| abstract
| - It was hot. The sands were easily burning through the sandals that he had found earlier in the day from a pirate forced to retire by his hand. He sat there on his haunches as he considered that it was better than being barefoot, or wading into water, letting himself be seen in the waves. Digthon closed his eyes as he breathed slowly, pondering his next course of action before his thoughts were rudely interrupted. A boat to White Sands washed up on shore, the wood giving protest against the sand's rough treatment. The “captain” of the small laughable ship stood up quickly, hopping out before the wood was held fast by the loose gravel of the beach. Digthon quickly brought about his concealment, knowing full well that without guards in the area, anyone was likely to attack anyone or anything. Hidden by pure skill, despite it being a perfectly bright day, Digthon let his eyes float from point to point on the newcomer, examining what he had, what he didn't, and more importantly how tired he was. The newcomer looked around quickly with sharpened eyes, knowing the same truths that the hidden assassin did. The assassin let out a low breath as he was not spotted, moving towards what he could only assume was a soldier of some sort all the while examining his armor for weak points and cracks. It seemed to Digthon that he wasn't the only fresh face from Tortage. A loud crash echoed off of the soldier's armor, both men caught by surprise as a third person attempted to make a quick cut across the soldier's throat. Luckily for the soldier he managed to make a dodge out of the most devastating arc, but not without a scratch. The woman who appeared from nowhere staggered around for a moment, trying to decide whether or not she should continue her assault. Digthon could only smile as he slowly rose to stand, breaking his hidden stance. The soldier let out a roar as he brought his impressive broadsword above his head, charging at the wench that had assaulted him. The poorly trained woman raised one dagger to help deflect the anticipated incoming blow, before reaching out with her other to puncture through to his flesh. Digthon, after observing the first blow, started moving towards the two. At first with a walk, before breaking into a jog. Heavily armored and too busy with his attacker, the defender didn't notice the approaching assassin's footsteps. The woman, despite blocking mostly, did notice and started lashing out at the soldier, her daggers doing their best to aim for vital points, yet missing each time. Digthon maneuvered behind the witch, her shouts of frustration reaching his ears before the assassin took his poisoned blades from his belt, and delivered a series of swift stabs at her back, the cloth armor providing no resistance as those blades did their job two fold. The woman let out a scream in pain, knowing now that it was too late. The soldier, seeing her expression, paused for a moment, despite his sword held in midswing. The whore staggered a few steps towards the soldier, before falling to her knees. Her mouth started to froth as a crimson liquid fell from her lips, the same color darkening her clothing. Digthon smiled appreciatively at his work before quickly putting himself back into hiding. The dying woman let out a death rattle as she fell to the sand, the blood tainting the otherwise white sand. In a quick panic, the fighting man turned about, despite having searched earlier, he couldn't figure out where this hidden bastard was. He came up with what he believed a cunning plan. “Should we look at supporting one anothar,” the booming voice called out. He smiled inwardly as he waited for what he hoped was a positive response, hoping for Digthorn to lower his guard. The assassin wasn't as stupid as the big man thought he was. “I do not think anyone else heard your suggestion..” the hidden one's voice range out from a multitude of places, causing the soldier to turn on his heels a few times. Digthorn maneuvered behind the armored man with a grin, before making his strike, his left arm hitting the soldier in the back, causing him to reel in pain for a moment, but a moment was all that was needed. The daggers flew out at him, the blades reflecting in the bigger man's face as Digthorn broke through the armor, the cheap stock not withstanding so much pressure. The assassin seemed to relish the rush as it felt like time was slowing down, his body orchestrating the entire execution of his target. He spun quickly, yet smoothly as his left hand came across his chest, digging in against the metal that protected the living dead-man's chest, the right coming back to the soldier's wielding arm. As Digthorn's little dance came to a conclusion, he could only grin before bringing the tip of his dagger to it's target's throat, before smoothly pulling back, piecing skin, and pulling free the vessel that keeps most alive. Half-dead, the soldier's blood was suddenly free from it's confinement, spraying with force towards his killer, the brown hood and cloth receiving it happily, blocking the assassin's eyes from exposure. Digthorn let his daggers fall back against his waist before grinning underneath his hood with a sadistic grin, his eyes locked with the fallen man, watching as the blood from both the first attacker, and her prey mixed to feed the sand, “and I do not think anyone else heard your scream.”
|
![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)