The letter arrived suddenly, the courier from the adventurer's guild out of breath.
Fresh on the heels of an adventurer rank promotion, a missive had been sent to أنت, claiming someone would be killed if they did not come to the specified location, alone.
No adventurer worth their salt could ignore being called out like this, so it was not long before أنت arrived on the cluttered rooftops of the market district, the sun lagging low in the sky.
The wind howled as the various flags, clotheslines, and awnings spread around the rooftops fluttered noisily, masking nearby sounds. Despite the rush to reach the designated rooftop, it stood empty, no sign of hostage or captor. After a few moments of confused searching, أنت turned to leave, convinced they had the wrong location, stopping short when they see their way blocked.
A small purple haired woman stands on the rooftop, her petite form armored with a breastplate and little else, the loose fighting cloth underneath flapping in the high wind. A curved blade is sheathed on her back, as well as several oddly shaped knifes.
Sparrow regards أنت coldly, her violet eyes dead and empty.
When she speaks her voice is flat and monotone, like a sermon from a jaded clergyman.
"Apologies, sir. The only one at risk here is you. I regret to inform you that I have been contracted to end your life. If you lay down your weapon and yield, I will allow you to write a farewell to your loved ones, and then delivery you a painless death. However, If you insist on struggling..."
She holds her hands loosely to her sides before turning them over with a flick, a pair of knifes suddenly clasped in her palms.
"Then I will insist on pain."
