A Broken Crow's Flight

The Thief 1

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Clank. Clink.

Clean. Wash. Dry. Repeat.

Pour. Wrap. Pour. Snap. Move.

Pull.

Bang!

A man flinched at the sudden noise. Shaky hands rubbed the weapon. A perfect fusion of metal and smooth wood. The gun in his hand singed with black markings, experience and misuse evident in its once glorious frame. His fingers fidgeted with the pistol, smothering the artistic markings that ingrained the blackened steel plates. He clasped his hands, gently touching his weapon with his forehead.

A prayer. A tribute to the gods above.

The man felt one of his companions shove him. Thick hands patted his lanky back. He didn't know if that was for good luck or as a threat of violence. He didn't want to know. He gulped deep breaths before following the crowd. Black cloaks covered their forms. A variety of figures strolled among them. Men as lanky as him prowled the streets and immense Goliath-like monsters of men stomped around the grey streets of Nidum.

It was raining. A fitting setting he supposed. The light pattering of raindrops muted the small conversations in the abandoned sector. Cracked cobblestone and blackened steel buildings were cloaked with a light blanket of misty fog. He blinked, rubbing his eyes at the scene. Even without the fog, the intensity of the muted tension was palpable.

An arm nudged him. His foggy vision shifted towards the source. A young man of black hair, pale skin and innocent eyes met his sight. The lack of facial hair told the story of a rookie, a new lamb that's being lead to the slaughter. A teenager, sixteen years of age shouldn't be in a place like this.

"Hey." The young man had the black cloaked roughly tousled on his form. Beneath it, an unassuming leather vest with dirty brown leggings adorned the rookie's lithe body. "You know what's going on?"

He shrugged, his face turning away as they stopped at a clear circular stone section of the forgotten street. The crowd continued gathering towards the meeting place. He glanced at the leading member. The organizer of this odd mass of muscle, no doubt. The gang leader wore a darker cloak, his true attire hidden in its mysterious shadows.

He didn't get paid to know things. He gets paid to aim and shoot.

That's all he knew and probably all that he will ever know.

When the call for more bodies rang through the sector, the desperate gathered. When the message spread of the gang leader, the loyal amalgamated. It was obvious to the natives of the vicinity what this means. Dispute over territory wasn't uncommon and resulted in physical tussles against the invading group. The respected gang leaders would meet. It was a tradition that spanned ever since the emergence of this city.

Soon the large crowd grew into an indescribable blanket of black cloth. It was one of the largest meetings that he's ever seen. It seemed the gang leader wasn't holding out in this conflict.

He scanned his companions, noticing the young man from before waving at his attention. He turned away. No use in knowing anyone in this shoddy town. With such a large scale of fighting that's going to occur, a sea of blood will spill this night. The boy would most likely be a victim of the conflict.

"Hush!" The leading man raised his hand towards them. All manners of conversation paused as they all stared at what the man was seeing. In front of them, a small crowd of tailored figures strolled leisurely towards them. The incoming opponents's expressions were somber.

He rubbed the gun on his hand gently.

"You sure took your time," their leader spat as he swaggered towards the new characters, "I almost thought that you wouldn't show."