Near Pemberton’s Clock making (Will affect all inside the store and outside of it)
Galen knelt inside of his makeshift cover on the roof, working very carefully on his little surprise. However, in all honesty, this hut wasn’t his. The small makeshift structure on the roof belonged to the city guards who were sometimes stationed on top to watch for trouble. These hunts featured low walls and a roof made out of wood, cloth blinds provided some cover from the elements when lowered. These city guards usually operated in market areas, festivals, or other areas with many people and an increased danger of theft, murder, or any other kind of crime. Unlike their fellows on the ground, who were armed for anywhere between light and heavy combat, these guards on the roof wore no armor or protection at all; just simple uniforms that had lightly padded leather coats for the cold. They also carried bows, the rare firearm, a short sword for close encounters, and a horn to notify any trouble.
He paused for a moment, listening for any noises, but didn’t hear a thing. He took a quick break from his work and glanced out of the cloth covers. There was a small gap at the bottom that allowed him to survey the area to see if any of the guards noticed anything yet, but pleasing they had not. His plan was simple, but painstaking at best. He’d been contracted to kill some nobleman, Lord Harrow? Or was it Loghain? Meh, it didn’t matter to him at all, his target was some minor lord from Exalia. His client had paid him indirectly to kill the man, for reasons he didn’t care to explain, which again didn’t bother him at all. From experience, such matters were usually jealousy, betrayal, loans, support, etc. From what he’d figured out so far, was that it was an odd combination of all of them. Several people were irritated with the minor lord, including his wife.
Galen had been working on this for the past week and a half. Most of his time was devoted to simple watching. The minor lord had a path that he took every day, but was heavily guarded by eight individuals. So an ambush or distraction would have been suicide. The guards were very good too and never allowed an opening or let anyone get too close to him. Four of them would form a box around him, two would be up front scouting the area ahead, and two more would bring up the rear. So he had to get a little creative this time. Late last night, disguised as a weary salesman he delivered a special clock to Pemberton’s Clock shop. He begged the kind shopkeeper to allow him to leave it there for the night, and allow him to deliver it in the morning to his client and that he’d pay for the trouble. They allowed him and it was sitting in the front window facing the street. It was a monstrous grandfather clock, made from magnificent and beautiful oak, elegant and broad engravings. The clock face was made from marble with golden numbers and hands that were created in intricate patterns. The front of the clock was wider than the back, making it harder to place in a room, and suggested that it was a custom designed for a very wealthy individual, when it was something very different; a giant bomb. It was stockpiled with compressed blocks of explosive powder, daggers, nails, arrow heads, and a few other scraps of metal. The design of it ensured that most of the explosion would be generated outwards into the street, killing anyone out there, but the shock wave would disorient anyone in the shop or in the vicinity of the explosion. The only problem is that he didn’t have enough time to wire a count down, so he had to find a way to trigger the detonation without getting caught in it.
That’s where the guard tower box came into play. Although he did have to spend much of the early morning killing the roof guards in the area, hiding the bodies, and locking all of the doors to the roofs, it wasn’t bad. It kept his skills sharp. All he had to do was throw a pipe bomb into the clock shop to trigger the grandfather clock to explode. The only trick was designing a pipe bomb to not deliver any fatal wounds, but it was going to be one hell of a disorientating boom. Not to mention all of the clock fragments from the twin shock waves. All the grandfather clock needed was some pressure. If you dropped it, then it would have exploded thanks to the delicate trigger mechanism inside
“It’s all part of the plan,” he whispered to himself, and the dead guard next to him. Had he lived in the modern world that he use to belong to, one would identify his accent as being Italian, but it had an unusual hint of Russian in it as well. “Excuse me senior, are you going to have a drink of this?” he asked reaching over to the guard and grabbing the guard’s wine sack. “… Hmm yes, I do guess that having a slit throat would make it slightly difficult to drink. Do you mind if I have a drink of it, for my terribly dry throat? ... Ha, thank you senior, you are such a kind and understanding man. Your wife must love you dearly.” Galen ripped the stopper from the wine sack and gave it a long, swig, and smacked his lips an approval. “Not too bad my friend, I was expecting piss to taste better than this, but it isn’t half bad. Although I know where to get much, much better wine than this watered down tragedy. After work, you should stop by and I’ll… You cannot, I am sorry to hear that, perhaps another time then.”
The assassin took one last swig before dropping it on the guard, staining the uniform and mixing in with the blood that was already flowing from the box onto the flattened section of the roof. He carefully popped open a small tube, full of gun powder and dumped it into the pipe bomb. Then he opened a few of his smoke bombs and poured the contents in as well, and packed his creation down enough that he could get the cap on. After screwing the cap on, he examined his work; simple, but satisfying. All he needed was a light. He turned back to the dead guard and began poking him “Excuse me senior, I am sorry for da interruption again, but do you have a light? Belt you say? In the left pouch there’s a tinder box, you say? Thank you my good sir,” he said as he rummaged through the guards equipment, taking the tinderbox as well as the man’s coin bag.
He glanced around on final time before looking down into the street from the space again. Right about this time, his target would be entering the street from the corner. He glanced over at the clock shop and caught sight of one of the leading guard’s pole axe, and the door to the shop was opening. Perfect. Galen lit the fuse, pulled the curtain back, and tossed the pipe bomb across the street and watched it bounce into the shop, two meters behind the clock bomb. The fuse sat there spurting for a few more moments of its short life before exploding. When the bomb went off there wasn’t too much shrapnel, but there was a considerable shockwave that destroyed and knocked down most of the clocks; plus a large amount of smoke. Glass shattered, small fragments of wood and metal soared across the room, and clock faces fell to the ground in pieces, bells rung one last time with the warning of doom. It’s like time itself has been ended. The grandfather clock detonated a few moments after the pipe bomb killing several people out in the street, including a few children and their parents, and leaveing many more wounded. The grandfather clock was propelled backwards and slammed into a wall, breaking through and into the room behind the wall.
But He didn’t stay to watch. Galen bolted out of the watch tower, going the opposite direction of the pipe bomb as soon as he saw it land inside the clock shop. He landed on the slopped section of the roof, and slide down it until it ended. At the last possible moment, Galen jumped across a small street and landed on the roof of another building. As soon as he landed, he heard the pipe bomb explode, followed by another, much bigger explosion that shook the building he was standing on. He looked back at the growing smoke cloud and smiled to himself as he turned right, and bolted across the roof, jumping across small alleyways, dodging the occasional chimney, and sliding down a few roofs. Once he reached his area perimeter, he jumped down an alley, bouncing between the walls to slow himself down. The assassin landed gracefully on his foot and knee, stood up and strolled out into the market. It was going to be a beatuful day, now all he had to do was report back to The Traveling Minstrel and get paid.
Yup, everything was going great until he looked up the street and his joy turned to cold furry and frustration.
His target was still alive. He was never in that area. But most disappointing of all, is that he blew up a clock shop for nothing and didn’t get to see it.
“God Dammit,” he said to himself as he watched the noble man walk into a tavern, but he was only escorted by six guards now. “The other two must have been escorting someone else, or getting something…” he reasoned to himself as he worked his way through the crowded market.
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