Legend of Avalon: Alaric the First Unifier

Chapter 8: Dark Guild

The Grand Duchy of Carlos, a bustling passage from the Empire to the northern kingdoms, was awash with the steady drizzle of a persistent rain. This duchy, vital as a trade conduit, thrummed with the activities of merchants and pilgrims alike. While not bordering Norte, Carlos held significant importance due to its strategic location as a gateway to the northern regions of the continent. Following the Empire's invasion and subsequent trade ban with Norte, the Duchy of Carlos emerged as an essential partner, ensuring the flow of goods from the southern realms.

The Grand Duchy of Carlos, despite its buzzing marketplaces and throngs of pilgrims, harbored a veiled world where whispers dictated the ebb and flow of power. As the persistent rain cloaked the city of Kane in a shroud of anonymity, it also provided the perfect backdrop for darker deeds.

Inside the border city of Kane, the rain did little to dampen the bustling activity. Underneath the city's prosperous veneer lay a network woven with darker threads, a shadow economy pulsing with its own life. It was in this dimly lit world that certain plans were set into motion, plans that involved the quiet but deadly dealings of a dark guild.

On this particularly dreary evening, a robust man with bulging muscles and a heavy cloak, drenched from the rain, entered the tavern known as "Center Tavern." His presence caused a slight stir among the patrons, a mix of locals and weary travelers, but it was his next move that drew discreet attention. Approaching the bar, he placed down a silver Black Hawk insignia alongside two gold coins—a generous tip by any standard.

The tavern owner, a stout man with a keen eye for both coin and trouble, masked his surprise with practiced ease. "Thank you for your tip, sir. Would you like to dine outside, or would you prefer a room?"

"Inside," the man replied, his voice a low rumble, almost lost in the hum of conversations around him.

"Understood, please follow me. I will bring your order to the room," the tavern owner said, leading the way through a maze of tables and up a narrow staircase to a secluded room on the upper floor. The privacy of such rooms was often sought by those who preferred conversations without the curious ears of other patrons.

Once inside the dimly lit room, the man settled into a chair by the small window overlooking the rain-soaked street. "Thank you," he said as the owner closed the door behind him.

Alone, the man's demeanor shifted subtly; his eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the room before focusing on the task ahead. The insignia he had shown was not merely for show; it was a symbol recognized in the darker circles of Carlos as belonging to the Black Lion Guild, a notorious group of mercenaries and assassins.

Back downstairs, the tavern owner quickly prepared a plate of fries and two beers, his mind racing. The insignia meant trouble, but it also meant good coin. He'd seen the man before, a known associate in the guild circles, rumored to be deadly and efficient. The owner's hand trembled slightly as he poured the beer, considering the implications of hosting such a guest.

With the order ready, he made his way back to the room, knocking softly before entering. "Your order, sir," he said, placing the food on the table.

The man nodded, his gaze never leaving the window. "I'm expecting a visitor. Make sure we're not disturbed."

"Of course, sir," the tavern owner replied, his curiosity piqued but his sense of self-preservation stronger. He left quickly, closing the door with a soft click.

Minutes later, there was another knock on the door. The man didn't look up. "Enter."

The door opened to reveal a cloaked figure, whose face was obscured by the hood. The figure stepped inside, shaking off the rain, and then pulled back the hood to reveal a young woman with striking features and cold, observant eyes.

"You're late, Ira," the man stated, his tone flat.

"I had to ensure I wasn't followed," Ira replied, taking a seat across from him. "The Empire's agents are becoming more cautious, and our client insisted on secrecy." As the narrative unfolds, the tension heightens with the entrance of the cloaked figure, who ultimately reveals a young woman possessing striking features that capture attention and intrigue. Ira's late arrival adds an undercurrent of urgency to their clandestine meeting, emphasizing the growing stakes involved. His revelation that the Empire's agents are becoming increasingly cautious underscores a looming threat, suggesting that their world is shifting beneath them. Meanwhile, the client's insistence on maintaining secrecy not only highlights the precarious nature of their dealings but also reinforces a sense of vulnerability amidst mounting danger. Together, these elements weave a complex tapestry of suspense and intrigue, leaving readers eager to uncover what lies ahead for both characters in this high-stakes encounter.The man grunted, accepting the explanation. "What's the job?"

"Our target is Alaric of Norte," Ira began, her voice a whisper. "There's a substantial bounty. The client is anonymous but well-connected within the Empire. They want it done quietly and quickly."

The man took a slow sip of his beer, considering the information. "Alaric, the mage prince? That's a high-profile target. He's said to be powerful."

"Exactly," Ira said, pulling out a small map from her cloak. "He's currently staying in the Abbey of the Silent Winds, near the border. It's isolated, which works in our favor. We can strike during his morning walks; he's known to wander the gardens alone."

"And the Abbey's defenses?"

"Minimal. They rely more on isolation and the sanctity of their ground than on guards. It's a risk, but the reward is substantial."

The man nodded slowly, his mind working through the plan. "And the escape?"

Ira smiled thinly. "That's where your expertise comes in. We'll need a quick extraction. I've arranged for two horses, hidden in the woods nearby. Once the job is done, we ride south, cross into the Empire, and disappear."

The man finished his beer and stood, towering over Ira. "Let's go over the details. We leave at dawn. If we time it right, Alaric won't know what hit him."

As the rain continued to pour outside, the conspirators huddled over their maps and plans, the stakes high and the air thick with the promise of danger and reward. The dark guild had accepted the challenge, setting into motion a series of events that could shift the balance of power in the region. Alaric, unknowing and far from the dark dealings in the tavern, remained the linchpin in a plot that could end his journey—or redefine it.