It was an ordinary assignment, nothing particular different about this one that would set it aside from the others.  Fade Nightstalker’s indigo eyes flashed quickly over the scrawled writing that filled the yellowed paper once more to be sure he had it correct. Fade was darkly handsome in a human’s eyes even though he was an elf.  He had hawk-like, indigo eyes, flecked with red, and his obsidian hair was tied backwards with a leather thong.  His bold features often made him stand out when he wished to be seen, arching eyebrows slanting downwards towards a hooked nose. His ears rose into a pointed curve at the top and a quiet smile touched the thinly pressed lips of the Dark Elf as he pulled his midnight cloak closer around his body.  He meticulously edged the paper into the crackling fire until a flame licked one edge and began to devour it.  A small hunger for blood echoed inside his body but he quenched it as soon as it began.  As an assassin, Fade could not afford to give into his desires quite so he soon, he must be patient before he could capture his prey.  He had no guilt over the job he had undertook, Master Shadowblade had eliminated any equivocation from his mind once the apprenticeship had begun. “It takes two to make a murder. There are born victims, born to have their throats cut, as there are born murderers, destined to end the other’s life,” he had said.  This was not the first assassination he would perform and the elf strongly doubted it would be his last.  Once he had asked Shadowblade how many people he had killed, the mentor has solemnly answered that it did not matter past the first one.  Now Fade had learned that personally, no kills really matter after the first one, the first step.  The fire played across his face, casting shadows and creating a demonic glow about him. He had been warned about letting emotions cloud his thought, he was not a human after all.  An assassin needed a cold mind, there could be no hesitation in his profession, hesitation was death.  Fade did not agree entirely, his primordial need to kill often heightened the sensation of killing.  The power of being able to take another’s life was often intoxicating.  Some who worked this trade would use poisons or other such methods that allow the victim to die from a distance.  Fade did not approve, it was part of the hunt, part of the kill, to deal the final blow yourself, it made the death personal.  Bloodshed was now part of his life, he lived it, he breathed it, he took pleasure in it.  Fade did it for the money as well, a true soldier of fortune.  He would deliver any head for the right price, but then again loyalty to the coin was loyalty nonetheless.  He was the personification of death, quietly he would come and only when one felt the bite of his knife in their chest would they see him, once it was too late.  So the assassin drifted into the abyss of sleep as he awaited dawn, which would bring him his victim.
          Fade Nightstalker awoke to the first shafts of light that announced the coming of the sun.  The bonfire that had merrily burned from the night before now smoldered in the crisp morning air.  The Dark Elf scattered rich black dirt over the ashes and left the campsite with no signs that there had been a person there.  Scarlet and orange lit up the sky so it appeared like the heavens themselves were burning.  Fade’s dark body slipped silently through the underbrush as he slowly approached the human city of Saranya.  His raven black hair was done up neatly into a warriors’ knot and hidden by the black cloak that concealed his body.  Hidden in his shirtsleeve was the double-bladed knife that Fade always used for such executions.  Stealthily he crept around the great oak trees that looked like sentries surrounding the small town.  He had been paid to kill Luc DeBlanc, a young captain of a regiment of Knights-Errant.  His employer had told him no more details about the boy’s worth except that it should be an easy kill.  Fade feared no threat from such a man and approached the knight’s home with little caution.
         The assassin entered the house with little difficulty and viewed his surroundings.  The grotto was divided up into a kitchen, a small room for eating and a study.  A large wooden table occupied most of the room and two simple chairs were neatly tucked in.  Fade’s eyes darted back and forth, taking in every detail whether or not it seemed important.  A square stove sat in the farthest corner and a fireplace was placed in the adjacent wall.  Nothing was particularly fancy and most of the items seemed to have a commonsense organization.  The murderer then proceeded up the oaken stairs to reach the bedroom.  The figure of a young man was outlined in the linen sheets of the bed and with a flicking of his wrist, Fade had the wicked-looking knife ready.  Luc’s head was tilted sideways and his blond hair was tossed haphazardly around from an uneasy sleep.  His eyes were closed and the breathing was slow and even, assuring Fade that he was asleep.  Each cautious step took him closer to his victim, the Dark Elf was overwhelmed now with the thrill of the hunt.  As if in a dizzied trance he brought up the knife and watched it fall.  The insatiable blood lust swept over him as his precise blow dug into the knight’s spinal cord.  A shriek of pain was ripped from the throat of Luc and though he tried to rise, his body was paralyzed.  Fade Nightstalker began to move as if in a strange macabre dance.  The knife rose and fell using the poisonous black venom to silence the scream.  He flipped the victim over, onto his back and with that, the elf ended it by slipping the blade between his ribs.  Fade stood trembling for a few more moments before he wiped the dagger clean on the now reddening sheet.  The occult slayer then vanished from the scene like a specter.  The job was done and Fade Nightstalker could return to Naggaroth.  Once again, the assassin had left a trail of blood behind him, he did not care, another day, another death.

Author:
Helen Marshall