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Gregnok stepped into the guild's office and grunted "I am ready for my next mission, sir."

Snelren, sighed. He was at a loss for what to do. Gregnok was going through a contract a day and completing every single one without failure. He should be thrilled. Instead each day was another punch to the gut. Gregnok was the least discrete assassin he had ever come across. He was skeptical of his size, but his kill sheet spoke for itself, or so he thought. Ever since he accepted Gregnok into the guild their reputation had plummeted. From masters of disguise and subtlely, The Shadows Hand had earned their name. Gregnok however, seemed to not know the first thing about either. Worse still, he was convinced he was a master of both.

"Very well. I have your next target here. And please. Gregnok. Try not to be seen." Snelren was honor bound to keep Gregnok's guild membership valid due to his track record, but he wasn't required to hide his disappointment.

"I am invisible. I am stealth. I am the night. Do not worry." Gregnok said flatly.

"Right. Of course. Just be sure? Okay." Snelren said, handing over the black envelope containing his next mark.

"Always." Gregnok said with a nod before loudly running out the door.

The average assassin under The Shadows Hand was lean. They wore dark blue colors to blend into the shadows. Their shoes were custom made with special fabric to dampen footsteps to almost completely silence. They moved with grace. Most were scholars and well educated. Their weapons of choice were poison and daggers. Gregnok was not anywhere near the average. He was 600 lbs of mostly muscle. His green skin caught every shred of light and amplified it. He towered 8ft tall. His intelligence was estimated to be that of a child. And his weapon of choice? A 150 lb spiked sledgehammer.

Gregnok located the compound. Inside was his target. He would have to sneak past the many guards as usual of course. He crouched and began to try and sneak towards the two guardsmen. The first guardsman spotted Gregnok 300 yards away. "HOLY FUCK! LOOK AT THE SIZE OF THAT THING! IS HE COMING HERE???" The second guardsman grabbed the first by the chest and held up his sword threateningly. "Quiet! Are you trying to get us killed? That's Gregnok! He's killed hundreds with just his bare hands. You're insane if you think we're paid enough to try and stop him." The other guardsman looked scared and confused. "What? That's him?"

"Yes. Do you really think there are that many orc giants around? Now quiet! I've heard from half a dozen men in the field he will leave you alone if you pretend not to see him." The guardsman gulped. "Fuck. Alright."

Gregnok was closing in, the guardsmen had seemed to be fighting. Perfect, even easier to sneak past them he grinned. The two guardsmen were now just a stones throw from Gregnok when they neverously resumed talking. "Oh man! Look at that, I think it's a shooting star." The other guardsmen said in a poorly acted line, "Wow, yes, I do think you are right. It's so beautiful. Let's just take a couple minutes to appreciate it. By looking exclusively up. Clearly no one is around to stop." Gregnok was just a couple feet away at this point and stopped to look up. "I don't see it." He said and the two men broke into a sweat. The first guardsman nervously tried a new approach, "uhh.. umm.. Hey, Markin. Isn't it our lunch break actually? We should just go." The other guardsman hastily stammered "wow, yeah, look at the time!" And the two awkwardly stepped around Gregnok as they spedwalked away.

Gregnok resumed his approach into the compound. He must have perfectly timed his approach with the guards lunch schedule. He was a genius. He entered the courtyard next where four guardsmen sat playing cards. One shot up and instinctively yelled "Intruder!" And grabbed his sword before promptly exploding under the force of the orc's sledgehammer. The remaining three guardsmen froze. "H-hey, did you guys hear anything?" The other two quickly yelped "Nope!" Then the first continued "Great umm.. It's.. It's your guys turn, he said wiping brain out of his eye."

Gregnok smugged triumphantly. He had executed the guard before the others could be alerted. Snelren could learn a thing or two from him. Finally he entered his target, Ezral's, personal chambers. "Gods! How did you get in here! Guards, kill him!" The two men standing next to Ezral rushed into combat. Their insides turned to outsides before their arms were even in reach of the brute. Ezral's face turned white with fear and anxiety and collapsed from a panic attack. Gregnok simply walked up to him and crushed his head like a melon with a casual foot step. No can see you if there's no one left to see you. Gregnok smiled. He was invisible. He was stealth. He was the greatest assassin to ever live he told himself as he expertly snuck out of the compound, not a single person noticing him. Snelren will be so jealous.

Thank you, that was hilarious!

The assassin's guild looked like any other building along the main road of the Imperial capital. It was not an underground den nestled somewhere in the filthy sewers, nor a run down warehouse with clear ne'er do wells lounging beside the entrance. In fact, to the average person walking by it didn't appear to be any different from the dozen other businesses all around. Unless they knew.

The inside was similarly orderly, instead of rogues dressed in black cloaks, hoods and adorned with all manner of nasty weapons there were normal people who looked like they could belong to any profession. Men who could be farmers or blacksmiths, women who could be seamstresses or maids. But they weren't. They were all assassins and they were all professionals.

Inside an office at the end of one corridor sat the most professional of them all. A tall, lithe man dressed impeccably in the latest fashion, replete with a collar expanding several inches in each direction. His dark hair was combed neatly to one side and a small pair of glasses hung upon to tip of his angular nose.

A letter was held in the man's hands, one that was slowly causing his sharp features to twist into a more and more fierce expression. By the time he reached the end, the letter fell limply from his hands as his face fell forwards with a grimace.

Interrupting the room's silence a knock on the door jolted the man upright as his face immediately fell into a completely neutral expression. "Enter." He said in a low, calm voice.

A younger man opened the door and hurriedly bowed his head, "Gregnok is back Sir Winsom."

The room was silent for just a moment more before Winsom inhaled deeply.

"Send him in."

The younger man fled from the room and scarcely seconds later the thud of heavy footprints could be heard rapidly approaching. The door crashed open as a hulking form pushed it's way in.

Barely able to fit through the door Gregnok was a mountain of a man. His hulking body was bursting with muscles that seemed to ripple with every step he took, all bare to the world save a few thankfully hidden beneath the fur loincloth tied around his waist. Dropping the enormous axe from his shoulders and against the wall the man collapsed onto the chair opposite Winsom's desk, which creaked omminously beneath his weight.

"Do you know why I've called you here?" Winsom asked.

The slab of muscle appeared to carefully consider the question, before breaking out into an enormous smile. "You going to congratulate Gregnok on good job! Gregnok best assassin in whole guild, always kill me man, hey chief."

Winsom's neutral expression broke into annoyance for just a second before being smoothed over. "Sir." He corrected.

A flash of confusion washed over Gregnok's face. "No Gregnok not knighted."

"Look Gregnok, you're here because we have some concerns about your conduct in your missions." Winsom cut in, fixing the other man with the most vicious glare he could muster. Gregnok did not seem to notice. "We've had reports that no less than 3 assassin's guilds have been destroyed over the last year and with no leads on what happened we cannot have anyone drawing unwanted attention."

"Gregnok being doing good," The giant exclaimed, "he kill all targets no problem, only one in guild with one hundred purs– persan- persent success!"

"Look Gregnok, there have been complaints."

"Complaints?" Horror filled the man's face, "No!"

"Yes, remember how Duke Stragnel requested we kill his wife last week?"

"Yes, Gregnok kill her easy. Weak fighter, no match for Gregnok's axe."

"Yes, you also killed his mistress he had wanted to replace her with!"

"How Gregnok supposed to know difference! They both had long hair, needed make sure I got right one."

Winsom's hands tightened into fists as he began to breath in and out slowly. "What about when Count Fuzel asked us to kill his younger brother?"

"Chopped he right in half." Gregnok announced proudly.

"You killed half the man's private army!"

"...They started it…"

Winsom half stood up, then sank back into his chair. He forced his voice back into a calmer tone. "What about… What about when Count Mino asked us to kill Viscount Renly at that party?"

"Made sure that guy got tha chop."

"You. Killed. Everyone at the party."

"Count Mino wouldn't complain about that!" Gregnok retorted.

"That's because Count Mino was at the party!" Winsom yelled, before quickly collecting himself again. "We can forgive many things if we still get results, but killing a client means we don't even get paid."

"It does?!"

"I'm sorry Gregnok, I don't think this is working out."

"No," The hulking man said, sinking back into his seat. "you firing me? Gregnok love his job… This the fourth assassin guild Gregnok get fired from this year…"

"I'm sorry Gregnok, I really am." Winsom said quietly, "Maybe the Warriors guild might be a better- Wait what did you just say?"

Gregnok was already on his feet, hefting his axe, he turned back to Winsom with a rare stern expression. "Need to make sure me not get any bad references."

As Gregnok stood in my open doorway with his massive shoulders literally rubbing up against the doorframe on both edges simultaneously, I motioned for him to take a seat in the reinforced chair that I'd had commissioned specially for his massive frame.

Even with its titanium-reinforced structure, the frame groaned under his massive, muscled bulk.

"So, Gregnok. How are things?"

"Great!" Gregnok boomed, in his cheerful baritone voice.

I shuddered inside, but kept any external signs of my irritation from my expression. His cheerful nature was just one thing on the laundry list of reasons he wrong for this job.

Firstly, nobody wanted to hire a happy-go-lucky assassin. They wanted someone mean. Someone terrifying, or mysterious. But cheerful? Smiling?

Fuck right off with that shit. Nobody wanted that.

In fact, the only reason he was even still here was that he produced. Consistently.

Gregnok had never failed to kill a target, ever. He even managed to reach and kill the 'unkillable' targets, like Guido Salducci, the city's mob boss. Salducci was once thought to be untouchable, in his fortified mansion surrounded by heavily armed and armoured guards. Many had tried before Gregnok, and all had failed. All of them had tried to sneak onto the property through various different (and ingenious) means to accomplish their missions. Some didn't get much further than the fence line perimeter. Others got to the outside of the building before meeting their end. Some even managed to make it into the mansion proper before being killed, but none had gotten past all of his layers of defense tech.

That is, until Gregnok.

Gregnok is... different. Nobody knows how it came to pass (even Gregnok), but for some reason, he is invulnerable to physical injury. Blades, bullets, energy weapons, poisons, radiation... you name it, he's immune. The only thing that's had any effect on him that we can observe is the aging process. He gets older with the passage of time, and one day will die from old age just like anyone else. But until that day arrives, he is a literal walking tank with no weakness.

He's also... not particularly bright. He does what he's asked most times, without question or reservation. As long as you give him positive reinforcement after missions, he's happy to go forth and obliterate, frequently for much less compensation than most of his cohorts. Which is why, when he came into our guild several years ago looking for work, I saw an opportunity. I mean, what kind of assassin guildmaster wouldn't want an invulnerable tank in his back pocket just in case of an emergency? I would have been an idiot to not take advantage of having him on the payroll.

Or, that's what I thought at the time. Unfortunately, hindsight is 20/20.

The first mission I sent him on should have been my warning sign for us to part ways, but I was wearing rose-coloured glasses and justified the carnage he'd caused as 'not his fault'. He'd been ambushed going into a contract to take out the leader of a local drug cookhouse. The client had intentionally underreported the number of suspected people inside in order to negotiate a lower rate with me. If anyone but Gregnok had gone, they likely would have been deader than my ex-wife's libido, but because it was Gregnok... he survived.

The drug den enforcers, did not. Nor did the cooks. Or the house, for that matter.

Luckily, the police investigation attributed the house explosion to a drug cook gone bad... which technically speaking, was accurate. They wrote the whole thing off with no further investigation and saved us from an expensive coverup job.

As I said, I thought that the whole thing wasn't his fault. Gregnok didn't know what he was walking into, and panicked. While he did overreact a bit, he technically completed the job as requested. And as an added bonus, I was able to threaten the client with Gregnok paying him a visit to his house if he ever lied to me again about a job's difficulty, which was nice. The client voluntarily even paid me a 'bonus' as appreciation for me not having Gregnok delimbing him like an overcooked, oven-roasted chicken for lying and putting my crew at risk.

The next couple of jobs went OK, but they were isolated and in remote areas, so that was to be expected. But the jobs that followed... were less quiet.

Gregnok did not believe in stealth. He believed in brute force application, in judicious amounts. So when someone came to us with 'difficult' or 'impossible' jobs that none of my other men could handle, the only one left was Gregnok. And Gregnok did not believe in picking locks, sliding open windows and sneaking around to find his target, or not setting off alarms.

Gregnok believed in smashing things until they stopped twitching. Then finding something else to smash.

A good analogy my bookkeeper once made was that most of my men were sniper rifles. They had a bullet with someone specific's name on it, and they eliminated those targets only. A few others were more like hand grenades, they were basically addressed 'to whom it may concern'. If there was a little collateral damage, so be it.

But Gregnok? He was a flamethrower. One with 'Dear area residents...' painted on the fuel cans. You knew he would be burning down the entire neighbourhood, no matter where he went. You pointed him in the direction of what you wanted to go away, patted him on the shoulder, and ducked behind cover to wait until the explosions and screaming stopped.

It was because of this, he caused us to have a certain... reputation. When you needed something dead that absolutely nobody else could get to, he was your last resort. But you hired him with the understanding that it would not be resolved subtly, by even a demented definition of the word. When Gregnok made an appearance, it made national news as some sort of 'disaster' or 'gang war', every time. Those coming to hire us and make use of his service were desperate.

That meant that people avoided us like the plague, unless they had no other choice whatsoever. Because once Gregnok went to work, there was no hiding anything. You just tried to distance yourself from the events that unfolded and make sure you had a pre-established, rock-solid alibi in case the cops came calling. Because they would definitely be calling once Gregnok did his... thing.

I blinked, trying to bring myself back to the reason I'd brought him in here in the first place. As I looked up, he was still grinning like an idiot.

"So, I was wondering if you might be interested in a mission that's a little... unusual."

"Unusual?" he parroted back.

"Yes, Gregnok. You see... I love your work. You're great at smashing what needs to be smashed."

"Yes!" he boomed. "I am great at smashing things!"

"That you are," I echoed carefully. "But unfortunately, sometimes your smashing can be too... enthusiastic. And you smash things that you shouldn't."

Gregnok's expression fell. The poor lump looked like I'd kicked his puppy.

"Is Gregnok in trouble?" he asked timidly.

"No, buddy, you're not in trouble. But like I said, you're great at smashing things... and I was wondering if you might want to help a friend of mine with smashing things for a bit in a new place?"

"Are you sending me away forever?" Gregnok said, suddenly panicking.

"No! Not at all, buddy!" I said in my best soothing voice. "You'll always have a home here! I just wondered if you'd like to help a friend of mine for free for a bit, that's all. You know, go somewhere new, smash a whole lot of stuff, then come back home when you're all smashed out. What do you think?"

The panic faded from Gregnok's face and a small smile crept back to his lips. "Lots of smashing?"

"Lots of smashing," I said, smiling back at him. "And you don't need to be careful either. Smash everything in sight. What do you think?"

"That sounds AWESOME!" he boomed again. "Your friend doesn't mind me smashing everything?"

"No, he doesn't," I replied. "In fact, Mr. Zelenskyy would love you to smash as much as you possibly can. What do you say?"

"I say YES!" he said giddily.

"Awesome," I said, sliding a ticket to Ukraine across my desk to him. "Better start packing, bud. You're going on an adventure!"

As he stood up and picked up the tickets, a huge grin beamed over his face. He turned to walk out, and bumped the doorframe, bending the steel slightly on his way out. I heard him humming a jaunty tune as he went out into the office, making the rest of the assassins stare in confusion.

I hope he smashed as many Russian tanks as possible. Frankly, we could use the good PR in the assassin community.

Who says an assassin has to be sneaky? As long as they kill their target, job well done. Just send Gregnok on jobs where it's not an issue.

Average skyrim assassin build

Me whenever I play Hitman or any stealth game

"YOU DONT SEE GREGNOK!", Gregnok screamed as he approached the Guard.

I was just about to ask if Gregnok the Assassin was related to Grognak the Barbarian.

I have laughed so hard at every one of these stories that I started coughing. What a great prompt.

"I don't see it" made me laught out loud. You got a couple chuckles, but that really got me.

That ending was extremely unexpected

This story made me burst into a loud chuckle and sneezing attack, at work, in front of people. Bravo and we’ll done

playing Hitman be like

When I read the prompt I started chanting “Hitman!” lol

Ah that’s a really funny way to end it

"GROG IS PROUD OF GREGNOCK!"

a large Barbarian shouted, arms crossed as they stared me down. Ah, this must be where he gets his unique way of speaking. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I look over to Gregnock, who was currently "sneaking" into the room after what I presumed was either his father or brother had shouted. While obviously everyone had definitely spotted him, they refused to look at him. After all, they couldn't see him. Or their arms would be broken mysteriously the next day.

"Look, I didn't say you couldn't be proud of him, I'm just saying he needs to learn how to really sneak."

I said again, calmly as possible. God, I hated barbarians, but I couldn't fire Gregbock until he failed an assassination.

No references are better than bad references!

Stealth vs orc stealth.

Who will win?

T72 tank, an advanced soviet armor platform that can penetrate over half a meter of pure steel armor!

OR

G̵̪̮̱̠̭̗͙͋̔̈́͛͌̀̾́R̶̛̗̳͈̼͔͈̭̆͐́̾̏́͐͐̅͂̚͜͠E̸̺̽̓̓G̸̪̣̮̀̋̽̕N̷̞͉̪̓̏̏͛Ǫ̷̯̱̟̤̭̬̏̀͋͐͐̽͒̌̓̋̏̉͠͠͝K̴̫̘͕̖̻̳̲̩̜̺͈̙̈́̔̎̀͂̈́

Ending gave me a laugh thank you 😂.

The Heiljimoor By The Axe 4000 was supposed to make record keeping easier, I mused as I pulled the advance lever. It only seemed to compound the issue. Scrolls rolled and unrolled. Furled and unfurled. All as a blur as tiny automaton arms pulled each from their tubes and loaded them into the feeder to place them in the reading pane in front of me. I pumped the foot pedal harder to keep the clockwork mechanism going as I went through the ledger files one by one. Each vellum scroll flipping past with the quick drying ink that the automaton's quills used when I tapped out the notation on the keyboard. Part organ, part grandfather clock, and all damned nuisance I had grown to loathe the beastly automaton that the dwarves had constructed. What was wrong with waxed cylinders and . . . oh, wait. There was the ledger form I was looking for. Hunter Moon of last year. I ran my eyes down the row until I found the relevant column. Billed amount: 6,000 crowns. Collected 4,000? I found a code for a different scroll. Tapping the code into the keyboard caused the hidden mechanisms to roll up that scroll and bring up the relevant one. Seeing the lopsided signature at the bottom of the damage report confirmed my worst fears.

I pulled the operator bell's trigger and dragged the speaking and hearing trumpet closer to my head.

"Operator," a distant and tinny voice echoed from the trumpet.

"This is Guild Master Crane," I said, "I wish to place a person to person call to Gregnok at Oak 7. Men's Dormitory 432."

"Yes, sir. Would you please stay by the tube while we place your call?"

Before I could say anything I heard the telltale sound of the operator unplugging my hose and plugging it into the standby box. Which meant I now had to listen to Bexder Noggin's One Man One Dog rendition of Venchnelli's "The Storming Of the Fortress of Yellow Cliff While the Screaming of the Mutilated and Dying Echoed Over a Blood Red Ocean Lit By the Fires Of the Villages Below." Venchnelli's operas were an acquired taste anyway and listening to a senile beggar try to sing in a language he had absolutely zero familiarity with as a cocker spaniel howled the brass section did nothing to improve my mood.

The strained notes of Bexder trying to pronounce the word "chstol" (Old Ikonian for "intestines") without sounding like he was drunk were suddenly cut off as the hose was reconnected.

"Sir I am piping him in now," the operator said just before the sound of the hose reconnecting was met with a familiar gruff voice saying, "Ahoy-hoy?"

"Gregnok," I said at last, "This is the Guildmaster."

"It's my day off, sir," he said.

"Indeed? And how do you figure that?"

"Boss Talon told me not to come in today," he said, "He was very clear on that. Do not come back tomorrow."

"Did he specify when you should come back?"

"Beg pardon, sir, but he did appear to be more interested in coordinating the fire brigade at the time. The bucket chain had to go all the way down to Suede Street due to the wharf at Newport also being on fire, sir."

I looked at the inbox on my desk with the still unread and unfiled scrolls. One of which I now saw had an ominous black seal on it.

"Are you telling me that both the guild house and the wharf at Newport were on fire last night at the same time?"

"Well, no, sir. It was all the same fire. Not two separate ones. In fact, it was the same fire that took out the Crooked Temple."

"The . . . stave church on Black Butcher? That's . . . nine blocks from the wharf. How did a single fire manage to consume half a mile of the city?"

"I do believe it had something to do with the walls of Gutted Pelican, sir. They were made of brick."

"How does a public house's use of brick walls cause a fire to engulf the city?"

"Well, sir, it's not like I could just cut through them. Could I? Had to think creatively. Old Creekway was on the other side of the wall from me. I couldn't just shove a knife through it. So I pilled up thirteen barrels of lamp oil, sixty pounds of nails, and dusted the area with nine barrels of flour to use as a fuse."

"Wait, you are telling me you were taking out a target for a client? Who was drinking in the establishment?"

"Yes, sir! And I collected the ninety crowns afterwards as I pulled his severed head from the rubble as proof of completion of the job. I got out just before the thatch came crashing down."

"You . . . created an explosive to take out the pub? To perform an assassination on one man? Old Creekway? Isn't he a riverboat captain? Why didn't you wait for him to leave? Or wait for him on his ship? Why did you blow up the city?"

"I thought he might be less prepared for this tactic."

I nearly pushed the stopper back in the tube. But instead I counted backwards from 6,000. Wait. That reminded me.

"The reason I piped you," I said at last, "Was because of the Grape Growers job from last Hunter's Moon. Remember they tried to form a guild and the winemakers hired you to remove the guild leader?"

"I remember the job," he said, sounding annoyed, "Refused to pay the full amount. Deducted from us for what they called 'damages.' Can you believe that?"

"What sort of damages?"

"Nothing serious, sir," he protested, "There was just some difficulties with making an escape on account of all the blood. They said we owed them for the carpeting. And the tapestries. Plus the chandelier."

"Blood on the chandelier?"

"Just a bit," he said, "And it would probably look good as new once you saw the head off of it."

"Saw the head off?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, "Got stuck on the ironwork pretty tightly."

"The target's head is stuck on a chandelier?"

"No," he said, "The target's head was still attached to his shoulders. They're both in the privy. His daughter, now, her head is-"

"Wait! His daughter? Was the contract for his daughter as well?"

"No, sir. I did say there were complications."

"How many people were involved in this complication?"

"Difficult to say, sir. Are we talking about people who were trampled outside the grounds as well?"

"Trampled? By what?"

"The bulls, sir," he said, "I had to get past the gate somehow. So, I think to myself that they probably aren't prepared for a man riding on the back of a bull in the middle of a stampede swinging a scythe like a-"

"Gregnok?"

"Sir?"

"Don't come in tomorrow either."