IN THE DARK OF NIGHT

We broke into the houses. All of them. It was late, the crescent moon gave off an eerie glow, like looking at a fire through glass. It was a quiet night, which was in no way to our benefit. We needed cover, not calm. It was just three of us, me, Angie, and Stephan. We moved through the forest like panthers, only a well timed dead leaf fluttering beneath our feet was cause for sounds.

Our targets were the Khans, a group of bandits that had been blockading trade routes on the overpass between the merchant city Delfan and our lord’s castle in Bronsec. Our lord had gained information hinting that the Khans were hiding in an abandoned village in the woods, some 5 miles out from the road, and we were sent to bring a swift justice. The fight had only lasted a few minutes—the Khans were really not as fearsome as their namesake implied. We caught the guards by surprise, swinging in from two trees, with Angie landing directly on the first one, knocking him out cold. Stephan hooked the other one around his armor, which was a chain mail. A poor choice of defense, if I say so myself. It’s easy to dodge a sword, or parry a spear. It’s a pain to get momentum ripped away by a simple hook slipping between the loops. Before the guard knew what had happened, he was pulled off balance, and Stephan crushed his windpipe. We had to slit the last guard’s neck. I did that. It’s never fun, I hate having to wash the red out. But this was a “leave no survivors” gig.

The first two houses were no trouble—almost everyone was asleep at that point. We slit their throats and let them pass in peace. It would have been perfect, until the man, really not much more than a boy, saw us from the windowsill. Who keeps a candle lit at night? Don’t they know that’s how people get cooked? The boy called out and drew his sword. Angie silenced him with a knife through the air, which whistled like an icicle as it fell of my roof back home. But his call woke the last house. Three men came out, these ones bigger than the ones in the beds. Great. Why do we always hit the henchmen first? It would be easier if we could just kill the leaders and then deal with the rest after. The leaders always were better fighters.

I swung down from the rafters, landing with knees bent so that my right hand could lay flat on the ground. My left hand coiled behind my back, like a snake as it moved into position to strike. I felt the handle of my dagger and rested my hand on it.

“Look at you,” the biggest one scoffed at me, turning to his partners (friends would be an incorrect assumptions), “you can’t be more than 15 hands. And you’ve taken out all of my men.” He laughed. Oh I hate when they laugh. Always deep, from their bellies. I stood up, and walked over to them. They towered over me.

“Can we eat him after” said the fattest of them. Ok. Cannibals. Gross. I signaled to Angie, who had taken up position on the rooftop behind them. She threw a knife through his throat. Blood splattered the ground, and the two others looked at him in shock. He struggled to speak, his eyes bulged out from the pain. Then they sunk back and his being collapsed to the ground.

 

Hello everyone,

 

So this is all I have time for today! How do you like it? I was thinking of continuing this next time, or perhaps next Friday since I’ve been doing most of my creative stuff then! How does that sound?

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