Hopes

The brutal Alternian sun was at zenith point when the assassin turned his newly acquired aircraft to autopilot. He took off his hat and patted out his suit. Surprisingly, there was not a speck of blood on it. Which was good because then he can keep the nice clothes, just in case he wanted to go on a night out or something. He carefully took the suit off revealing the silky smooth golden scarf that hung around his neck, along with a black polyester shirt that looked expertly crafted with intensive care to detail. The shirt had a symbol patterned in the very center. The belt of deadly equipment he had worn under his disguise was light, but carried some deceptively devious tools. He shook out his hair, which was black as the night itself. His horns zigzagged backwards in a chaotic, yet elegant manner. He sat back in the shaded cabin as the aircraft gently flew to its ordered destination.

The troll reached under his seat and pulled out a small black book which he had initially left there when he landed. He opened it and took a pen out from his tool belt. He began writing.

"Targets 22A-F

Status: Fulfilled

Debrief: The general defense committee of the north has been neutralized and with that being said, my home was saved from imperialistic slaughter. My informant may expect me to ask for my payment, but this time the satisfaction of knowing that I've saved countless lives is enough payment for me. Sometimes I wonder why I even ask of payment if my goal is freedom from such loyalties. I've become my own enigma… But I digress. As much as I would love to keep this really expensive aircraft, I cannot. It will be demolished directly on the LZ and I will begin my journey back home. I don't plan to walk very far.

-M.V"

M.V was a signature well known among the few freedom fighters on Alternian soil. They have proclaimed the signature's bearer as "The Shadow of Vigilance". This troll was none other than Macrom Vontus, a past nobody with a passion for righteousness and revenge. Macrom closed the book after signing. The book's new entry does not go to said "informant" nor does it go to a secret society for records. This was his personal journal. Usually, a troll would keep a journal to pass it to his or her next of kin, but Macrom was certain that he would never have another troll born into his bloodline. He was still too young to think of death, but he was also old enough to see the reality before him and accept it. Macrom had accepted that one day his line of work would probably get him killed, but he won't allow it until he comes into direct contact with the matriarch... Her Imperious Condescension.

He yearned for her blood to be on his hands for the longest time. He is only 9 sweeps old. He has a whole life of what he does best ahead of him, and what he does best can kill him. He was keeping the journal so just in case he does finish his task, and dies doing so, the people can tell his story. The sun was left behind the aircraft as it had reached the other end of the planet, and thus its destination. Macrom sat down on the pilot's seat and slowly bought the craft down, he gathered his various belongings and left the aircraft, kicking out the landing gear and sending it tumbling down a cliff just before he began his walk home. Just in the distance could he see the glistening lights of the city. It was beckoning. A well needed respite from days of planning and execution… warm cup of tea, favorite movie, plenty of sleep. Sounded like heaven to Macrom. He took his first step toward home.