Dawnwinter

Kind. The word bothered DawnWinter a lot recently. She struck the sand filled dummy with her katana as she thought. Kindness wasn't associated with her line of work, it wasn't something Assassins were thought to be. This garden, it was the only place the Pearlcatcher felt at peace now. She had built it herself, constructed the place from three small shrubs. Now, it was huge! That, she supposed was a kindness, at least, it was to her. She swung the flexible blade from the right this time, slipping it up and under the dummy's arm, watching in silence as the sand cascaded from it in waves.

Kindness.

Why did it bother her so? Dawn sighed and dropped the knife. She was kind. She was not mean. Yes, she accepted contracts to kill, yes, she did take pride in her work. Although, some assassins took their time, drawing out each job to their pleasure. Dawn saw killing as a necessity, rather than a job. They had to be done, each contract had to be completed. She was never really in it for the money, she just felt that death had to happen, or life could never start. A kindness, from her view.

The Pearlcatcher continued with the training, jabbing, stabbing, parrying blows. Each contract included some kind of fight, each contract should be painless, yet it never was. Kindness. The word stung in her brain. She dropped the blade to her side once more, sheathed it neatly in her belt. Enough. Standing here moping was not helpful. Tortured minds couldn't never focus. She sensed a presence behind her; Luxury. The Snapper basically lived in this garden, with Dawn, had helped in its construction. Another kindness; allowing another to stay in her home. Dawn shook her head. Luxury was blind, yet Dawn knew her unease was felt by the older dragon. Luxury chose not to speak, only nodded and continued on her slow, lumbering procession around the vast garden.

Dawn spread her wings, conflicted. The moral aspects of her job were often at war with one another. Did she really deserve th right to take another's life? No. Is her job really needed? I suppose so. Is there sense in doing this? Killing? Possibly without reason? That was the question that held her stumped. She couldn't answer that. Her amour rustled with the breeze. Dawn closed her eyes, breathed in, swallowed her feelings. She had another contract to complete, a contract that would reward her nicely, in favours rather than treasure. That was better, that was acceptable. She took off in one fluid motion and banked steeply left, this assassination required her to travel to the Arcane lands. In that moment, her thoughts streamlined, focused on what she had to do. She forgot about her confliction, and got on with her job.



Sadness. Anger. Hate. All feelings felt in her job, all emotions associated with death. Hate was usually directed towards Dawn, towards those in her line of work. No one appreciated what she did, even her own clients. At this thought, she was cast back, back to the beginning, back to her very first contract, the start of this conflict. It had been a small job, well below her skills, simple, easy. Her blade had slid through flesh, completing the contract in a second. She had stared down at the blood, watching in grim fascination as it dropped from the end of her blade. Thick, a dark wine red. The dragon had been old; a Guardian nearing his time to join the Deities anyway. She looked around at the decaying furniture, the harshly stitched rug beneath her talons, now slick with blood. Her first life, taken in a heartbeat. The start of something she had never wanted, the start of a new life. Strangely, the kill had made Dawn felt renewed, powerful. The room in which she stood had been a masterpiece in its time, but now it was a husk, coated in layers of cobweb and rot. The Guardian had been on the verge of losing his mind, so was there really a problem with his death? The Pearlcatcher had sighed and spread her wings, flying out through the open door. Outside, she saw the family, miles from the house, possibly on their way to visit the Guardian. Is she was seen, she would be reprimanded, and it would not be nice. With a flick of her wings, she had disappeared info the clouds above, gone, leaving a murder behind.

The next days had been spent in and out of a depression like stage. Dawn refrained from eating, feeling unwanted bursts of adverse emotion at random times. She would be woken up in the middle of the night, trembling from nightmares that plagued her thoughts. She was a trained assassin. Weakness was not in her vocabulary, non exist at in her line of work. But weakness was, she decided, the best way to describe what she went through. As an assassin, she kept the feelings in, churning and boiling in a whirlpool, all cooped up within her scales. Eventually, the feeling passed, but the guilt remained. Her first kill had knocked Dawn sideways, unfocused her from everything she had trained for for so long. She recalls looking down at her katana, the edge still streaked thickly with red, unwashed from that day. It was then that she felt something different; joy. The death, it had been fun, at the time anyway, enjoyable. She realised then that she had loved the power of the moment, and had been affected by the aftershock of that power. She remembers her mind sharpening once more, eyes narrowing to their usual slits. She had picked up her blade, polished it till it shone and swooped up into the sky once more, her second contract parchment clutched tightly in her claws.

It was weeks later when the letter came through, detailing that she was a disgrace, and outrage to her Headquarters. The letter was from her first client. They were seething at her for the death she had been told to deal out, seething because it had been 'accidental' despite having paid her in advance. The letter told her of the coiners sorrow and despair upon finding their uncle dead, tome of how it was all her fault. That was when she understood the value of each life, that each dragon had a purpose, a reason, even if that reason was only to get close to their respective families. She learned that life is precious, began to understand that she was taking each life for a reason, and that reason was because the dragon had fulfilled their purpose, whether they knew it or not. As this discovery hit her, she raged at her kidnappers. The training kept this rage in check, ensured that she didn't rush at the assassin officials and gouge their eyes out, torturing them until the floor was a river of blood. No. That was too unprofessional. They should not have stolen her as a hatchling, but that did not mean that she had the right to take their lives, not yet. There were many contracts to complete before she could fill out her own. She thought about her birthclan often, thought of how she was taken from her nest as she slept, of how she awoke to the beating wings of a Guardian just outside of the Assassin Headquarters, the place that she would spend the next year of her life.


DawnWinter has given up many things for her jobs, each thing had at one point affected her deeply, had held a special place in her heart. Now? These things are long forgotten, left behind in another life. One of these things is something that pained her for months, years after giving it up.

Family.

She did it for their own protection, cut all contact with those she loved the most. As an Assassin, she is targeted by many bounty hunters, rewards are placed over her head after she kills someone of importance for a Client. Her family did not deserve to become a part of this life, they did not deserve to have their reputation slashed by her job.

Dawn had always been careful to keep her family hidden from harm, usually not even revealing her heritage to close friends but instead keeping it locked away, keeping it close to her heart. Ever since she had left her birthclan, the Pearlcatcher had made sure to send letters to her parents, alerting them to how she was getting on without ever telling them of her job; they did ask occasionally, and she always made up some kind of excuse, or tried to deflect the question. However, she soon realised that her enemies could learn of this weakness and use her family against her.

Dawn was not going to let that happen.

It broke her heart, pained her beyond belief to cut the cords strung between her and her family. She couldn't tell them why she was doing this, couldn't even send word that she was. She simply stopped answering their letters, burning and destroying each one they sent back in worry. She mourned for weeks after this, wanting nothing more than to write back, to answer their frantic callings. They only wanted to know that she was ok, that she was still alive and well. Dawn could not bring herself to answer their letters, she couldn't endanger them any further.

Before long, the loneliness of not having anyone to talk to set in. Dawns parents had been a huge influence on her life for as long as she could remember, and the letters made it as if they were still watching over her despite being a distance away. Dawn had to find a way to distract herself, but nothing seemed to work. She tried intensifying her training, but that only made her remember detailing her workouts to her family. She took up yoga, and soon realised that sitting still for long periods of time gave her too much space to think. Everything that she attempted failed. She knew that there was only one option left; taking up more contracts, deadlined contracts. Her job was something comforting, something that she knew. Assassinating contracts was almost a joy to Dawn, almost a thing that she could rely on.

Soon enough, she began to feel better, stronger once more. Th deadlines meant that she had little time to think and had to spend long hours researching her targets and pinpointing their possible locations. It was the preparation that she loved the most. There was a strange thrill in stepping closer to an assassination, an unexpected joy in uncovering a new sliver of information, a new piece to add to the ever-growing puzzle. Over time, she forgot about her loss, her sacrifice and began to move on.

Occasionally, DawnWinter would come across shards of her family, whether it would be some hatchlinghood possession or a charred remnant of an old letter. These small things would take her back, would allow the fragmented sadness to set in once more. Dawn would shake her scales during these moments, would turn her head and grit her fangs. She outdo not be weak again. Weakness was something she had never been able to stand, and these things almost forced her to show it, against her will memories would surface, polling together a the forefront of her consciousness when she was least expecting it. Despite this, she gets on. She shoves the memories back, chasing them into the locked cage she had imprisoned them in, hoping that they will never emerge to weaken her again.



By @Narif




By @lilacwolf