“I put out a job notice, so hopefully more.”
Thallos knew he couldn’t keep up something like this forever. Time to change the game a bit.
Whirling around, Thallos’ mad dash changed direction slightly - slightly being a complete 180 and was now barreling at his attacker at full speed.
Brevik returned to his home in the capital for the night. While the maiden voyage of the Amino didn’t go quite as he wold have hoped, it was definitely as success.
Jim wanders the city streets, curling the fingers of his cybernetic arm as he walked. It had been a habit of his, ever since he had obtained the limb.
The streets were dark, but In stark contrast to the clean and organized capital it was gritty, the road dirt. The street winding wing several offshoots that lead to nowhere. The buildings around haphazardly arranged, both on the ground and vertically, stairs leading to third floors and doors to the first halfway into the ground
Arnas sprung to the side, throwing three more throwing knives in Thallos’ general direction, landing and preparing to move again. (@Ghid)
This time, Thallos couldn’t stop himself, and hurdled into a nearby alley before slamming into a dumpster. Clutching his stomach irritably, he never noticed the small gash across his side, where one of the three knives had almost missed its mark.
He twisted his neck around to look for a safe way to scale the buildings, then back towards the alley’s entrance.
The figure stopped in front of the exit. He walked in slightly and threw caltrops behind him, making it a much less viable way of escape should Thallos get by him. Unable to be seen beneath his cloak, he drew his two daggers, ready to rush in and strike.
Thallos backed up off his knees and onto his ankles. This would be a pitiful way to go, cringing in n alley as an unknown assassin pins him to the wall and slits his throat. No, he would go out in the bravest-
…And noisiest manner possible. Every citizen would be aware of his death, that he died fighting admirably… Knock it off, numbskull. Don’t dwell on your plan; he’s standing right there.
Thallos yelled. He yelled as loud as his lungs could allow. His frame was arched, his muscles were tense, like some unorthodox skeletal leopard waiting to spring off the walls.
There was an staircase on the side of the left building
Arnas rushed him, blade in his right hand held in front, ready to strike. If he got close, he’d slash at Thallos. He didn’t seem to go for lethal strikes, though, just trying to nick his skin.
Thallos braced himself for the strike. Suddenly, he dove to the left, and although Arnas did swipe at him, it only cut the cloth on his chest. But Thallos saw his attacker’s aim, and the way he swung told him he wasn’t trying to stab him-
…He’s got poison on his knives.
Barely catching the stairs as he flew past, nearly spraining his wrist, he drew himself up like some foul snake and, placing a foot on the bottom rung, jumped as high upwards as he could, grasping for another portion of it, hoping he hadn’t shaved off a second or so of his opponent’s recovery time.
Arnas continues after, going for his Achilles tendon(assuming it’s somewhat exposed and not covered by a boot), trying to limit movement. If that didn’t work, he’d go for the lower leg.
The tip of Arnas’ blade just managed to scratch the back of THallos’ tall boot, but given his sudden acceleration in speed, it tore the leather, missed the tendon, and cut his heel.
Gripping an upper level of the stairwell, Thallos spat some incomprehensible dribble as he swung himself up onto the stair, glaring at his now bleeding heel. He didn’t have the time to consider poison, however, nor consider that the knife which cut his cheek earlier, if it had poison, would have taken its effect by now. All he was focused on was putting as much solid matter in between him and his assailant.
Arnas stops and jumps to the ground. Good. He thinks. Now I can find him when he least expects it. He turns to pick up his caltrops, not wanting to waste them if he could help it.
Thallos, if he stopped to think about it, would realize that there seemed to be no poisons affecting him, almost like the blade wasn’t poisoned at all.
Thallos had risen to one knee and was about to ascend, when- Is he leaving?
His assilant had dropped everything, turned around, and was calmly picking up his caltrops. Why, then, had he bet everything on slicing his heel? Tomorrow the authorities would be informed of his description, height, figure, and arsenal, for absolute certain. But why…?
The idea of a slow acting poison entered his mind. One that might take a few hours for the effect to reach. But if that were the case, he would run away as quick as he could, so he wouldn’t turn around in time to see Thallos leap from the stairwell on top of him. Speaking of that…
Thallos stood up, ready to perform that exact action, when he realized the full effect of what had just occurred. He had been bested by a man in the street - a commoner who he didn’t even recognize - with the only trophy being a deep cut in his heel which would no doubt be hurting for a week. His pride was injured far more than he was, and even biting his lip didn’t seem to help it.
He watched, halfway slouched over the rail, as the figure scraped up the last of his possessions. Have I really dropped this far?
Arnas picks it all up, readjusts the half-mask covering his lower face, and turns to see Thallos. Now, he’d figured he wouldn’t jump after him, as a simple jump out of the way would have left Thallos face-first in on top of the last of the spiky devices on the ground, but he kept it in mind. He simply runs out into the street, then into the next nearest alleyway, disappearing into the night.
Thallos nearly slammed his fist on the railing in frustration, but couldn’t bring himself to do it. Some distant voices were the only sign that anyone had been roused by the yell, and the shutting off of lights he hadn’t known were on.
He haphazardly descended the stairs and trudged along the sidewalk with a limp, dejection in his manner and bitterness dripping from his eyes. Right now he wished his home was a million miles away.
The street lights had brightened from before, seemingly from his yell. Though their light hadn’t been able to affect the alleyway
Nearby in the streets, a figure stumbled through the dark alleys with an bottle in his hand, humming “fifteen men on a dead man’s chest” to himself. He then noticed the scene. “What’s burp going on here?” The Captain said, slurring his words.