08-21-2011, 06:47 AM
As the sun set over the horizon, Drizzt growled softly as he stared down from the roof of a two story house to the pier of Halifax, his ears twitching in agitation. It had only been three months since he had arrived here. He’d barely even gotten comfortable in the new area. And now they had found him once again…
Down below him, the Russian watched as another group of cloaked Luperci stepped off the second dingy and spoke briefly to the two who remained aboard. With stiff nods, the two wolves drew swords and disembarked as well, taking up position beside the three beached boats. The first two groups had busied themselves with setting up a few tents near an old human building beside the docks, a restaurant he assumed. The new group of Luperci walked over to the camp, cloaks tight around them. As they drew closer, Drizzt’s eyes once again found the cause of his distress. Above the tents, strung to the roof of the restaurant, a flag with the symbol of a wolf’s head on a spike flapped lazily in the breeze. The symbol of Lloth. The symbol of his mother’s pack.
He held the hilt of his combat knife, attached to the back of his sword belt, and searched the area near him quickly. He couldn’t let this party find him, nor could he allow them to harass the native packs. With another quick glance to the ‘Hunters’ base camp, Drizzt spun about and dropped the two stories to the ground, landing lightly, then carefully, but hastily wound his way closer to the pier. If he could slip into the camp after dark, he might be able kill off at least one of the hunter squads. That would even up the playing field. At least a bit any way.
So as darkness fell, the man slipped around the camp and moved closer to the groups landing boats, pausing a few yards away and ducking behind a grouping of rocks when he heard the two guards. And as they spoke, his suspicions solidified. He drew a scimitar in his right hand and the knife in his left, then spun out from behind the rock and flicked his wrist to send the smaller blade at the first guard. Without pausing, the assassin rushed forward as the second guard turned about to check what happened. Drizzt planted his blade in the wolf’s eye, driving it home. Looking back to the first wolf, he noticed the guard clawing at his throat, where the knife had planted itself. With a grunt, he drew his scimitar from the second guard’s head and quickly moved to finish the first. He then moved over to the boats and broke three holes in each one. With that taken care of, he cleaned the blood from his blades on the dead wolves, sheathed the scimitar, and moved towards the main camp. So far, there were no patrols around the small camp, so he was in luck.
Pulling his cloak close, he slowly made his way up the Pier, eyes scanning for signs of the other wolves. With those two dead, that left twelve. If he could kill four more, he would be able to confront them openly. With that thought, the man quickened his steps, closing in on the tents. The hunters only raised three tents, meaning that there were three leaders. He crouched beside the nearest tent and listened. He could hear the sounds of a slumbering wolf inside. Without hesitation, the runaway Prince used his knife to slice an entry into the tent. He saw the sleeping female, leather armor still on, sleeping on a cot. With an grimace, he moved beside her, quiet as a breeze through a window, and clamped a hand on her mouth. The woman woke instantly and grasped his hand in panic.
“Tch tch… Don’t you remember your training… ” He whispered, raising his knife to her throat, making her freeze. “Now… Why have you come?... Fine. But remember. You never panic…” And with that he silenced her forever, looking away from her as he did so. He cleaned his knife once more and exited the tent the way he entered. ‘Three tents… three overseers…’
Drizzt’s gaze wandered to the restaurant that they had centered themselves around. He only had a bit longer before the hunters noticed the dead guards, even they weren’t that stupid. He wanted to see what was in there. He moved swiftly, heading to the tent right in front of the building and repeating the process.
As he cleaned his knife once again, he heard the tent flap pull back. His eyes widened as he spun about and saw the hunter standing in the door way. Cursing his luck, Drizzt sheathed his knife and drew his scimitars as the man began shouting. The assassin closed the meager distance and cut out the first hunter’s throat then exited the tent. The hunter groups were no where to be seen, but the third overseer and the first hunter’s companions were rushing towards him, demanding him to drop his weapons. He laughed at them as he charged back.
He met the first hunter with a running punch, dropping the male. He dispatched a second with a parry and a series of quick thrusts. But as he turned to face the overseer and two hunters, Drizzt backed up a few paces. The door to the building was open, and the leader of the hunting group was standing on the porch, his head held high, with a tilt. Cursing his luck again, the assassin turned tail and fled towards the city. He heard the thundering steps of the man behind him, and the stomps of the three following him.
This was worse than he had thought! It was bad if there was one hunting group, but here were three, with three overseers as well. Add to that, he was here! Drizzt had not foreseen that D-
His thoughts were cut off as he felt something tackle him from his right, and grunted as more weight piled on him. Than he felt something hard hit his temple, and knew nothing.
When he awoke, Drizzt found himself bound with ropes to the pier, his feet in the water. He groaned as he felt his head throb, making his vision swim. He coughed a few times and looked around. Above him on the pier, the man heard three of the hunters chattering away in Romanian. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his heart sinking. He had been caught, with hardly any effort. And now, his hands were in his brothers hands. And Drizzt knew his brother. Dinnin would drag him back by the tail with no regrets.
His head fell, his fighting spirit flagging. He couldn’t magically untie himself. He would need some miracle to happen for him to get free.
Down below him, the Russian watched as another group of cloaked Luperci stepped off the second dingy and spoke briefly to the two who remained aboard. With stiff nods, the two wolves drew swords and disembarked as well, taking up position beside the three beached boats. The first two groups had busied themselves with setting up a few tents near an old human building beside the docks, a restaurant he assumed. The new group of Luperci walked over to the camp, cloaks tight around them. As they drew closer, Drizzt’s eyes once again found the cause of his distress. Above the tents, strung to the roof of the restaurant, a flag with the symbol of a wolf’s head on a spike flapped lazily in the breeze. The symbol of Lloth. The symbol of his mother’s pack.
He held the hilt of his combat knife, attached to the back of his sword belt, and searched the area near him quickly. He couldn’t let this party find him, nor could he allow them to harass the native packs. With another quick glance to the ‘Hunters’ base camp, Drizzt spun about and dropped the two stories to the ground, landing lightly, then carefully, but hastily wound his way closer to the pier. If he could slip into the camp after dark, he might be able kill off at least one of the hunter squads. That would even up the playing field. At least a bit any way.
So as darkness fell, the man slipped around the camp and moved closer to the groups landing boats, pausing a few yards away and ducking behind a grouping of rocks when he heard the two guards. And as they spoke, his suspicions solidified. He drew a scimitar in his right hand and the knife in his left, then spun out from behind the rock and flicked his wrist to send the smaller blade at the first guard. Without pausing, the assassin rushed forward as the second guard turned about to check what happened. Drizzt planted his blade in the wolf’s eye, driving it home. Looking back to the first wolf, he noticed the guard clawing at his throat, where the knife had planted itself. With a grunt, he drew his scimitar from the second guard’s head and quickly moved to finish the first. He then moved over to the boats and broke three holes in each one. With that taken care of, he cleaned the blood from his blades on the dead wolves, sheathed the scimitar, and moved towards the main camp. So far, there were no patrols around the small camp, so he was in luck.
Pulling his cloak close, he slowly made his way up the Pier, eyes scanning for signs of the other wolves. With those two dead, that left twelve. If he could kill four more, he would be able to confront them openly. With that thought, the man quickened his steps, closing in on the tents. The hunters only raised three tents, meaning that there were three leaders. He crouched beside the nearest tent and listened. He could hear the sounds of a slumbering wolf inside. Without hesitation, the runaway Prince used his knife to slice an entry into the tent. He saw the sleeping female, leather armor still on, sleeping on a cot. With an grimace, he moved beside her, quiet as a breeze through a window, and clamped a hand on her mouth. The woman woke instantly and grasped his hand in panic.
“Tch tch… Don’t you remember your training… ” He whispered, raising his knife to her throat, making her freeze. “Now… Why have you come?... Fine. But remember. You never panic…” And with that he silenced her forever, looking away from her as he did so. He cleaned his knife once more and exited the tent the way he entered. ‘Three tents… three overseers…’
Drizzt’s gaze wandered to the restaurant that they had centered themselves around. He only had a bit longer before the hunters noticed the dead guards, even they weren’t that stupid. He wanted to see what was in there. He moved swiftly, heading to the tent right in front of the building and repeating the process.
As he cleaned his knife once again, he heard the tent flap pull back. His eyes widened as he spun about and saw the hunter standing in the door way. Cursing his luck, Drizzt sheathed his knife and drew his scimitars as the man began shouting. The assassin closed the meager distance and cut out the first hunter’s throat then exited the tent. The hunter groups were no where to be seen, but the third overseer and the first hunter’s companions were rushing towards him, demanding him to drop his weapons. He laughed at them as he charged back.
He met the first hunter with a running punch, dropping the male. He dispatched a second with a parry and a series of quick thrusts. But as he turned to face the overseer and two hunters, Drizzt backed up a few paces. The door to the building was open, and the leader of the hunting group was standing on the porch, his head held high, with a tilt. Cursing his luck again, the assassin turned tail and fled towards the city. He heard the thundering steps of the man behind him, and the stomps of the three following him.
This was worse than he had thought! It was bad if there was one hunting group, but here were three, with three overseers as well. Add to that, he was here! Drizzt had not foreseen that D-
His thoughts were cut off as he felt something tackle him from his right, and grunted as more weight piled on him. Than he felt something hard hit his temple, and knew nothing.
When he awoke, Drizzt found himself bound with ropes to the pier, his feet in the water. He groaned as he felt his head throb, making his vision swim. He coughed a few times and looked around. Above him on the pier, the man heard three of the hunters chattering away in Romanian. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his heart sinking. He had been caught, with hardly any effort. And now, his hands were in his brothers hands. And Drizzt knew his brother. Dinnin would drag him back by the tail with no regrets.
His head fell, his fighting spirit flagging. He couldn’t magically untie himself. He would need some miracle to happen for him to get free.