Thumped

Broken Tiles

As Vale turned the corner passing into the shadows of the alley, he looked, spotted, jumped to a jutting section of wall. Before he fully settled, he leaped to the adjacent wall, running two paces up before grabbing the edge of the building. He brought his legs up, tucked them into his chest and pushed off, arching serenely into a backflip. Vale landed, hands straight in the air like an acrobat at the circus. When the applause did not come, he dropped his hands and stretched his neck to examine the dirty alley floor. A good 12 feet. Nodding and smiling at his cleverness, Vale looked at his dismount point. Left foot 3 inches behind the right. Sloppy. He looked reproachfully at down at his foot as if asking for an explanation. When one wasn't forthcoming, he shook his head scornfully and turned his attention to the roof.

Within the barest of seconds, Vale found footsteps leading either deeper into the city or towards the shopping district. He could see a story woven from pressure points made by the impressions made in the slate roofing tiles. Small cracks were riveted in the tiles displaced under an individual's weight. He paused, maneuvering his face closer to the roof. He moved gently over to the position where his feet had come down on the coping stone of the roof's parapet. Trying not to disturb the scene, Vale peered into the cracks, verifying. How had... oh those sly scamps! It all made sense. The spiraling rifts in the shingles where he had struck were shallower than the ones close-by, the crevasses between the broken pieces closer together. A series of footsteps made in the same spot then, not merely one. He shifted back to the other cracks, examining how the fractures spread out and radiated. Through this investigation, he noticed another interesting detail; on one side of the print, there was a splayed pattern of dust and small particles. When the tile had compressed and broken under the secondary and tertiary impacts, it became impossible to hide the direction the group was going. At least three, he thought, maybe four.

Concluding his inspection and following along in the same prints the party had made, Vale began his hunt. Four paces to the edge of the roof, one step up to the coping stone, and... hesitation. Squinting out over the space between roofs and shading his face from the sun with one hand, he considered where the band would make their escape. The nearest city was miles away, down treacherous mountain paths. They wouldn't leave, he was sure. Placing his two feet together and gathering his strength, Vale vaulted the gap between him and the nearest building. There he searched, face less than a foot from the tiles, seeking. His fruitless inquest cost him precious minutes and he turned, disgusted, leaping to another roof. Beginning again, he meticulously inspected the tiles and.. there! He was off.

Vale pursued the trail, only being thrown once more as the party split. He was barely misdirected, seeing that all but one continued on the same path. He followed the many, hoping to catch up when the footsteps died suddenly died away. He ceased mid-step and pivoted, jumping forward onto his hands and over to land on his feet again. As he hit the roof, a thin snap sounded, announcing the trap that had been set. Foxy twits he thought, a smile crossing his lips. Not this time. He dropped off the edge of the roof, hands darting just in time to grab the lip. Dangling, he released his grip and fell to the sill of a window below. The alley was so narrow, Vale could touch both sides with outstretched hands. Alternating between arms and legs, he made his way down to the ground, careful to keep his clean shoes out of the refuse puddles that had been dropped from nearby windows. He made a wide circle around the block where the trap had been sprung, coming back from the opposite direction. Hoping to take them by surprise he entered an alley and tucked his body behind a pile of garbage. His keen eyes noticed something off about the pattern of shadows that accompanied the alleyway. Another mistake, he berated. Exploding into action, Vale pumped his legs, building enough momentum to walk four good steps on the wall, coming in at an angle no inexperienced fighter could be prepared for.

Right before his momentum was lost, Vale sprung to the opposite wall. Gathering his strength, he propelled himself horizontally into the adjoining alley, fingers of one hand held straight above his head like the tip of a spear, flexed to take impact. Only, there was no impact. Surprised, Vale fell flat into his chest and abdomen, air escaping lungs as his diaphragm constricted in pain. He rolled immediately, but it was too late. Having been hanging suspended, a figure dropped directly onto Vale's rotating body. With a grunt, the man brought a weapon down seeking to batter Vale's head and shoulders but Vale was quicker. Tucking his head and bunching his legs up to his chin, he kicked out and pushed up, using the ground to strengthen his movement. The man was lifted off the ground by his groin, rising three feet into the air before landing in a moaning heap on his back, legs shifting into a fetal position.

From the shadows, two more assailants emerged, brandishing weapons menacingly. Vale sucked in a much needed breath and hastily got to his feet, dropping into a balanced crouch, hands out and ready. They came together, each stabbing a weapon directly at Vale's chest. Seeing an opportunity, Vale shifted his body, shoulders going parallel as he evaded the thrusts, arm easily deflecting both lunges and sending the attackers out wide. In a reckless move, he jumped, kicking one assaulter with each leg. Both throats were crushed and they stumbled backwards, each soundlessly out of the fight. Vale used the momentum to launch himself backward, tucking his legs in a flawless turnover, settling on the ground, careful not to dunk his leather shoes into any leavings, animal or otherwise. Nodding his head at his good work, he stepped forward, desirous to find the goods taken from the merchants in Thelua square. As he moved closer to the man still nursing his stones, something didn't feel quite right. The set of prints that had branched off... How had he forgotten? He wasn't finished with this fight. Not by half.

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More of Vale's oddness shining through. First real fight scene. They are harder to write than I thought. It's hard for me to tell if they make perfect sense because I can see it in my head regardless of what is on the page. Please comment. Let's make it right.

Vote if you enjoyed.

A. Fortiori