--The following day was hot as hell, as summer days tended to be. Zarak was sweating profusely under his cowl, as he and his comrades made their way through the marketplace crowd during rush hour, right behind LaForge’s servant. The servant entered what should be the last stop on his rounds, a simple textile shop. His shadows glanced at each other and instantly recognized it was time to converge. As they entered the tiny shop, it suddenly became crowded… The servant turned around, sensing the commotion. Behind him, one of the twin blades drew his weapons and, with a snide tone, explained how no one would get hurt if they simply remain calm and hand over the backpack. The servant’s eyes widened, he seemed like a deer staring into a hunters eyes. The thieves were within paw’s reach of their prey. Glass shatters. An arrow flies in out of nowhere. The twin’s throat is impaled by it.

-If you…. Y-y-urgle… Backpack… … … Ungh… Gives it. – He said, with what little voice he had left.

--Just like that, the twin fell to the ground, his hand hitting the bell on the shop counter as he went. It’s as if it was just a bad joke, only it wasn’t. A life perished in front of the eyes of the six remaining men, with all the hopes, dreams and the potential that was stored within. Such tragedy. This twin… He will never have any offspring, stop wetting the bed, learn to play the harp, or know what it’s like to feel a woman’s touch without the use of force. Such an invaluable member of society – lost. What’s left was only the look of surprise, frozen on his ugly mug.

--Actually, upon some thought, it was rather questionable if the heart of a single soul in this world held a care for him. Well, perhaps his brother’s did. Perhaps.

--The shop window shattered and men clad in grey armour stormed in. They bore the crest of “The Black Hawks”, which belonged to a mercenary band infamous for being undefeated in all of the missions they had partaken thus far. The arrow which fell the twin, sparking this skirmish, must have come from the market crowd. Whomever fired it had the skill to do so without hitting anyone along the way, and strike at his target with unerring precision. Perhaps the stories of the mercenaries’ merits held some truth in them.

--Swords were drawn, blood sprayed the walls, and the chaos of battle devoured this tiny space in an instant. The shop owner screamed in a voice unfitting of a grown man, while LaForge’s servant was nowhere to be seen. Zarak was about to jump the shop counter and search for him, when a blade struck in his path, narrowly missing him. The mercenary that swung it seemed to want to test his mettle. Zarak had no time for him, so he pulled one of the wheeled coat racks in between them, and pushed it at the merc. As the merc untangled himself, the “red demon” lit the cloth on his arm and doused the coat rack and the hawk in flames, spewing forth a mouthful of alcohol. The mercenaries’ will seemed to be unwavering though; he shielded his face with his free hand and kicked the burning coat rack back, knocking Zarak over. His boot was quick to press onto the burning rack, pinning the squirming bandit underneath. The black hawk held his sword up high, and its blade was about to plunge into Zarak’s tender skull.

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--Thank you for reading. Less talk, more action! Next update will be on Friday. If you liked my work, please rate, follow or favorite, to support my content. Arrrrr.