This is really a messy situation and I believe it will get messier now.
-Jack The Ripper
Zimoy Sneg moved in on his victim, a twenty something so called "commander" of an infantry division. Killing these commanders had been pathetically easy, they were all clearly high-born, and had an ego larger than the country they were from. None had known hardship, and few had known pain. The waste of a man lying in front of him had been talented in the use of a saber, but lacked the imagination required to use any weapon.
The commander slumped to the floor, unable to stand with three wooden stakes protruding from his chest. Blood oozed from many wounds, but the man still reached for his saber useless though it was. He was Zimoy's ninth victim, th last of the infantry commanders, and he was the toughest of the commanders. The other three had not even seen the wrist flick that sent a stake into their throats. This man had blocked the life-ending spike with a swift movement of his forearm, rendering the arm useless but saving his life.
Though the man had put up a fierce fight, he had eventually succumbed to Zimoy's flurry of stakes. Zimoy drew his metal knife, stained red in the blood of his previous victims and approached the crippled man…
As Zimoy left the tent he wiped the blood from his blade on the top of the tent, a bastardised parody of Passover. Then he contemplated his next target, the four Voltiguer commanders, then it was off to the cavalry and he would be finished. Neither would be easy, Voltiguer's were supposedly the greatest scouts and snipers in the entire army, and the cavalry were all particularly skilled with a saber. The man Zimoy had just killed paled in comparison to the weakest cavalry commander.
Zimoy knew their advantages, but how was he to turn them against their wielders?
The cavalry were easy, simply keep his range and target the extremities with his stakes. Their sword skills would become useless and the saber would be incapable of blocking his attacks. With the Voltiguers it would be a bit tougher; he was running out of time and had to figure out a plan. Hopefully the general's death would delay their plans but Zimoy couldn't afford to take any chances with something so important.
The Voltiguers knew both ranged combat and close combat, while mid range may be their weakness Zimoy had no idea of their individualized skills. He would have to rely on the element of surprise if he intended to emerge victorious.
That was when he remembered the battle plans. He realized that the Voltiguers would end up useless anyway, so why should he risk destroying his odds of crippling the entire French fighting force over a useless mission? Smiling at his own intelligence, he turned from the Voltiguer camps and began making his way towards the cavalry units rubbing his hands in eagerness.
The first commander took a blade betwixt the ribs whilst attempting to draw his saber. His guards had taken a single spike in both of their throats, before even lowering their rifles.
The second commander lost his guards to an assassin report. Like with the general, Zimoy shouted "Assassin!" just loudly enough to be heard by those in the tent, but not loudly enough to alert others. When the guards stepped outside a metal blade swept across their throats, leaving the both of them a wee bit closer to god. Zimoy stepped back inside, arterial blood dripping from his long metal knife. His gurgled scream never even left the tent.
The third commander looked up from his meal to see a wooden spike hit the center point of his skull. His guards turned and several blades tore into their ribcages, doubing them over. In a single lightning swift lunge the assassin dove onto them, driving the spikes through bone, sinew and muscle.
The fourth, and final commander, was a bit slower than the others. Zimoy swept into the room, throwing four of his spikes into the two guards on the side. The commander missed all of this while shouting "What is the meaning of this!" Then Zimoy was too close, and the spike was lodged in his temple before he even realized his guards were dead.
Disappointed by the ease at which the cavalry were disposed of, Zimoy stormed off in a tiff hoping that the Voltiguers would have a bit more fight in them…
He made his way over to the Voltiguer camp, though the oddest thing happened. All of the commanders were absent from their tents! Mad with rage Zimoy lured away, and killed, several French soldiers. Once his rage had finally subsided he don a new French uniform from one of his victims as his old one was, by this point, saturated in blood. Afterwards he had to ask for directions three different times, until he found the location of the Voltiguer commanders.
When Zimoy reached the tactical tent, he encircled it so as to determine whether or not there were any guards nearby. Satisfied that the only guards were inside the tent with the commanders, he decided to learn the number of people in the tent. Within minutes he had taken a burning fragment of wood from one of the many fire pits located around the camp. Placing the block on the south side of the tent, Zimoy then quickly moved to the north side of the tacticians building. From the shadows cast on the tent wall, he assumed that between ten and twelve soldiers and commanders were inside currently. Judging from the shadow's, several men were milling around and three seemed to be sitting. He assumed these to be the commanders, along with one standing man who was leaning on the table and seemed to be yelling at everyone. "Keep on shouting" Zimoy thought, "You'll have cause to scream soon enough."
As if on que the shouting man stood and turned to leave, a single guard following behind him. Zimoy smiled a cruel, evil, toothy smile and began to follow…
Commander Ace stormed out in a huff, his lone guard following him. He swore, when that damned Guarin showed up… Ace would teach him a lesson he would never forrrrr…
Ace slumped into the snow, lone guard turning around to face the man who had just buried a blade in Ace's spine, before a blade came through his chin and stuck in his brain.
Zimoy quickly dragged the corpses off the main path. Even though it was dark and very few blood drops remained, Zimoy took great care in hiding the bodies and cleaning the blood. His encounter with the general had left him… Paranoid to say the least.
Zimoy traveled back to the tent, to lie in wait until another opportunity presented itself…