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The Bastard of Claw Isle sat upon a perch of craggy rock, overlooking wide-dark waters that mirrored the colour of the night sky. 

She was tucked into a discreet corner, away from the bustling crowds that flowed through Tyrosh’s coiling streets. Emnyra had chosen a quiet walkway, running along the waterfront, where the noises of the Free City became a muffled hum. 

An ale mug rested in her hands, projecting the appearance that she was indulging herself, when all it contained was clear water. 

That was deliberate. Her brew-stained tunic was deliberate. Her location was deliberate. 

It had taken a few nights of studying the self-proclaimed “[i]Swift Serpent[/i]”’s movements before Emnyra put her plan into action, yet the tedium of her work would soon bear fruit. 

They had always told her that she was an impulsive, hotheaded wretch without a thought in her head. They had mocked and belittled her. They had told her she lacked patience. 

She could be patient when she [i]wanted to[/i], though. She could be clever and cunning. She had grown into quite the [i]schemer[/i]. 

As soon as her eyes fell upon that delightful sword, with its striking pommel and deliciously decadent design, Emnyra knew that it had to be hers. 

That was when she started [i]scheming[/i]. 

The Serpent came swaggering into view, his hair dyed a rich and vibrant blue. 

The whore that was tucked beneath his arm had dull brown hair. 

The Serpent’s namesake, a stunning blade with a pommel fashioned into the likeness of a hissing snake, was fastened to his belt. 

His sea-green eyes narrowed into slits as they fell upon Emnyra. 

“You’re in my way, [i]bastard[/i],” he snarled, “Move.” 

Emnyra had watched from the shadows as the Serpent dragged a different slut down to his secret waterfront cove each night, so that he could fuck them on a ledge of rough stone that looked out over the sea. 

“I was here first,” she mumbled, theatrically spilling some of her drink onto the ground, “Find your own spot.” 

“This - [i]IS [/i]- my spot, [i]bastard[/i],” the Serpent snapped at her, “The Old Mother isn’t here to protect you. If you don’t leave, I - [i]WILL [/i]- kill you. I’ve killed far more beautiful women for far less.” 

Emnyra hiccuped, dribbling out of the side of her mouth for dramatic effect. 

She noticed the Serpent’s eyes flick between her and his dull-haired whore. 

The Serpent stood in a loose stance, with relaxed shoulders that conveyed how utterly unthreatened he was by Emnyra. 

What risk was some drunken, pampered brat to the fearsome Swift Serpent?

“Are we fuckin’, or what?” the Serpent’s tart grumbled. 

“Get out of my way, [i]bastard[/i],” the Serpent hissed, fingers coiling tightly around the hilt of his sword, “I won’t ask again.” 

Emnyra rose from her perch, making sure to stumble a little. Her movements were wobbly and she was softly slurring her words. 

“Or what?” she shot back.

The Serpent took an arrogant stride towards her, shoving Emnyra backwards. 

“Move, you blundering sow - !” 

Blood bubbled in the serpent’s mouth as Emnyra’s dagger plunged through the soft flesh of his throat. She pulled the knife free, and he crumpled onto the ground in a bent heap. 

She pried the ornate sword free from its scabbard, admiring the decadent etchings on the hilt and the sturdy yet graceful steel of the blade itself. 

“That's a [i]damn fine[/i] sword,” she said with a grin, “Wasted on the likes of you.” 

Emnyra kicked the Serpent’s limp corpse into the sea, watching it sink down into a tomb of inky black water. 

The Sepent’s whore let out an ear-splitting shriek, scrambling over the craggy walkway as her feet floundered beneath her. 

Emnyra darted forward, grabbing the wench by her bland, ugly hair. Emnyra gripped hold of her, smashing her face against the crag [i]again [/i]and [i]again [/i]and [i]again[/i], until it was a messy heap of torn, wet flesh. 

Emnyra delighted in the opportunity to use her new sword as she hacked the whore’s mangled head from her shoulders. 

She watched the served head bounce across the ground, nestled in a mess of dull brown hair and dark blood. 

A booming laugh erupted out of Emnyra Waters.

It may have been a lot of effort for a sword…but it was a [i]damn fine[/i] sword.