One More Death
"Shea nudh Asuryanish ereintha Asuryanat."
May the blessings of Asuryan protect the children of Asuryan from abomination
The Guardian rose from his fallen companion's side, clutching his Spirit Stone, and moved through the city. A lone Mon'keigh sniper had ambushed them, killing his companion of three decades.
The Guardian climbed over a piece of rubble, his helmet long discarded after shrapnel ruined the right eyepiece. His shuriken catapult, already spent, hung loose in his hand, a reassuring comfort. A small, sharp knife was in his left, his only remaining weapon. He had long lost contact with the other members of the Fer'Sha Craftworld's strike team, and he feared they had been wiped out or retreated.
The Guardian's wanderings brought him to what must have been a series of trading houses. The guardian found his eye attracted to the shattered window of one of these, where a series of crudely made rings lay scattered. Curious, The Guardian walked into the trading house and heard a quiet whimper.
A Mon'Keigh woman and her child were in the corner, staring at him in fear. The Guardian felt no hesitation as he stalked towards them and buried his knife in their flesh.
Filth, nothing more. Pollutants of this world, claimed by Fer'Sha fifty centuries before they even roamed the stars. The Guardian turned to leave the trading house, but stopped to scoop up one of the rings. Clumsy, uninventive work, as with all Mon'Keigh productions, but it had a certain charm to it in its simplicity.
The Guardian's last thought before a hotshot slammed through his throat was how much the item could have been improved when he returned to Fer'Sha. The Jewler lay in a pool of his own blood, clutching a Mon'Keigh ring in one hand and an empty rifle in the other. The sniper walked over, and plucked the soul stones from his chest, clinking them together in his hands, wondering how much they would sell for.