Joe and the assassins
Just a short story about Joe getting into a little trouble... critique welcome!
Joe hadn't liked that glance that those two had passed between them at dinner, Joe would bet his life that there would have been a hand signal if they hadn't done this so many times before.
He crept up unnoticeably to stand outside their door, his spells making him seem part of the wall or the breeze that patrolled the inn. He listened carefully. "He knows too much,"
"we both knew that."
"which way to inhume him?"
"well we can't use dagger, he always sleeps with one eye open, drat him..."
"he won't tonight." the pair didn't know Joe could sense sleeping powders and poisons and such in his drink, otherwise he would be sleeping drugged.
"You didn't have to use Nightbloom,"
"he's a mage, pays to be safe."
There was muffled footsteps and before Joe could draw away the door opened into him and sent him sprawling. There was a noisy silence as the assassins circled Joe, eyes glittering from the oil lamp in their room.
The muscles in the first one's legs bunched and Joe dropped and rolled, letting the person fly over towards their partner, who moved to block Joe's escape. Joe's hand was in the second pocket from the front on the far right.
Light blazed as he threw the powder and added his magic. joe opened his eyes and tackled the nearest man to make him fall into his friend, then withdrew to the stairs, not for the only time wishing he could use a dagger. The pair stumbled towards their door, where Joe had considered going, These two were good... time to get a little fancy then...
Joe appeared in a nearby doorway, slinking towards the two from behind, as it did so he considered what to do, yes, that would be best... Joe once more tackled the pair, who twisted to try and stab him, they got a shallow cut on his shoulder. He covered it with his hand as he backed away towards his room, which they wouldn't let him get to for fear of what his pack might hold...
Sure enough there was a hum as two darts sped across the intervening space, Joe ducked and rolled again, into a wall 'by accident'. The assassins sent off the next two darts, Joe avoided one, but the other lodged in his neck. He tried to run a few steps but fell heavily and didn't move, masking the slight hiss of the window in the assassins room.
The real Joe whispered along the rooves of the inn and its neighbours with his pack and the little pendant he had been employed to steal riding safely in his pouch. He smiled as he saw two shadows crouching over a body on the floor. Soon they would go to his room and find the 'near empty' pack he had left, complete with everything needed for staging his death. That must be his...what, eighth coffin?