<div style="text-align: center"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" src="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" style=""/><br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #9D612B">THAT THOSE SPIES HIDE OUT IN EVERY CORNER<br/>
THEY CAN'T TOUCH YOU NO</span></span></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: #544A41"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="color: #9D612B">Her slow return to Izmit had given her plenty of time to think,</span></span></span> to consider just what she was going to do with herself.  Twice now she had failed to beat this samurai, unable to prove herself as the true assassin she thought she was.  She needed to train, to get stronger, to learn more.  Perhaps she would go to Burland Castle, and see not only what she could learn about samurais, but look for any ancient books that might help her discover any untapped potential from her abyssal heritage, or increase her power as a warlock in general.  While it wasn't as impressive of a library as she would have hoped for, it would give her something to do while she thought of how she would kill this Silverbrow.  If she would kill this Silverbrow.<br/>
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By the time she arrived in Izmit, the drow had the faintest sense that something was wrong.  Usually there was some sort of activity in the streets, even at this hour.  No one could have prepared for her presence and simply left because of the fact that she was a drow—she was known well enough in Izmit, so her presence wasn't terribly surprising, just unwelcome—so clearly, something had to have happened.  Despite these cautious, trained thoughts, she couldn't have prepared herself for what she had stumbled upon next.<br/>
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The door to the guild was busted down, and the smell of blood was in the air, burning her heightened nostrils with its coppery stench.  Cautiously, she entered the guild, and stepped carefully around dead and dying bodies, looking for any face she might remember as a close friend, to see if she could bother saving them.  When no such faces showed up in her way to the meeting room, she pushed the doors open and glanced about for Double-Dead.  Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the damage he had taken.  <span style="color: #9D612B">"Who could have done this?"</span> she asked, remaining respectfully quiet while her master tended to his injuries and spoke of their ruin.  <span style="color: #9D612B">"Give me a name, and I will see to it that they burn for what they have done here."</span><br/>
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This was just what she needed.  More to worry and stress about.  Why couldn't Izmit have been safe for just one night?  Why couldn't she had made merry, had drink, gotten laid, and then dealt with the damage tomorrow?</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><a class="externalLink" href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=454315" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">*</a></span></span>​</div><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>