Let me start from the beginning.

I have never encountered a target quite like him. He was always perceptive to his surrounding as if he were expecting someone, or something, to find him. Whether it was a dagger through his back or an old friend, I could care less. My sole role would be his death after all. Being his shadow for a week I had found where and when his death would occur. This would go in my favor after all in case other accidents were to occur; they always do. There was just one problem, well two to be truthful that would hinder me. Two guards were constantly stumbling behind him and didn’t seem to be a bigger threat. One was a burly man with a beard that could only be complimented by his axe. The other a female rogue and she most likely knew of my presence. I never did like a dull job after all.

Before the night would take its darkest shade, I carefully strapped on my armor making sure nothing would restrain my movement. One wrong move and the next one to greet me would be the Maker. Attaching a studded belt around my chest I made sure to use exceptional poison on all my throwing knives- just to ensure that the target would die. Last thing I did was to ensure that my two blades were on each side of my hip. Knowing that nothing ever goes as planned; it would benefit to draw them quicker. Then I headed out into the night, scurrying around the rooftops to find my target.

It didn’t take long as I knew he always took a stroll through a certain garden at night. There was no one else around; most likely indicating a grand party was taking place. I did not care though as I never do. Making my way down I trailed them, ensuring that their sight wouldn’t cross mine. Slowly drawing two of my poison-coated knives I positioned myself well. It would be useless to strike down my target right now, as the other two would give pursue- especially the female one. With a quick throw the knife sunk deep into her left thigh as she screamed out in pain. The next one penetrated her skull and she made a heavy thud to the ground.

The burly man had already pulled out his mighty axe and was on route towards me. I wasn’t to stay and take the incoming blow. With a quick pirouette, he missed and I was free to sprint towards my target- a lone single noble with no hope for another tomorrow. With a clean strike I tore his throat out and let a fountain of blood gush out. I impaled him once more in the heart, just to ensure he was dead. As I looked towards the noble man’s head, I began to realize my outmost mistake- this was not the target.

In a mere moment the burly man was upon me before I could come to my senses. I drastically tried to get out of the way and I almost did. With a strong cleave that could cut down stone, I felt how my left arm disappear. Blood spilled out as I rolled to the side, shrieking at the top of my lungs. But this was not the time for panic but for action. And by action, I mean a desperate escape. Trying to still the blood loss I made for the nearest exit. To this very hour I am still dumbfounded how I escaped or how I still breathe. Maybe the Maker truly loves me. Maybe I’m just a lucky man. If it hadn’t been for a mage that helped me to recover, I would truly be dead as of this note.

Of course, I have no doubt you ask yourself right now, what happened to the noble? How did I make such an obvious mistake? It is simple- the noble knew about me. He had been more perceptive than I could have anticipated. He thought he had it all planned out, as did I. But there is one thing I can give you, if you’ll allow me one last job.

One of us, the noble who truly cut off my arm or me, will meet the Maker at our next meeting.

(I know well enough that I live in Sweden. However I got so inspired that I decided to write this up anyway. If I am a contender to win, I suppose I'll have to give it up in the end. Just wanted to share my point of view.) --Neverstorm (talk) 17:27, September 28, 2011 (UTC)