Snippet #2360264

Istillo nodded, a deep grimace hidden under his shroud. A test indeed. Slitted eyes traveled to the horizon, where the sun's rays were beginning to threaten, marking the morning sky with a reddish hue.

"Red skye in the morning, S'ilor's w 'rning."

It would rain later today. With a hissed sigh, he turned his gaze from the east to the north. The Master had planned this to be difficult for them. His target was twenty minutes out of the district… as well as a blacksmith. A Dawrven blacksmith. Istillo wasted no time taking off in the direction of his assignment.

"I H'vth thie best luck."

Istillo cursed as he ran through the streets, sticking to the shadows. Nonetheless, he was not as stealthy as one would expect someone of his profession to be. He had no time to pander to tact. Not now.

Dwarf? Really... Istillo's thoughts were as venomous as his eyes. He knew smithies. The smiths who worked them rose early to stroke their fires to a heat intense enough to melt metal, and toiled over these furnaces and their wares endlessly. They were… rugged, hard, and powerfully strapped people to say the least. It did not sit well with him that the morning sun was peaking.

Yes, yes. Definitely a test. Istillo's soft pants came from beneath his hood as he followed the winding road. To rob an assassin of the cover of night… Ajax was insane. It was one thing to kill a burly man while they slept. It was completely something else to kill such a man who was awake… in a forge full of weapons. It didn't help either that the Dawrves had a nasty reputation for enchanting said weapons.


"F'kmk'g- Blalgreshh!" Istillo swore as he skidded into a dead-end ally.

He did not know this neighborhood. Growling, he sprinted around the corner of the ally, thoroughly furious. Scenarios whipped through his head as he whipped through the narrowing streets. Would the Dwarf work alone? The Master had said something about him owning an axe. That will be a problem. How would he make his way out after the carnage? Dwarves were loud creatures… a skirmish would attract unwanted attention.
Istillo didn't dwell on the possibility of failure. It was simply a question of how long it would take him to accomplish, and how messy a situation could get. He was here to "do," not to think.

Slowing his strides, the assassin looked up at familiar sign above two heavy oak doors. It was the forge. There usually was one in every district, as business was fair to smiths.

Two short steel swords, their blades and bellies nicked here and there, were drawn silently from deer-hide sheaths.

Regretfully, it will be bad business this morning.

Istillo's soft soled boots made no noise as he crept to the small side alley of the low-set brick and mortar forge. There seemed to be lodgings connected to the back of the shop, and that was the direction Istillo advanced. The roof's only entrance would be the smoke stacks, and the windows of the smithy were cleverly barred from thieves; however, the living accommodations had been foolhardily attached to the main brick shop. He could not break the oak doors of the entrance, but he could find his way in through the back. The home was the well-known soft underbelly of any beast.

Istillo heard no clang of a smith's hammer, but he had learnt long ago one could never be sure just what they would come across. He hoped the Dwarf would still be asleep, but something about Dwarven prudence told him otherwise.