The Past
Moving from shadow to shadow, Sarcanirin and her three comrades slowly got into position. Trying not to make any noise, she carefully pushed trash and offal from her line of sight. Her heart jumped into her throat as a couple of rats jumped out of the pile of garbage she had just moved. Ignoring their angry squealing, she signaled her team she was ready. Looking at their choice of hiding spots, Sarcanirin thought to herself that these piss-ants are not going to live long. Jarok was three years older and was supposedly the leader of their little group. The only reason he was leader was his size. At twelve, he was already three heads taller than most people five years his senior. Although he was big, he was dumb as a stump. Quick to violence, he always rushed into a fight without regard to his companions' safety. Looking over to where his ambush site lay, Sarcanirin could see him fidgeting, waiting for the first mark to pass by, impatient as always.
"He's gonna get us all killed someday," she muttered to herself.
Suddenly of a bottle clinked off a trashcan freezing the blood in her veins. Cautiously, Sarcanirin turned her head toward the sound. Slowly letting out her breath, she glared at Saverok. He saw her looking at her and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "I didn't mean it". Saverok was Jarok's twin brother although they weren't anything alike. Where Jarok was quick to a full frontal assault, Saverok was more inclined to take the beating then slip a dagger between your ribs from behind. He was a slim, shifty type who had the profile of a weasel and a disposition to match. Sarcanirin lifted her finger to her lips and he waved it aside as if nothing had happened. Sarcanirin then looked at the last member of the group to see if she was ready, a small whelp everybody called Mouse. Nobody knew where she came from: just that she one day she showed up and had never left. She had the nondescript look that every good thief needed. She never spoke, followed every order without complaint and never varied her expression. She always looked like she was suckin' on a lemon. However, the thing that surprised Sarcanirin the most was that Mouse was one of the most deadly dagger-man in the guild. As she tried to spot Mouse, Sarcanirin wondered how long Mouse would stick around. If she stuck around long enough, she would no doubt be a high-ranking member in the guild. Maybe even Guild Master.
Suddenly, there came voices from the mouth of the alley. Sarcanirin hissed a warning and shrunk back amidst the garbage. Seeing three shapes swaying drunkenly towards her, she breathed a sigh of relief. This should be an easy one, she thought to herself. She flashed three fingers to Mouse who in-turn flashed the message to the twins. Waiting for just the right moment, she let the three sailors pass her hiding place. Gathering her courage, she quietly stalked behind the three men. At just the moment Sarcanirin was reaching for the closest man's purse, a heap of garbage tumbled in front of the sailors. The one Sarcanirin was trying to pickpocket jumped back in fright and in doing so, stepped right on Sarcanirin's left foot.
"Hey now, what's this?" the sailor demanded. "Are ye trying to steal me steel?"
Thinking quickly, Sarcanirin put on a sweet face and replied, "No suh. I caught the rat that was going to bite you on your ankle. I'm to small to steal anything from a big brute of a man like you."
"Ha! You urchins could steal the hoard out from under a red dragon. Ya don't fool me, now come 'ere. I'll tea...urggh!" A bubble of dark, foamy blood interrupted his last syllable. The man wiped his chin, looked at the sticky fluid staining his hands and glared at Sarcanirin as if damning her to the abyss. With a strangled gurgle, the man fell with a dull thud like a diseased tree on moist soil amidst the garbage in the alley. Sarcanirin took a quick glance at the dead man and noticed Jarok's dagger buried to the hilt in the man's back. It seemed to Sarcanirin that timed had slowed as she pulled her own dagger. Looking at the two remaining sailors, she saw their expressions turn from puzzlement to something dark and sinister. Knowing she had to do something before the men sounded an alarm; she quickly flipped her dagger and grabbed the point. Rearing back, she put all of her strength of her small frame into the throw. She watched the blade spin end over end toward the closest sailor. Just when Sarcanirin thought the sailor was dead, he unexpectedly moved toward his left, advancing on Jarok. Swearing under her breath, she ripped her other dagger from her belt and took off after the man. That's when she noticed the other sailor move into the flight of the dagger. Praising Lothar Nimble-Fingers, patron God of thieves, Sarcanirin watched the dagger catch the man in the throat. Gagging on the hot spurt of blood, the sailor dropped to his knees grabbing the hilt of the dagger in a vain attempt to pull it out. Forgetting the man she just killed, Sarcanirin resumed running after the first sailor, who was slowly advancing on Mouse and Jarok. Saverok was nowhere to be seen-which was typical-when things deteriorated. Sarcanirin uttered another curse as the sailor reached down and grabbed Mouse by the throat. Jarok rushed to her defense but couldn't get past the sailor's belaying pin. Stroke for stroke, Sarcanirin could see that the sailor was just playing with Jarok. Ignoring the clash of steel and Mouse's whimpers, Sarcanirin mustered her courage to jump on the sailors' back, when out of nowhere Saverok emerged from a pile of garbage at the sailors feet. Sarcanirin could only cringe when she saw Saverok thrust his dagger straight up, right into the man's groin. Howling at the invasion of cold steel into the soft flesh of his private area, he simultaneously dropped Mouse and grabbed his crotch. Sarcanirin walked up to the whimpering fool, grabbed a handful of hair and slit his throat from ear to ear. Mouse and Saverok ducked out of the way, but Jarok caught the fountain of exploding blood directly in the face. Sarcanirin bent over and cleaned her blade off on the dead man's tunic, then started rifling through his pouch.
