the Black Arm and Phoenix are weakening themselves and making your job easier in the future."

Tarren grumbled something along the lines of "this meeting is over" before storming out of the chamber.

"Find out what you can about the Cabal's movements," Farcin whispered to Brax, as he and Handur exited the room with another of Farcin's operatives, a black-haired, light-skinned Asgarnian woman named Karen. She gave Brax a tiny smile as they left, leaving him alone in the chamber.

He examined the papers in front of him of every suspected Cabal movement in the month that he had been under Farcin's employment. As he had suspected, several trading caravans had been raided in the night and their merchants killed, even in the heated gang warfare in Varrock's back alleys and some streets.

Thus far, there had been no reports of similar incidents in Lumbridge or Falador, and the guild's headquarters in Ardougne had not received word of the Varrock cell's deviation.

Brax guessed that the Blue Moon was as good a place as any to find information, so he hurried to his quarters to fetch clothes and weapons.

"I hope you're not just going to find information and kill every suspect you can," said Karen as she stepped out from an alcove and fell into step with him.

"I have a duty to find information and nothing more," he replied as he kept walking.

She gave him a long glance with her dark eyes. "The Blue Moon inn?" she inquired.

"Yes."

"Let me come along as well. I haven't had any time to relax for a while, and you might appreciate having some company."

"That's fine."

She was silent until they reached his quarters. "You don't particularly like spending any time with me, do you?" she asked as he entered the room.

"I don't mind," he replied as he shut the door and changed into more civillian clothing, sheathing a dagger in his boot and another on his belt, but carrying no other weapons.

Karen was waiting for him as he left his room. "Shall we?" she asked with a small smile, offering her hand.

Brax nodded and headed for the palace's front doors, ignoring the hand.

***

The Blue Moon inn was busy, though not crowded in the early evening. Brax sat with Karen in a corner table, observing the crowd. Questions had been asked earlier, and Brax had concluded that the Cabal was inciting further gang warfare in the eastern districts, normally deep in Phoenix territory.

Several caravans were also due in within the next week, and he knew that the Cabal was likely to strike against one or two of the more opulent ones, and he could readily assume where the ambushes would take place.

The inn's common room was stirring with the first signs of a brawl. A pair of Phoenixes sat at the bar, quietly whispering to each other as a trio of Black Arms watched from a table, eyes narrowed. Two of them appeared inebriated.

"We should leave," Karen whispered. "I don't think we'd want to be involved in a brawl."

"We won't."

She sighed, for probably the twelfth time that evening, and moved her chair closer to Brax's.

"For the Black Arm!" the shout rang across the common room, silencing everyone as the two drunken gangsters dashed towards the bar, weaving between stunned patrons and throwing themselves at the two Phoenixes at the bar as the third man quickly exited.

The inn's clientelle scrambled to the walls, clearing some space for the combatants as the barkeep yelled, "Don't be breakin' any furniture now, you lot!"

"Brax!" Karen hissed, staring at a point in the crowd.

Brax turned his head just in time to see a crossbow aimed at him, and threw himself to his left. The bolt grazed his cheek, drawing blood. He quickly drew his dagger and rushed towards the figure, who tried vainly to push through the crowd to get to the door. Brax grabbed the figure, which stood half a foot shorter than him, and threw it to the open space. The man's hood lifted, and Brax saw a flash of a black raven pendant before the man stood, shortsword drawn.

The two new combatants circled each other as the Black Arms gained the upper hand, now pummeling one Phoenix on the ground as the other lay a few feet away, unconscious.

Brax ducked under a swift thrust, circling to his right and lunging at the man's open left, tearing at the cloak and drawing some blood. He stumbled forward as the would-be assassin followed through with a kick to his back, and rolled to his feet, facing his opponent again. The blade flicked to the left. Brax glanced at his opponent's eyes, and seeing deceit, dodged to the left as the man pulled out of the feint, lunging at his right. He lunged as well, but his opponent dodged just in time to avoid having the dagger in his side. Brax followed through with the lunge, until he overbalanced enough to roll at his opponent's legs, knocking him to the ground.

The man tried to stand only to have Brax kick him swiftly in the jaw. Brax felt a sharp pain in his knee as the man's boot connected with it, and he stumbled back as the man stood.

Brax took the offensive and executed a swift combination of feints, before flicking the dagger to his left hand, still continuing to feint with his right and lunging with the dagger. The man saw the change in hand just in time to parry the dagger with his shortsword, but did not see Brax's fist as it connected with his face. Stunned, he stumbled back as Brax switched hands again, rapping him on the head with the dagger's pommel and sending him to the ground unconscious.

The two Black Arms had likewise finished with their single opponent, who lay bruised and bleeding on the floor. Both hesitated as Brax faced them, and ran, seeing no chance to win against an armed man.

Karen ran down to Brax as the crowd dispersed, returning to their drinks and conversations.

"Are you hurt?" she asked with concern in her voice.

"Bleeding a little. I'll live."

"Let's get you back to the palace," she said as they picked up the unconscious assassin.

Whoops, I guess I'm stuck... Anyone have any suggestions on how I could follow through with this?

Have the assassin severely tortured and questioned, and since this new clan has a strict code of honour, he tells nothing. Later, Brax gets sent to take care of something that's sprung up outside the city of Varrock further concerning the Cabal.

I must say, that is one great tale!

Or, in pk-tongue: Teh ub0rz0rz=Teh r4v3ns c4bl3!!11

CHAPTER SIX: Birds of a Feather

The soldier to Brax's right shuddered in the wind. Trickles of rainwater found their way through the thick knots of branches above to fall tinkling into growing pools. The rain had decreased in intensity since the party had been dispatched from Varrock to foil a Cabal ambush on a weapons caravan headed north on the Lumbridge road.

Brax was moderately tired, having had little sleep since the far-from-quiet interrogation of the captured assassin three days ago; and the fast ride the group of eleven - himself along with five Misthalin army regulars, three mounted archers from the light cavalry and two Royal Lancers - had had to make in order to be able to reach their destination in time. That destination was a large clearing which would be the point of attack from the Cabal, and which the light cavalry had estimated to be less than a half-hour away.

"The caravan's due to hit that clearing in less than an hour," one of the horse archers said. "If we hold this pace, we should be there by the time those bandits reveal themselves." Farcin had conveniently neglected to inform Sir Prysin of the nature of the enemy, and said only that there was an anonymous tip-off.

"That was a fairly lucky thing, isn't it, master Brax?" the soldier to his right said as the two lancers took up positions on the column's flanks as the road widened. "The tip and all, I mean. That's a very important shipment, I -"

"Be quiet," the lancer to the left snapped in a low voice. The soldier silenced himself mid-word, and they continued on in silence, passing through a grey sheet of water as it poured through a gap in the foliage above.

Brax shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. He was relatively unversed in mounted combat, his only instruction having been small tidbits of advice from his companions whenever they halted to rest their horses. The cavalry saber sheathed on his hip felt awkward in comparison to the shortsword he had grown accustomed to, also sheathed there. To himself, he thought that it was damned lucky he even knew how to ride at all.

"Five minutes 'till we reach the clearing," one of the archers said softly as the horses plodded through mud and detritus. He and the other two light cavalrymen unshouldered their short, recurved bows and quickly and efficiently strung them while guiding their mounts with their knees, a skill which Brax had some amount of respect for.

The forest around them was quiet between the boles of the trees, standing like tall, dour, green- and orange-crowned sentinels along the roadside and deeper into the gloom. What could be seen occasionally through the dense canopy was a mass of grey, lighter here and darker there as raindrops fell from the sky. Somehow, Brax felt that the sunless sky and the slight haze nearer to the ground were vaguely familiar, though he could not place the memory.

The soldiers all buckled their shields to their arms and loosened their blades in their scabbards, and the archers already had arrows nocked and ready. The lancers likewise buckled their shields and readied their signature weapons, the tips pointed ahead like steel-capped wooden fingers that would point at who would be next to die upon them. Brax likewise loosened his blade, though he forsook the use of a shield in favour of leaving his left hand to control his horse. The column sped up to a canter as they rounded a turn in the road to face a field of tall grass waving in the wind, with the road cutting through and silver-grey sheets of rain pouring upon it no more than two hundred yards ahead of them. Dark shapes and ripples in the grass could already be seen converging on the road as the silhouette of the caravan's lead wagon emerged from the trees opposite them.

The Lancers led the charge, off the road and into the grass, their lances punching through the chests of black-cloaked figures with small puffs of red mist as the soldiers fanned out, blades drawn, running and cutting down other enemies. Brax galloped his horse behind the three archers as they half-stood in their saddles, almost facing backwards at times as they turned before sending steel-crowned shafts of death into more black-cloaked figures.

Brax drew his blade and spurred his mount straight for a single black figure still headed for the road. As his blade hurtled down, tearing down and through the silent figure's shoulder, he plunged into a state of mind-numbing clarity. He no longer thought about his actions as he wheeled and charged at a fresh group of black-clad footmen emerging from the trees. His blade arced high and low, carving red canyons of meat and trailing shredded pieces of black cloth as he rode past. Images blurred past his eyes in a stream of black, green, red and grey as he effortlessly killed and maimed. Action before thought. With the barriers of doubt driven from your mind, you are at one with the multiverse's will.

The thought ran through his mind for a brief moment, before he snapped back to reality, and his vision and equilibrium registered a tilting as his horse was brought down from under him. He freed himself from the stirrups and leapt out of the saddle to avoid being crushed by the screaming animal. Rolling to his feet, he dropped his saber and drew his favoured blade as three black-clad men approached him with swords drawn, two of them fanning out to take flanking positions. Things tend to happen in threes, pleasant or no. The thought flickered in his mind.

The one to his left lunged, and he dodged the blade with scant inches to spare, pushing into the man as the one on his other side followed a half-second later, missing the expected mark. He quickly spun around and behind the first man as the one in the middle lunged at nearly the same time as the second, in a move that would have skewered him had he dodged the second thrust. He plunged his blade into the man he was behind, bringing him to the ground with the efficiency of a trained assassin. The other two continued their attacks on him in perfect unison, their blades a harmony of feints and thrusts, in a manner that was seen only in Cabal-trained men. No matter how much more experienced Brax was than either one of them, he was hard pressed to defend against the "Flurry of Talons," as it was called.

He slowly conceded more and more ground as one of the soldiers hurtled past, hurled from his mount and streaming blood as he sailed through the air to land in the grass a few yards away. Neither Brax nor the two Ravens flinched or even acknowledged the fallen man. Again and again, the two Ravens' blades clashed with and slid along Brax's as he blocked high and low, parrying and dodging as he slowly retreated towards the road. He glimpsed a group of six more Ravens nearer to the caravan, fighting several of the mercenaries guarding it as a Royal Lancer rode into their flank, administering death both from his weapon and his horse as he plunged through the assassins.

Brax's assailants had not slowed down in their attacks, though Brax had already attuned himself to their rhythm; and though he was unable to counter their attacks with his own, he knew the pattern well enough to anticipate where their strikes would land. He glimpsed another pair of Ravens approaching from his left, and readied himself to defend against an extra Flurry of Talons.

The rain about him was red for a brief moment as the new pair were suddenly cut clean in two at their midsections, from what looked to be one sword stroke. The first pair of Ravens disengaged Brax, one turning to their new opponent and the other keeping his blade trained on the former assassin. The new combatant was a man of about Brax's height with dark hair worn long and fair skin which carried a faint tinge of yellow, wearing nothing more than a simple, deep blue robe. A flash of yellow behind his fringe was accompanied by a fanged sneer as he held his blade two-handed before him, a slightly curved weapon several inches shorter than the Asgarnian bastard sword. It was a blade which Brax had heard was growing in popularity in the south called a katana.

The man turned his blade and held it backhanded and parallel to the ground, then flitted out of sight for a moment, appearing twenty feet away to the opposite side of the two Ravens, who promptly collapsed in two halves each.

Brax blinked the rain out of his eyes as he sheathed his blade. A weary yet euphoric shout came from one of the cavalry archers; the skirmish was over. Brax headed to where the rest of his party were converging, as a Lancer laid the body of his comrade beside the corpses of three of the soldiers and one of the archers. Their horses had been left where they fell.

The Lancer quietly laid the other's broken weapon beside him, mouthing a silent prayer to Saradomin as he removed his helmet as a sign of respect. The soldiers plunged the swords of their own comrades into the ground next to their respective former owners, likewise muttering prayers and removing helms. One archer stood over his fallen companion, muttering his own prayer as he fired one last arrow from the dead one's bow into the ground beside him, then laid the weapon over the dead man's chest.

Brax had never witnessed these rites before; the funeral customs of the Misthalin army. He was the only one in the party who had nobody to mourn.

The remaining Lancer approached him and saluted, falling raindrops and sweat masking his tears. "Master Brax," he said in a loud, confident voice devoid of whatever sadness he harboured, "the mission is a success." The others likewise saluted, before mounting their horses. The Lancer led his fallen comrade's own horse for Brax to take.

As the former assassin stepped up to the stirrups, a hand took his shoulder. He turned to see the man who had aided him, his mustard-yellow eyes hard and cold even as he grinned, showing his fangs. "Brax, you sodding berk. Fancy seeing you here in this backwater Prime world."

nice story.

8/10

how long did it take you?

nice story well written, nice plot so my question is why isnt everyone reading it comeon ppl its a good story 9.5/10

CHAPTER SEVEN: A Raven Chirping

Farcin looked up from his books as Brax entered. The early morning sun filtered in through the drawn curtains, providing weak illumination to the relatively small office. A large cage sitting on one of the many bookcases lining the walls contained a vicious-looking Karamjan viper.

"Good job," said Farcin, gesturing towards a seat.

Brax had returned with the small detachment of troops and the caravan early in the afternoon on the previous day, and had spent much of the trip back speaking with the odd mercenary - a demon-blooded man Brax had known as Vriskath. Karen had been waiting for him at the palace gates as he and the company rode in.

He quietly took the offered seat, and Vriskath followed him in. Farcin raised an eyebrow. "Who's this?"

"Name's Vriskath, cutter, and I take it yeh're the high-up in charge o' this mess?"

"He's an old acquaintance," added Brax as Farcin looked Vriskath over.

"Not a human?" Farcin queried with a slight fascination in his voice, noting the jackal ears that stood from beneath Vriskath's now-unhooded deep brown hair. "Take a seat, please."

Vriskath scoffed as he strolled to the armchair. "That's a tiefling to you, cutter. I'm human enough; just tha' one o' my family - thinkin' it's me great-grand-ma' on me father's mum's side - was a fiend. Arcanaloth, I think she was."

"Indeed," said Farcin with a slight nod, clearly missing the significance of having a greater fiend for a great-grandmother. "I take it you're not from these parts? Perhaps from further south?"

"He's not from this world," said Brax.

"Aye, he's got that right," Vriskath said as Farcin was opening his mouth to say something else. "Young Brax 'ere came from th' same place, he did. Sigil, City of Doors. Primes like you prob'ly wouldn't have heard about it, so I'll give yeh the basic chant. See, it's a city built on the inside of a torus - that's a mostly-hollow donut with the inside rim cut out - floating above an infinitely tall spire in the centre of the Outlands. Wonderful burg it is, you should visit it sometime. Most berks hold it to be the centre of the multiverse, but canny bloods - like me, for example - know that that's a bunch a' screed. Can't be the centre of infinity, after all. Still, it's a wonderful burg to cool yer heels between jaunts around the Planes, having portals to everywhere and all. S'pose Brax here fell through or stepped through one as he pleased, and that's why he's here."

Farcin's mouth had not closed since Vriskath's interruption, and he gathered enough of his wits to close it as the tiefling paused.

"Me? I'm here 'cos I heard chant that there was plenty o' jink in the mercenary business here. Took the nearest portal to some place called Lumbridge down south. Nice enough burg, I figured, even with all the 'adventurers,' runnin' 'round the place. Plenty o' honest costers, though. I reckon all the cross-trading merchants and such have been taken care of somehow. As for this one over here," he gestured towards Brax, "I'm not too clear on if he's told you anything about why he's here. Berk never told anyone when he went and disappeared. Me an' some o' the other bloods figured he'd finally been scragged for all the killings in the Great Bazaar, mostly cross-traders, dodgy Mercane and a couple o' 'Loths. Now he's told me 'bout blitzing through a portal and ending up here, and something called the Ravens' Cabal. So, naturally, I did what every friend and sellsword would do, and followed him in here to try and get some extra jink fer helpin' out. What d'ya say, cutter?"

Farcin hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting between Vriskath's katana and his grinning fangs. "I'll consider it," he said, before turning to Brax. "Could you leave us for a few minutes, Brax? Send for Courtmage Handur and go off and spend some time with Karen. She's been edgy ever since you left town with that detachment."

Brax quietly left his seat and exited the room. Instructing a page to send Handur to Farcin's office, he made for his quarters.

"You know, right now you don't really have much of a reason to ignore me," said Karen as he passed by her open door.

He paused mid-step and turned to her. "Have I been ignoring you?"

"You have," she said, sitting back down on her bed and flicking her black hair back. "Or haven't you even noticed that? Honestly, sometimes you make me feel like I'm not even here. You could at least take some time off running around doing all sorts of odd jobs so I could get to know you better." Brax couldn't help but notice that her cheeks were flushed, as she regarded him with almond-shaped dark brown eyes.

"I have -"

"- A duty? Of course you do. We all do. What, do you think that you're the only one working for the Spymaster? Hells, even Daren's got time to court Baron Tharden's daughter, and you've probably heard a little about how hard she is to handle."

"What are you saying?" Brax asked in even tones. He noted the effect of the morning light filtering through the boughs of the tree right outside Karen's window, leaving dancing spots of light playing in her hair and along her slender arms. She sat there, gazing upon him with clear affection, her slightly parted lips waiting to speak words as soon as he prompted them.

"Come inside and shut the door," she said softly, and he complied, still neutral in his expression. "Could you at least try to have a little bit of emotion?"

Brax kept his silence.

"Is it a problem with me?" she asked, her eyes slightly narrowing in an expression of mild frustration. "You can tell me; it's alright." No, it won't. "Are you trying to keep something from me?" No, I'm not. "Do I irritate you in some way; am I being too forward?" No, you're not. "Tell me what the problem is."

Brax shook his head. No.

The word had not yet escaped his lips when a surge of things - thoughts? He could not remember what they were - rushed into his mind; opening pits in his stomach and chest; sending a tiny, burning pain into his eyes; and filling his head with long-forgotten words. The numb walls in his mind shattered.

That is the sensation we call "longing."

What you feel is joy.

This stone contains an experience of anger. It's worth your jink to try it at least once.

Don't cry. Please.

What are you doing? No! No - a gurgling scream.

A sob.

Laughter.

I love you.

"Please answer me, Brax."

He looked at her as she stood and approached him, and waited.

"Is there something you wish to say?" Her face was mere inches away from his, her voice quiet and gentle.

Brax gazed into her eyes for a long moment, new sensations - forgotten emotions - rising up inside him. He now clearly remembered the times he had subtly turned her away, and he felt another sensation in his mind.

It is regret.

He slowly wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and she responded in kind. He was vaguely aware of the sweet scent of her hair and the softness of her breasts against his chest as she held him tighter. For a moment, he was emptied of thoughts.

It is bliss.

He held her for a moment more, before pulling away slightly to look into her now-teary eyes.

He whispered, "I'm sorry. Thank you."

Wow, you've really outdone yourself this time. That last chapter was simply astounding. The way you portrayed Vriskath to be a sort of serious fighting character then twisting it into making him sound a bit of a loudmouth was extremely well done. The love 'scene' was great. I especially liked the way you talked about his 'thought on thoughts', if that makes sense...

I also loved the way you made that sort of dark memory play in his mind, so far he's been shown as a strong-willed character but it seems that he finally broke under her words and that really made the story much better.

Hurry up and do the next chapter, I love this series.

CHAPTER EIGHT: Swoop

"Right mess this is," said Vriskath as they picked their way through the debris-littered street.

The acrid smell of burnt wood and flesh hung over the entire neighbourhood, gutted the previous night as the vicious gang warfare continued to rage. Charred bodies lay here and there, some under fallen timbers, some draped over piles of fallen bricks like grotesque mantlepieces. Several buildings still smouldered, casting dim, ghostly lights into the early morning mist. The sun had not risen yet, and the hollow, looming structures still stood threateningly, concealing gods-know-what in their shadows.

Several guardsmen quietly piled bodies onto carts to be taken away, scarves covering their mouths and noses against the stench and ash.

"Brax," Vriskath called from a doorway, "look over here."

Brax made his way through the debris to the gutted building, Vriskath stood just outside, holding a lantern, which Brax took as they entered. He reeled at what he saw.

Charred corpses were strewn about the floor, many of them still holding weapons. More of the dead littered the now-collapsed staircase. "A strongpoint?" Brax whispered.

"Likely," replied Vriskath, looking each corpse over. "No other reason anyone'd pile so many men into this kip. Look over there - that lucky sod isn't even burnt."

Brax picked his way over to the indicated corpse, evidently killed by a wound in the back. His blood-covered hand still clutched his shortsword, and the other was clasped around what looked like a pendant. Brax pried the fingers off the piece, and stopped abruptly as he saw the wing.

"What's up over there?" inquired Vriskath.

"Cabal."

Vriskath muttered an oath. "Look at what he's right next to."

Brax cursed. "Oil barrels." He quickly searched the immediate vicinity, and found an burned-out torch near the barrels. "The Cabal started the fires?"

"Looks like it. Damn fine job they did, as well. They've got the two gangs puttin' each other in the dead book, and they kill off berks on both sides without anyone findin' out."

Brax made his way back outside, holding the dead Raven's pendant. "Let's get back to the palace. Farcin would want to know about this."

Vriskath nodded, and the pair headed back.

***

"Two squads of guardsmen," said Farcin.

They had returned several hours earlier, and the Spymaster had been organizing an attack to finally remove the Cabal through the entire afternoon. Captain Tarren had been reluctant to pull more of his men off their regular duties, though once convinced that the Cabal had played a part in the destruction of two city blocks, he readily gave up what men he could spare.

"That should be enough," said Brax. "The raid on that weapons caravan lost the Cabal more men than they had planned. I would estimate only thirty Ravens to be in the city now."

"They'll be ready," said Vriskath. "They ought to know by now that they're not in the dark anymore."

"Tomorrow we'll strike," Farcin said. "We can't delay it any longer. Tarren's losing men, and Prysin has set up some army regulars in temporary postings around the city. We're being weakened from the inside by this guild war."

"If that will be all, sir?" Brax asked. Farcin nodded, and he made his way towards his quarters. Vriskath headed in the same direction for a minute before turning down a different corridor to his own chamber.

Brax had barely reached his door when a hand grabbed him from behind and swung him around to pin him to the wall. He was dimly aware of Karen's scent as she pressed against him.

"Are you going to go and fight again tomorrow?" she asked, slowly pulling him to her quarters.

"Yes," he whispered as she closed the door. "What's the problem?"

She pushed him onto her bed, before sitting down next to him, pouting. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when you went out to save that caravan? Do you have any idea how worried I am that you're going out and putting your life on the line again?"

"Truthfully, no. I would assume that you are very much so, from the way you decided to tell me."

She leaned over and held him, kissing him deeply. "You could at least reassure me a little," she said as she deftly undressed.

***

"Smells bloody horrible," whispered Vriskath as they crept through the sewer tunnels. "I wouldn't want to fight in here."

"Nor I," said one of the guardsmen.

"We shouldn't have to," said Brax. "The Cabal tunnels are in the older sewers, and they're mostly dry."

They progressed through the tunnels, Brax leading the way. Rats scurried out of holes from time to time, swimming across small channels of sewerage to reach the other side of the tunnels. The sewers were warm compared to the Autumn chill of the air above, though it was scant comfort to be immersed in the humid stench of the place. Rainwater poured into cisterns through gratings in the streets above, and some of the sewerage was beginning to rise.

They eventually came to a raised portion of the tunnels, completely dry save for channels of rainwater trickling down to join with the main tunnels. They would enter Cabal territory very soon.

"Shutter your lanterns," ordered Brax. "They'll be able to see those lights easily. The Cabal tunnels have their own lighting, so they'll be easy to find."

The tunnels began to widen, the masonry becoming smoother and more weathered as they progressed in the dim half-light from gratings above. Brax led them through to the less commonly-used entrance tunnels, and halted just before what he knew to be a guarded intersection. He quickly instructed the guards as to their tasks once inside, and moved on ahead of the group. He silently crept towards the lone sentry, blade drawn and unnoticed. The man was dispatched quickly, and his body slipped into the rainwater slowly filling the cistern. He whistled to signal the group, and they stormed into the Cabal tunnels.

The guards rushed through to their positions, eliminating fully fifteen Ravens before any organised defence was set up. Crossbow bolts whizzed back and forth through the common room, striking upturned wooden tables and the guards' wall of tower shields.

Brax took Vriskath and headed to the council chamber, where he knew the three Masters would remain even in the event of an attack.

"Brax," hissed a voice in the shadows. Marcus K'lath.

"We thought you dead," said a raspy voice. Reno Avery.

"It is a wonder that you return to us at this time," a deep voice said. Hardom di'Trasi.

"Quit rattling yer bone-boxes, sods," shouted Vriskath. "Get out here and lemme put ye in the dead book!"

"Very well," said Marcus, as he stepped into the centre of the chamber. "I will fight you."

The thin, blond-haired Guildmaster drew his rapier as Vriskath descended the steps, one hand on the hilt of his katana. "To first blood," said Marcus.

Vriskath grinned as he took up a stance, ready to draw his blade. "First blood."

K'lath held his ground, rapier level as he waited for Vriskath's first move. The tiefling held his own stance, a style known in certain circles as iaijutsu, which involved quickly drawing the blade to add momentum, then sheathing it again.

Marcus feinted and thrust, but Vriskath had him instantly. The tiefling stepped once, then drew, sheathing his sword again as he passed the Guildmaster, who collapsed to the inch-deep water in a rapidly-growing pool of his own blood, his torso neatly sundered almost in twain by the one stroke.

Vriskath smiled his fanged smile.

Within a minute, Avery's blade splashed into the pool as he also fell to the tiefling's sword.

"It is your turn, Hardom di'Trasi," Brax said to the shadows.

No response.

"There's nobody there," Vriskath said, climbing out of the mostly-empty cistern. "He must've piked it after I penned the first one in the book."

"He did," said another voice in the shadows. Brax quickly drew his blade. "Settle down, Brax. What's the problem?" John Highcrag descended into the cistern, kicking away the corpses of K'lath and Avery.

Brax likewise descended. "You betrayed me," he hissed.

"I did, didn't I? But didn't you just lead a whole pack of guardsmen into the sewers? Didn't you just betray the Cabal?"

"This is not the Cabal," Brax replied coldly. "The Cabal would not act as this... This gang has," he spat the words.

"We were making ourselves stronger so that we can do our duties more effectively."

"The Cabal did not need to make itself stronger. If it did, I doubt that it would have used the same means."

"The ends justify the means, Brax! We do this city a service by making ourselves stronger!"

"Killing innocents and causing destruction is not a service to the city, you fool! You have even weakened this entire kingdom with your gang's actions! I cannot allow this to continue!"

"And why not, Brax? Aren't you yourself a murderer? An assassin? Have you never killed?"

"I have killed. I have killed unjustly in the name of duty. I have killed unjustly only once, and I regret that now. The others were necessary to protect the Cabal."

"How could you lead the guard down here and still talk of protecting the Cabal? Tell me that, Brax. Tell me that."

Brax stepped to the edge of the falling pillar of rainwater. "I still protect the Cabal by removing those who would destroy it from the inside. Understand that, John. Have you ever done anything for the Cabal without thinking of your own personal gain?"

"You don't understand," John hissed.

"Draw your sword."

***

Brax stood in the pouring rain, his blade dripping John Highcrag's still-warm blood. John lay in the three-inch-deep water, a wound in his side adding to the already-stained water. His sword lay twelve feet away, and his head lolled from side to side.

"Do you understand?" Brax whispered.

"You showed no mercy for one who wanted to teach with his blade," choked John.

Brax turned away, heading back up the steps to the cistern's rim.

Justice knows no mercy.

You turned away from the politics of that faction.

I still continued its work.

What do you think that makes you?

A Mercykiller. In heart and mind if not in name.

He turned to John's prone form as he reached the top of the stairs. "Justice knows no mercy."

CHAPTER NINE: Final Flight

Farcin paced back and forth. "That Hardom di'Trasi you described hasn't been seen leaving the city, Brax. Assuming that my other agents do know every entrance and exit to the city as is expected of the Spymaster's men that they are, that man has practically all of Varrock outside the palace to hide."

"It shouldn't be too hard to find him," Brax calmly said. "In any case, I have made certain arrangements to ensure that even if he does escape the city, he won't be alive for very long."

Farcin sat on the edge of his desk. "I heard about a message being sent by swift dispatch along the Falador and Lumbridge roads this morning. Does that have anything to do with your arrangements?"

Brax nodded. "The greater Cabal would be most interested in knowing that the Varrock cell has defected and now has eight of its remaining members in prison, with all the leaders but one dead."

Farcin narrowed his eyes. "You trust that they will be of assistance to us?"

"I would like to point out that Duke Horacio is very pleased with the rapid decline in the crime rate in Lumbridge recently. Likewise, our emissaries report that the Asgarnian and Kandarian administrations are pleased about the continuing decline in corruption and larceny in general."

Vriskath, who had been quiet for the better part of the afternoon, spoke up. "I make the situation in Lumbridge out to be fine, since the last time I was there. I've got a mind that the Cabal ain't so bad, and the sods in this burg just give 'em a bad image. As for that berk Hardom, I could probably pen him in the dead-book for ye, if ye put some extra jink in my pay when the time comes fer it."

"That will be all, gentlemen," said Farcin, turning to look out the window at the darkening sky. Brax and Vriskath exited and made for their chambers.

"How much longer will you stay here," asked Brax, "on this plane, I mean."

"Not much longer, I'd expect, dependin' on how much yer boss decides to pay," replied Vriskath, absently scratching at one ear. "Why d'ye ask, anyway?"

"No particular reason, really. It's just that it's almost winter, and I don't think the cold will agree with your Yugoloth blood."

"Aye, that's true. Never had much stomach fer the cold, I didn't. Even dragged myself out of a high-payin' contract soon as I heard chant that it'd have me hopping down to Cania. Nah, this won't be my kind o' place after the snows set in. 'Sides, I've seen so much jink being thrown around here to expect enough from Farcin to be able to live on fer the next few centuries. That, and I kinda miss the weather in Sigil."

"I never thought much of it."

"'Course ya didn't. Ye've seen the sods livin' in the Lower Ward. Ye know what the smog does to most non-fiends. Rots their lungs, it does. Chant goes that elves die faster since they're so used to cleaner air. Even the Gith can't stand the air fer too long. 'Course, the 'yanki wouldn't ever admit that to the 'zerai. Here," he said, as they reached the connecting hallway which led to their separate quarters. "We'll try and sort out this di'Trasi berk tomorrow."

Brax nodded, and both proceeded down their respective passages.

"Out to kill again?" called Karen as he passed her door.

He stepped into the doorway and said, "This will be the last one."

Karen walked towards him, slowly enough to accentuate her natural grace, and the slight swaying of her hips. She lightly kissed him. "Of course," she said, before dragging him into her chamber by the collar. "This won't."

***

Vriskath kicked the door open. It was a small house in the slums that they had tracked Hardom to, nearly inaccessible due to its position within the maze of tight alleys. Garbage littered the gloomy spaces between looming buildings here, both of the waste and human varieties. This neighbourhood, however, had not yet been subjected to the destruction of the slowly dissipating gang warfare.

Brax stepped into the dim house behind Vriskath, kicking away bits of splintered wood from the doorway. The house was completely bare save for a pair of chairs set about a small table, and the flimsy-looking stairwell leading up.

Upstairs, it was not much better. The landing was occupied by a small desk with a brass candelabra holding a pathetic stump of mostly-melted wax. A single door stood between them and the bedroom, and was likewise forced open by the tiefling.

The room contained a stool adjacent to a low desk, and a flimsy excuse for a bed, little more than a traveller's bedroll laying atop an assortment of tattered clothing.

"Should've been a little quieter," muttered Vriskath as a dim shape jumped out of the window as they entered.

"Save it for later," said Brax, hurriedly following the shape, landing expertly on the pavement below, followed by Vriskath, who was a little less adept at jumping from heights.

Brax sprinted after the escaping figure, darting this way and that through the labyrinth of alleys, dodging discarded timbers and assorted filth as he pursued the fugitive. He smiled to himself as his quarry took a left, which would take him to a dead end from which the only escape would be up and over the city wall, which would be a nearly-vertical climb lacking footholds or handholds.

Hardom di'Trasi turned slowly as he realised his predicament. Vriskath stood at the mouth of the alley, leaving Brax to deal with the former Guildmaster, who stood ready, blade drawn.

Brax readied himself as well. "Within three days, the Ardougne Cabal would have been informed of your defection. By now, the Falador and Lumbridge Cabals are already on high alert should you somehow escape this city. You will find only death wherever you go."

Nothing more was said as Hardom pressed the attack, feinting left then high before striking left again. Brax easily dodged the attack, countering with his own series of attacks, which Hardom successfully defended against. Brax parried a counter-thrust, riposting and lightly cutting Hardom on the thigh. Hardom thrust again, determined to puncture Brax's throat, though the latter easily dodged aside, pinning the blade with his own and bull-rushing the former Guildmaster. Brax followed through with a swift kick to the forearm as Hardom reeled back, forcing him to drop his blade.

"You cannot match a Raven without a talon of your own," said Brax.

Hardom looked up, gauging the distance between the ground and the top of the wall. Turning back to Brax, he said, "You are no Raven. You betrayed us."

With that, he swiftly produced a rope and a grappling hook from within his cloak, hurling it up to the roof of a house adjacent to the wall and climbing up swiftly, pulling the rope up behind him. He repeated the process again to gain the top of the wall. Brax could not give chase.

"Damnit," Vriskath hissed as he ran to Brax's side.

Brax narrowed his eyes. "A message arrived before we left the palace tihs morning. There is a Cabal crossbowman lurking beyond the wall, at a great enough distance not to be spotted, and close enough to be accurate."

True to Brax's words, Hardom had no sooner crested the wall that he was suddenly lifted off his feet and thrown back down, falling eighty feet and striking the filthy pavement before Brax with a sickening thud. A black-feathered crossbow bolt had been driven up through his bottom jaw and into his skull. The last corrupt Guildmaster of the Ravens' Cabal was dead.

Brax looked down contemptuously at the still form of di'Trasi, and beckoned for Vriskath to take him to the palace. "I betrayed the Cabal?" he spat. "You betrayed yourself."

Wow, I'm glad I read that, was the best story I've read in a while. Is it over though? It felt a bit like a conclusion, but it is hard to tell, I hope it isn't. I really like the way you describe enviroments, but disliked the way some of the battles were set up. The man that Brax fought at the Blue Moon inn put up a rather good fight, while the leaders of the clan were killed swiftly. Personally, I think they should have posed more of a threat. Leaders of a clan should have physical and political skills. The fights were described well, but I just felt it could have been more exciting.

Most people don't read these longer stories, and that is a shame. They are much better to read than the two paragraph stories about the first time the noob caught a lobster.

I really hope you continue, can't wait for the next part.

An overall rating for this story.... I would give it about a 9.1/10 simply because I was displeased with the battle setup.

EPILOGUE: To the Winds

The palace's great hall was quiet as Farcin, his various operatives and a select few nobles watched the Master of Ceremonies, Duke Asran, take the floor. The powerfully-built man in his late fifties bore his staff of office as a seasoned veteran would hold a pole-arm during an inspection parade, his silver-grey hair flowing well below his green-mantled shoulders.

Asran crossed to the base of the dais upon which King Roald sat on his throne, and struck the floor once with his staff, the sound reverberating around the chamber for a few moments before he spoke. "Let it be known to all who are present," he began, reciting from memory, "that our fair city of Varrock has nearly been torn asunder by the continual battle of the Phoenix and Black Arm guilds. This fighting, as many here now know, was instigated by a guild known as the Ravens' Cabal. It is safe to say that following the elimination of this Cabal, the two Guilds' warfare has all but ceased. To credit for the removal of the Cabal threat, here present are the Spymaster of Varrock, Lord Farcin dy'Tansi and his agents. His Highness bids Lord dy'Tansi step forth."

Farcin complied with what Brax saw as court-bred dignity and confidence. He took a position exactly five feet from Duke Asran, and bowed.

"Farcin dy'Tansi, for your dedication and service to our fair city, His Highness, Roald ar'Seldin, eighth of that line and ruler of Misthalin names you a Baron of the kingdom. You are presented with the lands between the duchy of Lumbridge and the river Lum as your own to rule as a vassal of Misthalin. You are aware of the privileges and responsibilities of this station. Do you accept this boon?"

"I do so accept," intoned Farcin in a practised, formal tone.

Asran struck the floor again with his staff. "Let it be known that henceforth, Baron Farcin dy'Tansi rules the aforementioned lands under the rulership of His Highness, King Roald," he said as Farcin stepped back. He struck the floor once more. "His Highness bids the man known as Brax step forth."

Brax complied, taking the same position as Farcin had, and bowed stiffly, unused to the traditions of the Misthalin court. He wore a simple black overjacket sewn with pearls over a white tunic and black trousers tucked into knee-high boots. His shortsword hung on his side.

"Brax of Sigil, for your outstanding contribution and dedication to the defeat of the Ravens' Cabal, His Highness, Roald ar'Seldin, eighth of that line and ruler of Misthalin names you a Squire of Misthalin. You are presented on request of Baron dy'Tansi with the office of Spymaster. You are aware of the privileges and responsibilities of these stations. Do you accept this boon?"

Brax was stunned. A rank and office were well outisde his comfort zone, though he sensed that Farcin had really wanted him to take the position.

Duty first.

"I do so accept," he said after a moment's hesitation.

The staff struck the floor once more. "Let it be known that henceforth, Squire Brax of Varrock serves as Spymaster and vassal of Misthalin, under the rulership of His Highness, King Roald. His Highness bids Ferdan di'Ramnas step forth."

Brax retreated to his position beside Karen, and she took his hand as Duke Asran presented further rewards to men who had been involved. To have risen from his position in the Cabal to being Spymaster of Varrock...

He ran the thought through his head a few more times, and made a mental note to establish an intelligence network through the Cabal cells in the other kingdoms. Alliances would be formed, and he would still be able to perform his duties as a Mercykiller. It would do well to keep further corruption out of the Cabal in future as well, he thought.

The now-familiar sound of iron-shod wood striking marble echoed in the chamber once more. "His Highness bids Vriskath of Sigil step forth."

Brax suppressed his thoughts for the moment while Vriskath stepped forward, his katana hanging by his grey-robed side. His ears were upright with tension, and Brax could sense that he, too, was uneasy in such a formal situation.

"Vriskath of Sigil, for your commendable contribution to the defeat of the Ravens' Cabal, His Highness, Roald ar'Seldin, eighth of that line and ruler of Misthalin, presents you with this reward by the request of Baron dy'Tansi," he struck the floor twice, and two pages entered bearing a small oaken chest. From the sound of the chest as the pages set it down, Brax could safely assume that it was full of gold and gems, or both. "You are henceforth to be considered as a friend of Misthalin, and we shall welcome your services in the future.

"The court is dismissed," said Asran, striking the floor one last time and walked ahead of King Roald as they and their retinues exited the hall. The other nobles and staff present likewise removed themselves from the hall after the king had departed.

***

"I guess ye won't be comin' back to Sigil fer a while," said Vriskath as he mounted his horse. "Soddin' pity, though. Guess ye've got it made fer yerself in this burg now. Ye're a high-up blood, ye're well-lanned if the chant's to be believed, and ye've got yer woman..."

"It'll be fine, Vriskath. You can come and visit any time you want. There's plenty of work around here for bashers like you."

"Aye, that's sure as Sigil. Speakin' o' which, are ye plannin' on visittin' my kip any time soon? Gets damned lonely with nothin' but cranium rats and razorvine to keep ye company. 'Spect I'll be buyin' a new kip in the Lady's Ward with all this jink, at any rate. It'll be better fer me if I had cutters with more jink than me around that havin' sods who want my jink."

"I doubt I'd be able to pull myself away from my duties for long enough to visit Sigil again. I miss the place too, you know."

"I could see that," said Vriskath, scratching at his ear. "It's hard to get used to seein' stars above after spendin' cycle after cycle with nothin' but the rest o' the city overhead. The other planes ain't got much to offer, neither. Hard to look up at the sky at night when all a body'd get is infinity staring down at 'im.

"Well, time fer me to give this place the laugh, I s'pose," he added, urging his mount out of the palace gates.

Brax nodded at him as he looked back. "Watch the Spire, blood."

"Aye. Watch the Spire, cutter."

~ Fin.

I really like the way you describe enviroments, but disliked the way some of the battles were set up.

Not necessarily, they were cowards, the way you decribe it is too clicḫ̬̉̉d. They don't HAVE to be really good fighters. You could have a leader who could be killed by any member of the gang, yet have strong persuasion technique. Meh, Just needed to get that out because it's a false image about leaders always being powerful.

Well done with the stories, Zonorhc. Been following it since the start and I nagged you for chapter 8. :D

I'm gonna' read the finale now. :P

Great story, have you ever thought of getting it published? Although, you'd have to ask JaGeX first, and they'd want some of the profits...

I teared up during chapter 7. :oops:

Beautifully written, Zonorhc. :D

great story (like every one of yours that I've read) though the last few chapters felt a bit rushed. your battle scenes were pretty good (I prefered the ones in blood warrior better but I really loved how you described the fallen guild in the earlier chapters. Also this is the first "crossover" story that I've ever liked, GOOD WORK!!