Night enveloped Ul'dah, the cool breeze contrasting with the heated tempers that shouted in Pearl Lane. It was a scene not unusual for the city; on one side of the street was a skinny Elezen, flanked by a Hellsguard Roegadyn and a Midlander Hyur. On the other side of the street were two other Midlanders and several Ala Mhigan Highlanders. The Elezen and his companions were dressed in scraggly cotton robes and held no weapons that could be seen. Conversely, the opposing Hyur were shirtless, wearing only some woolen kecks and armed with unpolished but clearly functional scimitars. Their arms were adorned with tattoos that depicted a crude image of a hawk with a warhammer in its mouth, and all of them wore confident smirks.
"Scythe owns this area now," the Wildwood Elezen spoke calmly, folding his arms in the cotton robe. "We had gone over this before. Everywhere from the Onyx Lane to here belongs to him. You had best be on your way."
One of the Midlanders briefly scratched his head, before letting out a bark of laughter. As if on cue, the rest of the Hyur followed suit, filling the area with guffawing.
"'ear that, laddies? We'd best be on our way," the Midlander said with mocking confidence. "Th' 'ammerbeaks be bowin' t'nobody, an' if ye got a problem wit' that, well..." he patted the scimitar on his side. "Bein' the generous sort o' people, we can sort that out fer ya."Â
The Elezen shook his head. "Your numbers are meaningless. Scythe is giving you one chance. One. I suggest you take it." Out of sight, one of the second-story windows that had been previously boarded up silently swing open, a detail that would be fatal to miss.
The Midlander's amused expression dropped. "Who ye be thinkin' ye are, ye knife-eared shite licker? Ye think ye can waddle in t' our turf and get out unscathed?" He and the other Hyur drew their swords, their joviality replaced with violent anticipation.
"On the contrary," the Elezen said, smiling. "It is you stepping into our territory, and it is you who will not be escaping unscathed." He raised his hand, seconds later a sound not unlike the crack of lightning was heard. A plume of smoke emerged from the open window and the Midlander's furious countenance was replaced with one of shock. He looked down at his chest and found a small hole that quickly blossomed into a crimson plume. The Midlander looked up at the Elezen's now sadistic grin, and tried to say something. Nothing emerged but a gurgle as blood escaped the Midlander's lips, preceding the dull thud of a body hitting the pavement.
As if on cue, several other windows swung open, and polished wooden rifle barrels poked out. The remaining Highlanders were surrounded as their position of confidence had crumbled under the threat of the barrage.
The Elezen reached into his robe and pulled out an ornate pistol, pointing it at the next Midlander in the gang.Â
"Scythe extends his invitations," was the smug proposition.
"Scythe owns this area now," the Wildwood Elezen spoke calmly, folding his arms in the cotton robe. "We had gone over this before. Everywhere from the Onyx Lane to here belongs to him. You had best be on your way."
One of the Midlanders briefly scratched his head, before letting out a bark of laughter. As if on cue, the rest of the Hyur followed suit, filling the area with guffawing.
"'ear that, laddies? We'd best be on our way," the Midlander said with mocking confidence. "Th' 'ammerbeaks be bowin' t'nobody, an' if ye got a problem wit' that, well..." he patted the scimitar on his side. "Bein' the generous sort o' people, we can sort that out fer ya."Â
The Elezen shook his head. "Your numbers are meaningless. Scythe is giving you one chance. One. I suggest you take it." Out of sight, one of the second-story windows that had been previously boarded up silently swing open, a detail that would be fatal to miss.
The Midlander's amused expression dropped. "Who ye be thinkin' ye are, ye knife-eared shite licker? Ye think ye can waddle in t' our turf and get out unscathed?" He and the other Hyur drew their swords, their joviality replaced with violent anticipation.
"On the contrary," the Elezen said, smiling. "It is you stepping into our territory, and it is you who will not be escaping unscathed." He raised his hand, seconds later a sound not unlike the crack of lightning was heard. A plume of smoke emerged from the open window and the Midlander's furious countenance was replaced with one of shock. He looked down at his chest and found a small hole that quickly blossomed into a crimson plume. The Midlander looked up at the Elezen's now sadistic grin, and tried to say something. Nothing emerged but a gurgle as blood escaped the Midlander's lips, preceding the dull thud of a body hitting the pavement.
As if on cue, several other windows swung open, and polished wooden rifle barrels poked out. The remaining Highlanders were surrounded as their position of confidence had crumbled under the threat of the barrage.
The Elezen reached into his robe and pulled out an ornate pistol, pointing it at the next Midlander in the gang.Â
"Scythe extends his invitations," was the smug proposition.
