I've been stalking my prey for 6 moons, now. A small dwarven man named Grygnn, supposedly a farmer from the southern, infertile lands of the 3rd kingdom. How the bastard managed to grow anything in those foetid swamps I'll never know, nor will I ever care. My employer is a very wealthy man, if not a little on the stupid side. I originally thought our meeting would be a trap, as there are many nobles chasing me down right now for accepting contracts I probably shouldn't have rubbed my nose in. Unfortunately for them, I live so deep in the shadows, not even the wind knows anything of my presence. A shriek runs through my ear before I realise there is a woman being brutally beaten just above the gutter I use to get around. I could help, but that isn't my job. My job is to hunt.
As an assassin of the elite northern rangers, raised in frost and bitter cold, I was told never to divulge the powers I have. If I should ever disclose my secrets to anybody, they run risk of falling into the hands of the southern bastards that have tried so long to take our land. None of that matters now, though, as I begin approaching the long hidden entrance to the bar my victim inhabits.
I climb the heavy stone stairs slowly, softly. If the barmaid was to catch a hint of my being there, I would have to dispose of her. Something I do not wish to do.
Cloak up, dagger firmly in my right hand, I emerge from the spiral staircase to find the bar is mostly empty. A few pockets of lonely cretin, desperate to get their hands on just one member of the waiting staff, line the walls of the establishment. I examine a crowd to my right and find four dwarves dancing in an awkward fashion, surrounded by a crowd of northern hunters. These were my people, I do not wish them hurt, so this will have to be a careful job. I approach from the right, pushing slowly through the crowd, keeping my head low. The red haired dwarf is the one I want, so I wait for him to fall over and crack his head on a table, as he has done most nights this week.
Sure enough, after 5 minutes of enduring this pathetic rabble, a loud clunk is heard, followed by a loud cheer and the sight of rushing blood. I bend down to pick him up and bury my dagger into his left kidney. An important factor, as he has no right. He looks deep into my eyes and gives me the same stare they all do. Then, he asks my name, and I tell him:
My name is Matthew. I'm unemployed and aged just 21. This is what I do on the weekend. read