The Black Viper

‘Dag…’

“Who goes there?!”

‘Crack’.

As the sun nestled gently below the western horizon, splaying an obtuse array of luminous orange and purple across the sky, a dark figure slipped out from behind the stables of the Prancing Pony. Adjusting his ragged mustard hood with calloused hands, the man stayed a steady path to the south. There was nothing too inconspicuous about the cloaked figure, in fact, he was quite ordinary, aside from an incessant need to keep the identifiably rugged outlines of his features smothered in darkness.

The sun continued to beat down across the vast swathes of green blanketing the countryside. Spring had come, and swiftly moved along. Marigold and tickseed had began to liven up the soft shades of fern, sprouting delightfully through the brush, and the times of summer were beginning to take their gentle hold of the Bree-lands. While the light flourished across the land, a few beads of sweat dripped down a pale forehead, masked only by the straggles of ruffled raven hair that floated gently before it.

A breath.

One single, raspy breath. Something Dagramir never thought he would feel the sensation of ever again. Air penetrated through the dust and ash that covered his face and occupied his mouth, his head wretched upwards as he attempted to cough out whatever residue remained in him. Taking a few moments to stare upwards through the cracks in the rubble that covered his body, he saw something he never thought he would see again either. A bright blue sky. White clouds drifting across his view. Was this heaven? He was not sure, though he certainly felt like hell.

The flames licked higher and higher through his home, a searing heat arose from it all, embers burning at his eyes, but the lone, dark-clad man who stood in the center of the hall, stood fast. He would not have appeared to move, as the burning whirlwind whipped closer to him, nor did he seem that bit fussed. Dagramir stood, encircled by a rising wall of fire, one that he could not have even hoped to have escaped..

But that was never his intention.

(Most taken straight from RP in-game)

Dagramir would creep silently across the rooftops, his black shadow matting with the darkness of the skyline, creeping up on his objective. He would pause atop one of the buildings, the house in question staying firmly in his gaze. He would stay perched atop the edge of the roof, before sliding to the side and descending to the stone floor below, deeming it safe.