Sylvaan had been waiting three days in the city of Dorn for Yvil. After Sylvaan’s last successful mission, Yvil had sent word for him to wait. This was unusual, the Silver Lieutenant would usually give Sylvaan new jobs by a messenger, or leave him to wander between jobs. It had been more than a year since Sylvaan had seen the man who governed his life. The streets of the market were busy as Sylvaan strolled through, even for a small city. One one corner a friar dressed in brown robes called for donations to charity. Merchants moved around, calling out goods for sale, spices, ale, and various foods. Small children with their faces covered in dust ran underfoot, giggling and laughing as they darted through the streets. Colorful banners displayed symbols of different guilds and goods for sale. To the right, light blue banners signified imports, primarily spices and ale. To the left, farmers displayed green banners, selling vast amounts of crops, ranging from potatoes to grains. The Empire would take their portion in taxes as they always did, but the farmers in this remote city had it better than most. Here, the Empire’s presence felt more lax. Only a handful of soldiers roamed the town, keeping peace. Sylvaan estimated no more than a dozen that truly lived in Dorn. It was a stark contrast to Siltar, or Hogun, where the market streets would be marked by a contingent of silverspears or coppershields at each corner, an ever present reminder of control. Sylvaan moved through the wide streets, dodging past others as he moved. Sylvaan wore his leather today, his light silver armoring in a pack, slung across his shoulder. The faint clink could be heard as he walked, turning the corner. Sylvaan grasped the pommel of his blade with his left hand, striding towards what felt like a meeting with fate.
Sylvaan finally arrived at his destination, the ‘Tilted Tankard’. This time of day, few were inside, most being out in the early afternoon market. Sylvaan strode to the bar, addressing the barkeep. “I’m here to meet someone in your private room.” The barkeep looked up from cleaning a mug, and nodded to the right, towards a door. He then sat the mug down, and picked up another, continuing his cleaning. Small as it was, Yvil had seemed to find what passed as the nicest bar in Dorn.
As Sylvaan entered, he found that Yvil was already there. His silver boots were kicked up on the table, making a soft clink as he shifted his foot. Smug prick. Sylvaan never understood why, but Yvil always insisted on wearing his full military regalia, even outside of duty. Silver plates interlocked, forming a scale-like formation of armor covering his body. His helmet sat on the table. Two soldiers flanked him, giving Sylvaan a cold stare as he entered. Yvil waved them off. “Wait outside.” Sylvaan sat down across from him as the soldiers exited the room, sitting his blade on the table. Yvil smiled.
“I visited our mutual friend you found. You roughed him up something nice. Seems that you’ve gotten bored with the jobs I’ve given you recently.” He tapped his boots together, silver softly clinking. Sylvaan smirked back. “Gotta find some way to have fun. Hasn’t been much challenge recently finding the men you send me after.” This much was fairly true. Sylvaan had hunted down four individuals so far this year, and none had been any trouble. Yvil shook his head. “Half the time I’m not sure what to do with you. Sometimes you’re not worth half the trouble you cause rounding up these guys. Fortunately for you, this last one was very important. It seems you were able to figure that much out on your own.” Sylvaan didn’t respond, waiting for Yvil to continue. After a moment, Yvil relented.
“You’re going to make me explain it? Fine. Hrath was not the only individual who escaped our seizure at the port. Terrible form the empire is in these days. Half the soldiers under my command can’t even hold their spear right side up. Those sorry excuses for soldiers let someone else slip away too, and he seems to have an item that is of great concern to General Kvar. He was supposed to meet someone in Hogun. I’ve sent men to search at the location, but am doubtful I will find anything. The only piece of information we have at this point, is that he is ultimately bound for Siltar.” Sylvaan sat up, and started twirling his knife. “And you want me to find a man using no description, in one of the biggest cities in the empire?” Yvil took his feet down from the table, leaning forwards.
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“Whoever sanctioned this individual to come to our shores is a traitor to the crown. Your role is twofold: Firstly, to ensure that our elusive friend never delivers his precious cargo to its recipient. Secondly, you are to find whoever sanctioned this, and kill him. This is not a smash and grab job, you are to leave no trace that anyone associated with me or the Empire is involved. If this item were to reach Siltar, and be delivered, it would be the most significant breach of the Empire’s control in more than a century.” Sylvaan stopped twirling the dagger, and slammed it into the table, piercing the wooden top. Yvil jumped in surprise, the tension in the room as tight as a spiderweb. “I suppose I don’t have a choice in the matter, as usual?” Yvil cleared his throat, reluctant to speak. “Of course you don’t. Your life has been forfeit to the Crown since the day your muddy blood was born onto this soil. However, there is an important clarification here. Should you complete this job, your obligation is no more. You walk this Empire as a free man. This decision is not mine, I would have you under my heel until the day you die.” Yvil rose, and went to leave, grabbing his helmet.
“Remember your place in the world. Were it up to me, I would solve this issue myself. My superiors deem this too sensitive to have a member of a Royal House involved.” Yvil spat on the ground by Sylvaan’s feet, then exited.
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Sylvaan stood on the edge of Dorn that night, contemplating. The cool breeze blew through the dim streets, a sliver of the moon providing the only light in the night sky. The town was silent at this hour, unlike a larger city which would still have an audible bustle, even into the late night. His entire life, Sylvaan had been kept under the heel of the Empire, bereft of choices save for a few fleeting months between jobs. He had been raised to serve this role, that hellhole of an orphanage a mere facade for facilitating the Empire’s control. The choice seemed a simple one. One more job, an assasination. It wouldn’t be Sylvaan’s first, he had long since destroyed any illusion of choice in the matter of serving the Empire. Yet, there was the strange matter of secrecy in the mission.
If this was a simple case of treason, they would find the rich noble that paid the smugglers, and hang him in the town square. There was something odd about this job, an ethereal element that Sylvaan’s mind could not find a solution to. The fields outside the town shimmered in the moonlight, long thin stalks of grain catching the moonlight and reflecting slim shafts of light across the fields. In weeks, they would be cut down, continuing to fuel the Empire that he had known his entire life. No, there was something strange about this, an answer that Sylvaan needed before making a final decision. It seemed so uncharacteristic to Sylvaan, that a single job would stand between here and freedom. Should he complete it, he wouldn’t even need to stay in the Empire. His long-bloodied hands would serve as a pass to leave, and take him to another land, free from the chains that had controlled his entire life. Yet, there was a sliver of light here, a thorn in the Empire’s side that they needed his help removing. Sylvaan had been trained from a young age as a dog of the empire, becoming one of the select few that could use forbidden magic and techniques without fear of execution. Surely, this conundrum wasn’t that simple. While the Empire kept a tight hold on the information entering and exiting their borders, a dusty tome on magical techniques was not significant enough to warrant such a level of secrecy.
In some small way, this seemed less like a thorn in the Empire’s side, and more like a dagger that had slipped between the plates of their armor. What thing could be so important was beyond Sylvaan’s conception at the moment. For the first time in his life, Sylvaan was presented with a very clear choice. He could remove the dagger, and gain the freedom he had longed for his entire life, or he could drive it in, causing the Empire to bleed.
