The Order of the Skull

Chapters 1-5

           

Chapter 1: Cynthia

I hid in the darkness of an unlit corner. I felt the cold, hard stone pressed against my back as I listened to the sound of footsteps. I could hear the dull echoing sound of metal boots on the hard stone floor. If they saw me, they wouldn't hesitate to strike me down with a heavy steel sword; and that simply wasn't on my agenda for the evening. The shadow of a guard's face moved along the wall across from me, advancing slowly. Silently, I wrapped a drenched cloth around the tip of an arrow and nocked the arrow. I pulled back my bow and held my breath as I fired the arrow straight into the torch, instantly dashing away the safety light promised. Bright lights and armed guards were often enemies for people in professions like mine. The torch, struck with the force of the arrow, toppled to the ground and quietly rolled some into the grass field across from me. Guards began to ask questions as the area emerged into the darkness of a cloudy, moonless night. One guard unsheathed his sword, a string of curses echoed throughout the small courtyard as he began searching for me, but I had already slipped past him as soon as the light went out. Ha! To think those guards could stop me, Cynthia Sorinthia, from getting past them. Those guards are no threat, do not worry, they lack any sort of training to deal with someone with my set of skills. I've perfected the noble art of stealth and trickery since I'd been forced to leave my home so many years ago...

The guards were still desperately searching for me in the darkness of night as I gracefully ran and pulled myself up the large stonewall on the opposite side of the courtyard the guards had been. My pointy ears that all elves had were chilled by the breeze I felt as I crept along the top of the wall. I pulled my black hood closer to me, trying to keep to the shadows as I approached the wall of one of the compounds two towers. I pulled out a small jar of tar I kept in a small satchel I carried around with me and spread a small amount on my hands and the bottoms of my shoes before I leapt up to grab the railings of the balcony just above me.

I shook my long, straight, light brown hair out of the way of my blue eyes and began scaling the tower, grateful for the tar that helped me hold on to any kind of surface I could get my hands or feet on. I often found myself climbing all sorts of structures all the time for my different jobs. I used to fear the consequences of what might happen if I made one mistake, scaling these buildings, I suppose in a way I was still afraid. However, as I accepted more and more contracts, it was hard to deny the strategic advantage of being able to track targets from the outside, without fear of being spotted.

The guards had relit the fire I had put out making me slightly visible, even in my dark attire. Shit, I couldn't risk being seen, no matter how small the chances. I leapt left from my position and grabbed a railing on the far side of the tower. From here, I hung over the city street, but there was no one in sight, it also kept me away from the courtyard, and away from the guards. The jump sent a jarring force through my arm as I grabbed onto the railing, but I managed to stay quiet and hold on. I had lost about ten vertical feet with the jump, but it was better than being caught or killed by the guards. Out of sight, I quickly scaled my way to the top of the tower, silently as possible. I moved as swiftly as possible without risk of falling to my death on the streets below. One step at a time. I told myself as I grabbed another handhold and continued up the tower.

At the top, I looked out over the city of Cyphol and it looked strangely beautiful. I could see every light in the city from the top of the tower. I quickly forgot about the beauty when I remembered the corruptness and hunger that still existed within the city. Cyphol was recovering, but it had been drained during the kingdom of Werdyn's war with the neighboring orc kingdom to the west. I'd seen paintings of a golden age in Werdyn, where the streets were full of life and song, rather than Captain Christopher of the city guard running around, chasing criminals through the streets littered with homeless and starving souls. Whether or not the paintings depicted a real time, or just an idea, it didn't really matter to me. I couldn't call the human kingdom of Werdyn home, even if I had lived here for several years. The Elven kingdom, and Evanuan, would always be home in my heart. I longed to return to it, to live peacefully, but my parents had taken me from the country when the Chammelons, or as we called them 'lizard folk'. The Chammelons invasion had come as a surprise, their armies unnatural and dark magic running through their ranks. What remained of the elves dispersed into the surrounding kingdoms, living as refugees, always on the run. The invaders hunted down the surviving elves, worried an elf blessed with ancient elven magic would come back to Evanuan. We were living in a small town in Werdyn when they found us, my dad and I. I hid and watched as they entered and struck down my father without a thought, dark bolts of magic energy tearing holes in his body. I was seven at the time and had been training from that moment, for the past ten years, I'd trained myself to become the lethal, stealthy, machine I was today. I vowed to avenge my parents and help take back Evanuan, with or without magic, a vow I still intend to carry out...