Way of the Rogue
Leone dropped down through an open skylight into the records office, two desks and a shelf comprised the only furnishing; a single door inlaid with a small smoked glass window gave access to the remaining warehouse. Hundreds of account ledgers, shipping receipts and other written documents lay about, scattered across the writing areas.
After a quick survey, Leone started rifling through the papers looking for anything he can use to re-mark a crate. After a few seconds, he stopped and looked up to the top of a neighboring shelf. A series of small boxes lined along the edge; one marked bin clearly said blank labels. Leone reached up, grabbed a couple labels, and quickly deposited them in his bag.
A soft volume of light began to flood through the piece of smoky glass. Leone froze in place, observing activity. A diffused pinpoint of light moved around slowly on the other side. Gradually, a figure came into focus, a person--a security guard.
In a single slide past the desk, Leone scooped up a quill pen and one of a dozen corked inkwells. The door handle began to turn. With one giant leap, the rogue latched onto a ceiling rafter and kicked up through the opened skylight. The security guard poked his head into the room and looked around; everything appeared in order, the skylight, latched a single second before the guard’s eyes moved up.
Relaxing in the moonlight Leone filled out a new label with redirection information. He created simple delivery instructions, sacrificing stylistic forgery for clarity. Stuffing the pen in his bag and the label under his shirt, he headed down the roof a bit, looking for another access point.
Leone stuck his head down through another skylight, a stack of crates piled high, just to the side. A guard moved about on simple patrol. Looking to open the window, a baseline problem presented, this portal included no hinges, and held to inclination on ever opening--the pane of glass looked fabricated as a part of the ceiling.
Leone dropped his bag open and pulled out some gear: a matched pair of leather gloves, steel grappling hook with a length of rope, and a cloth pouch. Attaching the pouch to his belt, Leone reached in and pulled out a small glass globe filled with purple oil. One final look ensured a respite from any nearby guards. Security in mind, shipping label in hand, he threw the orb.
Glass on glass, the tiny globe shattered without sound and expelled purple gel flat across window glass. Seconds later, the pane faded away and exchanged transparent qualities for insubstantial ones. Crouched at the opening, Leone carefully placed his grappling hook on the interior corner. He jumped through, passing the volume of space previously occupied by glass. Mid-descend, the rope snapped taught.
Silently touching down, Leone tied the free end of rope around his waist, and then looked back overhead. He pulled tight and whipped out with one smooth motion. The hook popped from the niche and began to tumble down. Leone sidestepped to the left, then back; he managed to pluck the metal tool in midair--averting a noisy clank. A few seconds later, a subtle change in ambient light indicated the skylight’s reversion to normal.
Leone wrapped the rope in a large loop that hung, harnessed over his shoulder as a bandoleer; the steel hook hung freely at his back. He scanned all directions at once, looking around to ensure his passing disturbed nothing. Satisfied, he disappeared into shadows cast off crates stacked half-ceiling high.
Invisible, enveloped by muddy grey, Leone dropped a long stare down the central ally. Absorbing the mélange that composed the shipping warehouse, he tried to comprehend the organization; he soon came to the rationalization that his target could be anywhere, in any of a dozen different piles. Keen eyesight noticed a clue, a shipping ledger hanging across the packaged landscape.
Quickly and silently, Leone slipped across, bounding from shadow to shadow, unseen. Suddenly, loading ramp doors opened, several men stepped inside and made a greeting with the guards.
“Our captain is dead set on leaving at daybreak, so we need to get everything loaded tonight.”
“You realize this is highly irregular?”
“You think I want to be doing this right now?”
“Understood, this stack is outbound tomorrow.”
Leone stalked by shadow-light, melting through as an extension of the void. Hidden, he slowly seeped up to the loading ramp. A simple stretch beyond illumination, Leone put a hand in his shirt and waited for a worker to walk past carrying the proper crate--an altogether bad plan, but there seemed to be few options.
From outside, a shattering noise of smashing crates assaulted silence, a brutish yelp followed and the muffled sounds of a scuffle quickly faded--unknown and undeniable trouble. Two of the three remaining warehouse guards jogged outside to investigate, the lingering one at the far end of the cavernous structure lumbered unaware. With the area temporarily clear, Leone darted from his hiding place and made a direct break for the outbound stack.
Producing a dagger as he burst from cover, Leone spotted his target in stride. A single swift slice as he approached nicked the old label off clean. Within an instant, he glances to all danger areas, simultaneously plucking and pocketing the old label. A shadow began to stretch in through the loading gate--someone stepped closer to having a clear view.
With the final eclipse moments twinkling away, Leone slapped the forged label on and dove down, out of sight--he prayed for the label to affix without proper application. Gifted in this work, Leone, a silent master of shadows, retracted into darkness and disappeared. He circled around to the same skylight he used minutes earlier.
Leone watched the clear area where he dropped in. The last guard walked by on cautious patrol directly underneath his exit. Leone creped closer and slinked into a dark hole between some crates. After a few adjustments, he found a clear view of the skylight, pulled out a second glass globe, and waited for an opportunity en-vacancy.
As the guard passed out of sight on a seemingly static route, Leone slung the purple sphere skyward. His throw, off target and at a bad angle, fell short and at the pinnacle of flight, barely tipped a wooden plank. The globe remained sturdy, and for a moment held perfectly still—-seemingly weightless. Leone glanced away for an instant, checking the guard’s position; he now walked back, coming back around the corner. The delicate globe picked up speed, falling fast.
Leone restrained himself--diving out to catch the globe would do little good if the guard saw him. He waited, watching his stealth, his security of silence, tumbling down to a smashing end. The guard whipped around, acknowledging some disconnected activity back at the entrance and let a moment of finality slip past; Leone acted, lest he sacrifice all hope of obscurity.
He sprung from his hidden cubby, sprinted silently behind the guard, a breath away. Outstretched, extended beyond natural limits, his fingertips barely balanced under the falling globe’s apex. He landed a solid grip the next instant. His hand followed an arc, down low and back up; twisting in stride, Leone rocketed the purple sphere up for a second strike.
The guard looked unbroken, transfixed, unconcerned with the gust of air that silently passed. Glass on glass, the projectile smashed overhead, remains immediately began to fall back under gravity. As the purple mixture reacted with air, the spherical slivers vanished mid flight and the globs of airborne fluid dispersed in a puff; a few lingering violet swirls slowly faded off with natural dead air currents.
The guard stepped away, out of sight and unaware. Seizing the moment, Leone slipped off the grappling rope and prepped a throw. The weighted circular swings of a rope sliced the air and generated a noisy zip--akin to that of a common child’s toy. With a seasoned infiltrator’s exacting precision, Leone loosed the hook skyward.
The steel tool passed through the phased window and snapped down with a secure grip; the sound echoed louder than expected, or anticipated. Leone hastily pulled the rope taught and eased himself off the ground. Seeking to ensure a certain level of security and preclude a slip half way up, he maintained caution before attaining any reasonable height. Footsteps built as the bewildered guard, investigating more noises, returned.
The guard looked around for anything unusual; nothing struck deliberate pose under his scrutiny. Just above his perceptual range, Leone’s rope looped down, free end still tied around his waist. Nearing the open air, a whistle-zip sound came from below; Leone never looked back and simply scampered out—trying his best to escape before the skylight glass reconstituted. Lying on the floor of the warehouse, the guard’s eyes closed forever.
Safely overhead, Leone whipped out and stuffed everything back in his bag. He took a last look back down to the warehouse floor. The guard lay motionless, dead on the floor with an arrow embedded deep in his chest. The blood already formed into a pool on the floor. A shadow of someone standing near the body stretched out. Leone’s head tilted much like an animal solving a puzzle, a subconscious reaction. A wave of fear and excitation passed through his bones; then a realization took over, he was looking at a dead man. Someone killed the guard while he was climbing out of danger; someone else was up to something out here--the definition of being wrong place at the wrong time.
#
Leone bolted from the perch and flew across the warehouse roof with crazed abandon; he skipped a step, leapt, one foot on the solid railing, the next on the escape rope stretching across the street. His flight left a streak across the tightrope and in just five steps he stopped silently on the other side.
He quickly snapped the twine and jerked hard. The knot across the street slipped free, the rope begins the drop to the ground. Leone jerked the falling rope, a perfectly skilled tug that pulled the full length in before the far end sunk to the street’s eye level. Abandoning all desire for organization, he simply kept stuffed the gear back into his bag.
Rooftop
to rooftop, effortless, Leone silently skipped with the wind on a return route
to the
Leone looked down to the front door. He rummaged in a pocket and produced a key, the key to his room.
“If someone sees me, then the entire night is a bust.” he replaces the key.
Leone looked intently at the high window, no ledge and only a blank wall. There was nothing to climb if he felt so inclined, and using his hook in the dead silence of the night was no longer an option. Forced by circumstance, he knew this situation called for creativity.
Leone pulled out the length of rope previously used as a bridge. He looped a knot on the end and in moments had a simple lasso; he looked to the window itself, but feared his weight might pull the shutter off the wall. He took a few steps back, up the incline, to sneak a look into the room; the short corner bedpost just inside the room offered invite as a perfect target for a long-distance through-a-hole lasso job.
Leone spun the rope in a single perfect throw and hooked the bedpost firm. He slid down to the edge of the roof and dropped to the ground; only touching the street for a few seconds, he quickly started up the wall and climbed into the room. Inside, he repacked his gear with delicate order, and then dropped the bag behind some old refuse just out the window--a safe spot for later retrieval.
One final task, he struck a candle in the room and burned the old shipping label. Window latched, door locked, Leone crawled into bed and caught up on his rest. He planned a rough greeting while still asleep in the morning. By forcing the manager to toss him out, he hoped to cause enough of a disturbance so people would remember him here and not somewhere else--not an altogether good plan.
#
The voice of fascination hammered through the cosmos, “This creature Leone is intriguing, ability beyond years, but to kill a deity, never…”