A Day of Darkness

Dagur Myrkri was approaching his sixteenth year and was about to perform the Helgiathöfn Fullrothsár, his rite of passage into adulthood. He stood in the clearing, a fine example of his race. At seven and a half feet he was slightly taller than average, though his limbs bore the long and sinewy appearance that was expected of clan members. His head and neck rested atop his shoulders with a regal countenance. He had a long muzzle and large, pointed, triangular ears that could swivel to catch sound from any direction. A thick layer of silvery fur covered his body, thinning to a small superficial layer over his palms and the soles of his feet. Upon these he possessed thick pads that protected his palms and ensured that his hold would not slip. In addition to this was a large, lustrous tail that helped him both in conversing with other clan members and to maintain the superb sense of balance required by his lifestyle. His eyes were a deep green, in contrast with most of his race which had golden colored irises. He had earlier donned the loose green robes that were required of the ceremony. The silver runes embroidered upon the robes shone out brightly in the firelight.

In front of him stood his father, adjacent to a small fire, “Are you ready” his father asked. He slowly looked around at the small glade lit by both the full moon and the fire. “Yes.” He responded. “You will now be given your assignment. To become a full member of the Clan Varúlfur Lykánthropas you will need to infiltrate a human city, assassinate one particular human and exfiltrate the city undetected” said his father. “You will be given three days to complete your assignment. If you have not returned within that time you will have failed.” His father now took a small scroll and handed it to him. “Entailed are the name and location of your target. Gangi þér vel.” With that his father walked into the darkness.

He slowly opened the scroll and read its contents. He was to assassinate a human known as Mortus Anima, who resided in the lower west district of the city Urbem Magnum. He was a known consort of one of the emperor’s advisers. Anima was a street level boss and the information he gathered found its way back to the emperor. This kill would be both enjoyable and useful, as the emperor had instituted a policy of unwarranted prosecution against all the clans about two decades ago. This had forced those that weren’t already secluded from the human race to become that way. These were the thoughts that went through Dagur’s mind as he raced through the forest. He knew that the best way to gain undetected entrance to the city was through the west gate. This was the entrance that had the most traffic and it was far easier to go unnoticed in a crowd. He could probably gain entrance through that gate in his full werewolf form if he really felt like it. He released a small chuckle at the thought. He was now nearing the road and started to think about exactly how he would complete his mission. Hmmm, the first thing he would need was a disguise. He slowed down and started to smell the air for a trace of, ah there it was, smoke. Someone must be camped nearby, he thought. He dropped to all fours, so as to make less noise, and moved towards the smell. There it was, in a small clearing just off the main road, a campfire and what looked like camp for a lone traveler. Perfect, the man was just getting up and cooking his morning meal. This would make him distracted and less alert. He slowly, remaining on all fours, crept up behind the man. The man was wearing simple clothes, but not those of a beggar. He had on a pair of brown cloth pants and a shirt made of the same material. Good these would be nondescript and avoid drawing extra attention. Now was the time. The man was fiddling with something in the fire and not paying attention. Dagur quickly reached in front of the man and snagged him by the throat with his left forearm.  He then used his right hand to grab his left wrist and pulled, gradually tightening his grip. The man struggled at first, but then as he started to suffocate he moved less and less, eventually he became completely still.  Good, thought Dagur, no marks to identify the manner of his killing. “Vera við hvíld” he said, as he removed the man’s clothes. He then grabbed the body by the hair and moved it to a nearby stream. He threw the remains of the man in and watched them slowly float downstream. He would have liked to feed but he didn’t have the time. He went back to the camp and extinguished the flames. No need for a forest fire to break out because he’d been careless. He rummaged through the man’s belongings and found a long hooded traveling cloak. Perfect, this would cover any weapons he needed to take with him. Now it was time for him to shift.

Among humans and the other clans shifting was considered monstrous and disgusting, but this was mainly because they lacked the ability to do so themselves. By his kind the changing of one form into another was considered beautiful. Another part that non-shifters found hard to understand was the feeling that accompanied the change in form. Whenever one changed form it was accompanied by endorphins that flooded the bodies systems and created a feeling of intense ecstasy that was incomparable to any other feeling in the world. This was not simply for the purpose of satisfying the shifter; it also had the effect of blocking the extreme pain that would normally accompany such a drastic change in anatomy. He tried to shift between all three of his forms at least once a day whenever possible. This not only relieved tension and stress but also served as practice for the action of changing. If one remained in a single form for an extended period of time, say anything over a month, the shifters system started to become too accustomed to that body and lost the ability to shift quickly and smoothly. This meant that when the person did attempt to shift it took much more effort and the pain that accompanied shifting was blocked far less effectively. Dagur had once neglected his human form for too long and when he attempted to shift into it, the change took all his effort and left him unconscious from the pain that his body went through. He had never again neglected to shift between his forms regularly and was known at the clan meets for the speed of his shifting. He had once, in a race, gone through all three of his forms twice before his opponent got through two of his own forms. All his practice now served him very well. He focused his mind on changing his form and pushed, there it was, the release of his current form for the one he now needed. He shivered in delight as his spine cracked and shortened and his organs reformed. His bones shrank and his muscles shriveled to fit their new structure. The last part of him to change was his face. His snout receded and his fangs shortened into human teeth. Finally he was standing there, in his much too large ceremonial clothes, as a human.  He removed his clothes and placed them into the now empty pack of the deceased man, and then proceeded to dress in his new clothes. Before donning the traveling cloak he adjusted the straps on all of his weapon’s harnesses and sheaths to fit his new form. Long ago his clan had found that having sheaths that adjusted to the wearer's size were extremely helpful when changing form. He then slipped on the cloak and backpack and proceeded to go on his way down the road towards Urbem Magnum.

In about an hour and a half he had reached the western gate and had blended into the crowd without drawing suspicion to himself. He now took some time to observe the city. It truly was a center of commerce for the human race. Anything you wanted you could find here, for a price.A twenty foot high stone wall surrounded the city on all four sides, serving to deter raiders and repel attackers. The wall was made up of large stone blocks that had been quarried some distance away and shipped here like most other things in the city. Four sentries guarded each gate and atop the wall, in twenty foot intervals, were more sentries, equipped with bows as well as the regular spears. The sentries gave him no trouble entering the city; he was just another meaningless face to them. Now he needed to head towards the southwestern district and find one of Anima’s thugs to interrogate. It didn’t take him very long to reach the southwestern district, twenty minutes at most. He then looked around until he found a tavern. He abhorred alcohol but they were one of the best places in any city to find information. Along the way he also looked for a suitable target. Not too poor and not too observant either. Ah, there was one, a middle class man strolling along toward him quickly and with a look of purpose in his eyes. Dagur made sure that as they passed each other their shoulders bumped into one another. “Sorry sir” Dagur said. The man just gave him a disapproving look and continued on his way. Dagur didn’t mind, he’d already received a very generous amount of money from the man’s purse. He finally found a tavern called the Bloated Fox, a very unappetizing name in Dagur’s opinion. As he opened the door and went inside the smell hit him, sweat and alcohol, not a very pleasing combination. The smell would have been bad enough for a human, but because he retained his heightened sense of smell in all of his forms it was almost unbearable. After he had adjusted to the smell, he couldn’t say it didn’t still bother him but at least it was tolerable, he walked over to the bartender and asked where he could find an associate of Mortus Anima. He was not surprised when the bartender pointed to a suspicious looking man of medium build at a table in the back corner of the tavern. It figured that Anima would have a contact here; it was a hotspot for information after all. He tossed a silver coin to the bartender and joined the man at the table. The man nodded to him and he replied “I need to arrange a meeting with Mortus Anima. I have very pressing business with him, but I can’t tell you about it here. Do you know somewhere more private that we could talk?” The man nodded again and said “Follow me”.

After about ten minutes of twisting through alleyways they arrived at a nondescript wooden door which the man proceeded to open with a key. He gestured at Dagur to go inside and then followed him in and locked the door. The room they had entered was small and the only furniture it contained was two chairs and a table with a candle that the contact preceded to light. They both sat down at the table and the contact asked him “So what is this pressing business you have with Mortus Anima.” Dagur replied “I have information of particular value to Mr. Anima.” “Go on” said the contact. “Information to be shared with Mr. Anima only.” “Hmm, I see” said the contact “and what proof do you have of this.” “Twenty Peningars worth” said Dagur as he laid the coins clinking upon the table. “That’ll do” said the contact, the greed in the man’s eyes was evident and Dagur could tell this was much more than he was used to receiving. He really didn’t care; the money had no value to him anyway. “I can arrange a meeting with Anima in three days.” “Not good enough” said Dagur “the information will be useless by then. Get me a meeting tomorrow and I’ll make it worth your while.” The contact’s eyes flashed with annoyance at being told what to do, but then his greed took over and he replied “I’ll see what I can do. Meet me back here in three hours time.” With that he unlocked the door to let Dagur out and then followed himself. Three hours thought Dagur. Perfect.

Three hours was enough time for him to exit the city and get a good run in the forest. It was very important that he get proper exercise in all of his forms. Today however he would focus on his human and werewolf forms as they would be the ones he would need to kill Anima. He exited the city the same way he came and once he was out of sight of the sentries he proceeded at a brisk run towards the forest. Once he was sufficiently deep within the forest he stopped and in a clearing he undressed and removed his gear, placing them on a convenient tree limb just in reach. He then began his transformation into full werewolf form. He reveled in the snapping and extending of his spine, took pleasure in the itching growth of his bones, and trembled with joy at the crackling extension of his facial features. The growth of his silky pelt sent ripples of delight through his skin and the emergence of his fangs shot elation through his body. He was complete.

After a wonderful run through the forest he had transformed back into his human form and redressed. He then started back on his way through the forest. As he went he thought about how he would perform the assassination. There were several ways he could think of. Poison was one, he knew enough about the forest plants to be able to manufacture his own whenever he needed it. However if his poison was detected Anima might have time to raise the alarm, which would end in his failure. Another possible solution was a throwing weapon of some sort. He had several with him. But again there was the problem of detection. What if some ‘innocent bystander’ saw what happened. He himself might not be detected but the fact that Anima had been murdered would be. No, probably the best option he had would be to get Anima to a secluded or better yet enclosed place, such as a room with only himself, Anima, and maybe a few guards. Yes, getting Anima into a separate room would be the best thing that could happen.

Three hours had passed and he returned to the room to find it unlocked. He opened the door and went inside. Waiting for him at the table was the contact. Dagur sat down and waited for the contact to speak. “I’ve talked Anima into a meeting tomorrow” said the contact. “Good. Now where will this meeting take place?” The contact replied “You will go to the square east of here and look for a man wearing a red hat. When you see him ask him ‘does the crow fly north?’ He will then escort you to the meeting place.” “Good” said Dagur. He then rose and turned to the door. “What about my payment?” said the contact as he stood and held out his hand for the money. “About that…” said Dagur. He then quickly spun around and grabbed the man’s proffered hand at the wrist. He then swiftly pulled him forward and at the same time slammed his left palm into the man’s face. His nose issued forth an audible crunch. Directly afterwards he leaned back to his left, still keeping a hold of the wrist, and kicked the man’s leg at his knee snapping it loudly as well. He then grabbed the man at the shoulder with his left hand and pulled him forward. At the same time he brought up his left knee and crashed it into the man’s abdomen. As soon as his foot touched the ground again he reversed his grip on the man’s wrist so that he held it in his left hand. He pulled on the wrist and used his right hand to forcefully push the man’s elbow breaking it with a snap. He then span around clockwise and smashed the back of his right fist into the man’s face, throwing him to the floor. He placed his foot on the man’s throat and whispered to him “Rotna í helvíti” as he crushed the trachea beneath his heel.
******
Dagur was now in the square the now deceased contact had directed him to. There was his escort, a tall muscular man wearing upper-middle class clothes and a red hat. He slowly walked over to the man and asked him in a calm whisper “Does the crow fly north?” The man gave an almost imperceptible nod and answered back “Follow me.” Again Dagur was led on a twisting journey through alleyways and bystreets before coming to another door not unlike the first he had been taken to, although in a much better part of town. The door was unlocked and he was ushered in, this time however the man who had escorted him remained outside. The inside of this room bore much less resemblance to the previous room than the outside did. It was lavishly furnished with paintings, several thick rugs, and in place of the wooden table was an arrangement of furniture ranging from a large chair and couch to several small, padded footstools. And sprawled across the large chair, as if it were his own personal plush throne, was the man he had come to see, Mortus Anima. Standing behind and slightly to the left of the large chair was a large and muscular body guard. Fortunately he carried no weapons, as his size and strength would be enough to fend off any normal attacker. Unfortunately for Anima the people who wanted him dead had gone to great lengths to ensure that no normal assassin was sent to kill him. Dagur was now glad that he had brought his weapons however as he doubted he would be able to disable the bodyguard using only his hands before Anima cried for help. Presently Anima took notice of him and motioned for him to take a seat directly across from Anima. As he sat down he made sure that he had clear targets of both Anima and his bodyguard. After he had sat down Anima began to speak. “I hear that you have pressing information for me Mr. …?” Dagur replied quickly and calmly “My name is not important. What I have to tell you is. You have been very sloppy of late Mortus. Your name and importance have been found by those who would wish to see you extinguished.” Anima replied with a smug tone “I believe you have been mistaken. I have made sure no word of my work was spread and I do have precautions to prevent any possible attempt on my life.” “Not enough.” Dagur replied as he quickly stood up, clearing his line of sight with the body guard, and reached beneath his cloak. His hand returned and swiftly sent an eight inch throwing knife into the torso of Anima’s bodyguard. He saw the guards eyes roll back in his head and knew he had hit something vital. Anima, not as defenseless as he appeared, had taken a dagger from his own garments and swung it towards Dagur, its tip pointing down so as to stab him. Dagur quickly took a step to the left and swung his left arm up, counter clockwise, driving the edge of his palm into Anima’s wrist. Continuing this motion he brought Anima’s hand downward and grabbed the wrist with his right hand. He then stepped behind Anima, and using his considerable strength wrenched the hand upward with such great force that it not only dislocated the shoulder from its socket but cracked the scapula itself. He then extracted the knife from Anima’s now useless hand and threw him to the floor facing up. As soon as Anima hit the ground he forcibly stomped upon Anima’s good arm and proceeded to pin it to the floor with the extracted dagger, via the wrist. Then with his left leg kneeling upon Anima’s groin to prevent any thought of escape he brought his right elbow smashing obliquely down into Anima’s chest, breaking the sternum. Dagur then proceeded to drive several powerful punches into each of Anima’s sides, breaking most of his ribs. Now for the fun part thought Dagur as he brought forth his own dagger and started to slice open Anima’s  chest following the already broken sternum and  reaching down all the way to his stomach. Then he reached into the cut with both hands and with a flesh tearing wrench ripped apart Anima’s chest, displaying his vital organs. Anima was still conscious and moaning with pain as this took place. Dagur knew exactly where to find what he was looking for. There it was, Anima’s still beating heart. He watched for a few seconds with a feeling of amusement, that pitiful little muscle, still trying to force life through Anima’s broken body. With his already-bloody dagger he proceeded to cut the arteries and veins leading to Anima’s heart before he tore it from his chest while Anima looked on, still alive. As he ripped out the life pump of the pitiful man before him he whispered in his ear, “Rotna í helvíti”. He looked on as the life fled from Anima’s body, and when he was dead he watched a minute longer until the heart in his hand ceased to beat.

Looking around Dagur found a small satchel on a corner table and he proceeded to look inside. It contained many papers and notes and after glancing at them he determined they were records of Anima’s business. He also tore a piece of Anima’s robes from his body and used them to wrap the now still heart. After cleaning his hands with another piece of robe he placed the heart in the satchel and put it over his shoulder. He then retrieved his knife from the deceased bodyguard, checking to be sure the man was really dead. After he wiped the knife clean and replaced it in its sheathe he went to the door and knocked softly three times. The door opened and the outer guard’s head appeared in the frame. Dagur quickly slammed the door shut on the man’s head, disorienting him. He then pulled the man inside and shot three quick punches to his throat, crushing the windpipe. Dropping the man on the floor, he drew his dagger and stabbed the man between the eyes, to ensure a quick kill. Dagur wiped the dagger clean on the dead man’s clothes and exited the room, now stained with so much blood. He calmly walked to the western gate of the city and returned to the forest, his mission complete.