The God of Sleep Has Made His House

Rain.

Fucking Rain.

It's so fucking annoying sometimes. Especially during a job.

I knew what my orders were: climb and enter the tower, and kill the target by any means necessary. But by sweet merciful Satan, It would have been a lot simpler if it wasn't raining.

The rocks were cold and slippery.

You could barely see a damn thing.

Chances were that there were going to be a shit load of baddies inside, and I wasn't looking forward to them hearing the water drip from my body and armor.

But most of all, my hair kept getting in my face. I really need to get it cut one of these days. But, have you ever tried to find a barber in northern fucking Griffin Kingdom? I mean, shit, they don't even have hair to cut (minus their furry bodies, but I digress). I have to go all the way to horsie land Equestria to get a decent cut, or at least one the southern cities where there were some ponies with actual hair upon their craniums. But still, to travel miles and miles just to get a haircut?

Fuck my life.

And this was a solo mission, as well. Usually they would send us in threes, or at the very least pairs. That would have made things even more simpler. Well, less boring, anyway. At least I wouldn't be stuck in this fucking rain, alone.

It's always interesting to see who they pair me up with. Most of the time, I get set up with the Young Bloods, who have yet to be broken in to our line of work. Most of them haven't even killed a single animal, yet alone a fellow being of sentience. Their reactions always vary from griffin to griffin. Some weep and moan wildly. Others sit in solemn silence, quietly reflecting their actions, hanging their heads in shame. Others grin manic grins, for they have tasted the bloodlust that fuels their twisted thirst for gore.

Me?

I've always had a neutral reaction when I took a life.

I mean, I didn't go out of my way to ram a sword through some unlucky creatures head, but it didn't necessarily bother me, either. It actually scares me a bit that I don't feel so bad when I cut someone to fucking bits.

I guess that's why the King sends me on most of these kind of missions. I kept my head and wits about me, and could move as stealthy as a griffin. I'm not that much of an asshole; I'm capable of mercy to an extent. But I can always kill the living shit out of anyone or thing with extreme prejudice.

That's what I'm good at, sadly.

My art is the art of the slaughter, the sing-song of swords clashing, painting the field, the walls, and my blade the color red. I wish I was better at something else. Poetry, music, hell, even comedy; something that didn't involve sticking a knife into some poor fuck's neck. I even tried to take up painting. Fucking painting. I know, right? Yet, when it comes down to it, killings my game, and at the very least, I take comfort in the fact that I kill for my king and country, and not because I'm some sadistic bastard. Well, bastard, anyway. When the king asks me to interrogate someone, I think I go a little bit too overboard sometimes. But, hey, if you can't take the punishment, than be smart and don't threaten our fucking kingdom.

But I would never do that to an innocent, nor have I ever taken an innocent life. That's not my game.

Thunder booms.

I look around.

It's gotten pretty dark already, and a light flashes in the top room of the tallest part of the keep before me.

That's my signal. Time to begin my ascent.

I tighten the leather, fingerless gloves on my hands and the sword belt around my waist. Everything is secure. Everything is perfect.

Besides the rain. Fuck the rain.

Lightning flashes, illuminating the landscape around me.

Trees and stones are everywhere. And before me lay the ruins of a fort I know all too well.

Fort Arsis: once a fort we used as a base of operations during the Great Civil War, now a den of bandits and thieves, one in particular that has been a nuisance in our side for the past year.

Abinchova: one of the ex-Captains of the Old Kingdom's army, now a Bandit Chief who preyed on the New Kingdom's Eastern Trade Caravans.

A real shame, too, that he went bandit.

He was a good griffin, who hated their leader (who didn't?), but loved his people (his soldiers, most of all). He carried himself with dignity and pride, whose very presence demanded respect. And he was fucking huge (no doubt one of the biggest griffins I have ever seen).

I had the pleasure of fighting him once during the Siege of Venom Falls. He was a tough bastard, who nearly killed me with that huge mace of his.

He was a worthy fighter.

Can't wait to kill him.

Shuffling the cloak around my shoulders, I began to climb the wall in front of me.

It was damaged in many places, most likely from the catapults and trebuchets that were hammered away at it.

Made a lot of hand and footholds, so i wasn't complaining now.

I can feel the rain pelting me, dampening my cloak and armor, soaking me to the bone.

Did I mention I hate the fucking rain?

I really, really do.

The top of the wall was right ahead of me.

Sure enough, a guard was posted there, an unhappy look across his face. By the looks of it, he hated the rain to.

We are kindred spirits, brother. A shame that you are going to have to die.

I reached into the side pocket of my cloak and unsheathed a dagger, slowly continuing my crawl up the wall.

The guard turned his back, his tailing flowing back and forth in annoyance.

I sigh, silently.

Buddy, with you turning your back on me, you just gave up your only fighting chance.

Thunder boomed, lightning flashed.

I propelled myself up onto the walkway.

The guard turned around as fast as he could as soon as my boots made contact three feet behind him. Not fast enough, though.

Time seemed to slow.

I saw a so many different emotions flash in the guards eyes as the dagger slowly descended downward. Fear, regret, pain, sadness....acceptance.

I'm sorry, man. It's just business.

My other hand rushed forward and caught hold of his face, closing his beak to muffle his screams.

All you hear is a sickening crunch as the dagger penetrates his skull. I twist it in, making sure to kill this poor fucker as quickly as possible. It's the least I could do.

The color red sprays from the wound as I pull the dagger back out. Blood mixes with rain on the floor.

Urine leaks from his haunches.

Last thing he did before dying was piss himself. What a way to go out, man.

I drop his body to the floor, loot him for any bits, valuables, or intel (he's dead, he doesn't need it) and proceed down the wall tower to my right. I drew my sword, it's leather hilt wet from the rain, as I continue down the stony stairway.

Two guards were below me, leaning against the wall, sleeping. Your lucky day, boys. You won't see it coming. It'll be fast. It'll be painless.

I swing my sword twice.

Two heads fall to the ground, followed by the slunk of two bodies.

Rest in peace, guys.

I loot their bodies, and continue on my merry fucking way.

Lightning flashes, thunder booms.

Rain pelts the courtyard all around me. My black, matted hair is soaking wet. Rain water washes the gore from my face.

I sigh, once again.

Dark deeds will be done before Celestia's morning sun rises over the horizon.

What a horrible night for rain.