Rynn was cooped up in her perch, rifle slung across her knees, and her eyes peering out from underneath her hood across the stretch of desert. She knelt in a small pocket of shadows, bleeding from her feet like a slow dark mist. Even without the unbearable haze of the sun beating down over the Elonian sands of the Crystal Desert, she’d still be hard to pick out. She adjusted the sights on her rifle, still getting accustomed to the thing. Target practice was a dangerous affair when you decided to keep up your chosen profession of bounty hunter. She sighed, looking across the way, and the trade caravan coming from Amnoon towards either the Temple of Kormir or Destiny’s Gorge. She was nestled in her perch, about a three hundred yards away, and stared idly at the road. Resting her eyes was important on long hunts like this one. She would start to lose focus when the time was right. With her eyes closed, she instead focused her ears. Hearing the sounds of Dolyak hooves in the dusty trail. She blinked a few times and slipped on her sunglasses, the polished dark glass of the spectacles cutting down the intense glare from the Elonian sun. With her hood up, she was blocking out almost all sunlight at this point. Thankfully the glasses were also treated with a special oil to cut down on reflection, so she wouldn’t be spotted by that. The end of the rifle scope was treated with the same. She wouldn’t be making that same mistake again.
With the trade caravan approaching, she spotted one of the Cavaliers, and stared carefully at the guard through her scope. Her target was a thief, and an impostor. He had a star mark scar across his cheek, a brand from the cartel that he’d stolen from. The thievery didn’t bother her too much, she’d been known to do so on occasion to survive. It was the murder of a family of four on the outskirts of Amnoon. Poor, destitute, begging for intervention from the Six while Balthazar rampaged across the desert. That wouldn’t be forgiven. Their neighbor, a kindly old woman named Selana had requested this contract. One gifted to Rynn from the Order of Shadows, whom she’d had a burgeoning working relationship with. The Shadows usually just observed, but in this case they were making an exception. She unconsciously patted the writ of execution in her coat, then went about adjusting her sights. With the caravan finally approaching her killbox, she settled down into a kneeling position, pulling the stock back into her shoulder and slowing her breathing. Ten steps, four steps. Mark. She felt the magic inside her well up as she locked her eyes on him. Had her glasses been off, they would see a red cross emblazoned on her eye looking through the scope.
They must have felt it to, as they jerked upright, looking around in a panic. It wasn’t fast enough to save them. She felt the kick of her rifle and the blast of heat as the bullet zipped out of her rifle, the shadow bolt cutting the air and colliding with her target dead center of his chest. Holding position and exhaling, she dropped from her perch, rifle cradled in one arm while her other pulled free a dagger from her belt. The other guards yelled out alarm, but cautiously reared up, a few longbows taut with a nocked arrow but thankfully none released. She’d planted a quick shadow refuge before she dropped down in case of a quick retreat being needed. “I have a writ for this man’s death. Murder, and theft. He’s actually not even a real cavalier.” The captain, who’d rode up with mouth open about to demand explanation, pulled up short as he received his answer without even asking. “That’s one of our uniforms though.” Rynn nodded, slipping the writ out of her coat and handing it to the captain.
“I’d have your men check the alleyways near your barracks, or any of the pubs. Check your rosters, see if anyone is missing. I’d say this man is responsible for at the very least one more murder.” The captain peered down at the writ, looking at the charges levied against the criminal. “We have one problem, hunter.” He rolled up the writ and handed it back to Rynn. She could feel a small tension at the back of her neck, a hand gripping on the dagger, ready to flick it free at someone in a moments notice. “We’re now one short of our escort for these supplies. They’re due to arrive at the Temple of Kormir in an hour for treatment of the injured and sick displaced by the Brandstorm and the Forged.”
Without a moments hesitation, Rynn hopped up into the saddle of the Raptor of the man she’d just killed, the beast not seeming to mind in the least. It even leaned down to pick up the corpse and settle it onto it’s back behind her. “You’ll have an escort than, Captain.” Having seen her proficiency with a rifle, and no doubt guessing she had ample use with the daggers and sword at her belt, he did not complain.