Standard Highway Robbery
Sun burning it's mid-day heat, the assassin's feet quietly met the summit of the mountain cliff, his gaze firmly locked on his target below. His arms helped him keep balance as he kept in mind how much noise he was making. His steps were measured with the skill of an assassin that was at least a journeyman, his shoulders rolling as he prepared to drop down a good four feet as his perch, rolling out back to regain his balance.
The assassin's mark was jogging along a disused road. Occasionally pausing for breath and to stretch. With crow-like observation, the stalker noticed that his mark's clothing, and the way the Herald of Xotli carried himself was that of a mere novice. Happy with what he saw, the assassin slowly took his blades from their loops, holding them in strong fists as the sun glinted upward back towards the sky with the deadly poison covering the blades.
The Herald had pulled his impressive weapon from it's back as a crocodile, dangerous to him but not to the stalking assassin, charged at the trespassing traveler, letting out a growl. The Herald nearly lost his balance as he wearily swung his weapon, having it connect with the crocodile's body, leaving an impressive gash in it's side. Unfortunately for him, the crocodile managed to bring it's strong jaws to the fighter's leg, crushing bone. Despite the pain, the Herald refused to give in and brought his sword down, tip first right into the crocodile's head, the beast's jaws clenching in pain for a moment, making it's hold more damaging before it weakly let go, it's blood staining the already crimson ground.
Meanwhile, the stalker dropped from his perch above, his eyes locked on his mark, the blades angled to ensure the reflections couldn't be seen. Knowing that this Herald of Xotli was hurt, and would be too tired to put up a fight, he placed a dagger at his mark's back, and the second at his throat, “Don't cha move, neh? That would be a very tragic decision.” The Xotli tensed up, his sword hanging limply at his side as he breathed hard to catch his breath. “Wa? What do you want, knave?”
The assassin let out a taunting croon, “Ya better be more polite tha' that.. seeing as how I have the upper hand...” He slowly brought the dagger that was at the herald's throat down to the tired wielding arm as he put a little distance between himself and the mark, “Now.. Ya know what I wan'?” The herald shook his head slowly. “I wan yer copper, five fe' trespassin', and five for makin' me run all tha way out here, neh?”
“T-Trespassing? B-bu,” the herald was cut short as the assassin twisted his dagger just a little to make his point. The herald's demeanor shifted as he frowned, “Agreed! In the name of Set, I agree...” The herald let out a bit of a growl, and the assassin heard this, and smiled to himself. “Good.. now, slowly reach into tha' purse o' yours and give me the toll you owe...” The Herald started making his move with his free hand towards his purse before suddenly bringing it up to the assassin's face, causing him to stagger back a few steps in a bit of a daze.
The Herald of Xotli, despite being as tired, and injured as he was pulled his sword in an upwards arc, letting out a scream of fury and of pain as his leg cramped from the earlier injury. The assassin, recovering from the surprise dodged left, and deftly helped the blade miss, by pushing it away as it game down with his offhand. Furious, the assassin brought his main hand down, digging his dagger deep into the herald's shoulder, the poison certainly tainting the wounded's blood. He pulled forward to free his dagger now, as the second dagger game in to pierce the herald's wielding arm with a yell.
The herald couldn't hold his weapon any longer, the metal falling to the ground and spreading a small cloud of dust beneath it. The herald grimaced as he raised a hand to hold his wounded arm, “T-Ten! Ten!” The assassin's offhand blade was on it's way down before it stopped, just above the herald's free arm, “Ten it is...” He slowly pulled his blades back, but kept his stance ready, “Throw it on tha' ground...” The assassins' keen eyes watched carefully as the nearly dead mark reached to his purse and fumbled a few coins, tossing them on the ground. The assassin glanced down, quickly counting. “Right... now pike off, you runt!” The herald weakly grabbed his weapon with his free arm, and started moving off. The assassin smiled as he reached down to pick up the coin. He asked for ten, he earned eleven. To the winners go the spoils.