A soft whistling can be heard throughout the shadows of the Deku Woods. It is not the sound of a melodious bard's tune, but is actually one that could destroy such a bard. Daemon Flint's dagger flies through the shadows faster than lightning, creating a sickening whistle as it slices the air on its route. It skewers a tree, which has a picture of a beautiful three-stringed harp painted onto it. Two more knives are thrown, also hitting the target. The harp now has a dagger piercing through each of its strings. He has always had as severe distaste for music, and the cheeriness associated with it.

And this Victor character had better hope I don't find the real harp.

Daemon was the proud leader of Killtactic Assassinations years ago, and has carried his experience with throwing knives through the ages, making a name for himself as the most covert of mercenaries to ever live. Oftentimes his target will not even feel the pain of death when Daemon's blades hit home. The Sheikah does not care if his target feels pain or not. As long as that person dies and the legacy can continue.

He has already spoken with Dublin. He would have no problem returning the bard's head to the man that his Boss has told him to. Of all the assassins, Daemon despises the senator the most. It had been Dublin that had called for K.A.'s dissolution after the disaster. Daemon lost it all. His reputation, his unit, his life. He loathes Dublin for it, and plans on destroying the pompous green-coated Calatian before his life ends. Now all he can do is wait for Victor to walk by. At the opportune moment his task will be completed and he can get back to his real goals. The shadows cover his presence. There is no chance that he will be seen.

OOC: Wow. It took me forever to figure out how to get Victor here without it being too sudden. Thankfully, it came to me one night.

IC: The rythmic fluttering of the songbird's wings echoed off the age-old trees in the Deku Woods. Flying past the tall trunks and under numerous branches, the bird seemed to be looking for somewhere to rest. Accompanying the sound of flapping wings was the beating of heavy footsteps following close behind the graceful animal. As the bird perched itself on a nearby branch, the footsteps ceased and were replaced with heavy breathing.

Victor had strayed from the path leading out of the woods to follow this bird, which he had happened to hear singing. The song had a beauty that only nature could create, and at that moment the Bard knew that it was his duty to try and learn this song. So, after taking a moment to catch his breath, Victor looked up at the bird and smiled. It looked about ready to sing.

As the bird began chirping out its beautiful song, Victor reached around to his back to take out his harp. His fingers lingered over the instrument, however, and after a few seconds he had a second thought. The songbird's solo would be easy enough to play with the magical harp, and this seemed wrong to the young Bard. If he was going to play the bird's song, he would do it without help from his father's harp. So he reached into his satchel, pulled out his flute, and began to echo the bird's tune...

OOC: ... thereby bringing himself to the attention of Daemon.

The cursed sound echoed throughout the forest, and the grim omen that accompanied it seemed to frighten the natural inhabitants of the sacred Deku territory. Daemon dearly wished he could silence the bird's incessant whistling; the tune had given him a migraine and his head throbbed under the horrible melody for far too long. The appearance of his target was solace enough to please the bloodthirsty Sheikah; he had even smiled to himself when he found himself in the company of the bard. At this point he simply realized that music was a great enemy of his, and the shrill tootling of the Hylian's flute did little to impress upon him the good nature of the bard. Another instrument for me to deface, thought the angry man as the song continued. Finally, he could stand it no longer. It had to end.

The knife flew quickly. From out of the shadows, a hissing blade emerged and directed its path towards the humble songbird; even the quickest species of birds would have been stricken. Pinned to a thin Deku branch by its left wing, the bird could do little but cease its song and change its tune to a more... agonizing tone. Daemon almost laughed. Killing was his main line of duty, but he never liked mistreating the lives of animals. But this one... how he hated it. It reminded him of a rival, and now a friend of this rival had become his target. Excellent. The bird died quickly, and although Daemon could not see Victor, he knew that the bard would be horrified.

"The pitiful will fall, but the silent will forever be hidden. What are you, Victor? Are you pitiful? Are you silent? Perhaps you are powerful? I know how you are feeling now. The blatant disregard for an Innocent's life is often less rewarding than expected. You are no innocent. I would suggest you keep your eyes steady, but there is no escape from your fate. These woods may appear to be a simple travelling route for you... but you have just entered them for the last time. This thicket is the tomb of thousands upon thousands of men, women, monsters and animals. Feel grateful as you are added to their noble ranks." Daemon's condescending speech ended, and there was silence. Seconds passed, approximately three. The familiar whistling hiss of the assassin's knife was heard for the second time.

Hearing the strange sound of the knife slicing through the forest air, Victor stopped his playing just in time to watch as the weapon pierced the bird's wing. His smile sagged into a horrified frown, and he began frantically eyeing the surrounding woods while carefully putting his flute away. At that moment the man's speech began and the Bard looked in the direction of the voice, frightened beyond belief. The threat on his life simply made things worse, and he quickly unsheathed his dagger and pulled out his shield.

In the silence that followed the speech, Victor lowered his weapon and looked around quizzically, wondering why his unidentified attacker hadn't appeared yet. Not knowing what else to do, he yelled out,

"Who are you?!"

It was then that he heard the same hissing sound that had preceded the knife now stuck through the bird's wing, and the Bard quickly readied his dagger again and raised his shield in the direction of the hissing sound, hoping to block it...

The beautiful stiletto - a common knife seen in the hands of assassins around the world - sank into Victor's wooden shield with a resounding Thunk!, pushing a thin hole through the barricade and gently rubbing against the bard's skin behind. It was followed by a wispy laugh; the laugh of a menace. Daemon stepped out from behind his hiding place, arms folded and dangling another blade in his left hand. To Victor, the cloak alone should be very relatively familiar. But from where?

"Let me say, before I kill you," said Daemon in a condescending tone, "that you will die quicker if don't try to resist my knives. Doing so will only prolong the bleeding, as well as the sharp sting of the sharpened steel. I am not one to leave a target suffering, but I just suffered your melody. For this, I am almost tempted to keep you alive while I toy with your pain."

Now remembering that he had been asked an honest question by his enemy, the murderer humoured the bard with a descriptive answer. "My name is Daemon Flint, commander of Killtactic Assassination. I was also a prominent member of 'Carock's Apostles.' Ring a bell? Of course not, fools like you would not be trusted with the name of such a covert organization. That is to say, I was a member, until today. For today I will patch my unit back together, piece by piece. You have been selected as a test subject of my squad's killing capability. I can recall the names well. Victor. Alpha. Denning. Arco. Blank. Dogura. And Reg. You are not the only one being hunted, bard."

Although he had not finished his answer to the best of his ability yet, Daemon pulled a fast one on his target by swiftly hurling the stiletto, aiming at Victor's gut. It was a perfect target. If the stomach were pierced, Victor would have a decent half hour left to live while his own stomach acids slowly killed him. Undeserved pain, but Daemon wanted his latest target to suffer every moment of the torture.

The point of the knife scratching his skin caused Victor to wince, but terrible laugh emanating from beyond the trees made him shudder. The fact that his pursuer had shown himself soothed the Bard a bit, but the man's grisly speech about his iminent death quickly erased this calm. Despite the fact that he was the one who requested the explanation, Victor hardly payed any attention to Daemon's short description of himself; instead he busied himself with trying to figure out a plan of some sort, one that would get him out of the woods alive. However, about halfway through the man's answer something clicked in Victor's mind, some key word that reminded him of something...

"Carock,"

he mumbled to himself. It seemed so obvious now. The cloak, Carock, and the mention of a covert organization was all very familiar to him. The Bard was just about to voice his thoughts to the man when another knife was sent hurtling towards him. Thinking fast, he attempted to move out of the way of the stiletto's path, diving to the right with his shield covering his stomach area, just in case...

Daemon grinned as the small - yet deadly - stiletto streaked through the small clearing. At first, it seemed as though Victor had not been affected by the dangerous blade. The thunk! sound had presented itself once again, and it appeared that the bard's wooden shield had managed to protect its owner.

That is, until the steady flow of blood arrived. It was not until Daemon witnessed the light rain of the crimson substance falling to the grass at Victor's feet that he realized the knife had done its job. Fortunately for Victor, no real damage had been caused. A few splinters had been pressed into his gut, stinging intensely every minute or two, but other than that, the assassin's fling had only scratched his stomach. The torn fabric was neatly cut, but the stiletto had only slightly pierced Victor's flesh.

Daemon glared at him for a moment, impressed that one so kind could have survived this long. Of course, the battle had only been raging for the duration of two attacks, so his shock was simply his own arrogance. "Very well. I have told you that are on an exclusive list. You should be honored that you were thought of as a great enough threat to be taken down first. Our commander, the King of Calatia himself, has filed a list of thirty or so wily adventurers. It will grow, of course, to about eighty at this battle's end. The members of Carock's Apostles must be destroyed. They stand as Calatia's greatest of opponents in this dark time."

"The King knows that the Apostles recruit strong adventurers, and that is part of the reason you have been targeted. But your name was on our list long before you stumbled across that organization. The reason being that the King wants all capable warriors removed for his plan to be a success."

The mercenary darted behind the nearest tree, disappearing into the shadows. Had he really sprung into the depths of the woods, or was it simply an effect of Shadowmeld? It was not something for Victor to be concerned about, for just as the Sheikah became one with the shadows, he reappeared. Directly behind is target. Not making a sound, he brought another stiletto to his opponent's throat, preparing to end the union. Third time's the charm, he told himself.

Before Victor could comment on the assassin's explanation, the Sheikah had disappeared. He had always somewhat feared the race for that very reason; capable beings springing from the shadows made the Bard shiver. This was the case now, having been threatened with death only to find his attacker gone into thin air, acting out one of the Hylian's fears.

And yet, as soon as it had begun, it was over; though not in a good way at all. For Victor found himself closer to death than he was used to being, probably more than most Bards are. In a weak attempt to break free, he tried to wriggle free from the assassin's grasp, but failed. The frenzied movement did, however, manage to knock his harp free, as he felt the weight of the instrument suddenly free itself from its harness.

Victor's heart raced as he forgot his own predicament and found his thoughts turning to the harp, worrying more about its wellbeing than its own. He cringed for the coming impact, and time seemed to slow as he waited. Finally the harp hit the ground, causing the strings to vibrate on their own accord.

What resulted might be called a miracle by some, and luck by the less faithful, but nevertheless the harp managed to echo the bird's song from earlier...

Daemon laughed scornfully as Victor struggled to break free from the deadly standstill - which was really more in favor of the Sheikah. He pressed the blade into the bard's neck, scratching softly - it would likely be a painful enough feeling that Victor would be hard of speaking for days after the confrontation. Not that it mattered; Daemon was here to kill the Hylian. A witness would half expect the ruthless assassin to break into evil, sadistic laughter, but the one witness of the scene would be surprised.

Daemon prepared to run the blade through Victor's neck, when he heard the sharp, unique chime of the bard's harp. The sound of the bird from only minutes ago seared into his ears and seemed to pick away at his eardrums. He shivered and clenched his teeth, waiting for the note to die away. Such a vile, grotesque noise was warranty enough to confirm Victor's impending doom. The Sheikah shook off the bad feeling, inadvertently allowing Victor to fall forward away from his potential murderer. Daemon aimed a hefty kick, and spat at the bard as he tumbled away. “Bloody musician!” he roared, gripping his stiletto and preparing to let it fly into the back of his victim's head before more awful notes could be played.

Before his fingers could let go of the dagger, he felt a sharp pang from his left shoulder. He twitched, dropping the knife to the ground. Daemon glanced in shock at the barbed arrow digging into his arm, mouth agape and staring, intrigued and yet furious. He growled lowly and snapped the projectile from his arm, watching as the blood poured slowly from the wound. He looked at the bard only a few paces before him, and grabbed the stiletto up from the ground. “I don't know your tricks, bard, but you've made a deadly mistake.”

The Sheikah disappeared once again, utilizing the Shadowmeld ability to the best of its purpose. Victor had no way of knowing where Daemon would be attacking from; the only constant he could rely on was that the assassin would be attacking soon and without mercy.

Sprawled out on the ground and wracked with pain, Victor hopelessly waited for his coming doom. When it failed to arrive, he turned his had in confusion. It seemed that his attacker was in pain as well, most likely from the arrow he had just removed from his shoulder. When the assassin blamed him, the Bard's confusion mounted; he didn't have much time for speculation, though, because it was then that the Sheikah disappeared for a second time.

Knowing he would be killed any second, but also glad there seemed to be someone else on his side, Victor devised a little plan. It seemed to have already done him some good, so he decided that more music was the solution to his problem. But, with his harp back behind him and the assassin no doubt waiting for a chance to spring, the Bard knew he would have to rely on faster methods. So this time, he reached for his flute again, continued the bird's music where the harp had just left off.

The high-pitched imitation of the bird's bittersweet melody ripped through the trees and pierced the assassin's ears, rendering him unstable and unable to concentrate. He launched a knife in Victor's general direction, but missed altogether. Victor could likely hear the Thunk! of a dagger's point burying itself into a tree trunk a decent five feet to his right. If not for the dire circumstances of the awkward exchange of music and steel, one would probably find a hint of humor in the laughable attempt at a successful throw.

Daemon really despised music of all sorts, to the point of driving him to partial insanity. The Sheikah clasped his now empty hands on his ears and shouted in actual pain. From a musical standpoint, one would wonder how the simple trilling of an even simpler woodwind instrument could even inflict pain - especially when played by a bard who knew no offensive songs. And yet here it was, that simple trilling inflicting severe mental pain on a hardy Sheikah mercenary.

The assassin's shouting gave away his position to whoever was standing in on the offensive in Victor's place. The hidden sniper was just about ready to let loose with another arrow, when a large spear, complete with a hooked barb at one end, came darting through the foliage, striking Daemon in the leg. He screamed wildly, much louder than his calm and seemingly devil-like mood would normally allow. With the grand spear protruding through his leg, the assassin gasped heavily and began to cough. He ripped the now reddened pole from his femur, limping behind a tree and disappearing once again. Hope was beginning to falter for this man, but he refused to believe this. Victor would not be safe for more than five seconds beyond this point; the bard would be wise to waste little if no time.

Victor might have been happy about his success in ensuring his survival for a bit longer, but the his pain had escalated due to his blowing into the flute and he wasn't in the mood. He shouted,

"You're a real pain in the neck, you know that!?"

Or at least, he would've shouted it, but the pain stopped the message in its tracks. On top of the pain, though, the Bard's mood was dampened by the Sheikah's further use of shadowmeld, striking fear back into Victor's heart. Knowing that he couldn't hardly manage to blow another song out of his flute, he decided it would be best to get his harp back.

In a flash, he was upright again, and wasted no time in turning towards the gilded instrument on the ground behind him. Before lunging towards it, he managed to push a few frenzied notes past the pain and through the flute in the hopes of stalling the assassin further; he then flung himself back towards the harp the ground and grabbed it firmly, trying to ignore the pain while hastily continuing the bird's song using the harp.

Daemon's heart was beating rapidly; he was losing blood quickly from his two open wounds. Only two men could do this to him with such spot-on accuracy. The arrow, aimed directly at the shoulder of his good arm, had injured his arm and now prevented him from throwing with precision. Any possibility for ranged combat was lost, because Daemon was hardly ambidextrous. The spear, hitting him square in the left femur, caused him to limp as he charged toward Victor in the cloak of Shadowmeld. Even for a Sheikah, his agility had been dropped dangerously.

"You're a real pain in the neck, you know that!?" came an almost whispered retort from the bard. At least the assassin could feel some satisfaction in having wrecked his target's voice, if only temporarily. I'm a pain in the neck, but whoever is assisting you multiplies that pain tenfold on myself, idiot bard, he thought angrily, wincing with every step. He perched behind a tree, catching his breath and examining the two serious wounds. The hole left by the arrow was small, and seemed to have been there for the sole purpose of stopping his vicious aim. The spear's infliction, however, was far greater. A gaping hole in his leg seemed to sneer at him as he gazed downward with hazed eyes. He shook off this feeling of fatigue and looked around for Victor. There he is, thought the evil man. He grinned, but then his eyes slowly directed themselves to the harp in the bard's hand.

The song of the bird continued, and Daemon's eyes grew wide as he wondered how such musical continuity was even possible. Of course, the further continuation of the melody only enraged the mercenary to a greater extent. He yelled in sheer hatred and darted from his hiding spot, swinging his dagger in his bad hand wildly as he stumbled toward his opponent. He came within a foot, and swung the stiletto at Victor's heart, intending to end it all right there. A smile crept to his lips; it seemed as though there would be no interference.

Or so he thought; as the knifeblade came within an inch from the vagabond's chest, a precarious snapping was heard. Yet another arrow could be seen, this one sticking into the assassin's ribs. The sound of another object flying could be heard as well. The same spear from before seemed to be pinned into his other arm, also from a side angle. He yelled and fell back, crawling backwards to safety, still intent on being the victor, but knowing that he would need to re-evaluate his position. A pool of blood led from in front of Victor into the bush, showing where Daemon had disappeared.

Victor's own melody, however much it may upset the assassin, soothed his own uneasiness. He was able to calmly scan the surrounding area for any sight of his attacker or, perhaps, his mysterious teammates. And yet, in mid-song, he ceased playing.

One can imagine the Bard's surprise at not only watching another arrow fly from a yet-to-be-known ally, but seeing it stick into the seemingly thin air before him. His mouth hanging agape, he fought the urge to reach forward and chose to stand unmoving instead. As the second spear hit the air, too, he feared that his enemy was a little too close for comfort; the assassin's scream not only confirmed this, but startled Victor even more.

Jumping backwards, he looked around again for the source of his aid. His search was interrupted, however, by the pool of blood before him, which seemed to have a life of its own. Watching it slowly move away, the Bard wondered how he had gotten himself into this mess. Not able to find an answer, he simply shrugged and set down his instrument. It seemed to him that it was time to take up an offensive position. Pulling out his own bow and a single arrow, he cocked it, aimed, and let it fly in the direction of the assassin's hiding place, as indicated by the mobile blood.

Victor's plain arrow soared out of the small clearing and into the woods, spearing through leaves and thin branches as it was propelled onward. In that quick second of airborne flight, the two onlookers winced and prayed that the bard's physical attack would not be a finishing blow. Both knew from experience that Victor seemed the type to be internally damaged by bloodshed caused by himself. Neither had any intention to let the musician kill this ruthless assassin; the archer or javelin thrower would fulfill that purpose.

Of course, Victor's throat was the only damaged part thus far; his aim was perfectly fine. A horrible “Augh!” came from the bushes, and Daemon fell backwards into the clearing, a shaft sticking into his back. He groaned and whined, barely managing to pull himself up off the ground. The spear from before was gone, but the second arrow, as well as Victor's, remained. Daemon stood, shaking uncontrollably, face pale as the moon and eyes bulging in pain. His hair, which had been tidy before, was now mussed and littered with pieces of twigs and leaves, as well as the odd blood splatter. His cloak was torn in many places, and through these tears came steady drips of his blood.

Again he called on the power of the innate Sheikah Shadowmeld, becoming transparent yet again. Being a Sheikah, he was quite the fast fellow, even despite his injuries. It was obvious he was running quickly and with exceptional grace around the clearing, because no noise was heard and the blood followed his path in a circle. Easy enough for the two bystanders to catch, until the circle began to overlap. It became a problem for his movements to be tracked in the overhanging shadows of the woods.

Daemon reappeared behind Victor, a malicious and insane, twisted grin now present on his face. He pulled back his arm, his final stiletto in hand, and rocketed the knife at the bard's skull with enough force to easily plunge the dagger right through. There was neat Thunk!, however, and if Victor were to turn around, he would see Daemon slide to the ground in a heap, and a massive cloaked Goron standing behind the assassin, holding his spear as though he had given the cruel man a good tap on the head. The other man, with the kindly green eyes and the same black cloak, stepped up beside his huge partner. Thespin's smile radiated safety as he spoke.

“I think you killed him, Zayxin.