Bob Biter

The battle had been fierce and had almost cost him his life, but Dreggan knew that it was just the beginning. Slowly opening his eyes, he winced at the pain in his chest and face, but was relieved that it was much less severe than he thought it would be. Slowly getting up, he caught a glimpse of Vanelee and Nina in each other's arms, their backs to him. Why was he not surprised. Meanwhile, Matt was still downing the fish meat ravenously, like he hadn't eaten in... hours.

Hearing that their friend had woken up, they all faced him, with mixed expressions of relief and confusion on their faces. Slowly sitting near the cooking food, Dreggan helped himself to a piece and sighed heavily.

D - "I suppose I owe you all a story..."

M - "I like stories."

D - *sigh*

Dreggan then proceeded to tell them about his past. It was all violence. After the murder of his uncle, the head assassin had taken him as his son, to forge himself suitable "progeny". The Grey Cloud Guild had been annihilated, save for young Dreggan, but the twisted Sekine wanted the last remaining member not only to witness the end of a great, if seedy heritage, but also to be turned to a more "worthy" profession, as a final irony for the hated Grey Cloud.

Dreggan's training was brutal. It lasted 16 hours a day for innumerable years. Sekine was not the first master of the Poison Fist Guild, but he was certainly the most ruthless. No matter how sadistic he might be towards the other trainees, he was always twice as harsh on Dreggan. Failure in assigned duties resulted in beatings and denial of food. The young boy, even before reaching puberty, had to know how to kill quickly and silently.

When it came time to separate the wheat from the chaff, Sekine pitted trainee against trainee, warning them that only the last man standing would remain with the guild to pursue training. Dreggan always survived, blood-soaked, near the brink of insanity, but in one piece. This always brought a smile to his new master's face. His dream of creating someone in his image was working out nicely.

Tears welling up in his eyes, Dreggan told his friends that no matter how harsh the training and punishment, no matter what atrocities he had to commit to stay alive, he never forgot where he came from and his natural calling. He was now a thief trapped in an assassin's body. Trained to kill, but predisposed to steal. He valued this part of him that Sekine could never break. He would stay up many nights to pratice his sleight of hand and pickpocketting skills. Many would be assassins awoke to find their belongings gone or misplaced, blaming other trainees and getting into deadly fights.

All the while, Dreggan sat back and watched. While Sekine knew what was happening, he never called the young man on it. He tought he had broken him and that he was just combining his previous skills with the ones used for killing. He was partially correct. Dreggan assimilated his new trade quickly and found it to be effective. Besides, both assassins and thieves had to know how to move swiftly yet quietly, how to escape danger and how to use disguises to their advantage. Even though he hated to admit it, he was glad he had the chance to know his enemies and all their tricks. Through the guild, he was able to learn the deadly Savate style, the Poison Fist's own secret martial that combined long-range needle attacks with lethal kicks and leaps.

When the time to escape finally came, Dreggan slew almost a third of the inhabitants of the Poisons Fist's stronghold in just a few hours, gathered his equipment, stole enough valuables to get him far away and disappeared. That was 6 years ago.

He knew Sekine would come for him. He knew he had contacts everywhere and that his tracking skills were the stuff of legend, but he still believed that all his accumulated experience could get him by. Judging by the needle in the tree found that morning and the battle that had just taken place, this was obviously not the case.

Slightly trembling, he finished his meal, got up and asked if the group had found the bodies of his would-be killers.

M - "Bodies? I only found one and I buried him over there."

D- "You actually gave one of these twisted devils a proper burial?"

M - "Well, yeah. I thought it was the decent thing to do."

D- "Well, nevermind that... Let's find the others."

As the party searched for them, Dreggan wondered why Matt would show such courtesy to this type of filth. He then realized that he couldn't possibly feel all that the thief felt, even after his little dark tale. His heart was in the right place, and that was commendable.

When they finally came across the remaining two bodies, they all saw the extent of Dreggan's training. The wounds were precise and clean. Dreggan sais had targetted blood vessels, while needles had hit pressure points.

"These ones were easy, but it didn't surprise me. The Poison Fist's assassination squads always have three members: one veteran and two trainees. The whelps attack first, while the leader observes their technique. If they fail, then he or she finishes the job."

Dreggan then retrieved his needles, the asked Matt to drag their carcasses to the site where he had buried the leader.

D- "Leave them there. I'm sure Sekine won't like the warning, but at least he won't bother me for some time."

N- "Why's that?"

D- "The Poison Fist have a code they believe in very deeply. If a target survives an assasination attempt, which can only be accomplished by killing the assassins, then they are left alone out of respect for their skills. However, due to the mess I left them upon my escape, I doubt they'll give me more than a few days' worth of peace.

Listen, I'm sorry for dragging my past into this. You seem like good people. I did horrible things throughout my life, but rest assured that I'm not a cold-hearted killer. When I DO kill, it's always for a reason. Never just for money. I steal money. I don't kill for it."

Turning his back to the group and hanging his head, Dreggan headed back to the camp.

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A plan is just a list of things that don't happen.