Kasoria had of course heard the old truism that everyone had a plan, until they got hit. Whether it was from pug-nosed prizefighters or growling instructors at the Academy, twenty arcs and an age ago, he'd absorbed the universal wisdom of it. You could plan and prepare and train and yet, when that first shock of impact rattled your bones, or the first step out of two or twenty was removed or rendered moot, everyone had to re-evaluate what happened next.
He'd been under the impression that being seen at all was him being "hit". A swift escape following a quick, efficient execution had turned into a lung-bursting marathon through the fetid side of town, and now he was at the end of it. More blood had been spilled, and he wasn't getting paid to murder drunks. But the chase was nearly over. He could hear scuttling on the roof tiles as he pushed open the window, arcs of dust and rust giving way under his strong hands.
Whoever the bastard was, he was either spooked, or making one final run for it. Kasoria started to pull himself out the window, almost out to his waist as the moons were blotted out by-
"MotherFUCKER-?!"
He may have been a man of letters, but he was not one of eloquence when he saw the... thing fly towards him from the roof. It was huge and black and blue and there were feathers, thousands of them, flapping a great gust of wind into his stunned face. Red eyes like charcoals stared down at him, and he didn't know whether it was wings or coat or cloak stretched out on either side of him-
But he saw the talons. Evil and curved and flying towards him and his mind screeched and tried to get him to move his fucking sword-
Too late.
Kasoria screeched as a double handful of eagle-like talons tore and slashed his shoulder and breast, torrent of furious monster crashing down onto him a broken trill later. His feet flew up and off the ground, hips grinding into the windowsill and acting almost as a fulcrum, tipping him out of the window and the gladius was forgotten as instinct took over. Straight, sharp blade careening out the window and tumbling handle over tip, down and down...
Not far, but far enough. He barely heard it clatter against the cobbles. His eyes were wide, his mouth was a slack, quivering hole, taking in sights that should have been impossible. Even with the night and the darkness he could make out a face, a flat mouth, a jutting nose, a hideous concoction of man and raptor fused together and-
-bounding off him, talons ripping free and taking arcs of blood with them-
-and he was still falling, tumbling out the window, reaching out-
He screamed again as his hands slapped down and gripped hard... onto the edge of the broken window. The assassin was still, finally, blessedly, but hardly improved in his fortunes. He was hanging from the window, feet dangling over the edge of the building, without a sword and, oh yes, his hands were getting slowly cut to ribbons by broken glass.
The assassin breathed. Held the breath. Focused on that simple task even as his mind raved and ranted about monsters coming to eat his fucking liver. Panic would kill him, sure as specters from the night. He swallowed and tried to haul himself up. Sweated and strained but the harder he tried, the more glass was forced into his hands. He looked down and around, trying to see another ledge-
Light. From below. Bobbing and drifting his way. The stench of horses and dwarfing it, swallowing it whole...
"Dead! Bring out yer dead! Dead! Bring out yer dead!"
The corpse collector was making his way towards the house. Kasoria frowned and peered, seeing a thick mound of stiff and still bodies packed into the rear of it. As they approached, the older man cried out his words, tradition being highly valued among his kind. They were, after all, the final stewards for so many poor souls. Then his younger friend stopped the cart short, and waddled over to something.
"Hey... nice sword, this."
Kasoria looked down, straight down, tucking his chin against his chest. The cart was almost directly below him. Stalled for but a moment while his own damn gladius was pilfered, but it wouldn't be for long. There was a sudden flap against his back, unnatural wind from those wings, and fuck me, he had time to scream in his own mind, the old drunk had been right.
He'd feel bad later. As it was, he just had to-
But before he landed, in whatever shape that would be, he saw a double flash of red on the rooftop. Burning and blazing and pinning him with a gaze straight from hell, just before it vanished again, and Kasoria was among the dead men.
He'd been under the impression that being seen at all was him being "hit". A swift escape following a quick, efficient execution had turned into a lung-bursting marathon through the fetid side of town, and now he was at the end of it. More blood had been spilled, and he wasn't getting paid to murder drunks. But the chase was nearly over. He could hear scuttling on the roof tiles as he pushed open the window, arcs of dust and rust giving way under his strong hands.
Whoever the bastard was, he was either spooked, or making one final run for it. Kasoria started to pull himself out the window, almost out to his waist as the moons were blotted out by-
"MotherFUCKER-?!"
He may have been a man of letters, but he was not one of eloquence when he saw the... thing fly towards him from the roof. It was huge and black and blue and there were feathers, thousands of them, flapping a great gust of wind into his stunned face. Red eyes like charcoals stared down at him, and he didn't know whether it was wings or coat or cloak stretched out on either side of him-
But he saw the talons. Evil and curved and flying towards him and his mind screeched and tried to get him to move his fucking sword-
Too late.
Kasoria screeched as a double handful of eagle-like talons tore and slashed his shoulder and breast, torrent of furious monster crashing down onto him a broken trill later. His feet flew up and off the ground, hips grinding into the windowsill and acting almost as a fulcrum, tipping him out of the window and the gladius was forgotten as instinct took over. Straight, sharp blade careening out the window and tumbling handle over tip, down and down...
Not far, but far enough. He barely heard it clatter against the cobbles. His eyes were wide, his mouth was a slack, quivering hole, taking in sights that should have been impossible. Even with the night and the darkness he could make out a face, a flat mouth, a jutting nose, a hideous concoction of man and raptor fused together and-
-bounding off him, talons ripping free and taking arcs of blood with them-
-and he was still falling, tumbling out the window, reaching out-
He screamed again as his hands slapped down and gripped hard... onto the edge of the broken window. The assassin was still, finally, blessedly, but hardly improved in his fortunes. He was hanging from the window, feet dangling over the edge of the building, without a sword and, oh yes, his hands were getting slowly cut to ribbons by broken glass.
The assassin breathed. Held the breath. Focused on that simple task even as his mind raved and ranted about monsters coming to eat his fucking liver. Panic would kill him, sure as specters from the night. He swallowed and tried to haul himself up. Sweated and strained but the harder he tried, the more glass was forced into his hands. He looked down and around, trying to see another ledge-
Light. From below. Bobbing and drifting his way. The stench of horses and dwarfing it, swallowing it whole...
"Dead! Bring out yer dead! Dead! Bring out yer dead!"
The corpse collector was making his way towards the house. Kasoria frowned and peered, seeing a thick mound of stiff and still bodies packed into the rear of it. As they approached, the older man cried out his words, tradition being highly valued among his kind. They were, after all, the final stewards for so many poor souls. Then his younger friend stopped the cart short, and waddled over to something.
"Hey... nice sword, this."
Kasoria looked down, straight down, tucking his chin against his chest. The cart was almost directly below him. Stalled for but a moment while his own damn gladius was pilfered, but it wouldn't be for long. There was a sudden flap against his back, unnatural wind from those wings, and fuck me, he had time to scream in his own mind, the old drunk had been right.
He'd feel bad later. As it was, he just had to-
let
go.
The simple trick of gravity became a bad joke as he went weightless for a trill, then started to plummet like he weighed quite a bit, indeed. Windows and roof tiles and walls and lights and stars and all the solid, still things his eyes took for granted became blurs. He fell back through the empty air, buffeting his cloak like flaps of loose skin as he fell down towards the cart.But before he landed, in whatever shape that would be, he saw a double flash of red on the rooftop. Burning and blazing and pinning him with a gaze straight from hell, just before it vanished again, and Kasoria was among the dead men.
Thanks for Jade for the template