Tonight, Ares walks the streets alone with no companion but the moon. Her mare has endured enough travel over the last fortnight and she’s paid the stable master enough in gold to last him three lifetimes. Pine deserves only the best.

Cobblestone clacks underfoot. Her ebony bow weighs heavy on her back, her palm resting over the hilts of her two ebony swords. A careful eye watches the horizon, the path before her — it is shadowed in darkness, save for the little bit of light she sees up ahead. She supposes she will find out what surprise lies in wait.

Soon enough, she has closed the distance between her and the sliver of light she had detected prior. A man holds a torch as he rummages through what seems to be a rucksack, and another holds a dagger to a small figure’s neck... a... Ares narrows her eyes. This scene is all too familiar. She approaches in complete silence, cloak over her head to camouflage better. Her bow is out. She stretches back as far as it goes, Dwarven arrow aimed straight at the head of the one that holds the young woman. With complete confidence in her aim, as usual, she hardly hesitates as she lets it fly, cutting straight through the air and her target’s skull. Before the second thug can react, she slips her bow around her forearm and pulls out her swords from her hilts with one hand and slashes a cross straight into the second bastard’s neck, his head flying clean off.

With a soft sigh, she rolls her bow back in place on her back, latched to the quiver. She needs to clean off her swords. She crouches, sliding her blades across her victim’s dirty shirt, cleaning them both before sheathing them. She will have to clean and polish further once she arrives home. Picking up the torch and walking towards the figure who’s still curled up and trembling, she reaches down and places a gloved hand on the woman’s shoulder.

“Are you alright?”