Ripples of Shadow
Chapter 8 - A Grave Mistake

Rash turned from the balcony at a voice behind him. A small man stood there dry washing his hands as he spoke.

“Pardon for the interruption my good sir, but I have a letter for you.” Rash eyed the man as he took the letter and opened it. His eyes grew darker at each word, and at the last he dropped the letter to the ground.

“Take me now.” Rash’s voice was cold as steel. The small man nodded vigorously and said that the way was short. Rash followed the man out of the inn, barely noticing Hendrig and Dro’gath sitting at a table with the elven sisters Tasilyna and Eleirysa. The sisters had returned last night from some mission they were on, and were now going over the details with the dwarf and half-orc. Rash barely paid them any mind. All his attention was on the small man’s back.

After exiting the inn, they wound through some small alleyways which became increasingly more cramped. Finally they came out into a small clearing. The small man stopped, and turned to face Rash.

“What are we doing here? I don’t see her…if you’ve misled me you’ll find out dearly that my sense of humor doesn’t extend this far.” Rash assumed they must be near the edge of the city. High white marble walls surrounded them, and the noise of the city couldn’t even be heard this far on the outskirts.

“Oh sir, why I have not misled you in the least. I do have word of your dear Moria.” The small man smiled, an oily sarcastic smile. Just then, Rash heard rustling all around him. Seemingly from nowhere men crept from the shadows. Daggers flourishing in their hands. They had him utterly surrounded, and they were a dozen to his one. “You have no idea the trouble the Cult took to reach you here, in the heart of Dalaran. But the Prince holds no bounds you see…you will be taken to her, piece by piece so she can scream in utter agony. Oh, her screams will be delicious.”

Rash snapped: Red filled his vision. The small man was dead before him, his mouth hung open in a scream that never reached his lips. He lay on the ground twisted, his neck broken. The twelve assassins around him paused, but only for a heartbeat. They rushed in on him, daggers gleaming in the sunlight. Professionals either hired by or in service to the Cult of the Damned. The thought barely registered in Rash’s mind. A rage consumed Rash, fed his hatred. They died one by one ‘til only one was standing...barely. Blood covered the ground all around Rash as he held the last man’s throat in his hand.

“You will tell me where, or I will make this incredibly painful before you die.” The man’s eyes grew wide, blood trickled from his mouth. One word escaped his lips before Rash imbedded the man’s own dagger in his chest; Icecrown. Rash dropped the assassin’s limp body to the ground. He turned back to the alleyway and headed back into the city proper. Thirteen bodies lay strewn about in a bloodbath as one thought filled Rash’s head. I have failed again, but they have made a grave mistake.

Hatred consumed his being. His eyes burned. He didn’t even notice the blood covering his clothing. Not his blood. People shied away from him as he headed back towards the inn. “Moria, I will come for you.”