A Tinge Of Regret (Event Entry #1)
Tweaks quietly crouched on a cliff overlooking a glassy, undisturbed lake. He was unmoving, a wraith in the uneven shadows of the moonlit night. He watched the road running by the lake from beneath a tall willow tree, wrapped in his cloak.
“Hmm…They’re late.”
He stayed unmoving, but allowed his eyes to scan the road as he awaited his quarry, and was finally awarded for his patience by the sound of distant laughter, and was soon awarded once more by the sight of the approaching Gilnean caravan. He clicked his tongue in disappointment as he took in the image.
“He said there’d be three…The bastard. I’ll probably be able to squeeze a bit extra out of him.” The words were laden with venom, begrudging the fact that he’d have to deal with the man who had hired him again.
Though he had been led to believe that there would only be three guards, he saw that he’d have to deal with a dozen, most of them armed with clubs and swords.
“Well, at least there aren’t any marksmen among them.” He thought, thankful for the fact.
The slight figure rose, discarding his cloak and bag at the clifftop, bringing only two simple blades along with himself, daggers by the looks of them to a normal sized person, but to him they were sized as short-swords. He wore armor fashioned out of the skin of a hunting cat, the skull of the beast forming the framework of his hooded head. The red lenses of his goggles shined out from the space left for his eyes, the lower half of his face being covered by a simple black cloth.
The Gnome remained crouched for five more seconds before he began to move, silently making his way down the sheer wall of the cliff like a giant spider, jumping down into the tall grass in the last three meters,l. He rolled as he landed to keep his momentum pushing him forward, and took off at a dead sprint at the caravan, both blades held in reverse grips, close to his arms.
One of the men guarding the caravan sensed, more than heard, that something was wrong, and his head turned quickly, having just enough time to utter a cry of alarm, just in time to see the figure barrel out of the bushes, leaping and grabbing a hold of the lead horses muzzle, and kicking his legs up to force the beasts head to spin a full circle. There was a cruel snap of the horses neck breaking, then a thud as it landed heavily on the ground, impeding the others.
The guardsmen were on alert now, but it didn’t matter, the shock of the moment was all that Tweaks needed to take absolute control of the situation. As they formed small groups of threes, watching all four corners of the stopped caravan, they signed their own death sentences. The explosions of grenades sounded right at the feet of two of the groups, disintegrating the life that stood there. Another of the groups went down to the dual revolvers held by the slight figure. The process took a period of four seconds, and none of the men knew where the assailant was. The final three guards took up rank at the cloth entrance of the caravan, looking around warily, scanning the road wildly for some sign of their attacker.
It was their misfortune that people seldom look up. Tweaks stood on the roof of the caravan, and jumped down, driving his two blades into the skull of the nearest men. The third turned just in time to stare into the red, lifeless lenses if the attacker, the glass screens boring into his eyes. He was so distracted in that instant that he didn’t see the blade that had slipped from the tip of the Gnomes boot, entirely unaware of it until it drove up under the mans chin, straight to the brain.
The process of the massacre took no longer that twelve seconds, and the men had no chance to retaliate. Now, covered in the gore of fallen men, and the rising dust of battle, Tweaks turned, climbing the back steps into the caravan. Inside sat a lone man, eyes wide, dagger clutched in both hands as he stated at the entrance, whimpering as he saw the slight figure enter the vehicle.
“Y-You! You’re the Ly-”
He was stopped dead by a sudden movement of the Gnome. One second the figure was several meters away, the next left the man struggling to draw breath as he rammed the clawed tips of his gloves in a knife handed strike through the throat of the man, hand gripping the spinal column on the other side and snapping it with an easy flick of his wrist.
“Aye, I’m the Lynx.”
He dragged the gore covered hand from the wound, wiping it carelessly at his leg guards. Then, something caught his eye, the glint of a ring on the mans finger, and an open locket containing a picture of the mans wife and daughter. Those in the picture were clear for a few moments, then they drowned in the blood of their provider. It was at that moment he understood what he had done to this family.
Tweaks stood, then felt his stomach lurch, and his heart grow cold as he tore his eyes from the man, dashing outside. He ran from the scene, head shaking.
“This wasn’t battle…This was murder.”
He didn’t look back, and he never did.
