Mark of the assassin - a Shadowbane tale

Mordkessle narrows into bone-white alleys, the wind biting through every seam. Slaan keeps the witness close as her shadow veil clings low around them, and the city feels watched from above.

On the parapets, a dark shape shifts. Shadow Striker does not descend, only tracks them, patient as a blade held near the throat.

Ahead, a pair of bone-plated sentries bars the lane, drawn by whispers of the Chapel purge and the shadow trails on Slaan's heels. One glances at the witness, then at the rooftops.

Slaan shifts first, putting herself between the sentries and the witness as the dark spawn fan wider in the alley mouth. The choice is plain now, protect the witness, or let Mordkessle hand the Chapel's fallout back to its masters.

Slaan slips with the crowd, one careful step after another, and the alley mouth falls behind her shoulder. The bone sentries stay busy with their own line of sight, while the witness keeps pace at her back, unseen for a breath.

Her words carry just far enough to blur the shape of trouble. The lane opens into busier stone, and Slaan uses the moving bodies as cover, guiding the witness through the press.

Shadow Striker remains above, still watching, but the roofline loses its clean angle on Slaan as she turns hard into a side passage.

The alley swallows them. Frost crunches underfoot, then quiet, as Slaan stops in the narrow hush between bone walls.

Behind Slaan, the dark spawn linger at the bend like spilled ink given shape. Ahead, the passage narrows to a blind corner, and something in the city’s shadow seems to wait for her next move.

Slaan opens her hands like she is settling on a breath, then threads two spells through the hush. The first snaps tight around the witness, the second sinks deeper, muddying the edges of sound and balance.

The witness sways, caught in a glassy fog, eyes unfocusing as if the lane has turned into deep water. Their next step never lands.

Above, Shadow Striker shifts on the parapet, still watching, while the dark spawn at the bend hesitate at the new stillness.

Slaan keeps her body between the witness and the alley mouth, spell-light fading from her fingers. The city noise stays outside the bone walls, but the corner ahead feels awake now, waiting to answer.

Slaan eases the shadow veil loose with two careful fingers, then pinches it flat until the dark spawn at the alley mouth thin into smoke and slip away. Frost glints on the bone stones as the pressure in the lane changes.

The witness blinks hard, still woozy, but the wall under their hand feels less like a dropping sea floor now. Their shoulders sag with shaky relief.

His voice drops from the parapet above, dry but not hostile. He stays where he is, watching the alley like he expects it to answer for him.

The failed dismissal leaves the air awkward and close. The spawn are gone, but their absence feels borrowed, and the witness is still trapped between Slaan and whatever Shadow Striker knows.