Scarlet Assassin

Occasionally, when Big Chingo felt that he had achieved his work for the day, and that it was time to kick back and relax, he'd go walking. Most of the time, he'd take a stroll through Elwynn, Winterspring, or some other place with a multitude of trees. He liked trees. As long as they weren't purple.
So, this is why he had taken to making the trip from Shattrath City to the Alliance outpost of Allerian Stronghold. The trees here were unlike any he had seen in Azeroth - their colours appeared to have dried out, and the wood, leaves and shape were all different. They were still recognisably trees - this much was obvious by looking at their towering forms and tendency to overshadow other plants in the battle for light - but had an edge about them that made them utterly dissimilar.
His sword (the one that had a bloody daft name but didn't look so bad really) and his book (the one that he didn't have a chance in hell of reading, but the magical nature of it that channelled through his body ensured it was handy to have around) his richly gloved hands, he was strolling at a leisurely pace. The burning tower was just coming into view (it had come to Chingo's attention that the tower was actually allowed to continue having flames as special guests. It was purposely like that; it made newcomers to the Stronghold feel that their presence there was really quite urgent, and made cynical veterans like Chingo scowl at what was otherwise, in his eyes, a damn nice place to be), and he supposed he'd take the gr-
He stopped still. His face contorted from the amiable expression to something far more businesslike. Big Chingo had experiences being stalked too many times to be ignorant of it now. He looked quickly up to the branches of the trees above him, but saw no signs of any would-be attackers. An sharp sideways glance to the nearby lake revealed no such ill intentions there, either. It was a puzzler.
And then he grinned. Oh, this was back to basics stuff. He had barely noticed the grey rock to the right of him. What an obvious, unimaginative place. What a good plan, too. Using the expected to be the unexpected was something only a professional would try. He turned round to face it, and waited.
When the smoke bomb finally sprung from this hiding spot and expertly landed at his feet, he just had time to blow it up to smithereens with a Fire Blast before it went off, and even then his attacker was allowed to dash from hiding at a furious pace, taking advantage of the gnome's differing focus.
Big Chingo looked at the remains of the smoke bomb to his adversary, feet causing a terrifying blur as he ran, daggers drawn. Things could have gone very differently indeed were it not for the fact that Chingo wasn't at all surprised. It was just a matter of casting Frost Nova to stop the assassin in his tracks, binding him to the ground.
In the following seconds in which the masked man looked down at his feet in disbelief, Chingo was able to analyse his foe, or rather his foe's tabard. He had seen it before, or one very much like it. The black background and the red fl- ah. The silly gits. They could get all high and mighty about being one with the Light and being pure and noble, but they didn't mind sending out assassins to get the job done.
'I'm sorry to bugger up yer plan, but I really dain't feel like bein' killed by some Light-driven nutcase.' said Chingo, firing up his most trusty spell. As the fireball hit, and the tabard was reduced to nothing more than some ash on the ground along with its wearer, Chingo sniggered. 'Out here?' he asked himself, 'I must really be gettin' onto their piggin' nerves.'
Category:Story