[@Thinslayer]

	Years of experience tracking the beasts of his lands, fallen before him in shambles. Had it really been that long since Ventus had been across Fellmore? The air stung his nostrils, dry and tainted with the blood of his brothers, long expired and robbed of its [i]essence.[/i] Much like his fate, Fellmore was seemingly without hope, and doomed to an eternity in darkness. How could he have been so stupid? He didn't account for the ashen landscape dulling his senses, or the weather to reveal his path. Subterfuge and critical advantages, his two most deadly weapons, were stripped from him before the battle had even begun. [i]Just like he'd always said, strike first, strike once.[/i] Ventus did not often strike second, and rarely escaped such circumstances without a parting memory in the form of [i]frayed flesh.[/i]

	Ungrog grunted something in his direction. Ventus ignored it, still sizing up the war band that had cornered him so profusely. At least 60 men, probably a lot more, and all armed. Orcish warriors, though brutal and dull, were more than a match for him in such tightly packed numbers. His agility and precision meant nothing, but that didn't mean he was about to lie down and accept death like a dog at the hands of Ungrog, [i]that miserable neanderthal.[/i] Ventus looked towards the chieftain with a nervous thirst stabbing at this back of his throat. [i]'I could kill 20, perhaps 25'[/i] Ventus thought, picking his targets carefully, with Ungrog among them. He gently rapped at the top of his kilt with his left hand, feeling for the base of a blade he treasured dearly. [i]172 confirmed kills,[/i] his Ebony dagger, forged for the purpose of silent and seamless murder. [i]Assassination.[/i] Blood slipped off its onyx surface like oil, leaving the blade clean after every death. Just how many throats could he slit before Ungrog or one of his pathetic minions violently brought their weapons into his own flesh? 

	[i]'23, most certainly. Perhaps more. An unsatisfying end, without honor'[/i]

	Ventus sighed and looked up to Ungrog, flattening his left palm against the hilt of his weapon. [b]"Just who do I betray with my actions? Uprooting villainous scum from pedestals of power, albeit for [i]soaked[/i] gold. Is that not a product of my allegiance to the people who know no freedom or joy? Spare me your biased conjecture, [i]brute.[/i] I may die here, but I will take my fair share of justice, [i]right out of your hide,[/i]"[/b] Ventus spat, haphazardly. The moment an Orc lost its rational was the moment his heart tripled in size. Major arteries swelled, blood pumped at an alarming pace, and with a few careful slices, a berserk Orc would bleed out ten times faster than usual. Such a simple plan B when dealing with simple fools, but was Ungrog just as feeble as the hundreds that followed him or his cause? It didn't matter, death was moments away. Ventus was just eager to [i]earn it.[/i]