Chapter one: The melody of the gallows.

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, they just seemed more grey and dead, as though even they were saddened by today's events.

Recently, tension had been rising between Equestria and the Griffon kingdom, not for the first time the threat of war had been made and this time the griffons were claiming to be serious about their threats. Of course, nopony took them seriously, the griffons had made many an attempt at waging war with Equestria in the past and the ponies had reacted accordingly; 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, alongside saving around fifty pony's lives. However. There were two things wrong with the upcoming parley; for one, the supposed ambassador, a cream furred, scarlet mane and tailed stallion by the name of 'Slick Talker', was about as interested in over sea's affairs as an owl was interested in the daytime. Instead the stallion, who was supposed to be cementing relations between the two countries, was more interested in lining his coin purse. The second problem was that the griffons were not likely to step out of this particular conflict easily, or without a fight. It was a widely known fact (or un-widely known depending on who you asked) that the griffons had had their eyes on the famous land of pony's for a long time now, given its rich soils, lush forests and abundance of gems to be found, and that they were waiting for the smallest of sparks to light the powder keg. And they were about to get it.

Sixty-four ponies, all accused and found guilty of crimes a foal could see they were innocent of committing, were about to be strung from the gallows. Sixty-four innocent lives, all about to be fruitlessly taken, all for some twisted show of power against an ambassador who couldn't care less, just as long as the bribe went through without hiccup. Perhaps the best part of the rather grand event however, was that all these ponies were to be publicly executed. With a crowd of maybe one-hundred and fifty ponies and a further two-hundred griffons crowded into the town square of the griffon kingdom capital, the pony/griffon officials were kept from the elements by a covered balcony, watching with baited breath, ten ponies walked towards the nooses.

The shadow-shrouded figure, stood atop the roof, watched the events with no emotion on his features, stood patiently, silently, only his garb rustled by the wind while he stood as still and as stoic as a rock. His plan was simple, about as simple as the deed to be done, about as simple as his line of work. About as simple as taking a life, because after all, that's what assassins do, isn't it? The plan was not without its faults of course, the main one being the attack on the killer's morals, as this particular plan required some necessary evil. He had to let the first group of prisoners die. This was to cause uproar amongst the ponies in the crowd, who were mostly there to see their loved one's back, so he could make his escape. He knew it wasn't the most strategic of plans, but he'd been given this contract not a day ago, having very little time to even plan a vantage point and escape rout, never-mind a plan of attack that was sure to please everypony.

He took a second to think about where he was, what exactly he was attending, and the assassin grunted at the irony.

'These griffons want to set off a powder keg, cause an uproar. Go through with this and they will' the stallion thought to himself. The griffon's plan was to use this outrage to stir up the nobles and royalty of Equestria, pushing them to war, but in the meantime the ponies of the crowd would run riot at the event, most likely pulling down half the city in anger before being contained or dispersing into the dust and rubble. The ponies, even though they were smaller and had less physical strength than the griffons would be fuelled by adrenalin and fury, and that was a force to be reckoned with. The assassin had mused the idea of the crowd doing his job for him, with the crowd turning on Slick and ripping him limb from limb. Unlikely; a crowd with that much rage would not be able to vent their anger in one direction and would likely just disperse around the town. He was pulled out of his thoughts when the first group of 'criminals' were brought forward. Nopony bought it, if only because it's difficult to believe that ponies are capable of any actions outside the law when they're below the age of ten. A few gasps ran through the crowd as the foal, an earth pony colt with a sky blue coat and a white mane, trotted up to the center platform of the gallows. The assassin grunted as he watched him get levitated onto a small crate. He was small, maybe six years old, and didn't even have a cutie mark. The dark stallion pitied this child, having not found his special talent before his untimely demise, but couldn't help but be impressed; he looked so calm, like he didn't care his life was about to come to an end. The murderer looked on with admiration at the colts resolve.

Then, out of nowhere, like a cold sudden wind, to sooth the pony on a hot and dry day, 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 assassin should know, as he was very familiar with the song. This was the assassin's song, a song sung by mare's to their foals when they when they were scared and needed to know somepony was watching from the shadows, making sure they were safe. Something to sooth their fears of the dark. The colt stopped his song, however, perhaps from embarrassment, perhaps a loss of courage.

"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 navy-blue fur and midnight blue mane and tail stallion, his voice deeper and more masculine than the colt though he kept the same tempo as the foal. The stallion looked over to the colt before they sung the chorus in duet.

"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 with a deep purple fur, and a light grey mane joined into the tune, her voice adding a softer and somewhat more pleasant tone, the kind that would be expected from a mother singing a lullaby to their children, to the song as they continued their melody. The stallion wasn't sure why they had begun singing, he could only assume they could feel something coming, something the knew they'd need protection from. He pitied them, knowing that what they felt was coming was to come to pass.

"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 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 unseen watcher grinned at this line, he had always felt it lightened the tone with the juvenile choice of words when compared to the rest of the lyrics. The rest of the damned stood upon the gallows joined the song, which had been created to sooth those in times of darkness. It was certainly been tested in that respect now.

"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 colt could still be heard.

"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 to be hung from the noose joined with the final rendition of the chorus, and the effect was…extraordinary, to say the least. The poem of hope came to a close, with a massive symphony of those doomed for the rope 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-"And then all too suddenly, the lever was pulled and all those lives, those innocent lives, were extinguished. Along with the song. Along with the life of a certain corrupt ambassador.

It all happened as planned; the stallions gave a roar of fury, the mares a gasp of horror, the ambassador a grunt of amusement and the assassin? Not even a snarl. He leaps from the roof, as graceful as a Pegasus in the sky as he was on the ground, and crashed right through the wood and glass window, landing straight on a guard griffon, clad in simple iron armor with a spear in his grasp, slamming his fore-hooves into its throat, not killing it but definitely putting down for the count. An oak, wooden hall lead to the assassin's target, a pair of griffons guarding the way. They pounced; one griffon lunged for him, the assassin leaping over his head, landing and grabbing his tail, yanking forwards and ripping the tail off. The spinal bones and muscles came with it, but the small squirt of blood told him the tail was now very dead, although the griffon was left alive, if in a little pain. The second moved in with his spear, thrusting it at the dark stallion, who moved past it and lashed the guard in the head with the disembodied tail; the first, an uppercut, took his helmet off; the second made a cut across his cheek; the third a deep gash across his eye; and the third racked across his neck, bruising and swelling his victim's neck. He'd survive, given the proper treatment. The darkly clad assassin trotted casually out onto the balcony; one guard lunged for him, the assassin slamming his hoof into his jaw, breaking the beak and jaw in one swift strike. The griffon officials, two councilors and an ambassador, didn't bother trying to fight, after seeing his merciless removal of the guards, and fled promptly. Slick Talker, however, was cornered, pinned and had no real chance of escaping. The assassin moved forwards, slowly, as though he had all the time in the world, before he 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 straightened up, taller, superior, and looked down at the target, the predator to his prey, the hunter to the hunted. The living, to the soon to be dead.

"Always stand tall" the assassin finished in honor of the dead. He drew his blade slowly, intimately, allowing the doomed pony to see his terrified eyes in its reflection, before he rammed it into his 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 stallion looking down, and the only thought to cross his mind was: 'was it truly this easy to kill me?' The assassin grinned at the look of disbelief on the face of his falling mark. It amused him greatly when his targets where like this, thinking themselves untouchable before an assassin or killer, such as the one who had just thrown him over the side, 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 as 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 caption 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.