The Thief's Faith, part IV

By Tomtops

He stepped out into the heavy down pour of water. The streets were darkened by the clouded night. This night, where torches and lanterns never helped against the darkness, was a night of murders and thieves. That's why Olaric pained himself into coming out into the wet streets, where the puddles made more of the street than cobblestone did.

As Olaric quickly danced around puddles he began to think of all the training he had been doing for the past half a year. The palming and the stealing from helpless healers in the street. He had even killed a few locksmiths for the hell of it. He wasn't a cold blooded murder like half the crimals of the city were. He didn't do it for sport. He did it for survival, and to teach others to watch out for his temper. He had been given the name: The Tin Man. His old mask still served him well, even if he was offered several different hooded cloaks. He felt his mask would serve his purpose for as long as he needed it. He had resuited his body with better quality armor and his new dirk suited impressed many with it's golden hilt. He didn't complain, the price had been right.

He had almost reached his destination when he heard the quiet thud of foot falls behind him. Being quick and agile, he slipped into the dark shadows that lined the street sides. His followers drew to a stop less than five feet from him.

"Damn! We lost him!" A man cursed. "How'd he get away."

"He didn't," The other stated. "You fool."

Olaric peered from the shadows at his followers. One man was a tall bulky man with heavy armor and a large gladius. The other was a thin sneaky looking fellow with a hood pulled tightly over his face. Olaric watched as the bulky warrior give the hooded man a puzzled look and then realized the hooded man was pointing directly toward him.

"Huh? What do you mean? He's stand over there?" The worrior scratched his helmeted head and peered into the darkness where Olaric stood in hiding.

"Yes, you ijit," The man's hand lowered onto the hilt of his dagger, which was visable to Olaric from under the hood.

Olaric knew he was found, but he wasn't about to be caught. Not by a over-armored fool, or anyone. He dashed down the street, splashing through puddles as he went, leaving the two fool dazed and confused. It didn't take long for them to recover and they were quickly on his trail again. Olaric didn't take any time in attempting to lose them. He dashed into and out of random alleys. He considered removing his mask and just acting like a passer-by, but he felt that those two following him would catch him.

Finally, he discovered himself in a deadend alley. Nothing to hide behind and no where to run. Yet, there was a solid oak door on his left. He knew it was a one room shop, but there wasn't anywhere else to go. He ducked into the shop and pulled the door closed behind him. He pressed an ear against the door and listened as his followers came into the alley.

"Gone!? Again!?" Olaric listened as the warrior cursed loudly. "He's slippery, I'll tell you."

"Will you shut up?"

"Well, where is he now? huh!?"

"Look. If you look you'll see a door. He's in there."

There was silence and Olaric knew they were drawing weapons and preparing to pull open the door and crash in on him. Taking a step back from the door and preparing to draw his own weapon he realized his way of escape. He walked to the back of the shop and ran forward throwing all his weight into the door. The door flew open, crashing into the armor-ridden man causing him to lose his balance and tumble over onto the hooded figure. Seeing his chance, Olaric sprang out of the alley and into the street.

He grinned as he dashed through the rain and into the well lit toga. He sat amoung the folk of the toga and drank his ale. He began to ponder on who his followers were. How had they known he was hidden in the shadows? How had they kept up with him? There was more to this than Olaric could know. He sat and pondered as people at the toga glared at him. Glared at the Tin Man who sat calmly in their presence. His presence began to raise a commotion. It always did.

Olaric finished his third mug of ale and stood up silently. He glanced around and noticed a young man glaring at him and handling a small dirk.

"You might want to put that away, Boy," Olaric almost laughed. "You'll end up cutting yourself."

The man growled loudly and lunged forward with his dirk. Olaric sidestepped and stuck out a booted foot, which the boy fell over.

"Boy, you aren't very wise," Olaric grinned toward the fallen man. "I suggest we stop playing games."

"Games!?" The young man roared, causing heads to turn his way. "I'll kill you!"

This time the man advanced toward Olaric and began to jab wildly with the dirk, which Olaric promptly disarmed from him.

"Now, why do you insist in attacking me, Boy?" He said, tripping the man, and retreating to a safe distance.

"Bastard! You killed my best friend!" The young man shouted, making everyone in the toga to turn and watch what was unfolding.

Olaric's grin returned to his serious expression of deep pondering. "Who was he?"

"Weldon," The you man burst into tears as he lay on the floor.

Olaric stood looking down at the young man for a moment he felt pity for him. He knew the man's heart was filled with pure hatred, like the hatred he felt for all locksmiths. He felt he knew what the man's heart was tellin him. Revenge.

The man stood, whipping tears from his face. He gave Olaric a dirty look before fleeing into the rain. Olaric sat down heavily onto the bar staring off into space, deep in thought. This wasn't the last he would see of the young man, he knew.

Olaric suddenly felt very tired. He had spent a few hours of pure running and it all seemed to be catching up to him right now. He stood and walked quietly out of the toga and dissappeared into the dark night. When he awoke in his room, that had been supplied by the Guild, he lay a moment recalling his followers. Then he stood and began to suit up and his armor. As he suited up he began to wonder when he would see his two followers again. With his armor on, and mask in backpack, Olaric headed out into the hallway of the Guildsmen.

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