Tune into the voice of the community by checking out deviantART's Journal Portal. Join the conversation by browsing, adding faves, and leaving comments, or submit your own Journal to let your voice be heard.
Outside, just three blocks from [the knight of Collara]’s current location, a man runs with a bag containing valuables in his hands. Behind him was a woman wielding dual-pistols in both hands. She was agile and swift, moving through the street and buildings as stealthy as possible. The man made a sharp turn into an alleyway, where the sharpshooter fires two bullets before returning them into the holsters, one paralyzing the individual, another at his hand. A short jog towards him, she shouted, “Did you really think you’d make it far!? A thief jests! Have you never heard the tale of the Purple Sprite?!”
Pulling the man up and thrusting him against the wall, face first, she continues, “The tale of the Purple Sprite told the story of a dual-pistol wielding, sharp-shooting assassin that wonders the continent of Europe. She searches for little pricks, such as yourself, that waste their time committing these acts for personal gain irregardless of the circumstances.” She takes out her right pistol, marked Poker-II, and hits the thief’s neck, knocking him unconscious. Examining the contents of the bag, the sharpshooter finds that everything’s all there; nothing had been removed or discarded during the chase.
“Maj!” a man’s voice shouted. She glances over her shoulder and sees Sir Mark of Collara walking towards her, waving his right hand while his left held Izia in the sheath. With slight disgust in her sigh of relief and pistol still in hand, she turned, pointed at him, and said, “Stop right there, Mark!” And he did as requested. “Calm down, Maj. All I did was announce my greetings.” “Did you forget who I am, Sir Knight?” Maj queried, tilting her pistol while it remains targeted on the man. Mark wanted to let some fear escape as the adrenaline flowed through his bloodstream, but the ring prevented it, proving its ability to bring about courage along with masking the bearer’s fear from their opponents. Hoping that she doesn’t shoot afterwards, he answered, “A friend of mines, assigned to keep these parts safe?”
Tilting it one last time, the sharpshooter laughed hysterically for a few seconds before quickly masking it with seriousness. “To YOU, Mark, my name is Margaret Ann Juya, a fellow acquaintance who dares to keep her identity rather public than unknown. Very few are allowed to call me such an alias as Maj. However, I do not allow simpletons wielding that alias on their tongues. In fact, many of these simpletons end up on my hit-list out of coincidence!” Lowering the pistol as she took the bag of valuables and walked towards the knight, she strictly commanded, “If you’re here to find [the armorsmith], you’ve come to the wrong alleyway. He is northward, so we will go that way! Follow behind, and I may spare ye’ life.”