styles1005
07-11-08, 06:57 PM
Open
Kerthan slowly walked through the streets, scanning the area for his target. This latest mission would be easy, the target an old human male. What is a human doing here, anyway? he thought. Ah. There he was. He tracked the victim to his residence and waited until the street was deserted before breaking into a run towards the seemingly ancient door. It gave to the pressure and he slowed as the door fell on top of the table his target was sitting at.
A crossbow bolt flew past his head seconds after he turned away, shattering a window and impaling itself in a cutlery set from a nearby shop display. He whirled and looked for his apparently alive target. He caught a glimpse of a figure exiting through a hidden doorway in the rear of the building. He leapt into the air as he caught sight of a trip wire, but landed on it and barely avoided the arrow that had been triggered. What does he have against dying? Kerthan thought. He heaved himself up and dashed through the doorway, short on breath. He felt the blood begin to flow through his legs, propelling him faster than most human athletes.
Then, as he rounded a corner, he came to a sudden stop, inches from the edge of a blade. Stupid mercenaries, he thought as he was surrounded and methodically forced onto the ground by the band of elves. He summoned a small projectile of flame and launched it into the back of the nearest opponent, leaving him moaning with pain and cold. He stood and ran back to the corner, his speed giving him enough respite to put on his gloves before his opponents reached him again.
He shoved the first one to reach him, the barbs in his gloves catching and leaving the attacker bleeding profusely as he pulled away, at the same time pulling out his bow. Firm pressure on a precise spot was enough to transform the bow into a whip, which scarred (probably permanently) the face of the next mercenary before returning to bow form. At the same time impressed and terrified, the remaining two assailants retreated into the shadows.
Kerthan did not bother to pursue them, but rather turned his attention to tracking the escaped victim. Even his attempts, which were based entirely on intuition and guesswork, led him to his target, cowering in a corner of the mine shaft. Before he could draw his bow and hopefully hit the man, he had made a run for it, going further into the mine. If he's that stupid, he'll die before dawn in there anyway, he thought.
He made his way to the nearest tavern for a meal and a night of drunken stupor.
Kerthan slowly walked through the streets, scanning the area for his target. This latest mission would be easy, the target an old human male. What is a human doing here, anyway? he thought. Ah. There he was. He tracked the victim to his residence and waited until the street was deserted before breaking into a run towards the seemingly ancient door. It gave to the pressure and he slowed as the door fell on top of the table his target was sitting at.
A crossbow bolt flew past his head seconds after he turned away, shattering a window and impaling itself in a cutlery set from a nearby shop display. He whirled and looked for his apparently alive target. He caught a glimpse of a figure exiting through a hidden doorway in the rear of the building. He leapt into the air as he caught sight of a trip wire, but landed on it and barely avoided the arrow that had been triggered. What does he have against dying? Kerthan thought. He heaved himself up and dashed through the doorway, short on breath. He felt the blood begin to flow through his legs, propelling him faster than most human athletes.
Then, as he rounded a corner, he came to a sudden stop, inches from the edge of a blade. Stupid mercenaries, he thought as he was surrounded and methodically forced onto the ground by the band of elves. He summoned a small projectile of flame and launched it into the back of the nearest opponent, leaving him moaning with pain and cold. He stood and ran back to the corner, his speed giving him enough respite to put on his gloves before his opponents reached him again.
He shoved the first one to reach him, the barbs in his gloves catching and leaving the attacker bleeding profusely as he pulled away, at the same time pulling out his bow. Firm pressure on a precise spot was enough to transform the bow into a whip, which scarred (probably permanently) the face of the next mercenary before returning to bow form. At the same time impressed and terrified, the remaining two assailants retreated into the shadows.
Kerthan did not bother to pursue them, but rather turned his attention to tracking the escaped victim. Even his attempts, which were based entirely on intuition and guesswork, led him to his target, cowering in a corner of the mine shaft. Before he could draw his bow and hopefully hit the man, he had made a run for it, going further into the mine. If he's that stupid, he'll die before dawn in there anyway, he thought.
He made his way to the nearest tavern for a meal and a night of drunken stupor.