Role

Chapter 5

Thus far he has avoided doing anything seriously heinous. That's what he
tells himself, at least. Sure, he has stolen, smuggled, and leaned on the
Kingpin's debtors, but he's never actually hurt anyone. Yet.

That might change tonight.

He is in Voralian City under cover of night, disguised as a beggar, with
two other thugs sent by the Kingpin to assist with their mission. That
being to subtract one finger from a certain Voralian nobleman who has
elected not to pay his debts. Perhaps he thought the Tribunal would
protect him? A foolish thought.

Their mark approaches, returning home from a dinner party, exactly as his
intel told him he would. Athald hears the two thuds that mean his
companions have knocked out the mark's bodyguards. He stands up from
where he'd been slumped, pretending to be unconscious, and approaches.

The mark's eyes are wide with fear, and he desperately tries to plead with
them despite the gag that's firmly lodged in his mouth. Athald can't make
out any of the words. Looking down, he sees the man's hand stretched out
on the cobblestone street; one of his companions holds it in place,
waiting for him to do the deed.

He feels sick to his stomach.

Is this what it has come to? Attacking sad old men at the order of a mob
boss he's never even seen? Is this really who he is now? He pauses,
unable to continue.

It is then that he feels the arm clamp down around his neck, feels the
cloth cover his face, and inhales the sweet-smelling vapors that rob
him of consciousness.

"That's odd," he thinks to himself as he succumbed to the fumes.

"Why is that arm so hairy?"