Fragile Life. (Hallow's End Special.)

"Ain't 'et funny how fragile life can be." A disconnected voice speaks. His voice echoing of the cave wet cave walls, only to be drowned out by the repeating sound of waves beating against the nearby shore. A deep, rumbling voice with the accent of a dwarf. He speaks in a serious tone, one of which has said this many times. A repeated sentence, one that he has given to most of his targets. "Why then, would ye' waste yer valuable time. On servin' tha Burnin' Legion."

A hooded, bloodied figure trembles on the far side of the cavern, the darkness of the cave having once hid him well, yet now rendered useless against the flaming torch in the center of the cavern were a summoning circle once stood. One that had gone wrong, interrupted by the interloper's messing with the perfect runic patterns upon the black stone. His arms, torn apart for his failure to prepare for the unseen.

The disconnected voice steps into the burning light of the torch, his feet echoing against the cave walls. A dwarf, dressed in green chain mail in pristine condition. "Ain't 'et funny, how fragile a life can be." He repeats, stepping ever closer, his full stature revealed as a short yet stout male specimen. He frowns upon the ragged figure shaking his head slowly and drawing out a flintlock that he had hidden on his back, slowly pulling the cock back.

The sound echoes through the cave, a 'click' sound as it is pulled into position. The ragged figure trembles more, blood slowly pooling around him, soaking the summoning robes he had bought, for so.. So long ago. The figure smiles faintly, muttering low. "Elyn-.." Yet whatever remains of the sentence is silenced, as the sound of gunpowder igniting echoes through the caverns.

The dwarf remains still for a few seconds before turning around and stepping out, out into the afternoon light. One last time he mutters low. "Funny, how fragile yer life were."