Chapter 1
The figure crawled through the undergrowth, his green and brown leather clothes blending into the ground, proving him invisible. He pulled his magical camouflaging shroud tight around his slender body. He inched forward, making no sound, not disturbing the silence of the thick treed forest. He peered through a large bush, which marked the side of the road. In the distance, there was a snap of a twig, so silent and so distant that the normal human ear couldn't hear it. However, the figure could. He was a sharpshooter. He grinned to himself. His assignment was late, perhaps only a mile or two away. He lowered his ears to the ground and focused, sorting out the sounds he heard. He heard a fast pounding; his assignment was running. The sharpshooter felt confused by this. His assignment never ran, he preferred to walk at a slow pace, because he never was in any hurry, after all why would an archmage need to be in a hurry. The mage was moving fast picking up speed, when all of the sudden the sharpshooter picked up two people running, one a short distance behind. They were close now only 300 yards away. He only saw one figure, the archmage, running. His royal looking clothes were torn and tattered. His staff was nowhere in sight, and his hair was ruffled filled with debris. With a practiced motion, the sharpshooter raised his bow, knocked and arrow, and aimed at the mage's heart. The mage stumbled forward, appearing to have tripped, as the gold and silver veined arrow plunged into the mage's heart, killing him instantly. The sharpshooter walked forward, emerging form the bushes. He stepped forward, pulled the arrow from the mage's chest, wiped it on the mage's cloak, and ignoring the face on the mage, a face crying for help, he turned away. "Don't move another inch," a voice called out. The sharpshooter froze complying with the man's instructions. "Drop your bow, quiver, and any other weapon you got on you. The sharpshooter bent down of its knees and took off his quiver and hunting knives. While he set down his bow, he saw a glimpse of the man behind him. It was an expert shooter, his crossbow loaded and aimed at the sharpshooter. Looking down at the mage's body, he saw not just one arrow, but two. He hadn't seen the other one, because the mage's robe had covered it. No observing it from a lower angle, he saw it. That was the reason the mage had fallen, two people had shot him. "Stand up," the marksman ordered. The sharpshooter complied standing up. All of the sudden, a another voice that seemed to come out of everywhere at once commanded, "You two, drop all of your weapons, or perish!"
The figure crawled through the undergrowth, his green and brown leather clothes blending into the ground, proving him invisible. He pulled his magical camouflaging shroud tight around his slender body. He inched forward, making no sound, not disturbing the silence of the thick treed forest. He peered through a large bush, which marked the side of the road. In the distance, there was a snap of a twig, so silent and so distant that the normal human ear couldn't hear it. However, the figure could. He was a sharpshooter. He grinned to himself. His assignment was late, perhaps only a mile or two away. He lowered his ears to the ground and focused, sorting out the sounds he heard. He heard a fast pounding; his assignment was running. The sharpshooter felt confused by this. His assignment never ran, he preferred to walk at a slow pace, because he never was in any hurry, after all why would an archmage need to be in a hurry. The mage was moving fast picking up speed, when all of the sudden the sharpshooter picked up two people running, one a short distance behind. They were close now only 300 yards away. He only saw one figure, the archmage, running. His royal looking clothes were torn and tattered. His staff was nowhere in sight, and his hair was ruffled filled with debris. With a practiced motion, the sharpshooter raised his bow, knocked and arrow, and aimed at the mage's heart. The mage stumbled forward, appearing to have tripped, as the gold and silver veined arrow plunged into the mage's heart, killing him instantly. The sharpshooter walked forward, emerging form the bushes. He stepped forward, pulled the arrow from the mage's chest, wiped it on the mage's cloak, and ignoring the face on the mage, a face crying for help, he turned away. "Don't move another inch," a voice called out. The sharpshooter froze complying with the man's instructions. "Drop your bow, quiver, and any other weapon you got on you. The sharpshooter bent down of its knees and took off his quiver and hunting knives. While he set down his bow, he saw a glimpse of the man behind him. It was an expert shooter, his crossbow loaded and aimed at the sharpshooter. Looking down at the mage's body, he saw not just one arrow, but two. He hadn't seen the other one, because the mage's robe had covered it. No observing it from a lower angle, he saw it. That was the reason the mage had fallen, two people had shot him. "Stand up," the marksman ordered. The sharpshooter complied standing up. All of the sudden, a another voice that seemed to come out of everywhere at once commanded, "You two, drop all of your weapons, or perish!"