The shadows greeted her as they always had. As she closed her eyes and blending into nothingness, she turned herself cold once more; the task she was about to complete she had done many times before, though nothing this serious. The Ziggurat, better known as the Zig to those in the business, was a large, well-secured prison. The idea, of course, is that one a prisoner goes in, they don't come back out. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule. If Arachnos busts somebody out, or if they somehow, through either sheer luck, break out. Then of course, there's death.
In Feyth's mind, sneaking into the Zig and dealing the one known certainty in life to a prisoner was a challenge she had not done before. She was certain she could accomplish it, as her skills were far from lacking. She moved gracefully and silently through the main doors of the Zig, the receptionist completely oblivious to her presence. She couldn't help but grin to herself that the mortal eyes of those around her missed so much. She concentrated slightly more as she walked straight through mulitiple rooms, the layout of the Zig still in her mind. She knew where she was going. She knew, that in all honesty, she did not need to visit this place to know where everything was. Signs clearly marked cell blocks and areas. She again could not restrain herself from grinning. They try so hard to keep people in, but mark the exits farely well.
The prisoners on either side of her were also completely oblivious. Though many may have seen her had they not been in the Zig, she knew their powers were weakened considerably. Taking a left, and then a right, she arrived at the cell where her mark sat. One death mage. Last Sunrise. Feyth found the name appropriate. The man obviously did not realise that the sunrise he had experienced earlier in the day would certainly be his last. Slipping through the bars, she drew her blade silenty and confidently. The mark was meditating, a practice all to common to most Death Mages, or indeed most Thorn members.
Some say most assassins are so confident that they let their target know they are there moments too late. Feyth, on the other hand, simply did not see the need. She stood to the side of the Death Mage, and rested her blade inches away from the man's throat. Her cold blade would be the last thing he would ever feel in this life.
As the clock struck midnight, the Death Mage's last breath was drawn. He fell to the ground, never again to see a sunrise.
The shadows greeted her as they always had. As she closed her eyes and blending into nothingness, she turned herself cold once more; the task she was about to complete she had done many times before, though nothing this serious. The Ziggurat, better known as the Zig to those in the business, was a large, well-secured prison. The idea, of course, is that one a prisoner goes in, they don't come back out. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule. If Arachnos busts somebody out, or if they somehow, through either sheer luck, break out. Then of course, there's death.
In Feyth's mind, sneaking into the Zig and dealing the one known certainty in life to a prisoner was a challenge she had not done before. She was certain she could accomplish it, as her skills were far from lacking. She moved gracefully and silently through the main doors of the Zig, the receptionist completely oblivious to her presence. She couldn't help but grin to herself that the mortal eyes of those around her missed so much. She concentrated slightly more as she walked straight through mulitiple rooms, the layout of the Zig still in her mind. She knew where she was going. She knew, that in all honesty, she did not need to visit this place to know where everything was. Signs clearly marked cell blocks and areas. She again could not restrain herself from grinning. They try so hard to keep people in, but mark the exits farely well.
The prisoners on either side of her were also completely oblivious. Though many may have seen her had they not been in the Zig, she knew their powers were weakened considerably. Taking a left, and then a right, she arrived at the cell where her mark sat. One death mage. Last Sunrise. Feyth found the name appropriate. The man obviously did not realise that the sunrise he had experienced earlier in the day would certainly be his last. Slipping through the bars, she drew her blade silenty and confidently. The mark was meditating, a practice all to common to most Death Mages, or indeed most Thorn members.
Some say most assassins are so confident that they let their target know they are there moments too late. Feyth, on the other hand, simply did not see the need. She stood to the side of the Death Mage, and rested her blade inches away from the man's throat. Her cold blade would be the last thing he would ever feel in this life.
As the clock struck midnight, the Death Mage's last breath was drawn. He fell to the ground, never again to see a sunrise.
Sometimes, even heroes need saving.
"For truth, justice and apple pies!"