Chapter 1
The moon was high in the sky, a lustrous pearl cradled in the indigo belly of the night. Torn wisps of cloud drifted over the surface, narrow, radiant beams slicing through them. I frowned. It was near to full, which would make my job harder. It spilled brilliance over the pale white courtyard, exposing everything in silver. I slowly crept round the edge of the courtyard, staying in the shadows. I brought the night with me, I with my face streaked with coal dust and loose clothes black as the night. The only light on me was a naked blade, strapped to my hip. Beauty in the tempered steel of a weapon. Light in death. This was how I had been born and how I was raised.
The other agent, on the roof let down a rope from the top of the tower. Usually I would have scaled the tower myself, but this wretched one was hewn from black marble; impossible to climb. The agent signalled, then leapt from the roof bat-like, silken pockets billowing out from his pack. He did not stay, as I had not expected him to. This was my mission and mine alone. I could not fail.
I fingered my pack nervously. Every agent is equipped with a large pack, in which a useful variety of objects can be kept. In the sides of this contraption, there lay, hidden, several yards of thick silk. It functioned like a parachute. You had to zip the small pockets beneath the large pockets open to reveal strings that attached to the parachute. When these strings were pulled, the silken pockets billowed open and the strings could be used to steer. It was ingenious, however if I fell, I would not have enough time to open the pockets and tug on the strings.
I tied strips of dark cloth around each foot, so that my footprint could not be recognized, and began to scale the tower. It was arduous work; the marble was as glossy as ice and my sensitive feet could detect not blemishes or mars in the rock. Furthermore, the linen tied around my feet did not improve my grip. My arms were in fiery, cramped agony and there was chill sweat beading on my hot brow.
When at last I reached the top, I pulled myself on to the gutter of the roof. It was slippery, but my stomach did not drop as it used to. I had been well trained. I would not fall. Light as a monkey, I scampered over the tiles, until I reached the peak of the roof. From there, I prised the ornament off the roof, and with a large crack, a small hole was revealed. For a few minutes I crouched, stock still, quiet. When there was no other sound, I continued with my work. From there, I worked, slowly clearing away the rubble in the roof, gouging the slates out with my knife. I did this all very quietly. The victim should not know that I approached.
When there was a small hole in the roof, I slithered down, landing lightly in the room. I looked around it, analysing each piece of information slowly and logically.
Sight: Room, round in shape. Large. Several pieces of large furniture, with fine wood and silk upholstery, but both stained and ripped with age. In the corner, a large bed with wisps of gossamer floating down from the ceiling. A slightly ajar door. I crept over to it, peeking inside. A tub for bathing and a chamber pot.
Taste: I flicked my tongue out experimentally. The air tasted sour and stale. The room was completely sealed, but for a few slits high in the wall, where daylight and fresh air could filter through. Now, a flickering oil-lamp beside the bed created an artificial daylight.
That's all for now. I've got a bit more, but its still in progress.
if you like books about assassins, as i do, i recommend reading the night angel trilogy, a great book and it might help you a little with the whole 'assassin' thing lol. i have one question, is the mc a girl or boy? and the age, i think he/she is older, at least 16-17 just by how they think and react. I'm not saying that you should tell either in the story, I'm just curious ;P 
