Arijen Eldjarn: 100G
[hider=Inventory]
Head: Cloth hood
Chest: Woven cloth-chainmail hybrid
Gauntlets: N/A
Pants: Cloth pants
Greaves: N/A
Feet: Simple boots
Melee: 2x Bronze shortsword
Ranged: 10x Bronze throwing knives
x1 Chocolate Milk
x1 Tinned sardines
Revive Tome
Magic Pickaxe
Rope
Torch
[/hider]

"Stay on your guard, I do not believe these men have good intentions."

Abinnor's warning seemed to time exquisitely with a thunderous roar of shouts that rang across the plaza. The speaker on the podium was silenced by one of the figures, and this incited the others to carry out their deed. The blue clocked men drew their swords and began attacking all those who stood in the square, women, children, no one was spared. Arijen unsheathed his dual swords and spun them expertly in his hands, it was times like this he was in his element. 

One of the Blue-cloaks charged towards him with ferocious velocity, the silver glint of the spear head warning Arijen of the imminent attack. He sidestepped with finesse, arcing his swords behind him, and attacked with a powerful spinning motion, sending one sword into the lower abdomen, and the other into the soft tissue beneath the chin of the attacker. The sheer momentum of his adversary caused his body to continue onwards into the fountain, albeit without a head and a pulse. Slightly thrilled by this, a rush of adrenaline surged through his body, as he sprinted up to a nearby watchtower to gain a valuable vantage position.
"Time for some target practice" he thought to himself.

The stoney facade of the tower offered no hinderance to his scaling of the structure, as his rapidly ascended by grappling the stones that jutted out. Pulling himself over the ledge, he hunted over the scene that lay before him for a suitable target. He spied a duo of axe wielding Blue-cloaks who were cornering some civillians who were armed with meager looking wooden sticks, taking his chance, he took a throwing knife from his belt and drew it to eye level, preparing to throw. Zeroing in on the tyrants, he moved his hand backwards, yet it was stopped by a gloved hand. Startled, he spun around to face the assailant, yet all he saw was a fist that dazed him and knocked him backwards over the tower ledge. Desperately, he thrust his hand out and grabbed onto one of the stone pieces that protruded from the tower, and his descent was halted. 

30 feet in the air, amidst the chaos and despair of the battle, Arijen, somewhat bewildered, held on with a single hand, wondering what on earth he was going to do.