A Manâs Revenge (pt. 2)
Continued from:Â http://tinyurl.com/y83sfhae
One with a nose could only spend so much time in Undercity. For Theo that time was mere minutes. As soon as he materialized within the city of sewage and death he felt bile rise in the back of his throat. The leather and silk mask that wrapped around his face offered little respite from the stench that seemed to permeate every inch of the city. The only true reprieve was as he rode in the elevator, the thick and noxious air turning sweeter with every foot he rose.
Tirisfal was still cloaked in the shadows of night as he took his first step out of the city. He trekked north, winding his way through the haunted forests before skirting around the edges of Brill heading towards the forgotten cemetery.
For months he had scouted out his path, stalking the shadows through the dead land as he watched the comings and goings of traders, guards and whatever filth wandered the lands. For months he had prepared and as each step brought him closer his heart thumped a little harder within his chest. It was a sort of adrenaline he was unfamiliar with, one associated with anxiety and a touch of stress. Yet there was a sort of exhilaration as the cemetery came into view, the stone mausoleums and crypts dotting the landscape with the ground pockmarked with opens graves.
Theo stalked the ground surrounding the cemetery, inching around the stone wall until he came across a subtle mark he left long ago. It was no more than a single scratch upon the wall with a curved edge that doubled back to the top. Unnoticeable to the common looker who saw only a crumbling wall, yet that had been the point.
Facing the marked wall, Theo took four steps back and one to the left. He rocked on his heels, feeling the ground give way ever so slightly, before dropping to his knees and stabbing his fingers into the dirt. It didnât take long before he found the edge of a wooden board and with great care he lifted one side of it to give him just enough room to slide beneath it; lowering the board back into place once he was comfortably lost inside the inky blackness of his underground nest.
Time meant nothing as he laid within his tomb. The dirt walls that surrounded him were invisible yet he knew where they were. The small tunnel had room only for one yet that mattered little. No one knew where he was and he planned on keeping it that way.
Crawling, he edged under the stone wall and up a small incline towards the end of his tunnel, blocked by another board. He lifted it ever so gently and rested his jaw into a small groove in the dirt. It wasnât the most comfortable position he had been in but he had gone to lengths attempting to make it so for he knew hours upon hours would be spent there, watching the crypts for anyone coming or going. This was there meeting place after all and it was only a matter of time, or so he told himself.
The rest of the night had gone by quickly, the early morning sun beginning to peak over the distant mountains to the east. He had spent the entire night awake and on a vigilant watch yet for nothing. The crypts remained empty and the sole visitor had been a lonely Forsaken that exhumed yet another corpse for their âexperimentsâ or whatever it was that they did.
The day was reserved for sleep, the cool confines of his tunnel offering a rather relaxing place for him to close his eyes, while the night was for watching. It was a terribly boring time for him, his nerves fraying at the ends as each minute turned to an hour and hour turned to into a day. By the third day of watching he almost gave in, his patience wearing thin as he saw nothing of importance.
The targets he was so sure of finding seemed to disappear altogether and the seeds of doubt spread into his mind.
What if they knew I was coming?
Could they have found my nest?
Are they coming for me now or setting a trap?
As each hour ticked by his paranoia grew. The walls around him seemed to close in, sweat building upon his brow as his head began to swim. His breathing became ragged as he pushed his way backwards; fighting every inch of the way to be free of his tunnel and the dirt walls that threatened to collapse around him.
Backing into the board he pushed it out of his way and crawled out into the night. He tore his mask free from his face and tossed it to the side as he collapsed onto his back. His chest rose and fell with each breath as his heart beat wildly.
When his heart quit beating in his ears another sound caused a rush of adrenaline to flood through him; it was that of muted conversation spoken in Thalassian.
Rising, he looked around to pinpoint the direction of the voices. They were coming from the graveyard and not far beyond the wall that blocked his view. Cautiously he grabbed his mask and fit it back into place. His feet moved over the rough ground with trained precision. He was a spectre of the night.
Rounding a far edge of the wall Theo stepped inside of the cemetery. He moved from tombstone to tombstone, his body never stepping into the light of torches and always cloaked in shadows. He moved quickly but carefully, cutting the distance between himself and the source of the voices in half before the moon could rise above the trees. He had no idea how long they had been there nor how long they would remain but he knew he had to be quick as they were the key to his entire operation.
The meeting was where he expected it to be, two individuals clad in black stood outside of a grand mausoleum. The exchange was tense as their hushed voices seemed to be arguing, yet the contents of their conversation was of little concern. They had answers and he was going to get them somehow.
Stepping around a large slab of stone, Theo burst into a sprint. His feet moved in a blur as twin curved daggers were held out and ready. He came low and fast, dropping to his knees as he slid over the smoothed cobblestone. His daggers flashed out, tearing into the legs of the first assassin, the blades once a pristine silver were now crimson in color as they severed through the muscles and tendons with ease.
Theo never heard the man cry out as he leapt to his feet and tackled the second man, his daggers driving into the manâs shoulders as he drove him to the ground.
âWhere is she!â He screamed, the mask barely muffling his words.
The man beneath him began to stammer, his words incoherent before he managed to ask âwhoâ.
Theo twisted the blades, the metal carving against the bones as the man screamed in pain. âWhere is she?â He yelled again, knowing the man knew damn well who he was after.
âThe farmhouse⌠Silverpine, south of the keep⌠Just stop, please just stop.â He cried out much faster than had been expected.
âGood.â The daggers tore free from his shoulders before one quick motion left two gaping wounds in the manâs neck, blood staining the stones beneath him as he thrashed about. Theo then turned to the other who had attempted to crawl away, his legs no longer able to support his body.
No words were spared for him as he walked up behind the man and entwined his fingers within the manâs hair. He ripped his head up and back before driving a dagger into the base of his skull; the man shuddering once before falling still.
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