Ig Montgomery's Story

It's the piercing crack of a gunshot through the night air that drags Encke out of his reverie and back into the present, with his cramping legs and splinter-dotted hands. The rounds sounded as if they were coming from behind him and to his left, and definitely not too far away. He whirled around, seemingly without thought, and began slipping down branch by branch, as quickly and quietly as his bare feet would allow. His mind, on the other hand, was racing, and not entirely with fear. He wasn't sure with how to deal with the villains, but with a shooter? With someone who was almost definitely connected with whatever was going on? That he could most definitely manage.

Encke's finally reached the last bough of the tree, and he couldn't help his lips twitching into a smile as he dropped straight into an ankle-deep puddle on the ground with a small splash. It had rained recently, and the ground was littered with small pools that glittered brightly in the moonlight. He could feel each and every one, simply there and present in his mind. It would have been quite peaceful, if not for the screaming girl stuck in the tree. Encke glanced back in the direction of her voice, considering for half a second to go help her, but deciding that his abilities served a better purpose in tracking the gunman.

He peered around the thick trunk of the tree he was crouched behind, looking for the silvery glint of a barrel in the darkness. Discerning nothing, he carried himself with silent footsteps to a tree a little further back, hoping to maybe get a better view from behind whoever had fired the shots. It briefly crossed his mind that anyone from the little reconnaissance party who found him would have a hard time judging him friend or enemy, but he pushed the thought out of his head and hunkered down behind the new tree, which was a great deal skinnier than the last. He would deal with them if the time came.

Encke stiffened considerably as he heard an arrow whistle through the air and land on its mark with a dull thunk, accompanied shortly after by a terse hiss of pain somewhere in front of him and to his left. His eyes widened, and he adjusted his position behind the tree to he would still be concealed from the gunman. He tried to glance over his shoulder to get a view of where the arrow had come from, but it was simply too dark to make out anything besides vague shapes and shadows. He knew pursuing a target when surrounded by uncertain company, whom he was fairly sure had not spotted him just yet, wasn't the brightest of ideas, but the gunman was getting away, and along with him Encke's best chance for finding the heroes.

He glanced around the tree again, feeling the damp, rough bark press into his cheek uncomfortably. A dark figure stalked off in the direction of the road, clutching his hand to his chest, and Encke started after him, taking less care to conceal himself as the man broke into a jog in the direction of the street. It was now or never.

The man ran out into the street, and Encke was but a few paces behind him, already feeling the water rise from puddles on the ground to swirl and writhe at his fingertips. He had almost reached the streetlight and reared his arm back to strike when another sharp thunk of an arrow pierced the air, freezing him in his place. A gunshot, and another arrow on its heels. Encke watched with shocked eyes as the bolt landed squarely in the man's face, protruding grotesquely amidst a small spray of blood before he crumpled noiselessly to the ground. It took a moment for his mind to kick into gear.

This idiot had just killed his only source of information. Assuming he was right about her connections to the group of villains who were supposedly working to free the heroes, this idiot had just killed her only source of information. He stood there, half livid and half in utter disbelief, instinctively reaching around his shoulder to grab the hilt of one of the long knives that were slung across his back. A well of anger he hadn't even know he'd had in him was bubbling to the surface, making his knuckles turn white as he gripped the handle of the blade. A tight coil wrapped around his chest. Every inch of his being commanded him to shake her, dig his fingertips into her shoulders and scream at her for her stupidity. He settled for unsheathing his knife and holding it out at his side, pointed slightly downward in a gesture of peace, but easy enough to flick up if he needed to defend himself. If this group of villains was going to go around killing his only connections to the heroes, then maybe it was time they finally talked. So instead of slinking back into the bushes before he was spotted, he stood in full illumination of the streetlight, glaring at the archer with hard, pale eyes.