A few wet fronds dragged across his mask, but he didn't notice. His eyes were focused only on his quarry.
He had been following this group for some time now. They were terribly lethal, as several Mandragoras could no doubt attest, but they were getting sloppy. Their technique was suffering as they began to tire.
Their latest opponent, yet another Mandragora in a string of grisly killings, fell to their onslaught.
Smithy would make them pay. He would make them pay for every last one.
All he had to do was wait for his opening. Smithy bided his time carefully. Then, as heleaned to crush a cigarette beneath his boot, he heard an almost lyrical sound as the perfect opportunity presented itself.
WhiteMage>> (( White Mage )) MP: 12/225 ---> 5%
Their White Mage, their only true hope in any real conflict, was out of mana.
The time was right.
Smithy sprung from the shadows like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. Before they could even register what was happening, two of their group had already been taken. A third would soon join them.
Their leader turned and ran. A coward.
Smithy ended the two remaining party members, two Taru mages, with a sweep of his sword. Their mystical chants died in their sliced throats, their magic dying with it.
He chased the leaer deeperinto the jungle. In his hurry to escape, he had apparently gotten turned around and was running aimlessly through the paths and caverns.
Smithy tracked him across half the jungle until finally finding him crouching at the base of a tree, shivering from the cold damp in his clothes.
He looked up at Smithy with wide pleading eyes and, just for a second, he saw a slight glimmer of mercy behind the cold darksteel of his mask.
But that second was only one, that moment of mercy only fleeting.
With an almost graceful flourish, Smithy swung his blade and delivered one last killing stroke. The coward died as cowards should, his back full against the Earth, his face full of tears.
Smithy quietly lit another cigarette and started his long walk back home.