Vernan knelt on a precipice overlooking the battle below. The chilled air caused a shiver and he pulled his thick cloak around himself a little tighter, the crimson lining catching slightly on the studs of his flexible leather armour. He felt the hatred boil within him and focused it to the task at hand. He knew if he allowed the darkness to consume him completely then the Count would escape and his masters would be displeased. The battle below seemed distant, even though it was only in the valley beneath him. The sounds a little duller, the smells less metallic, and the sights like memories being played before the eye; Vernan slipped into a dark reverie for he knew he had been ordered to wait until the right moment. Unconsciously running a finger along one of the long daggers strapped to his back, he waited until the last blue standard had fallen. This was the signal. He dived with perfect grace from his high perch, a shower of dislodged icicles fell around him as he had used the edge as a springboard. He spread his arms wide and a pair of spring loaded knives appeared in his hands as he fell. Each finding their mark upon landing, into the chests of the nearest guards.
Whispering a single word Vernan became covered in an oily mist which flowed quickly from him, tendrils of magic snapping as this second skin became its own form. The eldritch revenant began fissuring and within moments three ebony doppelgangers stood with him. Dividing his mind in the way he had been trained he worked them like dark puppets, dealing death as if he had cast the blows with his own hands, not leaving a single member of the court guard alive; some of the fittest and greatest warriors ever trained by the court of Ellios. The plump Count Fredrick, a mottled, rat faced man with a mop of greasy black hair sat on his horse, stunned by the quick and sudden death of his men; some had been friends since childhood. However he knew the time for mourning was not now, he had to survive and fulfill his orders. This was not what he was promised, not what he was promised at all.
Vernan uttered with authority, "My lord, this day has been long coming. By the power vested in me by the Will of the Bog Queen and the decree of the council of Faltos, you have been found guilty of the crime of treason by murder. For this, the only sentence is death." Vernan became thin lipped and whispered three more words of power, weaving magic that danced like fine strands playing over his lips. "Now there is no escape, for we are outside time."
With a snort Count Fredrick interrupted him indignantly, clearly not listening, "How dare you! How dare you slaughter my men and try for my life. Do you realize who I am and what I can do to a rogue mageblade like yourself?" The words died on his lips as Vernan’s cloak was caught by a gust of wind and the badge of the Kilmerae flickered into view. The sight of three ravens around crossed scythes made Frederick draw in his respect. Yet still he continued talking with an uncaring, superior air. "Who sent you? It was Galthor, wasn't it? He has always wanted my lands!" Exclaiming like a pig before its throat is slit. "Whatever you are being paid I will triple it!"
Vernan took a breath and sighed "My Lord, you cannot pay me with what you do not have. I am paid in the honour that my Lady’s justice is carried out. In the loyalty of my peers and the love of killing squealing, devil dealing scum that believes it can lead my country to ruin." He smiled darkly. "The only loyalty you felt I took from you, in the lives of the conspirators laying at my feet.”
These words wounded the count as he was used to getting what he wanted, as much as the salt in the wound of losing dear friends. A silence fell between them, the count bowed his head in the realisation of defeat. With that Vernan carried out his trade with a meticulous fashion, like an artist creating a masterpiece. He did not touch the horse as the creature had done no wrong. He considered using the beast as his escape route, however the impact of his surprise was waning and the barding it wore was too obvious not to be the Counts horse. He took the tributes the council would ask for and disappeared like a wraith into the night.
