Thole left the bar, his mind clouded with alcohol and his eyes were hooded and tried to make sense of the direction the world was spinning. His feet lead him uncertainly, stumbling down the cobblestone road in the general direction of his wooden shack of a home. The dark street seemed entirely unfamiliar in his drunken state, but he continued on his way, ignoring the rational voice in his head that cautioned him. Every now and again he had to stop and lead against a nearby wall or an oil-lamp post to steady himself and regain his footing, but he would soon carry on towards his home, or at least where he hoped his home was.

As he stumbled along the dark and poorly lit, practically deserted--save one or two beggars or fellow drunkards--cobblestone street, using the very sparse lamps on the street to guide him, he heard the sound of shouting voices begin to bounce along the street, ricocheting off the buildings that ran parallel. The voices sounded hard, filled with an air of self righteousness. Even with his lack of sobriety, Thole knew who the voices belonged too, and he began to feel his blood turn hot with rage. He decided to pay the voices a visit, following their shouting down an alley, up a block, and finally to a house that must shelter a very poor family. The home was seemed like it would fall apart any day, and fit in well with its crowded neighbors, each of which added to the strong sense of poverty that surrounded this housing block. The home that contained all the shouting was lit, the only one in the area. Suddenly the door was knocked askew, broken almost in half and splinters went flying to scatter across the cobblestone.

Thole stood staring at it, swaying slightly, listening to the shouting but not making sense of the words. He stood two houses away and was deciding on how best to enter the house when a man flew out of the hole in the door, propelled by some unseen force, and crashed into the ground of the alley. Three armed men emerged from the doorway, all walking with a swagger and carrying sneers upon their faces. One, the first one to follow the poor wretch who had left the home in an unfortunate manner, had his sword drawn and the royal seal of a frosted diamond on his steel breastplate was spattered in fresh blood. His sneer was the largest of the three, his face the ugliest, his steps the most confident, which lead Thole to hate him the most. The soldier walked over to the man, who lay groaning in the trash filled alley, and kicked him in the gut. The man grunted and rolled onto his back trying to take in air. Thole watched, his body calm and swaying, his eyes burning with rage. The two other soldiers flanked their leader and laughed at the man as he gasped and spluttered and coughed. Another soldier stepped out of the doorway, his face scarred severely, and was dragging a woman with him who he tossed over by the beaten and bloody man. A girl of no more than ten, came running out of the house, tears streaming down her face but was silent. She knelt with the two other people the soldiers had roughed up, and hugged the beaten and bloody man around the waist as he kept coughing.

The leader crouched, the leather straps behind his steel armor creaking. He buried the tip of his sword into the dirt and smiled at the woman. He looked her up and down, eyes lingering on her breasts, then turned to the man who was wheezing for air on all fours. “This is what would happen if we goodly soldiers of the King’s City Guard weren’t around. Your wife and child would be raped and your home burned. It is such a shame that you can not pay us for your safety. ” The man gave a theatrical sigh. Then stood and pulled his belt off, tossed it aside and began slowly taking off his leg garments. “Burn the house, I get first with the woman.”

The scarred man gave a wicked, wide smile, showing more gum than teeth. He picked up the lamp he had brought out with them and had previously set on the ground and was hefting it menacingly while staring at the three victims. He was turning to the house and preparing to throw when a deep voice came from the shadows.

“Leave.” Thole stepped forward, well stumbled, into visibility, only five or six paces away from the group of soldiers. He still swayed, and even hiccuped after making his slurred statement. His threat fell flat on the soldiers, and one of them actually chuckled at his appearance. A black armored man, whose armor was faded and damaged, that was very drunk and whose weapons weren’t even drawn was threatening four of the King’s City guards. A true threat indeed.

The leader snarled, his fun was now over until this drunkard was gone. “Who the hell are you? Can’t you see this is the king’s business?”

“Leave.” He slurred before he took an uncertain step towards the soldiers, then leaned back in his steps, tilting his head back and swaying slightly.

“Fuck off, bastard.” The leader waved a hand at this black clothed man in a dismissive manner and turned back to the family.

“I am going to rip open your throat.” The deep voice was strong and unwavering this time, no slurring of words or hint of fear. “And piss on your grave.”

It sliced through the night and stabbed the leader who paused in his actions. The hairs on the back of his neck pricked slightly. He growled then rose violently, and turned to this stranger. “Kill this drunk bastard, Hithin.”

One of the soldiers nodded, spat a massive amount of phlegm on the ground, and unsheathed his sword. He began advancing on Thole, dragging the tip of his blade through the dirt in a cocky manner. When he was less than two paces away he took a large step forward, bellowed, and brought the blade behind him to bring it down in a brutal swing. When his arms were at full height, Thole shot forward, drawing one of his daggers. He buried the blade into the man’s neck hilt deep, the tip erupted out the back, sending bone and blood spraying out. The man once known as Hilthin gurgled and his eyes went wide in shock. Thole had already stolen the sword from his hands, ignoring his dying, incoherent sounds, and closed the distance to the next soldier, the other one backing the leader. He swung the blade into to the man’s neck, clearing the head from his shoulders and sending blood high into the sky. It flew off and bounced on the ground before rolling several feet, leaving a trail of blood. Thole turned to the scarred man, leaving his back to the leader who was still staring at Helthin gurgle. The scarred man growled and swung his drawn sword at Thole, who deflected it easily and then smashed the hilt of the stolen sword into the scarred man’s nose which broke on impact and exploded in blood. The man roared in pain and fell to his knees, cradling his nose. Thole stood over him, took a breath, swayed, then lifted the sword high before bringing it point down into the man’s exposed collar. The blade went through the whole body of the man and was left with the hilt resting against his face. The scarred man let out a shuddering cough, then fell to his back.

Thole turned to the leader who stood still, staring about at the corpses. Helthin was still gurgling, his eyes searching fiercely about as his now slippery hands grasped at the blade in his neck. He lay there slowly dying and struggling to breath. The black armored man stared at the last standing soldier, the leader. He reached behind him and drew his other dagger and calmly brought it up to a ready position. He still swayed slightly.

“I need to piss.” He whispered then shot forward, and the soldier gave a yelp of shock, trying desperately to bring his sword up as the leathered man shot forward but was too slow and the death dealer slit his throat wide. Thole danced several steps away before the blood even began to pour, spilling out onto the breast plate with the frosted diamond. The leader’s eyes went wide and he tried to say something. The frosted diamond soon turned red and the leader sank to his knees. He looked up at Thole and his mouth opened then closed. He fell forward and had a few death throes before going forever still.

Thole watched the man die, then pissed on the corpse.

He cleaned the knife on the dead man’s hair before he walked over to the first soldier. He knelt down and looked at his eyes. They still were racing around, but the strength of life in them was almost gone. He reached out his gloved, blood splattered hand, and plucked the blade out of the man’s throat. Blood squirted up and the soon-to-be corpse redoubled his panic, arms reaching up vainly to scratch at his attacker. Thole stood back calmly, never breaking eye contact with the sentenced figure. Life soon left those eyes, and the last gurgling breath filled the dark clad man’s ears. He turned his gaze slowly to the three innocents he had saved.

The wife of the man, or he guessed it was his wife. Was starring at him and was struggling to hold a fallen sword. She looked scared. The daughter was still hugging her father, but was hiding behind him. The father was kneeling now, and holding his gut in pain, but he too was watching him and looked afraid. Thole sighed.

“Put it down, miss, before you hurt yourself.” He stepped forward, but the woman squealed and brought the blade high before swinging it in Thole’s direction and missing completely. Thole backed up, bringing his hands out in front of him in a non threatening manner.

She swung the sword again. “Back! Back you demon!”

He sighed again and glared at the woman. He stared at her a moment, his eyes beginning to fill with rage. His hands clenched into fists, the leather creaking with pressure; his jaw tightened. He lowered his hands to his side and tension filled his body. The woman began to see the rising danger in his eyes, she took a nervous step back and hefted the sword cautiously and clumsily.

A moment passes as the two watched each other. The woman still gripped the sword tightly.

Thole’s face broke into a charming smile. His white teeth flashed in the dim light of the alley. He nodded and then stepped forward, dodged the blade again and struck the woman hard in her stomach. She doubled over and fell to her knees next to her husband. Thole spat down between the two and turned.

He left the family in the bloody waste of his wake.