Kyra wiped the blood from her blade with a ragged cloth, her movements methodical after so many kills. She knelt beside the body, rifling through his pockets and satchels with a practised hand.
The desert wind whipped at her hair, carrying the faint scent of distant storms. She narrowed her eyes against the sting of sand. Standard bounty hunting procedure - search the corpse for anything of value to supplement her fee.
Her fingers closed around a pendant, pulling it free from the man's soiled shirt. She turned it over, studying the intricate design of a falcon soaring over mountain peaks. A thin smile tugged at her lips. This would make a suitable proof of death to claim her payment.
Something else caught her eye - a glint of metal beneath the folds of fabric. She tugged it free, revealing an ornate ring with a red stone set in the center. Weighing it in her palm, she slipped it into her pocket alongside the pendant.
Kyra hoisted the body over her shoulder with a grunt. Time to head back to town. The journey would take her well into the night, but she didn't mind. She preferred travelling under the stars.
The rhythmic sway of her footsteps brought a familiar numbness as her mind turned to the next contract. The next name to cross off her list. An endless cycle of hunt, kill, collect and repeat. It was a harsh existence, but one she had become accustomed to over the years.
She passed through the town gates as night fell. In the barrack yard, she dropped the corpse at the guard's feet and held out her trophies - pendant and ring.
"Another successful hunt, I see." The guard's voice was flat as he inspected the items and counted out her coins. He nodded curtly. "Consistent work, Kyra."
Kyra stood before the town's guardians, her arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze was steady, her expression inscrutable.
"Payment," she demanded, her voice curt
The guards exchanged uneasy glances. They had expected her to be satisfied with the standard bounty, but her insistence on immediate payment hinted at something more.
"We don't have the funds on hand," one of the guards stammered. "We'll have to wait for the next shipment."
Kyra's eyes narrowed. "I don't have time to wait, I need the money now."
The guards hesitated. They knew Kyra was a dangerous woman, and they didn't want to provoke her. But they also didn't want to risk the town's finances.
"We'll see what we can do," the other guard said. "But you'll have to give us some time."
Kyra's patience was wearing thin. "I'm not leaving until I get what I'm owed," she said.
The guards sighed. They knew they were in a difficult position. They couldn't afford to pay Kyra immediately, but they also couldn't afford to anger her.
"Very well," the first guard said. "We'll gather what we can and bring it to you by nightfall."
Kyra nodded curtly and turned to leave. As she walked away, she could hear the guards muttering behind her.
"I hope we can get rid of her soon," one of them said.
"I know," the other replied.
Kyra wandered the dusty streets, killing time until the guards could scrounge up her payment. Sitting idle never did sit right with her - the restless life of a bounty hunter kept her constantly on the move.
As she walked, she took in the sights of the small desert town. Vendors hawked their wares from rickety stalls, scrawny children played games in the alleys, and the occasional guard's heavy tread echoed through the maze of mud-brick buildings.
The sign for the Parched Gecko tavern caught her eye - a faded painting of a lizard gulping from a frothing mug. Her throat felt dry just looking at it. When was the last time she'd had a decent drink? A couple of days at least on the trail of that last bounty.
The swinging doors parted with a groan as she entered the dimly-lit taproom. The stale, sour smell of spilled ale and harsh smoke hung thick in the air. A few lonesome drunks nursed their glasses at the rough-hewn bar.
Kyra sidled up and rapped the warped wood. "You got any wine" Kyra's question hung in the air for a moment, the bartender sizing her up with a discerning eye. He had seen his fair share of bounty hunters come through these doors, their cold and hardened demeanor a telltale sign of a life spent on the fringes of the law.
"We do have a selection," he replied gruffly, reaching for a dusty bottle on the top shelf. "But it'll cost you."
Kyra reached into her pouch and pulled out a handful of small coins, dropping them onto the counter. "This should cover it," she said, her voice devoid of any warmth.
The bartender sighed and poured a generous amount of deep red liquid into a worn glass. As he slid it across the counter towards Kyra, his eyes lingered for a moment on the scars that marred her face.
"What brings a bounty hunter like you to a place like this?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity.
Kyra took a sip of the wine, savoring its rich flavors before answering. "Business," she replied, her voice laced with a hint of mystery.
The bartender raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "What kind of business?" he pressed.
Kyra fixed a cold, piercing gaze on the bartender, her eyes narrowing with intensity. Her voice, devoid of any warmth, sliced through the air. "That's none of your concern," she responded curtly, her words laced with an icy bite that matched her frosty demeanor. The bartender shifted uneasily under her intense scrutiny, realizing that prying further would be an unwise move.
A few hours passed, stretching into the evening as Kyra sat at a corner table, nursing her wine. The tavern had grown livelier, with raucous laughter and lively conversation filling the air. The fatigue from her recent bounty seemed to fade away as Kyra took in the bustling atmosphere momentarily.
Just as Kyra finished her last sip of wine, the tavern door swung open, and a group of guards entered, their heavy boots thudding against the creaking wooden floor. Their eyes scanned the room until they landed on Kyra at her secluded table.
One of the guards, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, approached Kyra, a small pouch clutched tightly in his hand. He cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled around her.
"Here's your payment," he grumbled, dropping the pouch onto the table. "Not a coin short."
Kyra glanced at the pouch, her sharp gaze assessing its weight. She reached out and opened it, thumbing through the contents, counting slowly. Satisfied, she closed the pouch with a faint nod.
"Understood," she responded, her tone filled with a quiet sense of contentment.
The guard responded with a nod before leaving., his companions trailing behind. Kyra watched them disappear through the tavern door before turning her attention back to the pouch of coins. In this line of work, trust was hard to come by, and Kyra made it a point to always verify her payments.
She slipped the pouch into her cloak, the weight of the coins a comforting presence against her side. Her eyes surveyed the tavern once more, now engrossed in her thoughts. The money would fund her provisions for the coming weeks, ensuring she had everything she needed for her next pursuit. As Kyra counted the coins in the pouch, her mind began calculating the required supplies. From rations to ammunition and medical supplies, Kyra meticulously planned out every detail to ensure she was fully prepared.
Kyra pushed open the heavy tavern door, its creaking hinges echoing in the desolate town. Stepping back out into the unforgiving landscape, she felt the fading light cast long, dark shadows across the rocky terrain. The bitter winds whipped at her cloak, pulling at the fabric as she strode through the abandoned streets, her focus unwavering on the task ahead.
As she ventured deeper into the wastes, Kyra reached into her cloak and withdrew a worn piece of parchment, the second half of her objective. Unfolding it with deliberate care, she studied the faded ink that detailed her next target. The parchment crackled in the wind as she read the description, her eyes narrowing in determination.
The noble's name written on the document was widely recognized for their influence over vast regions Azeroth. The reward for assassinating them was immense. /REWARD - 400 BILLION:
With a hardened expression, Kyra reads the final line of the document, her eyes lingering on the words /"Last seen in the Ethereal Veil.": (WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE)