The Gloved Hand

[Shiningwolf]

The whisper of dozens of quills echo throughout the room, as hooded figures intently copy manuscript after manuscript. Nothing interrupts their work, except for the occasional flexing and cracking of knuckles, as the hours crawl along. Slowly, the shadows grow longer and longer, to the point of almost consuming the room, when abruptly torches along the wall flare into life, throwing the ever creeping darkness out. As one, the hooded figures rest their quills, pick up their papers, and file out the room. Outside, a lone figure stands, examining closely the figures that pass him. As the final person leaves, the figure grasps his shoulder and beckons him to follow. Along long winding corridors the pair travel, past rooms with students studying diligently, novices eating quietly, and brothers drinking rambunctiously. Finally, they stop outside a small wooden door, through which a tiny light can be seen shining around the frame. The first figure motions the other to enter, and walks off quietly, disappearing into the long shadows of the hallway. The other figure hesitates for a moment before reaching out a pale grey hand toward the door handle. As the door swings open, a voice from inside greets him:
“Ah, Novice Gavril, so good to see you. I see you have finished your manuscript copy. Well, close the door, sit down, and tell me everything you know about the Will.”

[Shiningwolf]

I should probably mention that everything I post in this thread is up for review by the dm, as I am pretty much writing what I think the Shadar-Kai society will be like.

[Shiningwolf]

The entirety of Shadar Kai society is defined by struggle. A struggle against the gods that forsook them, a struggle against their Sylan cousins they believed wronged them, a struggle against the Raven Queen and her unyielding hold over the Shadow Fell, and a struggle against the omni-present gloom and depression of their home. This last one is the most visible and deadly of all their struggles, as even a minor relaxation in their defenses means horrific side effects. The Shadar Kai people do much to prevent themselves from succumbing to the downward spiral of depression associated with the Shadow Fell, but there is an even stronger fear that the many youths of society will fail before they have ever the chance to prove themselves. To this end, Shadar Kai go to great lengths to keep their children’s’ minds occupied. So it is without wonder that schooling has become so important in this society. And the most widespread and respected educational institution in this society is run by the Order of the Hand.
The Order of the Hand can be best described as a monastic order without a deity. They have long dedicated themselves to the study of the divine, arcane, and primal, but with more of an aim to learn of others strengths than with any real desire to practice these arts themselves, though many of the order do indeed practice the arcane arts. It is because of this centuries long tradition that many Shadar Kai parents wouldn’t dream of sending their children to anyone else for their education. And so it is that almost every young Shadar Kai goes to these schools to learn both the academic and the martial, and stay their almost year round till they reach their majority at 18. It is at this point many leave and either attempt to eek out a living in their dark, bleak world, or instead go out adventuring. But a few decide to stay on in the order, earning their robes, and continuing their studies. It is to these Shadar Kai that an important decision awaits.
It is a well known secret in Shadar Kai society that the Order of the Hand is comprised of two sects, the Stained Hand, and the Gloved Hand. It is in the Stained Hand that the many of the greatest researchers and academics of the Order belong to. The Gloved Hand however, follows a very different path. A remnant of their LeShay heritage, the Gloved Hand possesses the most skilled assassins in Shadar Kai society as well as the largest mercenary force in the Shadow Fell. They offer their services to anyone who can afford them, in the Shadow Fell or Material Plane, though certain targets may benefit a certain discount. Any novice in the Order, upon receiving their robes and being promoted to apprentice must choose which of these two sects they will join.

[Shiningwolf]

“Ah, Novice Gavril, I see you are back from your first mission. How did it go?” asks the small, robed man jogging along the corridor.
His companion, a tall, slender youth dressed in almost identical robes, looks down at his comrade, before offering the smallest hint of a smile. “Quite well Brother Khezef, quite well.”
“Oh really? And how about your little boast in the courtyard? I heard the abbot offered to triple your reward if you were to actually pull it off.”
“I believe the abbot will find no problems with my work.”
“Ah, so you are saying that you actually accomplished that idiotic brag? I must know how you did it. Taking out a nobleman is hard enough, but to do it without getting caught is remarkable. Even more so considering the monstrosity of a weapon you carry on your back,” Khezef states before stopping to catch his breathe, the effort of keeping up with his longer limbed comrade having winded him.
Gavril pauses for a moment, before continuing on his way, leaving his companion behind. Just as he vanishes down the hall, he says,
“Brother, you do not customarily take a crowd with you to use the privy. This holds true for nobles as well.”

[Trailfoot]

(It's not exactly how I'd do it, but if I was looking for "exactly how I'd do it" I'd be writing a novel. Carry on. )

[Shiningwolf]

Gavril Nagarian is a Brother in the Gloved Hand, and a bit of an anomaly at that. Young for his position, he only recently turned 82, Gavril has attracted a lot of attention in his order for his dedication to stealth. After his first mission as an apprentice some 60 years ago, Gavril was declared the “sneakiest m* f’er to wield a great sword. A scholar of nature and the divine, whenever he found himself in the material world, Gavril would take the chance to acquire rare manuscripts in which to bring back to the monastery. It was through this that Gavril was first convinced that the perceived wrong doings by the gods against the LeShay were at least just as much the fault of his people, if not entirely made up. Because of this, Gavril found himself delving more and more into the history of the gods, eventually coming up with one conclusion. The Will is possible the only deity that had no agenda, and only acted out of self preservation. That this magnificent being was trapped by a lesser creature infuriated Gavril, causing him to dedicate himself wholeheartedly into his training. He was smart enough to keep his opinions to himself, as he knew that the Order would not react kindly to this revelation.

[Shiningwolf]

The door to the old cabin opened slowly, revealing a tall, slender elven man, his eyes sharp and scanning the room. Some moments pass, as the man waves a long metal staff around, a light at the end shining brightly. After ascertaining nothing was amiss, he sighs, and rests his bag on the floor, before crossing the room to the fireplace and leaning the staff against it. Time passes, and the elven man lights a fire, cooks a meal, and sits back to eat, while pulling a book out of his bag. From outside, a small bluebird flies in lands on his shoulder as the man opens his book and begins to peruse it. The man ignores the bluebird, even as the bird opens its beak and starts speaking.
“You know Artamon; you really could take a bit more care with investigating the place.”
Artamon remains silent at this statement, seemingly absorbed in his book.
The bird, realizing that he will not be getting a response, continues speaking, as if chiding a small child, “You still have a number of enemies out there and with no one around except you and me, and it would be quite easy to set an ambush here.”
“Oh come on Alf, I don’t come here except once every 5 years or so. It would take someone with the patience of an immortal to ambush me.” Artamon remarks offhand, secure in his knowledge that nothing can approach his cabin for more than a mile without him knowing. He had set up the safety measure himself more than a century ago, and they had yet to fail. And who would be out this far anyways? The closest town was more than a three day travel, and through very inhospitable land. No, this was the safest place in the world for him.
“Well, don’t come crying to me if something goes wrong,” the bluebird declares before flying off.
Artamon, chuckles to himself, believing that Alf was becoming paranoid in his age.
“You know, you really should listen to the bird. He is pretty wise for someone that small,” a voice from the door says.
Artamon leaps up in surprise grabbing for his staff, before realizing it is not there. Looking over, he sees a tall, dark cloaked figure holding it, inspecting it as if it were some novel toy. Artamon remained silent, calculating his chances of escape.
“You know, for a man whose species was almost entirely wiped out and have gone into hiding, you were remarkably easy to find,” stated the cloaked man, surprising Artamon even further by tossing him the staff.
“What are you talking about, the Eladrin are as plentiful as ever.”
The cloaked man remains silent for a moment, offering Artamon a small glimmer of hope, before responding. “That would mostly be because of the efforts of the Tu’ron’o, wouldn’t it Sylan?”
At that declaration Artamon falls back, clutching at his staff and holding it as if to ward off this figure. “Wh…o…who are you?”
In response, the figure reaches into a backpack, and pulls out a large book, before throwing it to the floor. In the firelight the words “A History of the Potter, Will, and Anthros” can be read.
“Did you write this?”
Artamon glances at the book confused, before nodding.
“Excellent,” the figure states as he pulls off his hood. Artamon gasps at the sight of the pale grey, tattooed skin he sees. His hands drop the staff, and he almost seems paralyzed. The man, continues as if he had not noticed this.
“My name, Father Artamon, is Gavril Nagarian, and we are going to have a long, long talk.”

[Shiningwolf]

For some thirty years Gavril worked as an assassin for the Order, until the abbot discovered Gavril’s one secret: Gavril’s tutelage under a Sylan priest of the Will. Under normal circumstances, Gavril would have been executed, but his abbot took pity, and decided to make the best of the situation. Gavril was exiled to the material plane, until such a time that the Order summoned him back. While there, Gavril was tasked with the handling of any “job” given to him from the order, and was encouraged to accept jobs from third parties. Gavril has been eking out an existence for ten years like this. Since his punishment, the Order has only sent him one official job, though a number of jobs Gavril has done seemed to be connected to the Brotherhood. Of his former compatriots, most brothers believe Gavril has been sent to the material world as an acknowledgement of his skills. Only two know other wise, the abbot and Gavril’s former master, Brother Khezef.

[Shiningwolf]

Two goblins sit at a counter, conversing in quiet tones. One seems very urgent in his manner, his small frame nervously twitching, but the other seems nonchalant. The natural noises of a swamp echo from outside, yet with every loud noise the nervous one jumps, glances around, and resumes the conversation.
“Look, uncle, I don’t see why you aren’t taking this seriously. Those troglodytes mean business, and the family can’t help you way out here. “
The other goblin sighs, and peering over his glasses glances at the shadows reaching in through the window. He shakes his head muttering something about being late before once again looking at his nephew.
“I’ve told you already, I dealt with it. Just give it a rest will you. My old ears are gonna fall off if you keep on blabbering away like that. And relax boy, no ones going to come charging into the store with a battle axe or anything. “
“You say you dealt with it, but you haven’t left the store in a week! What did you do, pray?”
Suddenly the wind blows fiercely outside for a brief moment. The door slams open, and the shutters rattle on the walls. The young goblin jumps out of his stool, pulling out a hitherto unseen dagger. As the seconds pass by and nothing happens but for the quieting of the wind outside, the small goblins anxiety visibly increases. The older goblin bursts out laughing, falling off his stool in the process.
“Wha..wha…what did I tell you before? Nothing is gonna happen kid.”
The older goblin lifts himself back onto the stool and glances at his nephew. The younger goblin is transfixed in his stool, with a look of horror on his face. Just as the older goblin opens his mouth, a large shadow falls over him. From behind a soft voice whispers in the goblin’s ear, “Money.”
A small object, wrapped heavily in linen lands on the counter with a thud. The older goblin picks it up, unwraps it a little, and nods. He gestures towards a brown bag on the counter. A gloved hand reaches for it, and hefting it in his hand, grunts his approval. The robed figure then glides into the older goblins view, walking out the front door.
“Who…who..who was that?!” the younger goblins yells as he seems to regain his ability to speak.
“An assassin. Why?”
“How did you get in touch with an assassin?”
“Oh, a friend of mine in the Tower of Heart got me in touch with the guy. Pretty reliable, apparently; seems that grandpa used the guy a couple years ago as well. Well, anyway, like I said before, those troglodytes have been dealt with.”
“Yea, well, whats gonna stop their bosses from tracing that assassin back to us?”
The older goblin chuckles a little, shaking his head. He jumps off his stool, and walks over to a small safe in the corner, opening it and taking a small bag out. Returning to the counter, he asks his nephew to close the door and windows, as he begins counting the small coins in the bag. As his nephew goes about his business, the goblin whispers to himself, “What sane person would believe a shadar kai assassin being employed by a goblin?”