Rules(Not many I promise!):
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Plot:
IC: Silent steps sped down the dimly lit hallways in the night as hazy reflections glimmered on the polished tile. Maids doing last minute cleaning wandered the halls beside the privately funded guards whose armor clanked loudly enough to alert anyone of their presence a mile away. Every window was laced with bars and every member of the staff, guard or otherwise, was armed to the teeth with concealed or highly visible weapons. Few guards carried torches or candles, same with the maids and butlers, as plenty of light from the moon filled nearly inch of the fortress-like mansion. Guards were unaware of the brief flashes of orange in the shadows or the slim trails of white fabric flashing briefly in the moonlight. All was quiet in the mansion, no flames disturbed by the unwanted intruders as they moved silently towards their goal, the heart of the mansion. More guards on patrol filling the hallways and stairwells with sound and their torches casting light on the walls. Less shadows for them to hide, and so they didn't. The closer to their goal they got, the more guards were silently pulled into any forcefully unlocked side-room. Some were burned and their armor hot, others had deep wounds and their armor pierced like paper. This trail continued higher and higher towards the only room so high into the building, a single office. A single office where a man bitter with age and regret sat at his desk with hands shaking from withdrawal and eyes darting back and forth as if expecting an attack at any time. His hands shakily worked on documents that would seal the fates of surrounding villages on the island, but he didn't care in the slightest and his mouth turned up into a greedy smile at the thought. His white hair was ragged from hours of work and his mug long empty and dry, some of the contents clearly staining his clothes. His desk faced one of two doors to his office while his back was to a window larger than one could imagine possible in a room so high off the ground. It was his pride and joy, the window, built on the backs of innocents whose lives had stained the ground below long ago.
His work carried on and on and on as his attention wavered from his work to the door hidden in shadows in front of him. His only candle did nothing to illuminate the shadows around him and left him nearly in the dark as even the moonlight never reached the floors around him. No light would dare enter this room, even the fire refused to glow brighter than it had too. Up the main stairwell was a brief flash of white and up the side, a faint flash of orange. Silent steps sped up the stairs as the guards paroling them were either farther along... Or just simply gone. Unlucky souls caught in the crossfire. Both reached the doors at the same time, but only one creaked open, the door in front of the Duke. His eyes darted up immediately as the door shrouded in darkness creaked open slowly, but only gaping darkness was visible.
"Who's there?!"
His demand was met with silence as no servant scurried out of the darkness with a jug and no guard made his presence known. Silence echoed the demand and the Duke leaned back in his chair with his work clutched tightly in his grip. His tired lungs heaved and the heart of stone in his chest beat faster and faster, but not with love or compassion, with fear. Fear of the unknown, fear of the monsters that haunted his shadow, the people that wished every breath was his last. He cried out again to the stagnating darkness, but not even the few specks of dust twitched in the darkness to his hallow cry. His heart beat that much faster and his hands began to tremble, nearly tearing the paper in his hands apart. His mouth opened for a cry for help, of desperation for the company of those who would protect him not out of care but of currency, but he never got a chance. A single flash of white darted from the darkness and in a second the Duke's cry for help became a choked gasp. A blade protruded from his chest, neatly slicing into the paper as both his clothes of finery and the yellowed parchment slowly began to turn red in the darkness of his office. Boots rested on the neatly polished wood of his desk as indifferent eyes watched the man struggle with his last breath. His eyes lost their last glimmer of life and his body slumped as the fear that fueled his body dispersed into the air like a miasma that put even the small candle on his desk out. And just like that, the Duke was dead and the figure in white removed their blood-stained weapon from the corpse of the figurehead who ruled over the people of this island with a tyrannical smile. Just like that the figure in white stood from the desk and silently turned around to the door they came in from to make their escape.
