[h3][u]Ayer Lecomte[/u][/h3]
[b]- A Quarter past 9PM.[/b]
- Mentions: [@Mataus]

When Ayer saw the shadow of the guardsmen draw closer, his heart nearly skipped a beat. He held his breath and pushed himself closer behind the corner of the turn, finger on the trigger of [b]Wax Jury[/b]. He had it all planned out, how to move, how to take out this man without a single moment to react. But something was wrong in his head. Though he told himself that he needed to do this, the thought of hurting another person made him feel horrible. His lips felt dry and chapped, despite all the moisture of the sea. 

All his life, his work was always designed to help people. Though there was a bit of revenge and ego tied into the motivation, these long years spent adrift were fundamentally towards figuring out a way to make people's lives easier. These Ars were supposed to be his greatest revelation upon the world of magic and technology. And yet, he was using these very tools for inflicting pain and treason. But what choice did he really have? The Nillium will do with his Ars far worse than he possible can, if he allowed it. His brow furrowed just thinking of the act of destruction he had committed to his own prized work earlier today. All of those tools and crafts, meant to one day lead the revolution to advance the sentient races of Thoris, to perhaps rid them of the threat of the untamed wilds, gone and destroyed by the self-initiated meltdown. There were probably be bits left, he was sure. The jewel cores themselves were incredibly durable. But he was sure that was not enough to replicate the complexity of the Ars itself. 

But his time to contemplation was over. The shadow was a few steps away now. 

[i]One for many... this is what you must accept, Ayer...[/i]

That drunken act he overheard earlier seemed to really work wonders. The young man didn't even look like he wanted to be bothered with the search anymore, disgruntled and carelessly walking down towards the lower floor where Ayer was. The second the man pulled the corner, Ayer stepped out and pointed the barrel at his chest and blasted him. He hoped the loud pop of condensed wind wouldn't draw too much attention. Though there was also a slight spark of mana influx from the crystal cores to worry about too, though much less noticeable. 

Ayer simply hoped for the best. And hoped the man lived too. He lowered the power considerably, afraid to kill the unsuspecting innocent. Maybe a little too much, one might even say.