The landscape was breathtaking. The city itself seemed to rise from the ground, complementing the grounds around it in a rather tasteful fashion. The colors were garish and divine, the architecture, aided by the Stones, was simply magnificent, built by machines, again, powered by the Stones. The shapes were beautiful, naturally flowing, growing from pleasant to stunningly magnificent the closer one came to the center of the city. The Jewel of the City, in more ways than one, was the Citadel at its very center. The walls were high, made of the purest black marble, the towers spearing up to the sky, contrasting the black walls with their golden hues. The mansion inside was incalculably huge, covered acres and acres.

The city was a magical place, where the rich were always young and beautiful, dressed in the finest clothing and riding horses or borne atop litters carried by servants. The poor, who weren't slaves, were a shocking contrast to this. Wretched, old, decaying and wearing nothing but rags that were cast aside by their betters, begging for scraps to continue their wretched existence.

All visitors were captured by the awe-inspiring beauty of Atlantis.

All but one, that is.

His eyes were dark, such a deep brown that they looked black. He was hunched over, covered by a filthy and ragged cloak as he moved along the city, muttering apologies as he stepped aside. You and beautiful rich people were passing, he thought, irritated. If it weren't for the guards, he would be moving faster. They were always dressed in golden armor, and were very loud and otherwise hard to miss. He slipped through the crevices of the people, most not giving him a second glance. His face was covered, but long scraggly hair showed streaks of grew and the deforming hump on his back showed that he wasn't a man of any riches or influence, as he didn't have the money to buy a wishing stone to alter his appearance and maintain his youth.

He moved close to the walls, his dark eyes running over their black surface, trying to find any weakness, but no hope sprung in him. These walls were watched night and day, protected by the Wishing Stones that had created them. Any crack on it was quickly discovered and easily mended, so it was quite obvious that scaling the walls was not going to be an option. Tunneling under them did appeal to the hunched over man, but that would take weeks, maybe even months, and even then there was the chance that he would be found out, and he would be stepping into the citadel without any previous knowledge of the place.

"Hey!" Someone called and the hunchback turned his swollen body around at a ponderous pace. Three guards approached him, their golden armor glistening in the fading sunlight, setting in the west. The commander of the guards pushed the man's hood back, showing his face. Despite his graying black hair, his eyes were fiercely intelligent, face sporting a stylishly short beard, also with a couple white streaks, and a very handsome face.

"What are you doing so near the walls, beggar?" The guard asked, harshly.

"Just looking for a way in, milord," The man growled, coughing and spitting on the ground at the guard's feet. The man was angry.

"You just found the quickest way never to be admitted into the citadel," The man screamed, turning to his comrades," Hae this man thrown from the city.

The two men seemed dispirited by the task, growling a bit as they moved close to the beggar, grabbing him by his arms and pulling him up higher. Something happened. If any of the guards would have survived, they would have speculated on how that first strike had occurred. Maybe he already had the weapon in his hand, but either way, the first guard to touch him fell back, a surprised look on his face. He was clutching his throat, but otherwise looked fine. Then he fell to his knees, blood erupting from his severed jugular. The captain looked up from his man to see the second dead as well, disemboweled, and the hunchback flickering around and something coming from his right hand.

Noe moved over to the dead captain, pulling his blade out of the man's forehead. Standing tall, to his full height and casting off his disguise, he took on a new one. He dressed as the captain of the guard, his golden armor fitting the taller man a bit poorly, but it would stand a cursory inspection, and as a captain, a cursory inspection would be all that would be extended. He smiled. Things were working out already. A quick look would show his right hand covered in a glove of very expensive seal-skin leather.

He strapped on the man's ax, liking the feel of the weapon and deciding to keep it for the time being. The newly appointed captain made his way to the gates.