Two near silent hooves fell upon the roof top. It was an horrific sight. The scene was depressing, the atmosphere grim and the weather wasn't helping the mood either; the overcast sky gave the town square an emotionless feel, dull, grey and lifeless. Add that to the lack of town noises, the bustling crowds, the running and laughter of the young and innocent, no merchants shouting out their offers of the wares they were selling.

The fact that there was little more than the odd hushed sentence here and there, gave an overwhelming sense of emptiness to the ponies and griffons on the street. Even the buildings seemed more gloomy, grey and dead, as though even they were saddened by today's events.

Not for the first time, tensions had been rising between Equestria and the Griffon kingdom, with plenty of boisterus, and plausably deniable, threats coming from Griffon royalty and nobility. Of course, nopony took them seriously, with the griffons attempts to spark some kind of conflict something of an amusing betting pool amougst the more jaded members of both societies.

Like clockwork, Celestia had sent an ambassador over there to smooth things over, offered her sincerest apologies for whatever her ponies had allegedly done to antagonist the griffons and assured the king and queen that they'd be appropriately disciplined and generally make relations hospitable once again.

These practiced negotiation practices had spawned something of an issue, however; more cunning and cutthroat than even Celestia could predict, one bribed ambassidor was all it took. Time had taken its tole in more ways than one, naturally, and the forces of probability had put a less than trust worthy pony in a position of authority, one willing to, say, accept a bribe.

That being said, rich soils, lush forests, plentiful game, untapped mining recourses and an abundance of gems made for prime realestate, which in turn called for drastic measures.

Sixty-four ponies had all stood trial, most oblivious visitors and tourists, and been found guilty of some disrespect or dishonour of griffon traditions (one had been found guilty of looking up the nostrles of a noble) and had been sent to the gallows. Outraged, confused and on the precipent of an international incident, they were the bait to a war with the home-field advantage on the griffon's behalf.

Bait that wouldn't be taken, of course.

And so, the shadow-shrouded figure lay on his front casually, crossing his fore-hooves, and watched the events with nary a snarl on his face. Only vuage amusment with the outcome. He was patient, silent, only his garb, rustled by the wind, moving while he remained as still and as stoic as a rock. He felt it ironic, really; the plan had been to incite Equestria to sending the bulk of her armies here, on a valient mission to rescue their contrymares. Instead, only a single pony had shown up.

The sixty-four most evil, terrible, detestible, cruel and pathetic looking criminals all approached the gallows that had been built in the middle of town hall; the mobs all gasped when they saw that a ten year old colt was amongst the dastardly criminals.

Watching as the blue colt was lifted atop a small crate that had been provided, the unseen onlooker couldn't help but take a second to look around himself, at himself, and think about where he was, what exactly he was attending.

'A powder keg... Nothing more than a bomb they want to set off in order to cause an uproar' the stallion silently mused. If the griffon's plan was to use this outrage to stir up the nobles and royalty of Equestria, pushing them to war, they were misguided. Celestia was...perhaps detrimentially, calm-spirited.

The dark stallion focuse on the proceeding execution once more, a noose looped around the ponies' necks. He couldn't hold down the small sigh as the child's tears started again, his fear palpable. But he didn't sob or struggle, didn't whine or plea. The dark stallion admired the colt's resolve.

It came out of nowhere, like a cold sudden wind on the hottest of dry days, the colt's voice swept through the now silent crowd, reaching the voices of everypony, and everything.

"On those dark, weary days and those cold, windy nights pray the assassin will watch over your plight." The colt sung masterfully, his voice slightly high pitched but smooth, the tempo perfect. The onlooker grunted again, a grin on his face; The Assassin's Song. A lullaby of the most crule, grim ponies in existence, sung to sooth the little ones, that maybe the dark wasn't so scary after all. That there was somepony keeping them safe. Maybe irony was the word of the day.

The colt had stopped his singing however, looking down, away from the crowd, perhaps from embarrassment, his courage having dried up.

"With blood on his hooves and death in his heart the assassin will watch over, from the end till the start." The song was picked up by a stallion stood to his left, his voice deeper and more horse than the colt's, though he kept the same tempo as the foal. The ponies glanced at each other before they let the song fill the air again.

"With blood on his blade and shrouded in night, the assassin will be there, with his ever silent might. From dawn until dusk and from winter till fall, year after year he will always stand tall." A mare had joined their tune, her voice adding a softer and somewhat more pleasant tone, as though a mother singing to her children. Their unseen audience's grin became a genuin smile; their song gave them hope.

"With blood on his blade and shrouded in night, the assassin will be there, with his ever silent might. From dawn until dusk and from winter till fall, year after year he will always stand tall."[i/] More joined the song, trailing onto the end of the tune and picking it up as they went.

"The assassin will watch over all good colts and mares, always listening to there ever hopeful prayers. He will always watch over the weak and the poor, should you ever cross him he'll give you what for." The rest of the damned stood upon the gallows joined the song, which had been created to sooth those in times of darkness, its ideals of hope and protection strained to the limits.

"With blood on his blade, and shrouded in night, the assassin will be there, with his ever silent might. From dawn until dusk and from winter till fall, year after year he will always stand tall." The joining voices added layers to the song, some better at singing than others, though throughout the song, the blue colt could still be heard. The guards were getting nervous now, clutching their weapons and pointing them at the prisoners, frowns finding their faces.

"The assassin will be there, so silent and still, watching and waiting for the moment until. Those who have wronged you will fall to his blade, and never will he rest till the debt has been paid."

The rest of those waiting for the noose joined in with the final rendition of the chorus, and the effect was…extraordinary, to say the very least. The simple poem of hope and courage came to a close, with a massive symphony of the doomed, singing with enough force to knock Celestia herself to her rear.

"With blood on his blade, and shrouded in night the assassin will be there, with his ever silent might. From dawn until dusk and from winter till fall year after year he will always stand tall." As the executioner's claw rested upon the lever to drop the ponies, the shadow-shrouded pony knew it was his moment.

He stands, only for a moment, and leaps from the roof, as graceful as a Pegasus in the sky. He sailed silently before he crashed through the wodden framing of a window and atop an armoured griffon, a guard, and as the rope went taunt around the colt's neck, his hooves cracked across the guard's temple.

A wooden, oak hall lead to the assassin's purpose here. Two griffons guarded the way, his sudden entrance having garnered their attention as the riot progressed outside. He didn't give them a moment, darting in and using his smaller stature to his advantage, weaving between their confused legs and beneath their bodies. The first was removed with a hoof rocketing into his crotch, the assassin rolling away as the guard dropped, as the second guard swung her bladed claws at the pony, the cloaked figured pouncing up and over the strike, latching to her head and throwing his weight to the side and dragging the unfortunate guard with him. He slammed her head into the floor, realased his hold before slamming her temple-first into the hardened wood floor.

He left the unconscious trio to their dreams and trotted casually out onto the balcony. gazes looked over to him, bored, before they snapped back in shock.

One guard lunged for him, the assassin slamming his hoof into his jaw, breaking the beak and jaw in one swift strike, sending him sprawling but barely sparing him a glance. The second lunged with his spear leading, the assassin letting it stab into the door behind him and snapping it at the blade and throwing it dart-like back into the guard's shoulder.

The remaining griffons, officials, stood shaking as he looked between them. Figuring out he wasn't there for them, they fled promptly, leaving only the two ponies. The assassin suddenly reached beneath his cloak and produced a trio of gleaming lights that flew at the griffons in a blur, the thee griffons toppling with blood pooling around them.

For a second, the pony ambassidor was relived, wiping sweat from his brow. But the assassin's eyes never left him and then he realised that he was cornered, pinned, and with no means to defend himself. They stood face to face, one with a grin, one with the sharp smell of urine. The assassin moved forwards, slowly, as though he had all the time in the world, before he took the stallion by the throat and pushed the ambassador against the stone railing and held him against it, forcing his gaze over the riot. He said nothing, but his point was made.

The assassin was stood straight, the ambassidor quivering and cowering beneath the dark stallion, curled up in a ball, as the assassin looked down at the his target, his mark. His prey.

He drew his blade slowly, intimately, allowing the doomed pony to see his terrified eyes in its reflection, holding it below Slick's neck before he thrust it up, into his target's jugular vein. The blood gushed across both stallion's features and the weapon; time moved slowly for Slick, Father Time turning his last seconds into hours as the thick, red liquid escaped his arteries and heart. He looked at the pony who had killed him, attempting to gaze upon his maker, but any memories he may have had were snatched away from his as the blood left his brain, and his spirit left this world. The predator ripped the blade from his prey, watching more blood leak through his fur, and put his fore-hooves under the body and heaved, lifting him up and over the railing before letting him drop to the street below.

As he fell, the ambassador's thoughts turned to his demise. He looked up to find the assassin looking down, and the cloaked figure didin't need any kind of spell to know what he was thinking; broken arrogance. The assassin grinned at the look of disbelief on the face of his falling mark. It amused him greatly when his targets thought themselves untouchable before an assassin or killer, such as the one who had just thrown him over the side of a building with his jugular vein cleanly opened, managed to kill them. Perhaps Slick Talker would have had an epiphany, or gone through some kind life altering thought proses, sending him down the right path of life. Only he never got the chance before his skull shattered on the cobblestone road.

The assassin raised his head from his mark, now street pizza, and took stock of his situation: target dead, riot in proses, guards inbound, time to make a tactical retreat. He couldn't help but be struck by something though.

'That was rather easy, for somepony who was meant to be holding the peace between Equestria and the griffon kingdom together' the murderous pony observed, looking around himself with a frown on his face that would be more suitable on a pony who had just heard a strange noise before shrugging it off as nothing. That was exactly what this was to the pony. Nothing. Just another day in the office, as far as he was concerned, the main difference hear being that there were several angry looking griffons around him that probably had a thirst for blood that could only be clenched by the vital funds of one particular equine, rather than paperwork and annoying coworkers. Then again...

The assassin then remembered that he was surrounded by griffons who wanted him dead. Said pony simply jumped over the stone railings of the balcony, his hooves crunching on the broken skull of Slick Talker, and galloping into the rioting crowds before the guard captain could even think to say 'attack'.

The assassin's plan to use the crowd to cover his escape worked well, too well, as the crowds had done all he had predicted and more. Several griffons lay on the ground, holding wounds, while the ponies around him fought tooth and hoof to retrieve their loved ones, who were either galloping for their lives or being mourned by their families. The assassin's eyes lingered for a moment at the sight of the dead colt; the colt who'd life had been stolen, and now he'd never get it back. He made his way down an alleyway, the shadows covering his escape and walked away from the violence and towards the ferries to and from Equestria. Like nothing had happened at all.