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He stood over the soon to be corpse, taking in the final seconds of life.
Raspy breathing, eyes widening in fear. Classic signs of death.
He'd seen it countless times in this line of work and he would see it many times more.
"Tell Mary Ann..."
"I'll tell her you died well, Lorn."
P.2
Drawing his blade from his friend's stomach he flicked off the blood, watching it splash against the building, dripping down.
"They say,"
He ran a finger up it,
"Being a Highwayman is a sure fire way to meet the Shadows. We have no morals, no code of conduct. We kill anyone for the right price."
He sheathes it, begins to head back down the alley,
"Frankly, its utter bullshit. I don't kill kids or elderly. Won't take coin for a good revenge tale, and I follow my own code."
P.3
Slipping out of the alley and back onto the main city street the man heads down it, ignoring the smells of human waste and garbage.
Saint Marin's Port, the biggest port town in Albion, held over a million people within its walls.
On the smaller side compared to the capital city, Saint Marin's still had it good points and everyone who was anyone wanted to go there at least once in their lives.
Counting this visit, this was his fifth time in the town.
P.4
Heading into the nearest tavern the man plopped himself down on one of the stools, not even bothering to look as he gestured the bartender over.
"What can I getcha?"
It belonged to a pint sized woman, her hair as curly as it was blonde. Her bright green eyes locking on him intensely.
Glancing up at the wall he eyed the menu.
"Whisky. Hold the ice."
"Comin' right up!"
Barely able to see over her own counter the halfling seemingly disappeared once he ordered, popping up seconds later with glass and bottle.
P.5
Pouring the glass himself he drank it slowly, enjoying the hot burning sensation it created as it slid down his throat.
"Anythin' else mister?"
"No. Thank you."
"If ya change yer mind, don't mind hollerin' for me. Name's Rosey."
And just like that she was off, rushing to another customer who recently sat down at a table near the back.
"I know who you are,"
He said softly under his breath,
"I killed your father when you and your sister Damaris were still just children."
P.1
He watched for a time while Rosey bartered with the new patron, his spiked up hair reminding him of a bird.
Apparently, from what he could hash out, bird man felt he didn't need to pay for one drink since Rosey, due either through forgetfulness or an attempt to save money, didn't pay him for woood he stacked a week ago in her cellar.
"I ain't paying. You owe me a drink."
Bird man grunted, a finger absently doing circles on the table's surface.
"I'll pay ya, OK? But you gotta pay me for the damn beer."
"Nope."
"Zane, I gots no time for this. Please?"
Finally, after much mumbling and huffing, bird man or Zane handed her over two silver coins.
"Be right back."
She grinned and swung back around the counter.
P.2
Watching her the Highwayman caught his reflection in the mirror behind the bar.
Black top hat, a fresh frock coat of matching colour, and dark brown trousers, he could pass as a member of the lower nobility. No one expected he was a professional assassin.
Sword neatly concealed by an invisibility enchantment placed on his scabbard, the only weapon visible was his Flintlock pistol, typical of noblemen and even wealthy commoners, no one would question his use of it.
Rosey popped back up from underneath the counter with a bottle of rotgut beer, Zane's choice.
P.3
The man, finished with his whisky, reached into his pocket and pulled out four silver coins, two more than needed.
When Rosey saw this she started to insist he keep the tip but the Highwayman smiled and shook his head.
"A good worker deserves a bit more now and again,"
He said,
"I won't miss it."
Knowing she wouldn't win any argument the two might have she pocketed the money and bowed respectfully.
"Thank you...?"
"Kenneth MacAlister of Bennadroch."
The name was true enough, and Bennadroch was where he hailed from, but, playing up his noble image, he added the 'of' to his name, as all noblemen of repute did.
P.4
Pushing away from the bar he saw Zane eyeing him.
"Can I help you?"
"Surprised."
"Come again?"
"I'm surprised a high and mighty Lord such as yourself would visit such a humble establishment."
The bird man's face, handsome and clean shaven, was set hard in disgust.
Clearly, he didn't like the nobility, and now he was itching to start something.
P.5
In order to avoid any unnecessary conflict Kenneth ignored the comment and tried making his way to the door.
A firm hand resting on his shoulder before he made it.
"Remove your hand, friend."
He said, dropping the gentle act.
"You're picking the wrong target."
"That so?"
"Step away. Or what happens next is on you."
"Wouldn't have it---"
Kenneth spun, faster than anything Zane had ever seen, smacking his arm away and drilling a fist straight into his forehead.
P.6
He went flying backward, flipping over and crashing into a table and chair set, knocking over mugs and a painting on the wall.
Trying to get up he couldn't, body to badly injured.
"Next time,"
Kenneth gestured at him,
"You won't be alive when you hit the ground."
He turned to Rosey,
"Good day to you ma'am. Thank you again for your service."
Then he walked out into the street again, becoming one with the crowd.
P.1
Rosey helping him up Zane cursed, pain lacing up his sides and arms.
"Bastard."
He growled, clutching a piece of wood that broke off a table.
"Yer lucky,"
Rosey told him,
"He could've killed you."
"You...you think I'm that easy to pick off?"
"Zane, street fightin' and bein' trained for war are different things."
P.2
He stood, holding onto Rosey's arm to keep himself steady.
"Not by much."
"Oh really huh? So Sir Walter Beck, a veteran of the wars of unification, General of his Majesty's army, is no match for a street fighter?"
"Well---"
"Face it Zane. Some men are stronger than you. No shame in it."
She helped him into a new chair and went back behind the bar.
P.3
As Rosey chatted with a new patron he mulled over her words.
'Nobility take everything from us. Our taxes, our sons and daughters. And what do we get in return? Walked on.'
A hand gingerly went to his forehead, he winced touching it.
'Maybe I'm no match for Beck or any of the Knights of the royal guard, but I'll be damned if I let some low ranking noble abuse me like that again!'
P.4
It was too late to track the noble down now, he knew, so he decided to keep his anger bottled down, taking a mental note to spar again with Daniel at the local Fighter's Club.
".....So I says, whatcha mean you don't got no money to pay for this? You ate FIVE PIES!"
Rosey's laugh brought one of his own. Despite her pestering for money or how late he may be on a bar tab, they were close friends, had been since they were kids.
P.5
Coming from a respectable family, Rosey's association with street urchins, as he heard her mother call him and other poor kids, rubbed her parents the wrong way.
Ashe and Caroline Wright held no ill will towards lower classes, they just didn't believe classes should mix and viewed them accordingly.
But Rosey and her sister Damaris ignored class rules and became friends with him and others, eventually wearing their parents down until they relented.
To their credit, Ashe and Caroline never made him feel unwanted or unworthy while he visited, always doing their best to make him feel comfortable and welcomed.
He thought of them now as he readied to leave, how they'd react to the turmoil within the Kingdom.
'They'd side with the government of course,'
Zane thought as he walked out, giving Rosey a quick wave,
'Like most wealthy citizens do. Wealth protects wealth after all.'
P.1
Kenneth watched the Grandmaster shuffle through a bag of coin, retrieving his share in a job well done.
"The client said you killed Lorn cleanly."
"He was an old friend. Least I could do."
"Sure, but friends don't mean much in our line of work."
"They don't,"
Kenneth agreed leaning back against a wall decorated in animal heads and weapons, all trophies of the Grandmaster,
"But they still count."
P.2
His boss chucked the bag back at him and sat down in his chair, kicking his feet up on the oak table he used to sign off on hit contracts.
"If you say so MacAlister. Got any news from the city?"
"Nothing you don't already know. Unrest grows day by day, Kingdom officials don't seem to give a damn and keep raising taxes."
"The King's commitment to his people's money is admirable,"
The Grandmaster smirked mockingly,
"Too bad it won't do him much good if those same people can't feed themselves and revolt."
"You know he's is nothing but an idiot,"
Kenneth pointed out,
"Only concerned with lining his and the nobility's pockets."
P.3
Thinking on it all now, Kenneth found it absurd, how the King and nobility squabbled to keep power, gain riches, when at the end of the day they were all just meat with skin attached that would rot in the ground at death.
He thanked God (or whatever the hell was out there) everyday he was an assassin. Nothing was more simpler than being a killer for hire.
No politics. No succession disputes. Just plain old fashioned murder.
P.4
His Guild, known as Highwaymen to ordinary folk, were a band of assassins known as the Black Blade Syndicate.
Personally he preferred the Highwayman title and used it, but to the Grandmaster and others, Highwayman was an insult.
"Did you hear of what happened at one of the factories in Bowerstone Industrial?"
The Grandmaster asked suddenly, bringing him out of his thoughts.
"No, what?"
"Some soldiers clashed with a band of men calling themselves the Bowerstone Resistance. Apparently they've been causing a lot of trouble lately, but this is the first violent confrontation."
A civil war, by its very nature, would give them more clientele, from both sides. For that, Kenneth took the news well.
"More business if this starts a war."
"Yes,"
The Grandmaster agreed,
"War and assassination go hand and hand."
P.1
The Fighter's Club traced its existence back to the days of the Hero of Oakvale when it was known as the Fist Fighters Gang, boasting a chapter in every major settlement in Albion.
Known for their pride in their hand combat skills, and disdaining weapons of any kind, those in the club swore an oath of loyalty to each other that went beyond simple honour ties. It was an oath of brotherhood.
To Zane, it was the only oath he took seriously.
P.2
Swinging by the clubhouse in Barrow's End, he found Daniel, the club's president, drinking with a few oddly dressed men.
The first thing he noticed were the flintlocks at their hips, clear signs they weren't possible candidates for initiation as Club rules forbid any member or those seeking membership from carrying weapons within clubhouse walls.
P.3
Daniel spotted him, a green eye glancing his way, but made no move to greet him.
"Page would appreciate the Fighter's Club's support."
One of the men said, his voice thick and hard to make out.
"Now that things started, we need all the help we can get."
Said the other.
'Resistance members.'
It made sense now, why they were armed.
P.4
He supported the Resistance, their goals and aims, but thought the Fighter's Club should stay out of politics officially.
If members wanted to join up, that was fine, but they needed to do so on their own, unattached to the Club.
But now, seeing these two here, Zane wondered if Danie's stance had changed.
"Page shoulda known what starting a war meant."
The Club President said coldly, taking a drink of his Balverine's Spleen Beer, wincing at the taste.
"We did what you all wanted to do."
The thick voiced man snapped back, bony finger almost touching Daniel's nose.
"Did you now? I admire your conviction, Roger, but unless you got the mettle to back it up, you and your little group will be hung up by the end of the month."
P.5
Daniel finally acknowledged Zane, waving him over with a hand.
"Meet Zane Masterson,"
He said, putting a hand on Zane's arm,
"My nephew and best fighter."
The two men nodded curtly.
Zane smirked in return.
"He's a revolutionary at heart, isn't that right boy?"
"Yes."
"But you don't see him running around making half assed decisions now do you? Tell Page, from me, that until she can prove that she's worthy of following, the Fighter's Club won't support anything she does. Now, gentlemen, good day."
Roger went to argue, to insult him, but his friend, knowing better of it, dragged him off before he could get going.
P.1
Later, when it was just him and his uncle, Zane grabbed a bottle of Bowerstone Brown Beer, sat opposite of Daniel, and started questioning him about the meeting.
Apparently, Page, the Resistance's leader, didn't have much support beyond her small band of men and women and so was trying to branch out, to forge alliances with different organizations.
She chose the Fighter's Club first to reach out to, knowing that they weren't loyal to King Logan. What she didn't bank on, though, was being seen as an upstart with few prospects.
"Joining her right out of the gate could leave us in a mess,"
His uncle said finishing off the last of his Beer,
"We don't know if they'll even hold on a week, let alone a month or more. Better to let it go on a bit, then decide."
Zane sipped his drink. Unsure if he agreed.
P.2
"What if we hang back and then its too late? Besides, the nobility need to be taught a lesson."
He never told his uncle about the noble that knocked him back at Rosey's, wouldn't tell him for fear he'd think he was losing his edge. But he wanted desperately to meet that man again, to finish what they started.
To kill him.
"Nothing's stopping you from joining them."
"But...the Club needs me. I can't just leave."
"If you feel so strongly that the nobility needs to be brought down, you should join the Resistance. Become a Son of the Revolution."
Daniel flashed a smile,
"Just make sure to represent the Club proudly."
P.3
Joining the Resistance? Him?
The thought....would he even be a good fit?
His uncle didn't say any more, getting up and heading into the back for some food, leaving Zane to his own thoughts.
Joining a revolution, to topple a corrupt King and nobility.
Why wouldn't he fit in?
Quickly, he jumped up and left, going to Rosey's.
He trusted her opinion and knew, more than anyone else, she would give it to him straight, whether he liked it or not.
P.1
She looked at him like he was insane.
He shrugged awkwardly, hating the way she was gazing at him.
"Got a death wish?"
She asked wiping down the bar counter, no patrons in at the moment.
"Obviously not Rose. I just want to make a difference."
"And what is getting plugged with musket balls gonna change?"
"You're acting like I'll die as soon as I touch pen to paper."
"Gee, lemme see why!"
Rosey scrubbed faster now, irritated.
P.2
He watched her a few minutes, trying his best not to chuckle. It never failed, every time she got upset the bottom of her ears turned beat red.
"I'll be OK. I'll take care of myself."
"Yeah."
"Oh c'mon, don't give me that sass."
"Sass? SASS?! Oh sorry, sorrrry. Yer right, I should applaud yer bravery. Commend yer wish to get blown to bits!"
"Calm down."
"CALM DOWN? I OUDDA---"
Zane tuned her off when she got overactive, her mouth moving faster than the words she tried speaking.
She meant well, loved him dearly, he knew it.
P.3
Once she cooled down, he told her the main reason why he was considering joining the Resistance.
"To meet that bastard again. To kill him."
He said it so casually, like an offhand comment about a rainy day or warm beer.
"To kill him? The nobleman that punched you?"
"One and the same."
At this she didn't get mad like Zane expected. She shook her head in disapproval.
"I told you didn't I? Some men---"
"Some men are stronger. I heard ya the first time. But no man, strong or not, can survive a mortal wound."
"That goes for yer stupid ass too."
P.4
Somehow the possibility of dying never occurred to him.
Why? Perhaps, just maybe, he didn't care whether he lived or died.
It wasn't like he didn't enjoy life, he did most days, but it wasn't anything special to hold onto, to cherish like he saw others do.
To cling to something so temporal, so finite made little sense.
Apparently Rosey disagreed.
P.5
In the end, overcome with anger and sadness, she told him to get out.
So he did, heading for Bowerstone that very hour to enlist.
P.1
The Resistance happily took him on and assigned him to B Company, a unit of men mostly from a village in Brightwood called Ravensmoon.
Despite the differences in upbringing between him and his new comrades Zane fit right in, making friends easily.
P.2
A week after Zane signed on, B Company was sent out into the field.
They hit a caravan transporting weapons to Mourningwood in Greatwood, killing all ten of the guards and driver, making off with the stash.
Zane took his first life during the attack, stabbing the driver through the heart as he lunged at him.
Unlike what he imagined he felt no guilt afterwards, no remorse. He didn't feel good either.
He felt nothing at all.
P.3
It continued like this. Ambushes and sneak attacks, not the full on battles Zane was expecting.
The revolution didn't happen. For a year the Resistance conducted raids and assassinations, but made little progress.
And he never crossed paths with the nobleman.
P.4
All that changed in the fall, during a raid on Millfields.
P.1
The 'war' gave them little to no contracts, unlike what Kenneth and the Grandmaster expected. A few here and there throughout the year was all.
And the targets were petty thieves masquerading as rebels.
But, just when MacAlister was beginning to lose hope, a big contract came in.
The client, Major Swift no less, asked the Black Blades to kill a rebel leader named Dane Bannorn, Captain of B Company.
P.2
Kenneth jumped at the contract, snapping it up before anyone else could get their grubby hands on it.
He studied, stalked, and observed his target for months beforehand, all the while Bannorn had no idea (or any other Resistance member) that he was there, patiently waiting.
P.3
When word came that B Company was to raid Millfields to steal what wealth they could from that affluent community, Kenneth made his way there before they arrived.
P.4
The Highwayman sat in wait, sharpening his blade, loading his flintlock.
When Dane and his men came into view, he aimed.
Musket ball blowing the man's brains out.
Drawing his sword he made short work of his men.
All but one. Hair spiked like a bird.
Kenneth grinned, remembering his old friend from Rosey's.
P.1
Zane launches into an attack recklessly, infuriated by the easy slaughter of his friends and leader before his eyes.
MacAlister, for his part, draws it out, sidestepping and slapping away each blow the rebel attempts.
P.2
Back and forth they fight, Masterson always on the offensive, the Highwayman defensive. Neither speak.
P.3
In one ill timed swing Zane gets to close.
MacAlister latches on, pulling him in, nose to nose.
"I told you didn't I?"
He asks casually,
"Can't go back on a promise."
P.4
Zane watches the sword enter his chest. Feels the cold steel slice through bone and muscle to pierce and destroy the heart.
His cry is light, soft.
A second later he's gone.
P.5
MacAlister lies the body of his adversary down, walking off down the path towards home.