The best thing about our last job was how we got it—-sometimes failing a job can get you richer than making it. We thought nothing good could come from that Wavir heir living, but at least she didn’t make us.
Wrong on both counts. It turns out she tracked us down not for revenge but to hire us against Tsalaxa! She was a bit coy but obviously knew we tried to take her down. The Wavir was a bit more subtle than our usual client—-she didn’t want us just to kill someone but cause some kind of political rukus between Draj and her rivals. Threw us for a bit of loop, but she was paying 100gp each and possibly more, so how could we say no?
After a bit of asking around on the street we posed as nobles wanting to sell some spell comps and walked right into Tsalaxa and Shom HQs. Of course they wouldn’t do business on the spot, but got some intel out of it: a certain high-ranking Templar didn’t like Tsalaxa and sometimes raided their associates.
Clearly someone close to this Templar needed to die at the hands of Tsalaxa. But how to set it up? We couldn’t just strangle the guy with a Tsalaxa banner. Could we? Tempting, but a voice in our heads kept counseling more subtlety.
We eventually arrived at a plan. We would steal a weapon from a well-known Tsalaxa henchman and treat it real gently psionically. Then we kill the Templar with it and leave it at the scene. Forensic psionists would point to Tsalaxa. This would be believable—-what assassin hasn’t misplaced a broken dagger fragment? Except us, of course.
That’s when all our troubles started. A failed attempt to nick a dagger from a Tsalaxa slave security chief left us running for cover across the city. But no harm done, it seemed. Short on time, we decided to mount a daylight raid on Tsalaxa HQ. We just walked in as nobles, hoping to filch a dagger or bolt from a guard.
But we got made at the compound’s main building and had to kill the two door guards. The alarm raised, we ran from room to room dodging and killing guards. We found a steel dagger, but no bone daggers or bolts. With the entire compound’s guards closing in, we had to sprint out under a hail of crossbow bolts. But yet again seredipity smiled on us—-the bolts embedded in our armor were just the objects we were seeking!
The stolen bolts obtained, we killed the Templar. We may be unpracticed at industrial espionage, but at assassination we are masters. We dispatched our mark and planted the bolt in him with little trouble. Only time would tell if Tsalaxa would be blamed the way we intended.