[ WP ] You are a retired assassin . The only thing you want is to die . Keeping you from this is the fulfillment of your last contract : A celebrated performer paid you to kill him if he ever tried to make a `` comeback '' as an old man . After years in retirement , the performer announces a world tour .

( First time writing in a few years. Decided to set this in a fantasy world I created for D & D ) 
 
 A chorus of birds song, a bright and warming sun shining through the trees, an endless sea of shade. Home, at last, Ygdrasil forest an endless living changing maze of trees, moss, and countless troops of mushrooms marching up and down the pathways known only to mice and gnomes. 
 Although, I still lament my birth forest, it has been many tens of years since living there has been possible for anything, Ygdrasil is the sacred forest where of my people, where the gnomes first grew like fruit from the great tree at the heart of the forest. 
 My home once had a great tree at it's center, but the tree was damaged. Murdered. The sacred object that gave life to that place was stolen, rended from the very center of the trunk, the tree dried up and forest soured. I spent years trying to find the ones that did this, and bring them to the justice of the forest. 
 I spent years in a guild of Assassins. The Shadow Cloak Sly. I was the illusionist. Tricker of Guards, Distractor of Targets, I was the parry before the final blow, and I was the best one they had. 
 I had spent years amassing techniques and spells from every copper piece circus wizard, gypsies, and charlatan I ever came across. I had a whole book of tricks I could use in any situation. Numbered and Coded, these tricks were known the the others on the team and made me the perfect back up man. I hardly ever had to kill anyone. 
 
 Today as I wrote my memoirs by the sunlight coming through the window in my room inside the tree I call my home. A shadow blocked the light alerting me to the decrepit messenger crow outside, whom I knew very well from my time in the guild, Fridget, was his name and with him came a chilling breeze that gripped my bones not only from the northern winds, but from the face looking at me from the parchment in his beak. 
 
 Distraction # 27: The Gimwald Grimmly Coin 
 
 I remember the day in the guild, my superior entered my room and said there was a client to meet with near the usual place, that this one really wants to remain unknown but still needs to meet with someone. The usual place was the back of a cemetery outside of a large city I am unwilling to name. The entire place was kept under perpetual fog through guild means. I arrived after the man, this is always good because I do n't have to waiting around hiding I can skip right up to `` appearing suddenly''. 
 `` Name the life you wish to have taken by the Sly.'' This was the prescribed thing to say when `` appearing suddenly'' behind someone by the guild charters. Naturally the cloaked man jumped and whirled around looking for who had spoke, he looked down saw me and then lowered his hood. 
 I recognized him immediately. He was a famous bard from the region, a singer and a lute player. Loved by many. I hid my excitement for the sake of professionalism. Which is easy to do behind a black mask with a skull painted on it. 
 `` Me, Gimwald Grimmly'' he spoke calmly at first but then sped up in a nervousness I had never seen during his performances `` But only on one condition... Only if I retire from preforming, and then later try to return to live music in my old age.'' I knew exactly what he was talking about. Jesselbe Hornwick an old flute player who was traveling the country side on a comeback-tour rotting out the ears of everyone along the Red River. I had heard him from across the street from the pub the night before and I skipped my evening ale because of it. 
 Apparently Mr. Grimmly felt the same way and wanted to make sure that the same fate of old age and illusions of grandeur would n't befoul his own good name. 
 However the only problem with this was for me was that this was a conditional contract on himself. Guild by-laws speculate that the money can not be taken upfront, and only a small `` good-faith'' payment was allowed. This small payment was n't worth the chance to have something better. 
 
 Illusion magic is difficult and takes a lot out of you. So if you can use an enchanted item to get the same result, even better, the only difficulty here is that the object you are using has no will of it's own to create the illusion. It can only use what you can physically put into it. So, an enchanted rock that creates an image and sound of a gizzly bear roaring when someone walks near it. Requires a rock and an angry grizzly bear. 
 I quickly realized this bard was the perfect subject for such an enchantment, and I struck a deal with him. I would carry out the hit if the prerequisite occurred and since he could n't provide payment upfront I asked for him to provide payment in his will to pay one of my false identities if he died on stage after the age of 50. He was hesitant to go forward. But when I told him about waving the good-faith payment in exchange for a song performance he came around quickly. He was actually pretty surprised that I wanted him to do such a thing. I guess being asked for a song from a guy in a black mask painted like a skull would surprise anyone given the circumstances. 
 But, I could tell that the voice in his head that wanted the best deal and most bang for his buck had overwon him at that point and he agreed. Shaking my hand sealed the contract. 
 
 I used that coin hundreds of times and it saved my neck at least a dozen more. I was a really big fan of Grimmly, and since I am being honest, I played it pretty often just for myself. 
 I still have it, in my a special pouch, full of entertaining little things, for when an old Gnome has nothing to do but wait to feed the trees. And now I am looking into the face of Grimwald although now it's an etching on a scroll of parchment. Withe the words 72nd Birthday Reunion Show. And although I am grateful to see my old friend, Friget. I still grimace as I feed her what seeds I have. `` This is not how I want to spend my Autumn years.''
