All's Fair in Love and War (Closed)

[Loki Odinson]

As dusk slowly turned into night over the Kingdom of Attalia, the reddish-pink sky bled into dark-blue. It was a lovely spectacle, not that the man currently staring out the window was present enough mentally to appreciate it. And truly, Irwin Helluin's mind was far from the present. Hands behind his back as he stood facing the large window to the right of his desk, the Count's gaze was distant, shoulders slumped just the slightest bit. For one such as him, a noble whose every action and gesture was polished to precision, the tiny imperfection in his posture highlighted his exhaustion.


But one couldn't blame him, really. Not after spending nigh on thirty-two hours locked in heated debate with a few other stuffy, uptight nobles of fairly similar standing. The discussion was a familiar one, with the war-seeking individuals going against the pacifists citing the rising threat of Kestia, their rival kingdom, and the apparent nefarious plans Kestia had in store for Attalia. Irwin had heard it all before, both when he accompanied his father to these meeting and in the latter eight years as Count. Personally, he didn't see why some lords and ladies were so eager to stick their fingers into Attalia-Kestia business during peace times. It wasn't as if their territories laid between the two nations, or shared borders with Kestia, like his lands did. This time, the anti-Kestia faction proclaimed a secretly planned invasion of Attalian soil in the near future, after staging a mass elimination of major players. To Irwin, it sounded plausible, but not enough that he immediately jumped on it. This required some investigation beforehand. Who knows? It could very well be a fellow noble spreading false trails around just to lure him in and gut him like a fish. He knew how appealing that idea sounded to some of his enemies in court.


Shaking his head wearily, the Count moved away from the window and returned to his desk, where a sizeable pile of paperwork laid. He flopped onto the high-back armchair with a heavy sigh, resting his chin on a propped-up hand as he glared half-heartedly at the stack of parchment. One of the many pains of his position. Finally lifting a hand, Irwin plucked a couple of letters and a few scrolls off the top. Invitation to a ball, invitation to a birthday party, compliments, congratulations for the latest success, proposals and...heh...the expected threats from a few...pests. Without a second glance, he tossed them into the fireplace, watching indifferently as they blackened and burnt to crisp.


"M'Lord...?" A hesitant knock accompanied by a soft call interrupted the relative silence of his study. "I have brought dinner."


"Come in." Irwin spoke lowly, not even glancing up as the maid padded quietly in.


From beneath his lashes, the Count observed her keenly. Black polished shoes and blue-frill skirt. So they sent Emilia this time. Understandable, seeing as he all but fired the last maid when she spilt soup upon his table and documents. She set the silver tray laddened with food down at the top right corner of his desk and retreated hastily out the door. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, a silver pin was stuck into the dish. It came out unblemished. Satisfied, he dug into the hot meal, feeling more relaxed than he had ever been in two whole days.


Now, if only this peace would last until the morning after.

 

[ChampagneDiscord]

There were many people whom Ambroise has killed, through deceit, lies or good old fashioned murder. But none had he planned out himself, in a selfish endeavor for personal revenge. This one, however, was different. Ambroise had been stalking, and taking detailed notes on the every action of the noble, Count Irwin Helluin of Aranath, Ambroise huffed through his nose, such a title, yet most are not earned, and he suspected that this aristocrat was like the rest. A rich child, who never had to spill a single drop of blood or tear for his favorable, and mighty position.


Either way, despite Ambrose's thoughts on the man, he had decided to kill him, in order to make peace with his master's death, that the noble had caused after his master killed his father, not that he blamed the man, but either way it weighed on him that Irwin was alive, while his master was not.


Ambroise knew that many attempts had been made on the noble's life, but never one as skilled, or willing as himself. He was prepared with backup after backup, and a few placed pawns within the court, some having been working there for years, and some only just entering the scene. He noted that the earlier added members were not trusted to serve, or even see the man, meaning that it was up to the older staff members to get the information he needed, which was delivered successfully. All that remained was the final act of a multiple part play, that Ambroise had put together.


He knew that Irwin would now be sitting at his table, eating his dinner, probably feeling tired or at least somewhat weakened from his earlier events. He knew that the man carried daggers around with him, but if what he was told had any truth to it, he was by no means good at using them. Ambroise smiled as he placed his hands upon his own set of daggers, that were swift, and that he was fully trained to use.


Ambroise took no more time to scale the wall of the manor, as soon as the sun's light got dark enough, and when the outer guard had been changing shift. He was as quiet, and quick as a leaf floating up the wall, as he almost silently shoved his blade through the window's frame, slowly opening it, shoving a slip of cloth under as he opened it, letting no sound be made, as he crawled through, and closed it behind him. It was the perfect crime, even if a maid were to come in now, which he'd made sure would not happen, he was covered from head to toe in light fabric that covered his lightly armored body, that made sure none would see his face or form. With a trained eye watching out for glass or reflective surfaces, Ambroise closed the distance between himself and the Aristocrat. Quickly bringing his very sharp blade to his neck, covering his mouth with a well gripped glove. Carefully he brought the sharpest edge of the blade to his throat. "Make a sound," Ambroise said quietly, and in an intimidating, french accented voice "And I will not hesitate." He took his hand off of his mouth, hoping to get some answers from Irwin, before he ran him through. He wasn't bluffing about killing him if he spoke out of turn, and Ambrose was pretty sure the young noble knew that.

 

[Loki Odinson]

The Count had not heard the window slide open, and had felt the back of his neck prickle far too late for him to escape. Oh, this assassin is good indeed. Was the first thought that crossed Irwin's mind even as the edge of a blade pressed against the hem of his high-collared tunic, slicing through them easily enough to hover a hair's breadth away from his neck. The hand that clamped firmly around his mouth was not large like all the other assassins he had encountered before. This one was slender, average-sized, and from the lilt of his words, a person of Kestia. Although Irwin could not see this assailant due to the lack of a reflective surface close at hand, his brain was compiling the facts together quickly despite the very visible threat to his life.


A Kestian assassin here to take my life. So either Lord Wilder was telling the truth or this was pure coincidence. Heh...right...he stopped believing in coincidence before he turned fifteen. There was a motive to everything, a trigger to kickstart a reaction. A shove in the right place could set off a landslide or an avalanche. So, what led this man here besides money from contract and the fact that it was an assassin's job? Because while he knew the average price a person is willing to pay for his death - and isn't that just sad - most of the time his paranoia made work all too hard for his potential killers that they deemed the payment to be insufficient.


Other than an exasperated sigh, Irwin made no other move. This man would keep to his promise of killing him should the slightest unnecessary move be made. His daggers were currently strapped to his thigh and the Count was not so foolish as to test his luck by reaching for them. It would be a rather humiliating demise otherwise and Irwin certainly wasn't tired of living, sickening as his job could get at times. The gloved hand was removed slowly as the assassin seemed confident that Irwin would not call for guards, servants, or any form of help he could possibly summon. And truly, he would not. For an assassin to have such a good knowledge of his schedule and the structure of his manor...one or more member of his household were no doubt responsible for leaking information. He would be sure to cleanse his ranks once more...if he survived this night, that was.


"You didn't kill me." Irwin commented mildly, breaking the terse silence between them. His voice was barely more than a murmur. "So...what other nefarious tasks did your contractor assign you besides ensuring my death? Information about Attalia's future plans for your nation? Weaknesses you can exploit when another war breaks out? I am afraid to be the bearer of bad news, Kestian, but you might not be able to acquire everything you are looking for."

 

[ChampagneDiscord]

Ambroise did not falter, nor did the tone of his voice change from that of a professional. He was there to do a job, and he was more than willing to kill him right there and then, but something stopped him, this was more than just a normal contract for him, in fact, he would probably get no reward for this, except the satisfaction of killing the man who ordered his master's death. But, first, he had to know.


"A man named Edmund Schmidt, he killed your father. He was my master. Tell me. When you had him killed, was he armed? And was it your daggers that killed him, the ones you have been eyeing upon feeling my knife on your throat?" Ambroise spoke with not the slightest hint of emotion, neither hatred, anger, nor sadness. Mere curiosity. Ambroise did not plan to spare the man's life, yet he felt a great weight attached to his words, as if his answers would indeed change the outcome of this night.

 

[Loki Odinson]

Edmund Schmidt. How long has it been since that name was spoken aloud by another person after the Kestian's execution? How long has it been since those two words were successfully locked away and buried under various others in the far corner of his mind? Seven years, two months, fifteen days and ten hours from this very moment. Slightly less than a year after Schmidt's henchman poisoned his father's meal and watched as the late Count Helluin turn black from the lethal dose of Death in liquid form. And Schmidt was this assassin's master. It made a rather twisted sort of sense that the universe favoured, Irwin supposed.


"You are an assassin yourself, and furthermore, a student of his. Do you believe he would allow himself to be unarmed even for a moment?" Irwin answered quietly, the memories of his first personal execution resurfacing, crystal clear as if it was only yesterday the deed had been carried out. "Kestian nobility may have a different system of exacting revenge upon their wrongdoers, but the Helluins take these matters into our own hands. It was only right that I saw to his demise. These daggers did not once touched him, no. I took his head with a sword and had his body cremated. You will find not a single trace of him remains in this world, assassin."

 

[ChampagneDiscord]

A thought that brought more relief than strife to Ambroise. "I'm glad." He smiled. Letting silence take the place of words.


However he thought he should clarify. "I'm glad that you were the one to kill him, given that you were the one to place the judgment upon him." He gave a soft half hearted chuckle. "Do you fear me, Aristocrat? Do you hate my existence, and if you could, would you grab onto one of your daggers, and drive it into my throat?" Ambroise's voice never wavered.


In all honesty, he felt more than content to just leave the boy be, however that wasn't how this world worked. If he didn't kill him, he would probably try to find him, and get him killed as well. Although such would be hard, it seemed too big a hassle to let slide. "So, Irwin. Would you see this game ended? Would you like me to end this here and now?" Ambroise felt almost indebted to the man, since he took the sword to his master rather than having a lacky do it for him.


Ambroise got close to Irwin's neck, his breath upon it as he spoke clearly into his ear. "Or perhaps you'd like the chance for a fair duel? I'm willing to give you such a dual, unless you'd rather me finish this quickly. Not that you'd win either way." He laughed slightly. Ambroise knew that he would probably not come to any such dual, especially with such low odds of his own success, but he knew that his master wouldn't have it any other way. "What'll it be My lord?" No emotion coated his voice, as it stayed low, and almost hushed, taking himself from his ear, keeping his fine dagger just over his jugular.