Blood in the Wine

Gavin slowly walked down the small slight hill that would eventually rise and lead to the capital city of Runewar, where a wedding would be taking place in a few short hours. A wedding that Gavin sincerely hoped he would be a part of.
The mercenary grumbled under his breath as his leather boots, once again, sloshed under him, his socks were thick with the water they had absorbed on his trip. For twenty-seven days it had poured rain, and most of it had found its way into the sole of Gavin’s leather boots.
Sadly enough, the mercenary’s mood was fouler than the dampness of his boots. The days spent walking in the rain usually enlightened Gavin, giving him the vibe that he had been reborn or that his soul had been cleansed. This time, however, had not been the case.
But that journey was behind him now! With the capital in sights, and the prospect of this wedding, Gavin’s spirits soared to new heights in the sky. Hopefully this wedding would be a means to an end of all the suppression that had been going on.
This wedding would hopefully change the country and maybe the world.
And Gavin planned to be in the middle of it.
“Ho, ho, who do we have here?” a gate-guard asked, his hand instinctively dropping to his sheathed sword at the sight of Gavin’s longsword.
“Just a weary traveler,” Gavin answered honestly, his hands spread to either side of his body in an innocent gesture.
“We’ve been having a lot of those lately, mostly they be lookin’ to get into the wedding and cause some mayhem,” the second guard said, his sword was half-naked in its sheath, and his white-knuckled grip obviously implied that he was looking to turn it into full-naked steel.
“This one looks different though, he feels honest. And you can obviously tell he’s travel a long way from the deep brown stains on his black cloak, and his obviously unwashed face, and the rain-stained clothing, not to mention that unshaven beard,” the first guard stated.
The guards continued to taunt the weary mercenary, honestly it would have been easier to kill them both and hide their bodies, but Gavin didn’t want to risk anything.
“Listen, I’m just looking to get into the local inn for the night, can you help a road-worn traveler out?” asked the mercenary.
“Alright, you can go in, just don’t cause any trouble,” the first said, pushing open a side door that was carved into the gate. Gavin nodded his head in thanks and walked into the massive city.
He walked towards the tavern for a few blocks until he was sure the guards hadn’t sent anybody to follow him. He suddenly turned, and walked towards the gate he had come. When he could definitively make out the silhouettes of the guards he turned sharply into an alley.
“I thought that you had gotten lost when we saw you walk past the first time,” Draviett said, he was a tall, pale and thin man with a poor moustache.
“Aye, you would’ve missed all the fun,” Craviett stated, he was like his brother, tall, thin and pale, but with a better moustache. Both of the twins had blue eyes with dark bags under them. Both of them were rival’s to Gavin, but not enemies since they were part of the same guild.
“We managed to kill three of the Golden Company, though we found only two scimitars, so you’re going to have to go without,” Draviett informed Gavin.
“What? Are you kidding me?” Gavin demanded, his anger rising. “I need the scimitar to blend it. I don’t have the pasty skin colour, the light hair, nor do I have the blue eyes to be a member of their group, unlike you.”
“We still got you the armour. Now quickly, put it on, the wedding is in a few hours,” Craviett said, tossing Gavin the light chain armour, and the appropriate amount of scarves that the Golden Company usually wore.

Prince Drogore paced in front of the Golden Company’s men; his arms folded his black and red cloak back, and let the full splendor of his black tunic with red embroidery shaped into two dragons battling it out be seen by all. His boots clicked with every step, which only added to his splendor and the awe that these warriors obviously felt to him.
“Now, I trust you know the plan, but I’m going to go over it one more time. King Gerald is getting married to some witch-slut-whore who cohorts with frogs and such. The reigning council has decided to kill him and his witch-slut-whore, which was you’re original job. Until I hired your services, now your job is to kill everybody at the wedding. No exceptions. I want most of you to act as bodyguards or bards, playing your instruments or guarding the doors as you see fit. When the bedding ceremony begins, I want you to kill the new queen and her husband. When the council members stand up or do something, anything, I want you to slaughter them. Close off all exits and slaughter everybody at the wedding, except me of course. Afterwards I’ll give you your reward,” the prince stopped in front of a shorter man, well shorter in the standards of the Golden Company. There were a couple of things off about this man, his eyes were a deep dark brown, his skin was pale, but still a bit darker than the Aspoi – which was only race the Golden Company recruited into their members – and he had a longsword at his hip instead of a scimitar.
Drogore dismissed it with a waving hand and turned his full attention to the wedding that was going to happen in a few short hours.

Gavin stood by the door, one hand resting over the pommel of his longsword, the other hand resting comfortably on his dagger. The wedding hall was magnificent, with benches lining the outside wall, people were squished together on these benches, and wine and spit easily split on all of the bench sitters, but they didn’t seem upset by this, they would only roar with laughter.
There were nine grand tables that were all in different rows and they faced each other at an angle, with the ninth table resting at the head of the hall, the king, his two sons, his queen, and two of her handmaidens sat at this table, eating and drinking, occasionally the king would lean over to his wife and whisper something into her ear, which would make her giggle seductively, or he would kiss her ear, cheek, or neck.
On the two tables facing the king’s table sat his ruling council. On the third row prince Drogore sat comfortably nursing a cup of wine, swishing it about, his anxiety and excitement were poorly hidden on his pale handsome face.
Other nobles and princes of lesser houses sat with and behind Drogore. Each one of the lesser princes and lords were drunker than the last and just about all of them sweating wine. Gavin, for one, was glad he had given up the stuff a couple years back.
“Alrighty folks, let’s get on with the bedding ceremony!” one of the king’s two sons announced, raising his glass high, a smile lit up his face, and the new queen blushed a deep crimson.
“Bedding! Bedding! Bedding!” the crowd chanted, thumping their fists against the table.
Gavin closed and locked the door.
The bride squealed as she was picked up by a bunch of strong and homely woman and the front of her dress was nearly completely torn off by one of these women, it was a complete accident of course.
Some of the bards stopped playing and loaded their crossbows.
A handful of men – including the king’s two sons – picked up the king, cheering as they did so. The king pointed at the gate, not realizing that it was locked, he clearly wanted to it be opened for his arrival into the bed chambers.
The Golden Company aimed.
The crowd cheered as the king and queen were carried halfway across the massive hall, the king was now yelling for the door to be opened.
Cha-chunk, the crossbows sang.
People screamed as the king and his queen went down, full of crossbow bolts.
Gavin drove his longsword into the king’s guard that was standing beside him.
“NO YOU IDIOTS, ONLY KILL THE KING AND HIS QUEEN!” one of the councilmen shrieked.
Cha-chunk.
The councilman turned and fell with a quarrel buried deep in his chest, staining his white robes with red blood.
“Kill them all,” Drogore shouted. A chorus of cha-chunk’s followed in response.
More screaming.
Soon the entire hall erupted into chaos. A bunch of the king’s guards readied their weapons and started to resist the Golden Company. A bunch of lords and ladies, peasants, and others, had gathered a whole bunch of weapons as well and were fighting against the mercenary band.
Gavin easily defended the gate, his sword weaving in and out of flesh; most of his opponents were berserk lords and ladies, so they didn’t really stand a chance. Occasionally a guard would come at Gavin, but he would win the battle after a quick exchange of blows.
Most of the guards had their attention focused on either rallying the nobles, or trying to take out the crossbowmen. With a grim smile, Gavin noted Craviett and his twin brother Draviett go down in the chaos; both of them were clawed up by frenzied nobles.

Within twenty minutes the slaughter was over, and Drogore had the Golden Company lined up before him, they were still in the bloody wedding hall. Two of the twenty members of the Golden Company had gone down in the fighting, six were injured, and twelve were left standing, some of them only suffering minor cuts, others had no cuts or bruises to speak of.
Drogore paid each and every warrior in turn, making sure to do it himself to gain their respect and trust. The prince shook hands with the second last guy and gave him his coin. The prince turned to the last guy and gave him his coin, shaking his hand.
This one was the one that didn’t fit.
Most of his face was covered by a scarf, and his scale armour was stained a deep crimson. “Good job protecting the main gate, you did it single-handedly, did you not?”
“Yes, thank you, prince,” the man said, bowing slightly.
“My pleasur—” the prince started to say, but something stopped him. What? The prince though, vaguely recalling something slamming into his chest. The prince looked down and saw a sword sticking into his chest. It was buried pommel deep, the rest of the blade sticking out the prince’s back.
Gripping the pommel was a coarse black glove. The prince looked up; the mercenary had taken off his scarf. His black hair was matted and messy, and his beard was long and uncombed. His deep brown eyes looked into the prince’s without mercy.
“Why?” the prince questioned.
“If I may quote you: “Your job is to kill everybody at the wedding. No exceptions.””
“I said not to kill me,” the prince stammered, his life blood was pouring all over his chest.
“You also said no exceptions,” the mercenary said, shrugging. The man twisted his sword and wrenching it free of the prince. Who died a few seconds later.

“I trust you aren’t mad,” Gavin said, walking over to the leader of the Golden Company and throwing his coin over to him.
“Of course not, in fact I was tempted to kill him myself,” the big man laughed. “Say, are you interested to joining us? We seem to have lost three members.”
“Thanks but no thanks,” Gavin declined, pushing out of the wedding hall and into the night sky that covered the deeds of the corrupt. Maybe I will rent a room at the inn and spend a few quality days here, Gavin concluded, whistling a tune as we walked down the streets of Runewar. See how events unfold over the next few days. Who knows, it may even be interesting.

A courier ran over to Gavin the next day and quickly gave him a letter, and then he departed saying that he has other messages to deliver. Gavin opened the letter and into his hand fell six gold coins and a note.
Gavin unconsciously put the gold in his pocket, and read that note:
Dear Gavin,
We are thankful that you ended the life of that miserable swine Drogore, as your contract had instructed. Maybe now the country will be able to rest and prosper. There’s a tip for killing the councilmembers and the king, which was the bonus assignment. Since Draviett and his brother, Craviett both went down in the chaos; I’ll be giving you their payment, as well as their tip for killing both the councilmembers and the king.
Fairest Wishes,
Grand Master of the Assassin’s Guild
Etzio Du’Lavinch.