Silent, the moving figure shifted through the darkness of the dense forest; the massive trees provided ample cover. In the land of shadows, this new-comer was at home. His hair was dishelved and strayed back and forth, grazing the back of his neck. Short stubble of beard came through on his chin - he hadn't been near civilization in days.

The man's steady hands stayed by his sides, arms crossed across his chest, always ready. Sheathed, attached to his belt by leather straps, were his only companions - two long daggers. His pace was quick but the man tread carefully and apprehensively through the unfamiliar grounds.

In the dread silence, nothing stirred. It was as if nature itself was aware of the irrevocable slaughter. The bounty hunter's heart quickened pace and adrenaline coursed through his veins, but he was far from exhilarated. The assassin had a mission to accomplish and, as always, he would do everything necessary to complete it - he would kill, he would ravage. He would destroy. But he would not celebrate at this new victory. He would hate every damned moment of it. The man's survival through all his past incidents was beyond impossibility.

This is the only thing you're good for, he told himself. You're a killer! A cold-blooded killer! ...You're not even worth the gold you were paid!

On the outside, though, the rogue exhumed an air of total confidence and determination. His eyes narrowed and a bead of cold sweat dropped from his forehead, fell on the bridge of his nose and ran down to the tip. The man made no sudden movements, continuing his apprehensive search, coming closer and closer to the adversary he sought. He could hear the other's careless, brash steps. A twig snapped. A heavy boot crushed the fallen leaves below. The target suddenly stopped.

The assassin paused, glancing just in front, where the other stood just a few feet away. In the darkness, the rogue knew he had not been detected, but something had stayed the target nonetheless. The man's pale hands grasped noiselessly at the hilts of the daggers, drawing them out half-way, preparing for battle. His lips pursed revealing clenched gleaming white teeth. Muscles all across his upper body tensed as the bounty hunter awaited further movement. Already, the battle itself was revealed to him - he had seen it many times before - and played out in different scenarios in his mind. He knew he would come out victorious. He'd been a bounty hunter for an odd 20 years, he had slain hundreds, and had but a few scars to show for it.

But deep inside, he wished he would die. Keirath always did.

Aurum moved cautiously through the trees, dagger in hand. She could tell someone was near, but she did not know who it was. So she drew her dagger, and beat the air to stay aflight in her half-dragon form.