Dagmar had expected a blinding light when he escaped from the stinking depths of the sewers. Alas, it was not to be, instead he was greeted by a seemingly endless stream of foul language that one particular man decided to hurl against him. Quickly he heaved himself out of the filthy hole and straightened himself out, brushing the dust and less pleasant dirtiness away. He would have simply gone on his way if it wasn't for the all too familiar sound of an angry nobleman and his threats; admittedly the chain axe was a bit of a tide turner too.
“Who the Horus do you think you are?”
Dagmar wasn't sure how to respond, he knew who he was, and he was definite of that. He didn't think he knew who he was; he knew that he knew who he was. The whole concept of this strange question left Dagmar a bit puzzled. Struggling past the riddle and pushing the confused face he was pulling aside, Dagmar spoke hurriedly.
“My name is Dagmar, and we need to leave.”
It probably wasn't the right thing to say, but Dagmar had no time to ponder on the subject any longer. A small group of gangers had just passed the corner that was in plain sight over the Noblemen’s right shoulder. They hadn't noticed the small group yet, and yet was the important adverb there.
Dagmar could take them on if he had the jump on them, but it seemed that this chain axe wielding, big mouth shouting, bodyguard having nobleman could take care of it. Dagmar pointed over to the approaching group, and took a quick peek behind him. He wished he hadn't, another four were coming up that way too.
“It would seem we are surrounded.” He said calmly.
Taking his curved sword slowly from his back, Dagmar activated his cloaking device with the push of his thumb, and after promptly being thrown into a transparent fuzzy mess of ‘best quality invisibility’ ran toward the four approaching from the west.
“Be with you in a moment, just deal with the others!” He screamed back as he ran between the shadows, arms pumping and legs driving him forward. He reached behind him to his crossbow that was tight against his back, pulling it out of its safe holster and into his empty left hand.
150 metres away.
Jumping over various rubbish, broken furniture and abandoned clothing, Dagmar skipped from cover to cover with both weapons in hand. His sword was tight in his right hand and disappointingly the cloaking field was hiding its distinctive sinister shine. He enjoyed the fear in his enemies eyes as they saw they're death flash and glint before them.
100 metres from target.
Aiming forward as he ran, timing the drop of his padded feet and the shifting of his wide shoulders as his whole body moved, Dagmar flipped the rope link off and fired a single precise bolt forward and into the unfortunately weak armour then sternum of the leading ganger.
50 metres.
The poor bastard was sent flying back a few feet and onto his back, the solid floor knocked what was left of the air out of him and a red puddle began to expand around him, like a sun before super nova.
30 metres.
The others jumped into cover themselves and waited for whatever foe it was that had killed their fellow scumbag, guns ready and pulses racing. Two of them had dived behind a very large and obviously disused tram like vehicle and one was simply crouched behind a nook in the alley wall, Dagmar spotted a way over.
15 metres.
Jumping over a small metal gate, Dagmar ran up a few steps leading to a doorway and leapt up into the air. Pushing his right leg off the wall, Dagmar threw his crossbow back into its holster and reached for two throwing knifes, he rolled over the top of the vehicle and off the edge. He landed a few feet behind the two men crouched beside the vehicle; they turned at the sound of his unsteady landing. Throwing the first knife at the man on the right, it struck his armoured vest but only barely went through. Laughing at the attempt on his life, he rose his stubber up. His laughter was cut short as the second knife sliced through his throat and embedded itself into his neck.
He fell to the ground gurgling and reaching up to his face. His friend beside him began to blindly fire into the slightly blurred alley before him. Rolling forward, Dagmar pushed off his heels as he came back up and landed beside the dead vest guy. He pulled a curved blade from his shoulder and tore a gash across the man firing crazily into nothing, blood dripped from his chest and Dagmar sliced again behind the legs, cutting the thug down to size.
As he thumped down onto his knees Dagmar ended his screams of pain, driving his blade up into the man’s jaw with a snapping back strike from his tricep. Retrieving his blade hastily, he climbed quickly but awkwardly in through the vehicles window, just in time to evade the las pistol fire that came from the man behind the nook. It would seem he was not fast enough though, as looking down at his leather clad body, Dagmar saw a singed hole on the side of his leg and grimaced slightly.
Clambering over the interior and out through its broken front, Dagmar left the vehicle behind as he walked straight for the las pistol wielder, who was still firing around his previous position. Raising his sword above his head he deactivated his cloak and swung it down in an S shaped strike, driving its edge through the ganger’s collarbone and down to his chest. The ganger fell limb upon his blade staring into his eyes and Dagmar spat on him, no one ruined his clothes, they were a home world gift.
Pulling his sword back out of the body, his blood began to cool and he quickly took back his knifes. Dagmar ran back up the now bloodied street to see if the angry noblemen was managing things, he was sure that chain axe would tear some outpost thugs apart.
