On the edge of this small ring of forestry there stood a small house, just large enough to be considered a home. The bricks that held the structure together were anything but ancient, hardly affected by the elements but a natural dull gray in color. There were windows, though smaller than average and filled with a slightly darkened glass, through which only a faint light escaped into the night. A dark figure emerged from the foliage, standing within a short run�s distance from the house. Its pants, of a deep shade of black, reached up from the boots to a brown belt, in which sat pouches and blades of various sizes and shapes, this belt wrapped neatly around the bottom of a set of armor that matched the color of the pants and was made of leather, almost certainly for maneuverability. The figure moved hastily towards the house, a thin, black open coat swirling around it about the waist, with no time to lose and a purpose to fulfill.

Not a single sound came from the expertly silent feet as the figure arrived at the small entrance to the house. It reached up, adjusting the angle of a hat atop its head, so that the large rim shadowed its face all but the strands of long, russet colored hair. With its hat now more comfortably in place, a gloved hand placed itself on the handle of the door, the black leather preventing the skin from touching the icy cold metal. For a moment the figure waited, a hesitance in its movements that suggested either the unwilling of one who fears or the caution of one who is wary. The figure lowered its shadowed head to the door, listening intently and from behind the wood there came the faint murmur of voices, clearly elven by the softness to their tone. A hissed scowl left inaudibly from the figure. Its back pressing flat against the wall, the figure then began to make its way swiftly around the building in search of a second way in. It did not wish any unnecessary encounters.

The entrance it sought came in the form of a slightly open window to the lavatory, which the dark figure managed to slide itself through, giving a slight squirm of its slender body as the edge of the catch stroked across its gut. It fell a few feet onto the uncarpeted lavatory floor, landing with a thud and in a single movement drawing itself out of the doorway in fear of having been heard. A moment passed and the figure sighed softly, confident that its presence remained unnoticed. Crouched down beside the doorway exiting the small room, the dark figure now drew a dagger from its belt, admiring the point of the blade as it shone beneath the dim lantern that lit the lavatory. It took then a pouch from the same belt, opening the cloth in the palm of its gloved hand. The pouch contained a small amount of powder, a slight green in color, which the figure slowly ground beneath the flat of his blade. Readjusting the rimmed hat, which had miraculously remained on its head, the figure returned the pouch of poison to its belt and then slipped out of the lavatory with features similar to that of a snake, the dagger hidden beneath an overhanging sleeve.

The figure moved slowly forward into the next room, giving the air a gentle sniff that welcomed the scent of roasting meat and garlic seasoning. The room was evidently a kitchen, iron pans readily on the stove, some of which were currently in use, their contents being heated over a fire. Racks and racks of knives lined both walls, which were of a red slate stone, and the figure idly wondered how many knives one chef might need. There was a sideboard of wood on which lay several plates, lined with already chopped vegetables that glistened in a way that suggested they were freshly picked. The dark figure lifted its hat just a fraction, picking up a slice of red pepper and devouring it with a single crunch. A soft chuckle came from under the long hair, but it turned its head at the sound of a creaking floorboard. The entrance was clear as it had been a moment ago and the figure shrugged, looking down to the poisoned blade it held loosely between gloved fingers. Now was the issue of finding the prey; an aging, male moon elf of average height, long white hair, generally dark clothing. The figure gave its thin coat a tug and then hastily, yet ever silently, began its path in the direction towards the front of the house where first it had heard the murmur of voices.

The figure had been taken completely unsuspecting when the first knife literally leapt off the rack and plunged itself into the gap between his shoulders from behind. A muffled gasp left shadowed lips and the figure stopped frozen in its tracks, the poisoned dagger slipping from limp fingers as the second kitchen knife, slightly longer this time, flew off the wall and became embedded in the figure�s shoulder. A third knife came, and a forth, hurtling from their racks by a will of their own, the first penetrating the dark figure�s gut, the second finding itself a place to rest in the upper thigh. Knives flew through the air now from all sides, the tip of each one finding the end of its ghostly path somewhere on the dark figure�s torso. The sneak found itself unable to move, the life literally seeping more and more from its body as more and more of the seemingly endless amount of blades pierced its skin through the dark material clung to its form. No hand held or threw the knives, they sailed with a definite path from rack to skin, completely unaided by any but themselves. With a final grunt, the figure fell forwards onto the kitchen floor, more than thirty blades protruding from its body in much a way of pins to a pincushion. As the handles of the knives were pushed up between the figure and the floorboards, the blades stuck deeper into the now lifeless torso, drawing from it simply more and more blood to stain the wood.

An elf gave a hearty laugh. Unseen to the late figure even now, the lithe form of a moon elf leant against the sideboard nearest to the entrance, casually chewing on pieces of pepper. A long stream of magnificently auburn hair flowed down the young elf�s head, his eyes of a pale golden glimmer watching the dead stalker with satisfaction.

�Tsk tsk.�

A wry smile crept up his thin pale lips as he gave a definite crunch of the vegetable slice in his mouth. A fleeting glance he cast to the empty knife racks on the walls, racks that he had emptied with no more than one wave of his hand and the will of his mind.

�Such a mess; Mother will kill me.�

The moon elf took a step towards the bloodied body and then lowered himself to one knee. With the stroke of a pale hand he tugged the wide-brimmed hat from the lifeless head of the figure and then straightened himself up, placing the hat atop his own fiery-hair. With no more regard, the young elf turned on his heel and left the kitchen alone to the corpse of the dark figure and the countless blades adorning it.