Twas a darketh night. The moon on its new break, alone stood a single man. Hobo. Darkness so overwhelming he couldn't see his own hand. However, he knew in his right he clutched a curved dagger, set perfectly to be plunged into the heart of his target, Sir Siring Sirton, King of Shartcastle. A looked up to man by the upper class, but known for his devious encounters with the peasants raping the women while his army killed the men. Hobo, who takes no pay for his deeds is bestowed the honor to make it right. He stole the Shartingblade from a top notch security hut off the coast of Shartcastle. While he never admitted to how he did it, 7 guards were found dead around the hut. Each with their hearts ripped out and threaded onto a string which were then hung from the ceiling. The dagger missing, the kind was put into maximum security with 100 guards protecting him. So here Hobo was, on the darkest night of the year 5 clicks outside the walls of Shartcastle. He made his approach, time unknown exactly because it was to dark to see anything, but he knew. He knew it was exactly midnight and now was the time to approach. Legend has it he crawled for 2 hours to get to the walls of the city. At which now the time was 2am. He could see the torches of the guards, hugging the cold stone walls. He's planned out his every move for the past 2 months and had the terrain memorized. Crouching in the trees avoiding contact, he wore all black. He came to his memorized tree, which had a branch just leading over the walls. He climbed the trunk onto the low hanging branch then stepped onto the next one and pulled himself onto the highest. Slowly creeping in a crouch on the branch till he was over the wall. In a swoop dropping motion he landed on a guard and snapped his neck. He picked the body up and placed him on the branch of the tree hidden from plain site. A guard noticed him so he teleported and slashed the kings neck then teleported away. The End.



I hope you understand it was very dark so nothing was visible.