Booted feet walked the line of the alley, as close to silent as the owner of those feet could get, stalking her prey with mortal intent. The leather of her duster rustled about her ankles as she moved through the shadows, a darker part of the dark world through which she moved. A chance slant of moonlight caught her face, illuminating the contradiction that was Philippa Marshall.
Some had called her beautiful, others deadly, yet more still knew nothing of her, except perhaps as a stranger passing through their town or village. Originating in a city she either had forgotten, or did not wish to remember, this phantom of a woman had made her way across the worlds, searching, always searching for the one person she would hate until the day she died.
Death stalked that one, had been written into their destiny since Pippa's tenth year. The year in which she had lost everything, yet gained a purpose to her life. Death that she would deliver, as death had been delivered to her closest kin.
The memories haunted her still; of her father and mother, lying still in their beds, their lives' blood seeping through the mattress beneath them to stain the wooden floor; of her sisters, both older and younger, their clothing torn, their lifeless bodies ravaged and mutilated; and of her older brother, the son of her father but not her mother. He had been the reason for her survival, bundling up his favourite sister and removing her from the house as she slept, taking her away from the carnage that was soon to follow. If she had remained where he left her, she would never have known what had happened to her family; that she had followed her brother gave her nightmares that would not cease.
She remembered little of that night, yet what she did remember still chilled her blood. The bodies of her defenceless family, yes ....but it was the dying rattle of her brother's breath as he pressed his dishonoured daisho and tanto into her juvenile hands that would stay with her forever. Dishonoured, because he had not managed to protect his family, because those who had done the terrible deed still lived. And she had taken on the burden of that dishonour, with only a name to follow.
Sasan.
It was not the name of a man or woman, but the organisation that had ordered the deaths of her family. Why, she still did not know; she would probably never know it. But that hatred, born of her brother's dying breaths, drove her to learn all she could of the blades he had bequeathed to her. And once that knowledge was acquired, though it took her fifteen years, she went on the hunt.
The Sasan had long since disbanded, but the right word in the right place soon sent her on this trail. In two years, she had hunted down and killed two of the seven men and women upon whose hands her family's blood ran still. Now she was hunting another.
Word of mouth, letters left to her, insignificant clues to anyone else ....all these had led her to this destination, to the trail of this pathetic piece of scum she now followed. Kilbren Goranet, a jumped up salesman who had made the wrong decision to become a part of the group Pippa was hunting to their deaths. She cared nothing for his family; had he cared anything for hers? They would get by without him to complicate their lives, to put them in danger with his continued living.
She quickened her pace as her prey paused in the deepest of the shadows. At her hip, her hands tightened on Akatsuki, the katana left to her by her brother as he died. Tonight, the third of seven would know the revenge of a child left alone in an unforgiving world.
The leather clad shape ducked into the shadows, there was the metallic sweep of a blade being drawn, a wetly flat sound of flesh being rendered, and the muted sound of a cloth sweeping down the length of the same blade. She ducked back out of the shadows, sheathing Akatsuki with a snap, and made her way without haste towards the mouth of the alley.
Behind her, the decapitated head of Kilbren Goranet rolled into the moonlight, the face a rictus of terror. And between his teeth was wedged a roll of parchment.
Sasan, beware. Death is stalking you.
Some had called her beautiful, others deadly, yet more still knew nothing of her, except perhaps as a stranger passing through their town or village. Originating in a city she either had forgotten, or did not wish to remember, this phantom of a woman had made her way across the worlds, searching, always searching for the one person she would hate until the day she died.
Death stalked that one, had been written into their destiny since Pippa's tenth year. The year in which she had lost everything, yet gained a purpose to her life. Death that she would deliver, as death had been delivered to her closest kin.
The memories haunted her still; of her father and mother, lying still in their beds, their lives' blood seeping through the mattress beneath them to stain the wooden floor; of her sisters, both older and younger, their clothing torn, their lifeless bodies ravaged and mutilated; and of her older brother, the son of her father but not her mother. He had been the reason for her survival, bundling up his favourite sister and removing her from the house as she slept, taking her away from the carnage that was soon to follow. If she had remained where he left her, she would never have known what had happened to her family; that she had followed her brother gave her nightmares that would not cease.
She remembered little of that night, yet what she did remember still chilled her blood. The bodies of her defenceless family, yes ....but it was the dying rattle of her brother's breath as he pressed his dishonoured daisho and tanto into her juvenile hands that would stay with her forever. Dishonoured, because he had not managed to protect his family, because those who had done the terrible deed still lived. And she had taken on the burden of that dishonour, with only a name to follow.
Sasan.
It was not the name of a man or woman, but the organisation that had ordered the deaths of her family. Why, she still did not know; she would probably never know it. But that hatred, born of her brother's dying breaths, drove her to learn all she could of the blades he had bequeathed to her. And once that knowledge was acquired, though it took her fifteen years, she went on the hunt.
The Sasan had long since disbanded, but the right word in the right place soon sent her on this trail. In two years, she had hunted down and killed two of the seven men and women upon whose hands her family's blood ran still. Now she was hunting another.
Word of mouth, letters left to her, insignificant clues to anyone else ....all these had led her to this destination, to the trail of this pathetic piece of scum she now followed. Kilbren Goranet, a jumped up salesman who had made the wrong decision to become a part of the group Pippa was hunting to their deaths. She cared nothing for his family; had he cared anything for hers? They would get by without him to complicate their lives, to put them in danger with his continued living.
She quickened her pace as her prey paused in the deepest of the shadows. At her hip, her hands tightened on Akatsuki, the katana left to her by her brother as he died. Tonight, the third of seven would know the revenge of a child left alone in an unforgiving world.
The leather clad shape ducked into the shadows, there was the metallic sweep of a blade being drawn, a wetly flat sound of flesh being rendered, and the muted sound of a cloth sweeping down the length of the same blade. She ducked back out of the shadows, sheathing Akatsuki with a snap, and made her way without haste towards the mouth of the alley.
Behind her, the decapitated head of Kilbren Goranet rolled into the moonlight, the face a rictus of terror. And between his teeth was wedged a roll of parchment.
Sasan, beware. Death is stalking you.