Never Fail, Always Fall

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My bedroom is immaculate as always. Tan walls and wooden floors, bedsheets and bland as a peasant's was. There is no need for luxury when your soul is worth less than that of a sheep-herder. When your soul is bruised a dark, dark shade. Bruised by your own hand.

I pick up the paper on my pillow. A page must have delivered it here while I was in the meeting. God how I hated meetings. It was about the most idiotic of things.

This organization, Les Mlaître's, as it's called, "The Masters", worked long and hard to secure a valley, a passage of sorts. Now that we finally have it within our grasp, controlled, the Master of Trade wants to let a tribe called the Aloans use it as a trade route, free of expense. Idiots, all of them. The Aloans aren't even an ally.

I shake my head, trying to remove my thoughts from the passed meeting and move on to the paper I had in my hands. It was a job, per usual chez Royale. You see, this organization is my family business, but not a pretty one. We're criminals by trade. Need someone to disappear, a jewel from your enemies stolen or a small army to wage a war between towns? We've got your back, but for a price.

Our group isn't the only one of its kind- so many are all over Europe it's scary. Les Maitres in particular, however, is special. We're a closed-off group, famous and powerful. We're nearly all pureblooded French, and the four main families take up most of the residency- Royale, Bristol, Leger, and Farnsworth.

Though our work's illegal, our men in particular have been employed by some of the higher-ups in politics to work on some job or another. The particular job in my hands is issued by need of Les Maitres itself, however. Someone stole something or other from our storages- impressive- and I'm ordered to steal it back and do what I see fit to the thieves.

He job is pretty straight-forward. It's a simple job in Italy. I'm given two days with a two-day grace period for complications, and it should take just that. I fold up the letter and tuck it in my trousers- a luxury I may only wear within these walls. Outside it is dresses and the like. Horrid.

It's getting late, and I yawn as I make a quick trip the armory to get what I'll need for tomorrow's job. The armory is tall- taller than any other building I know of. It's simply small floor after small floor of weaponry of all kinds.

I make my way back to my chambers in the dark that I do not fear. I have more dangers than it.

The building in which nearly everything but the armory resides is enormous- a wide-set, castle-like thing. It's made of dark stone, has a portcullis at the front, guard towers all around. You'd think it were real royals living within these walls for all of the fuss made about it. It was far from discrete.

I make my way up the staircase back to my room where I fall asleep peacefully and without a care. I have no real emotion about any of this, just slight aggravation at the council for wanting to open passage to that trade route of ours...

-.-

I awake at dawn, the rooster's call unneeded by my internal clock, merely an annoyance. I'd set my order on the headrest of my bed the night before and, though I've already memorized the location and all of the details, I look over it once more.

The warnings are that of the usual. The group I'm attacking, retailing against, really, will be armed. We don't know of their strength or numbers. It could be dangerous. What's new?

All I have to do is get in, get whatever packages they stole, kill a few people, get out. Done and over with. I dress in a standard bodice and skirt and head to the stables.

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