[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/342829614500151300/458777863991328778/Kosara.png?width=413&height=375[/img]

[h1] Kosara
Home Base, Southern Moor[/h1][/center]

Hmm. The shelling had finally ended.

Finally. It was a horrible nuisance. Perhaps now she could relax a bit. 

Well, at least her time hadn’t been wasted. In front of her stood her familiars, no longer simply wraiths or spirits, now with grotesque exaggerations of features. Teeth that ended in fangs, ribs that showed through, skin of varied colors that stood out, and a wooden cudgel in hand.

“Go, and search.”

The beings obeyed.

[center][img]https://media.discordapp.net/attachments/342829614500151300/455989420173295626/Jack.jpg?width=501&height=282[/img]

[h2]Jack
Western Farm[/h2][/center]

[@Reflection][@Scallop]

In the line of work as a thief, you left behind victims of all sorts by your actions. That was entirely understandable, and a part of the life you signed up for the moment you stole your first piece of coin. Everything one would “steal” has an “owner”, else it is no longer a theft but rather a “taking”. Thieves, the true thieves that Jack calls himself one of and acknowledges, do not take things that cannot be returned. 

Lives are not the target of a thief. A hypocritical statement from a man who killed two others the day before, but not one he bothered himself over. They had broken the cardinal rule first, and a knight does not let that go.

So, in not taking lives, in leaving behind those with grudges, it is perhaps inevitable in the line of thievery that one will ultimately “meet a former mark”. Whether that be by design or happenstance, it is something that must be prepared for by all thieves.

Thus the appearance of Roland, and the lady atop the Elephant from that day when the flames rose, was a bygone conclusion in the eyes of Jack. 

[quote=@Reflection][b]Thud Thud Thud.[/b][/quote]

Roland moved to speak. 

Perhaps, there might have been a time in which discourse might have been possible. Perhaps, diplomacy might have been the way in which the sword was returned, without bloodshed, without fear, without a mess.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Just as infinite a word as “if”.

Jack knew better. The woman- no, the she-devil. He knew her kind. Bloodthirsty, determined, and willing to step the extra foot past the line. Their appearance upon the elephant won them no points. The paladin’s actions in the flames, consigning civilians to their death, lost them sympathy. Finally, the nature of “those who pursued thieves”, in order to regain their items, had long been burned into Jack. The Giant, bearing down upon him, the earth shaking with their steps, as they growled, roared, and made the world spin as they screamed in indignance and hatred of the thief.

There was only one answer.

Jack the Thief, ran.

His feet flew, in the middle of Roland’s second line, the blade springing to his hand. He ran, ran faster than any in the war might have ever seen him run before, cloak flapping in the wind as he brought up the sword.

[b]”Durandal: Ultimate Unbroken Hallow”[/b], the sword glowed to a blinding degree.

[b]”Escape to Safety.”[/b]