Darkreign, Book One

Prologue
Walking through the dark, dirty streets of Lower Varrock, Azrildar pulled his long, heavy black cloak tighter, hiding his face in the deep hood. The streets were empty, but Azrildar could catch the movement of shadows in the dark, idly feeling the hidden wrist-dagger in his right arm sleeve. It wouldn’t do for him to have his head split open by some strongarm or footpad, not when he was on a mission this important. Glancing at the dark sides of the street to either direction, Azrildar wondered as to how he was supposed to finish the task set ahead of him. His orders were to infiltrate the grounds of Varrock Castle and set fire to the main food supply, but the specifics still eluded him. His first idea – involving sneaking in under the guise of a servant – he thought would work, as under his cloak he wore garments of velvet, emblazoned with the crossed swords of Varrock on the cuffs and the breast. But, as he walked towards the castle, doubts started to form. Why would a servant be up and about at this time? More importantly, why would a servant have a heavy bag of gold at his side? As these questions arose, Azrildar thought more and more that he would have to use the dagger hidden in his sleeve to gain entrance. That in and of itself was no problem, he had no qualms over killing; it was just another job that needed to be done. The problem was the bodies he would leave behind. With such a delicate operation, no time could be wasted hiding the corpses; he would hardly have enough time to set the thing alight before the bodies were found by patrolling guards. These thoughts kept up until he had gone a good way into Upper Varrock, nearly standing next to the castle. Azrildar shook himself out of his reverie, and made his way to the east guardhouse of the castle. Two guards were standing in front of a sturdy door, the entrance to the square building jutting out the side of the wall. The building wasn’t very big, maybe the size of a small kitchen, but it was the most likely point of entrance. On either side of the door the guards were positions, each just in front of a wall brazier that contained a brightly burning torch. Azrildar could see no easy entrance, not with the guards standing there, so he devised a plan. Raising his left hand slightly past his waist, Azrildar made a small flicking motion. This motion caused sounds such as sword fighting on a small scale to erupt from a street thirty yards from the castle. The guards, surprised at the sudden sounds, drew swords from scabbards at their hips, dashing towards the noises. Azrildar took this opportunity to sprint to the door, making three quick knocks. He then retreated to the side of the building, waiting for someone to answer. And they did. The large door opened to reveal a single guard, dressed like the others in chain mail with a sword at his hip. When he took a step outside the door, Azrildar rushed from his hiding place and thrust his right wrist forward, bringing out the hidden dagger and plunging it through the throat of the guard. Frantically clawing at Azrildar’s hands, the guard tried to make some noise to alert the guards now near the noise Azrildar had fabricated, but to no avail. The stronger cloaked man pushed him through the doorway, dislodging the dagger from the guard’s throat, and plunged it through the guard’s forehead, silencing him. Azrildar, the strain of the magic he had used to create and maintain the sound now starting to tire him, released it, and the sound stopped. Azrildar kicked the guardhouse door shut just as the baffled guards on the street turned and walked back to their posts. The noise was odd, but then everything was at night. Azrildar, now standing inside the small building, looked around. All that was in the room was an oak desk with two piles of papers, and a gas stand-lamp. Rifling quickly through the papers on the desk, Azrildar concluded they were of no use to him, being only reports of guards that had patrolled the city earlier that day. Looking towards a second door – leading into the grounds of the castle – Azrildar withdrew a map from an inner pocket, consulting it in the light. He drew a finger from his current position to the storehouses located in the back of the castle. Confident of his success thus far, he walked to the second door and opened it a hair. Seeing nothing but the vague dark shapes of the castles grounds, Azrildar ventured out, closing the door quietly behind him. Walking quickly through the grounds, his boots not making a sound in the soft grass, Azrildar was wary of patrolling guards that might come up on him any second. He was especially wary of Irvon Thratkar, a Warder hailing from one of the many Citadels owned by the Slayer Guild. Irvon was hired to make sure things like this didn’t happen, and he did a good job of it. Walking close to the walls of the castle, Azrildar saw his goal coming up. The Main Storehouse was enormous, taking up half of the North Wall (which happened to be the back wall of the castle) and was three stories high. Azrildar had heard rumors that it held enough supplies for the castle to hold out three months under siege. Despite these rumors, the building itself was unspectacular, made of drab painted gray wood and looking, on a whole, unremarkable. Azrildar was about ten yards away from the building when he began his spell. This was the moment of success or failure, the turning point. Azrildar knew this as he schooled himself to calm. When tranquility had been achieved, he drew both of his hands up past his head, the palms of each facing the storehouse. He started drawing long breaths, concentrating heavily on his palms. Suddenly a mountainous tempest of flame erupted from his palms, engulfing the storehouse in mere seconds. Seeing that his work was a success, and knowing that the guards would be rushing to his location any moment, Azrildar crossed his arms and disappeared in a storm of crackling purple sparks, teleporting to safety.