[b]Co-GM IC:[/b] [b]The Keep - Second Floor[/b] [hr] As Zatana made her exit through the window, Balthazar couldn't help but let out an irritated sigh. The fact that these assassins appeared had... complicated things. After all, it was unlikely that this attack was merely a coincidence, considering the siege at hand. Most likely, whoever sent these agents had a desire to see the defense fail-- to break the stalemate they've been having before reinforcements arrive. The old man ruminated upon this as he turned to the assassin currently sprawled upon the floor, still reeling from the drow's sharp dropkick. "[color=#239C89]You should've surrendered while the option was still open.[/color]" The spymaster said, having anticipated an outcome like this. In a single movement, the old man had used his cane to bat aside the dagger on the floor, before closing the distance. The assassin, who was currently face-down upon the stone tiles, and bound by supernaturally bound rope, could do little but squirm as his defeat was secured. In an act of finality, Balthazar raised his cane and swung the weighted end at the back of the man's head, exercising more than a little bit of restraint so as not to cause any permanent injuries. The man fell unconscious near-instantaneously. A simple solution, if a little crude. Perhaps if he were younger, Balthazar would have put the man within a magical slumber, or trapped the man within the depths of his own mind, but he found little use in dwelling upon hypotheticals that wouldn't come to pass. The Record-Hunter, sensing that its job was complete, quickly disentangled itself from the man's legs and flew onto its master's desk, before changing back into a stack of parchments. Right on cue, the telltale sound of armored boots clanking upon the castle floor was becoming increasingly louder. If there was one thing that was astonishingly common during assassination attempts... it was that reinforcements always seemed to come just a little too late. Current situation notwithstanding, of course. "Milord!" A guardsman in chainmail called out. "You're not--" He paused at the sight before him, which was now thoroughly handled. "...safe." Balthazar let out a sigh. He couldn't truly blame the soldiers for arriving just now-- any assassin worth their salt would strike at the moment when help is least likely to appear, after all. The man turned to the guardsman before him. "[color=#239C89]I found this one and another trying to sneak into my chambers.[/color]" The lord explained. "[color=#239C89]The situation here is in hand. How fares the Duke?[/color]" "N-not well, milord!" The guardsman stammered out in an attempt to look professional. "He managed to fend them off, but he was struck by a poisoned blade." The old man clicked his tongue in irritation. Problematic. "[color=#239C89]Then I must see him at once. Send this one to the dungeons.[/color]" "Right away, milord!" "[color=#239C89]Ah, yes... one more thing.[/color]" He stopped for a moment. "[color=#239C89]...get someone to clean this mess up.[/color]" --- As Balthazar made his way to the Duke's bedroom, his mind's thoughts drifted to the well-being of the Prince. He pulled out the pendant that was hidden within the folds of his robes. The artifact's magic allowed him to send short messages back and forth from anywhere in the world, so long as they remained within the same Plane of Existence. The magic took some time to recharge, but there was enough energy in it for one more use. "[color=#239C89]Your Majesty, there has been an attack. Assassins have targeted us. Watch yourself-- they are after you, and will use poison.[/color]" The magic of the Sending Stones had limited his messages to twenty-five words, but that was more than enough. Balthazar could only hope that the Prince and the other members of the Royal Guard would be safe. [b]The Keep - Courtyard[/b] [hr] The assassins had nearly made a quick escape. Nearly. Of course, they had not anticipated the presence of a drunk, irate lycanthrope. The situation before them was not at all favorable-- they both knew that even with surprise on their hands, taking down someone like Manald would be a difficult prospect. Instead, the one grabbed would force a smile. "Aha-- we were just about to head to the festival, my good man..." He lied through his teeth, a forced smile on his face, borne of both fear and desperation. "We really must be going..." The other assassin says, a hand crossbow in one hand, hidden from view behind his back. "If you'd please let my friend go, we'll be on our way-- we don't want to miss anything, after all!" It was not difficult to see past their ruse. Manald might've been able to smell the faintest scent of polish on their blades, detect the sweat and adrenaline borne of battle exhaustion, or see the weapons and tonics hidden under the coats... or he might simply feel like they were lying. Either way, if pressed any further, the assassins would do their best to strike first. The one in Manald's grip would attempt to shove an envenomed blade between the lycanthrope's ribs, and the assassin in the distance would try to fire poisoned bolts. If either one goes down, the other will take flight, leaving his companion behind. [b]The Keep - Stables[/b] [hr] Zatana stalked through the darkness of the stables, following the trail of blood. The assassin did his best to conceal his presence, but he could only do so much. Having dodged the thrown pitchfork, she knew for a fact that the man was within the next room. As she honed her senses, she could not hear much of the man at all. It seemed he at least had the sense not to respond to her taunts, so as not to give away his position. Had he left? No, that was impossible. He had just hidden his presence. Perhaps he was more skilled than she gave him credit for. Something gave him away, though. The ever-so-familiar whinnying of her wicked mare, who was not calming down like the other horses. If she were to round the corner, she would spot the assassin grappling with the horse, the man attempting to free his cloak from the mare's teeth, making furtive shushing noises all the while. If the man spotted Zatana, he would pull out a dagger and slash at his cloak to free himself in an attempt to fight the Drow in a classic knife-fight, his chance of escape now virtually non-existent... but considering his injuries, the fact that he's lost the element of surprise, and of course, the difference in skill, it was unlikely he could do much in a straight fight. His blades were coated in the same poison used on Acrius and the Duke-- the concentrated poison of a snake. Painful, and, if allowed to run its course, potentially fatal. [b]The Trade Square[/b] [hr] The sight of a handsome young man trudging through the streets, carrying a bloodied and injured man over his shoulders did not go unnoticed by the townsfolk present. Men shot Acrius concerned looks, while women seemed to swoon at the sight of it (perhaps they like the machismo of it all). The other assassins had retreated into the darkness, their job complete. Some of the musicians would stop playing, but Naysein would encourage them to continue the festivities-- she knew that if the townsfolk would panic, there would be no morale for tomorrow. Instead, the half-elf shot Acrius a look of trust, the bard putting her faith in the capacity of the Royal Guard. Unless she was called for assistance, that is. Meanwhile, the Prince would begin to feel strange, nauseous even, as the Assassin's Blood began to run its course. At around this time, he would receive Balthazar's message, and feel a sinking pit in his stomach-- and not just from the poison. [b]City Streets[/b] [hr] The other two assassins, having faced no resistance, managed to evade the few guard patrols that occasionally wandered by. They had already poisoned one well, and would soon move onto the next. Of course, with the knowledge of assassins now present to both the Duke, the City Watch, and the Royal Guard, it was only a matter of time until they would search the streets. And once that happened, the job of these assassins would become exponentially more difficult. Until then, however, they were as easy to spot as ever, so long as someone was looking for them.