View Full Version : Escape
((My first try at all this))
The harbor was quiet. Only the sound of lapping water against stone filled Eric's ears. After what happened the other day, Eric could hardly look his mother in the eye. The streets and harbors of Corone had been home to him all his life. Tonight would probably be the last time he saw any part of it though. He had to escape this place, escape the people, escape the guilt.
The distraught faces of the neighbor's wife and child was still imprinted in his mind as he looked over the water. He never thought that his friends could sink so low. To kill an innocent man for a few gold pieces. Eric turned his back to the water, wondering whether the letter he left for his mother, Ailene, would break her heart the same way the now widow's heart was broken. It was necessary though.
After Eric had confronted the head of the gang he was a part of, demanding reparations and being denied, he stormed out, vowing to let the authorities know. That had been three days ago. During these days, he's had more than one warning in the form of objects around the house going missing or even outright stalkings. It would be better to leave he finally decided.
As he slowly walked through the streets, his dark cloak flapping in the light wind, he could'nt help but notice the steady shuffling behind him. They weren't going to let him rest until he was no longer a threat to them. Eric felt his dagger on his left hip, a small comfort. Most of the thieves were far more skilled in combat than he, since he preferred training skills that kept him unknown. Things like sneaking and hiding.
Eric glanced quickly over his shoulder, seeing rapid flash of moon on steel. He increased his strolling to a rapid walk. They're going to kill me, the thought flitted through his mind, the picture of the dead merchant with it. He took a corner, following an indirect route to the exit of the city. Alleyways twisted before him, speed of the chase increasing to a trot, the persuer no longer even trying to mask his presence.
Eric felt cold sweat rolling down his back, a trickle of fear accompanying it. Eyes flicking from one darkened doorway to another in the hopes of an escape, but the only place he could go was down another alley, the pursuer never more than a few paces behind him.
Footfalls echoed in the night, whilst pale moonlight illuminated the two lone figures making their way through the maze of streets. The assailant felt the itch of anticipation. His blade clutched tightly in his hand, his brown cape trailing behind him. The glee he found in seeing his prey run, the fear growing in their hearts was unimaginable. Just the slow ebbing of life fluid after his dagger had pressed into their back left him in ecstacy.
Eric wasn't nearly as pleased by this cat and mouse game. It had now escalated into a run. The surrounding houses only a blur, his breath ragged in the icy night air. Taking a left, a right and another left, Eric wasn't even sure he was still heading in the correct direction, but he continued nonetheless. Each second he spent running, was a second of extra life.
Suddenly the gates of Radasanth dawned before him. Dread filled him as the thought struck him like a hammer. Something he never thought of, something he didn't even think would matter. In fact if he wasn't being chased it would only have been a small hindrance. Eric stopped before the large, locked doors, hammering on it once in frustration.
What could he do now? Thoughts raced in his mind as he turned to face his enemy. The man's shoulders heaving, just as Eric's were from the exercise. The man was shorter than he, but then again more muscular. Only his mouth could be seen from under the low drawn hood, a sickening smirk spread across it.
Eric's heart lurched as he drew his dagger, the hilt cold in his sweaty right hand. If he was going to die, he was going to face his opponent. He was going to slash and stab for all he was worth. And with luck... With a lot of luck hit some vital artery so he can be saved.
'The fates be blessed for these locked gates', Wynken thought dryly to himself.
His mark, a skinny and pale thief, had wound through the city's north-eastern residential district. Houses and small establishments lined each road, with hardly a break, such that each street appeared to be no more than an alleyway. They were unremarkable and home to people who could be similarly labeled.
What little excitement the chase had offered had faded long ago, and what remained was a senseless and burdensome jog. If he weren't interested in maintaining the network provided by the paltry band of thieves and misfits, Wynken would have never excepted the job in the first place. He certainly wasn't doing it for the pay, so he wanted to enjoy the deed as thoroughly as possible. He was glad when his victim had finally turned to look him in the eyes. It was always more fulfilling to overpower or outmaneuver a man than to strike in cowardice from the shadows or from behind.
"I'll even give you a sporting chance", he said coldly through a sly grin. The killer left his long sword to hang at his hip and instead produced a second dagger from the concealment of his robe. Both weapons gleamed in the ironic serenity of the moonlight, and he stalked in slowly.
'A sporting chance?! In what world?' Eric thought as his mouth grew dry. His knuckles white as he held his own dagger. Eric's eyes were locked on the nearing killer, jumping from one moon reflecting blade to the other. Sweat was beginning to form on his forehead, quickly cooled by the night breeze.
'Luck... or maybe something else' Eric decided, standing up straight, still facing his opponent. His arms hanging limply at his sides for the moment. The gate was firmly pressed against his back. The guard towers, a few yards to either side of the main gate, strangely empty. The platforms they consisted out of, with four legs sprouting out at each corner, accessible by only the single iron ladder at its centre.
An idea shot into Eric's mind. Not the brightest of ideas, but perhaps good, or silly enough, to work. A quick glance to a tower and back. The man nearer than ever. Quietly Eric sheathed his weapon, eyes leveled on the man's face, a smile across his lips.
'Hope I'm not entirely daft.'
Suddenly a loud sound filled the night, the sound of laughter bubbling out from Eric's throat as he pointed a finger at his enemy.
The fear in the man's darting eyes was unmistakable, and Wynken reveled in the emotions he instilled in his trapped victim. Moving with deliberate indolence, Wynken sought to illicit the greatest duration of pleasure from the otherwise uninspiring deed. He cared little for such a low profile killing, and none at all for the pseudo-drama which had necessitated it. Nevertheless, the number and quality of Wynken's contacts had been improving, and it would be a step backward to sour this particular relationship over a matter of pride. The task was easy enough and it would secure him some leverage with a rag-tag, but youthfully promising, gang of thugs.
"Your friends told me you wouldn't offer much resistance", Wynken chided, hoping to squeeze a bit more shame and discomfort from the man before the encounter's end.
The words were lost, however, swallowed up by a mixture of whistling wind and brash laughter. The typically wary killer was caught off guard for a moment, but he did well to suppress any outward display. Wynken had watched the man's eyes flit back and forth between the guard stations, and he himself had maintained an active awareness of the setting. However, a combination of intrigue and apathy bid him to allow his victim to play out his strategy. Wynken abruptly stopped his slow yet constant approach and feigned concern as he casually looked himself over.
'Just a second or two is all I need,' Eric's desperation told him, his eyes running over the attacker, his ears deaf to the man's harsh voice due to his own loud laughter as well as the wind that had now started picking up.
'Just that slight pause and I can reach the ladder,' He thought he saw a flicker of something then, but he could have imagined it due to his current distress.Finally a bit of hope blossomed in his chest as he saw the man suddenly stopping his steady forward advance and look himself over.
'This is it!' Eric's mind raced as soon as he saw the man start his inspection. Eric gathered his footing. Only the wind's howling now broke the silence of the night. Eyes fleetingly passing over to the tower on his right. Giving an almost step in that direction, Eric reconsidered and sped off to the left tower, following the direction of the wind. His boots crunched on the gravel, his cloak blowing against his back.
One flick of the wrist. That's all it would have taken to end it. The distance was short enough that Wynken was confident he could have hit a leg - even as they swiftly pumped to propel the man to the tower. Wynken lined up the throw. He felt the mass of his damascus dagger as he suspended it in the air between his forefinger and thumb, and, in an instant, judged the man's velocity; his distance; and the timing of his fast yet rhythmic leg movements. One flick of the wrist...
He held his throw in check, however. The game was on, and the cat was, once again, interested enough to continue toying.
With a chuckle, Wynken quickly released his fingertips from the blade, and, as it rest in momentary suspension, he brought his hand up to catch the weapon fully by the grip in order to resume a more traditional posture. "Where will you go", he inquired, his intonation indicating it was more out of genuine interest than a taunt.
The thief had reached the ladder then. His hands and feet worked in swift accord, and Wynken was impressed at how quickly he climbed. Moving to stand at it's base, Wynken looked cautiously upward. Best case, the hatch was open and housed a slumbering guardsman. Worst case, and the most likely, it would be locked. Neither seemed particularly alluring for his victim. Inspecting the iron ladder, Wynken sheathed his daggers with a sneer. It was constructed such that it hung freely from its securing mechanism at the top.
Gripping the lower rungs tightly, Wynken pulled and adjusted his weight to best exploit the extraordinarily long leaver. The first tug sent wicked reverberations through the bars and caused it to sway. Two great tugs and he felt the construction begin to give and to slightly let lose from the housing above.
Eric was slightly amazed at himself for actually reaching the ladder. The cold, iron rungs appeared and disappeared swiftly from his hands as he scaled the tower, the motions not even registering in his haste. He could only wonder whether his enemy was purposefully making it easy for him. Whether he was only playing a game. Having fun.
He was just over halfway up the ladder when he felt the first violent pull, jarring his mind into a sudden blankness. Fleeting fear of falling replaced the emptiness as he continued his upward scramble, a second tug running up the ladder.
At last Eric reached the final rung, pressing his right hand to the coarse wood of the trapdoor and lifting it with relative ease. The top of his torso made it through the hole, giving him a view of the interior of the dark guard post, empty to his delight. There was a final tug at the ladder and he felt it give way slightly from under his boots.
"Just two more steps," he whispered through clenched teeth, stepping on the next rung, but feeling it give way entirely. He clutched the planks that formed the floor of tower, his feet now swinging freely beneath him, the sound of blood rushing in his ears. He clawed at the floor, feeling splinters filling his palms and fingers.
He hung there, still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. At least he had a small comfort for the moment. With the ladder out of commission the killer couldn't get to him and, as far as Eric could see, the assassin had no bow or crossbow and he knew he was out of range for throwing knives.
"What do you want?!" his voice finally echoed down the tower. There was nothing else he could do for the moment, not until he had enough strength to pull himself up further.
Tipping it safely away from himself, Wynken directed the iron structure to the ground where it hit with a loud clamor upon the loose gravel. The wind had subsided, but a chill remained in the air as he peered over his shoulder and into the darkness to examine it for onlookers. The tightly neighboring structures which lined the road before the lesser-used gate were all lightless. However, the noise was sure to attract someone’s attention. Certain that there existed no pressing threat, Wynken turned his focus back to the thief.
His question was simple, and it could have been answered in kind. However, a subtle complexity gave the killer pause.
‘What do I want’, he mused silently.
In the immediate, he desired for the puny thief to be dead; to be finished with his duty in favor to the man’s previous affiliates, and to justify his expenditure of time and effort through the letting of blood. He considered the end game. The goal in all of this, of course, was the development and maintenance of a network of connections. A goal that could, at times, be furthered through the squelching of its dysfunctional components.
“I want to be finished chasing you through the streets”, Wynken returned with a wry smile.
The statement was a full truth, though it still afforded a great deal of mystery.
‘The man isn’t a complete waste’, wynken considered. ‘At the least he possesses a will to fight for survival’.
The soft shuffle of boots wound its way down the street and arrested his thoughts. Wynken spun but couldn’t see through the darkness of the quietly obscure backstreet.
“What’s going on here”, came a gruff call followed by the quickening of footfalls.
A deafening silence filled the darkness after the loud clang of the falling ladder. A silence that made Eric wonder if he had indeed made it. Escaped an assassination attempt against all odds.Wonder if he survived or if this was the silence brought by death after it has claimed a victim.
The splinters in his hands confirmed he was alive though. Slowly, careful not to lose his grip, Eric peeked back over his shoulder to see if the man was still there. Luck would only help him this far he realized as the shadowed form of his opponent came into view. The nights stillness was broken once more then.
"I want to be finished chasing you through the streets."
'Not much of a chase anymore, now is it?' He thought bitterly. The silence resumed momentarily, interrupted by the soft tread of boots on gravel nearing his location. Another quick look over the shoulder yielded no clue as to who might be coming nearer, only the sight of the turning attacker, now facing away from Eric.
'Another bit of luck,' He thought as he heaved himself up with his last reserves of energy, hearing an unknown voice reaching out from the dark.
"What's going on here?" was what it said, though he hardly bothered wondering about it, not even trying to decipher who the gruff voice and footsteps belonged to.
He was now on his back, on the floor of the guard tower, his chest heaving up and down as he gasped for air. 'Safe for a bit longer.' He risked peering down the hole from where he came, his assailant still in the same spot.
"Looks like you got what you want!" Eric let out a tad load, a bit of self-confidence infecting his words. "No more chasing needed, so you better scamper of before any guards show up. Better hurry like a good little thug's lapdog."
Eric could now see a body forming in the mouth of a darkened alley, one carrying a long pole. The pole's end flickered quickly as if it was the flame of a candle, but he knew better, even the man below must know it to be some sort of pike.
"What will you do?" he muttered more to himself than the attacker.
The moon's light had waned, having become eclipsed by a rogue cloud. Still Wynken could see the shadowy silhouette of his intended victim as the thief peered from the momentary safety of the tower's elevated hatch. The figure who approached from the long shadows of the street's relatively tall structures remained obscured for far too long a time. Finally, with great hesitation, a loan guardsman stepped into the pale illumination afforded by the small clearing before the single-man gate.
"What are you about", he growled in a desperate attempt to sound as though he weren't scared half to death.
The man was older, just past middle age, and he showed obvious signs that time had not been generous. He carried considerable bulk which, to the untrained eye, could be mistaken as muscle. His frame was solid, and Wynken surmised that ten or perhaps five years previous the guard would have been a worthy foe. However, even the man's chain tunic was hopeless to hide that no longer was the mass shaped into tight and defined structures, but rather slumped and hung loosely around his body.
"Don't make me stick you", the guard pressed impatiently, taking another tentative step away from the alleyway and toward the killer. He jabbed the air with his pole arm in a series of quick and somewhat awkward motions.
It was a pitiful sight, and one that merely added to Wynken's growing displeasure for the entirety of the night's endeavors. He scolded himself for destroying the ladder too late, and the thief's taunting words rung in the killer's ears and set fire to his soul. The sentient blade, which hung sheathed upon his hip, pleaded to be drawn, and it all but screamed into Wynken's active conscience that he should cut the approaching fool down. He allowed his mind to indulge in visions of the guard's throat being torn as he played out his rage within the confines of himself. Ever in control, Wynken suspended his hatred and adopted a neutral pose.
'One flick of the wrist', Wynken thought calmly as his hand brushed past the butt of a steel throwing blade. The scene was a pleasure that would need to wait, however, because the immediate situation called for an ally and not a corpse.
"You've got the wrong guy", Wynken squeaked as he thrust his empty hands upward in a show of submission. He battled to intone his voice with a true sense of fear and, though it certainly sounded forced, the guard was too relieved to notice.
"There's a thief holed up in your tower there", Wynken said as he slowly motioned toward the open hatch. "He took my coin purse and then ran like a coward. When I followed him into this alley he scaled the ladder and then loosed it from the top." Again Wynken motioned, more freely this time, in the direction of the ladder which lay upon the ground.
Still holding his pike at the ready, the guardsman surveyed the scene with a suspicious eye. Seeing the shadowy contrast of motion in the tower's opening, he called up to the thief.
Eric uttered a whispered curse at himself for not retracting in time. The guard had seen him and his hiding instead of speaking out most likely made the liar's story more believable. What hope had flickered to life at the sight of the guard had all but died again as he her the quick spun story of his pursuer.
'Who would've thought a hired thug would be such a fluent story creator as well.' He thought bitterly as he heard the voice of the guard floating up to him, imploring Eric's input into the tale.
"Gaurdsman, I ask you why a thief would hole up in a place of no escape, where noble men such as you will come as soon as day breaks? Why would a thief create a noise by throwing of a ladder, blocking his only way out, when thieves specialize in staying unknown and hidden?" Eric's voice rang through the air, a little higher than he would've liked.
'If he could start a charade, so can I,' He thought as he returned to the hole, giving the two men on the ground a better view of himself. 'Act unlike a thief. Make doubt. Make him see the lie in the other man's story.'
"See the man below is armed to the teeth, a mercenary of the sort most likely. He has been chasing me through the streets and I climbed the tower in search of someone to aid me. I believe he might be the thief." His voice was now more steady, having returned to normal at the sight of the guard stepping back and pointing his weapon back at the thieves' hired man.
The two entirely different stories put the guard at crossroads now. Who was to be believed? He did what common sense told him, trained his pike on the more immediate threat, the man in front of him, still unarmed. The man in the tower had no way of posing a threat and his questions did make the guard wonder.
The guard then moved his hand to his waist where a horn hung. A horn used to notify other guards of trouble.
The alley had grown quiet once again, save for the gentle flapping of Wynken's dark and heavy cloak as it caught the steady breeze. Every now and again the wind would pick up and howl into Wynken's ears. The moon's light had returned in full, and in it Wynken could see the glistening of sweat on the guard's forehead. He was close now, no more than ten feet away, and his weapon was once more trained upon the killer.
The long and dreadfully off balanced pole arm was awkward enough when aimed with full attention and by two hands. Wynken watched the pike waver and dip as the guard suspended its center with one hand and pinned the rear of it in his underarm. He nearly laughed aloud to see the watchman's free hand fumble around the strap which secured the horn to his belt.
"Oh, I can't allow that", Wynken said with a tone so steady and calm that it was more alarming than an angry shout.
The guard's attention had been shifted from the killer to the horn, which he had just loosened, and now back. He hadn't time to properly focus but his peripheral caught the sudden movement which accompanied Wynken's words, and it was instinct alone which sent the burly man into a clumsy crouch. In those brief moments Wynken had produced a blade and sent it spinning toward the guardsman. As the weapon harmlessly passed mere inches from his head, the guard let the horn fall and placed his hand upon the ground behind him to keep from toppling.
Survival instinct and years of training pushed the man to swiftly find his footing. In an instant, he was up and setting his feat, but Wynken proved to be faster. Having followed behind his throw, and drawing a weapon in each hand as he came, the killer closed the distance and pressed beyond the pike's deadly tip. Once, twice, three times his long sword immediately flew in a rapid series of jabs which kept the guard reeling and never properly postured. The watchman backpedaled and worked the shaft of his pole arm as he dodged and parried the blows. In an attempt to find equal advantage, he parried the last jab hard and leapt backward. As the guard straightened the pole from its perpendicular parry the pike's blade snapped furiously upward between the two combatants. However, Wynken saw the maneuver and quickly reversed the momentum of his wayward blade into a vicious downswing. His long sword caught the pike at the apex of its ascent, shearing its steel head clean off the wooden pole.
So focused had been the guard's attention upon avoiding the killer's long sword, that he had nearly forgotten of the shorter weapon which he held in his opposite hand. Wynken thought to capitalize on the brief diversion the destruction of his opponent's weapon would afford. So, in the same motion, Wynken proceeded his downswing by launching his dagger end over end. In a blink, it crossed the short expanse the guard's retreating had created and stuck unwavering into the man's forehead. Though his thick skull and the weak throw spared his life, the guard's vision exploded in a burst of color and he sprawled onto the ground bleeding and unconscious.
Wynken retrieved the weapon with a harsh yank and readied a killing blow. It was known, by assassins, as a mercy killing - a coupe de grace. However, before Wynken could execute, a loud noise sounded from within the shadows of the street at his back. It was the sound of a horn.
By the time the murderer's knife flew over the guard's head, Eric was already to his feet, searching for a way off the guard tower. The structure itself seemed to be entirely of wood, held together by what looked like iron nails. The square platform on which he stood had only a single intended entrance and exit, the destroyed ladder. Around the platform was but a smallish railing, reaching up to just below the crotch area.
He stepped quickly to the side of the tower that was nearest to the city wall, hearing the sounds made by the two men in scrimmage below. The stone wall in front of Eric was about two feet below the tower's floor and six feet away, whilst being slighty less than two feet wide.
"I can jump that," he muttered, trying to still the beating of his heart in his ears. Quickly he climbed onto the low rail, standing on it momentarily to ensure his balance as the wind tugged lightly at his clothes. He could hear the shatter of wood as he swung his arms to gain momentum, followed by a groan and crack of bone.
'That can't be good,' he thought fleetingly, just before launching himself from the railing, boots pushing against the wood. The sound of a horn broke his concentration unfortunately. It caused a moments pause before his jump. He sailed through the air, seeing the wall move nearer, but instead of his feet finding it, his body, from the waist downward, collided with it. He was winded as he swung his legs onto the wall, laying on his stomach and seeing the his enemy standing over the, presumedly dead, guard.
There was a flurry of movement in numerous alleys, yellow glows springing to life around the town, scaring away the darkness. Even the lights from the stable and small barracks on the outside of the walls were being lit, a handful of guards showing their faces there too. Not even his spot ontop of the wall was safe from the seeking rays of light.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit," he gasped. Eric was trapped between guards with a man bent on killing him. He knew that being on the wall would look just as guilty as having your hand in another's pocket. Trying to escape a city after a guard has been murdered, even if there wasn't any evidence against him he could be charged as an accomplice.
"What's your plan now, Lapdog?" He shouted from the wall, to his enemy.
'Maybe they could help eachother in the end.' He hoped silently, watching guards draw near.
Dropping the guard to the ground, Wynken snapped his weapons back to their places upon his belt. He hardly had time to fully consider the implications of the thief's backward comment. 'Lapdog?', he wondered. 'They'll be working for me soon enough.'
As he turned toward the sound of the horn, Wynken could smell the freshly lit oil of the torch which cast an orange glow within the mouth of the alleyway. Its sweetness wafted across the short expanse, carried on the wind which, in the tunnel-like opening, threatened to extinguish the fire. The flame wretched violently, twisting its light at odd angles and causing shadows to jump and dance. However, by its light Wynken counted three figures moving swiftly down the corridor and toward the opening where he stood. An arrow ripped from the darkness further down the street and out of the range of the torch. At chest height, it sailed just left of Wynken, who stood exposed in the clearing.
Turning swiftly, Wynken cut an indirect path toward the ladder which lay slightly mangled upon the ground. Another arrow zipped over his shoulder as he bobbed and weaved, and, though his back was now turned toward the wall, he could tell that the torch-bearing guards had charged into the small clearing. Reaching the ladder, Wynken spun and placed a foot on each of its two legs for leverage. Bending to grab as high as he could toward the ladder's center, he heaved his weight backwards, pulling the ladder up and allowing its top to tip over his head and to slam against the wall at his back. Maintaining his grip, Wynken swung himself up unto the rungs which were angled steeply upwards but far from parallel as a ladder is meant to be used. He took a brief moment to steady himself. Then, with a sly grin to the thief who rest a short distance down the wall, Wynken sprinted up the incline and disappeared over the wall before a third arrow could be nocked and fired.
Eric was confused to say the least as he saw the man going over the wall just after he flashed an unnerving smile. There were guards on both sides after all, so it wasn't much of an improvement except for the fact that the outside ones weren't loosing arrows. He sat up, straddling the wall and facing the way the ladder now stood. Then again, as his eyes searched the area where the man dropped from the wall, Eric realized the lack of houses on the outside ensured a darkness in which could easily be hidden. There was also a lot more freedom in terms of escape routes and hiding spots.
He was snapped out of his assessment as an arrow clattered against the wall just next to his calve, his form illuminated entirely by the guards' torches. He turned slightly towards them for a better view. They were a few strides away from the wall, two with torches in hand and a sword in the other whilst the third was pulling back on his bowstring once more.
"Hold on just a-" his sentence was cut short as the guard let his arrow fly, sending it straight towards Eric's chest. If not for his reflexes, his life would have ended for sure that night. A searing pain shot through him as the arrow pegged into his left shoulder. Caught off guard by the fire in his shoulder, the thief lost his balance, falling backwards off the wall.
'People are right when they say it isn't the fall, but the landing that hurts,' the thought passed his mind as his back hit the ground with a thud, a groan passing over his lips. Eric could hear the guards conversing as they climbed the ladder. The other guards had a small roadblock at the stables now and the sudden lapse into darkness again made it impossible for Eric to see whether the assassin was still around.
Eric lay there for a second, almost losing consciousness, but willpower got him through it. He hadn't survived this long to die now. With clenched teeth and slightly blurred eyes, Eric go to his feet, holding his injured arm and seeking somewhere to go.
Dropping from the city's stone barricade, Wynken had tucked himself into a graceful roll and now briefly surveyed his surroundings from its shadow. The world beyond Radasanth's north eastern wall appeared bleak. The mild moonlight cast a gloom over the sparse homesteads which dotted its broken landscape. The foothills of the Jagged Mountains were very near, and, in the darkness, her full majesty was reduced to an ominous silhouette which loomed eerily in the distant north. The narrow vapor of a slight fog had descended and now hugged the open fields despite the wind, which had stilled considerably outwith the channeling streets of the city.
Wynken observed the half dozen blurry lights which moved awkwardly along the road leading eastward. Though the mist obscured their source, he knew them to be the torch or lantern lights of the town guard. The small fires appeared to flit and to jerk up and down, this way and that of their own accord as though they were the wisps of many a fabled marsh. Checking the sky, Wynken cursed the fine weather. Not a cloud, save for the one which had already moved past the moon's course. Time was short and the lights grew closer, fanning out form the stable and nearby outpost.
A short moan followed by a loud thud proceeded by a pained groan arrested his attention, and Wynken sighed in disgust as the "nimble" thief careened into a thicket of ground covering ivy. In a stupor, the man raised to his feet and started to walk as though he desired to travel in several different directions all at once. Wasting no time, Wynken slinked along the wall and grabbed the man's good arm with a harsh yank.
"Come on then", Wynken growled as he touched the tip of a dagger to the man's unarmored side. "I'll be killing you myself".
He doubted the thief needed much prompting, as his options were sorely limited even without the threat of violence. Wynken would have ended the deed there and been rid of the dead weight, but he hadn't the proper time to secure proof of his accomplishment - proof required to properly fulfill his contract. So, as quickly and as quietly as the thief's burdensome injuries would allow, Wynken steered them toward the nearest house. The land was rocky but generally flat, fog didn't offer much cover, and the moonlight bathed everything in white. However, Wynken knew that the nearest guards, those he had just escaped, would soon scale the wall or open the gate illuminating their position with the torches they bore.
At least the house, or its surrounding structures, would give them a bit of security in order to decide a more appropriate course of action.
The prick of the dagger against his rib was scarcely discernable over the thudding of his head and burning in his shoulder. The words of the man he had thought already fled drifting slowly to him. Eric was rather harshly pulled into the direction of some still darkened structures sligthly to their right. Mind foggy and feet tripping over the various rocks and plants, Eric found it a miracle that they ever made it to the buildings.
Once there he quickly fell to the ground in a seated position, back to the wall. The man leading him was standing near him, gaze towards the wall they had come from. The head of a guard was visible above it whilst another was already sitting like Eric once did.
Eric could feel the bleed seep between his fingers and down his arm, his clothes being stained. The shaft of the the arrow was between his index and middle finger, his vain attempt at slowing the leakage. A metal taste laced his mouth and a sweet smell invaded his nose.
"Dammit it hurts," Eric cursed looking up at the man standing by him. He still wielded his dagger. "Why don't you just kill me? What's the use of dragging me around?"
"Open the gates!"
Sergeant Corris led the group through, a dozen guards scrounged together from those on night watch. Right now there would be an equal number waking pleasantly to the screamed orders of an officer at the garrison, tasked with replacing the depleted patrols of Radasanth. It was the first time in his life that Otto had been beyond the city walls. Just minutes ago he'd been on Bakers Street doing his rounds with another recruit, a young human lad named Crick, when the horn sounded. Well, they all knew what that meant. When the two of them arrived they had seen a couple of cloaked watchmen bending over the prone body of another guard. One of them - Corris - turned and, in the sputtering light of the torches, pointed at the pair.
"You two! Join ranks at the gate! We head out in one minute."
Now, they had turned right and marched (somewhat inexpertly) along the exterior of the wall, halting just a few yards from the gate. Otto sniffed, noticing the smell immediately. Blood. Corris' voice cut through the night.
"Fan out! Equal spacing, not too slow, but careful. You see anything, you are to raise the alert! Got it? Now, move out!"
Soon enough, the other guards had moved beyond earshot, their presence betrayed by the weak orange beacons that they held aloft. Otto had one too, but much preferred his nose. Not that it was doing much good; the suspect who'd been hit on the wall had smeared some blood on the earth below, and there it stopped. Perhaps he'd patched himself up, or his clothes were sopping it up. A slight breeze picked up; it made the torch in Otto's hand streamed and dashed fumes against his face. Snorting, he shifted it so he was no longer downwind of the acrid smoke -
There it was. More blood. Otto peered at the earth, snuffling ponderously. Not here... on the wind? He examined the landscape and saw, upwind, some sort of stead. The valley outside of the city was dotted with orchards, sure, but no doubt they kept animals nearby, too? It could be his quarry, but... if he called the others off the hunt and led them all to the remains of a freshly slaughtered pig, Corris would no doubt have a few choice words for the Orc for ruining the hunt. He'd have to check it out first.
Under the moonlight, Otto made his way towards the buildings.
Eric still had his eyes on the man that intended to kill him, his question hanging in the night. The assassin still gazed in the direction where they had come from, prompting Eric to look back as well. A tongue of a flame licked at the dark, growing larger as it drew near. A guard could be seen holding it, a body build that made Eric seriously doubt it to be a human. 'Perhaps an Orc?' He thought not sure if it was a good thing or bad.
"Seems like your mission turned out more difficult than you thought, eh?" He whispered to the dagger wielding man, shifting slightly to sit make his seat comfier, to no success. He turned his head so that he at least had both the man and orc in view. The murderer seemed in thought, perhaps unsure of whether this guard was a threat and what to do about him.
Using the unattentiveness of his captor to his advantage, Eric moved his blood stained right hand from the arrow shaft to his belt, where his own weapon was sheathed. Sliding it out as carefully out as he could under circumstances he lay it behind his leg, where the killer couldn't see it, hand on the hilt.
"You know you'd have a better chance if you fled now without bothering with me. Sure you don't need another reason for the guard to chase you. That one will be here pretty soon and then more will follow."
Eric could see the Orc starting to move with purpose directly towards them. 'He certainly knows we're here.' He decided, shifting again trying to look for a place he could run if worse came to worse. The cumbersome shoulder wound would make it hard to get up quickly, but once he found his feet he'd be fine.
"My death can hardly get you more than a few pieces of coin. I'm sure you've realized this to be more trouble than it's worth, lap-dog." Eric knew if he taunted this man enough, an opening of some sort would show. All men show weakness when they lose their temper. 'That or I'd get a dagger between the ribs.'
"Or is the lap-dog satisfied by its master's scraps?"
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