Resumption and Conclusion Prologue
It is a black night. The normally lively trade city lay silent as its citizens sleep quietly. A lone figure remains awake. Navigating through the city, the robed figure heads slowly towards the docks. Through the foggy night air, all is silent.
Lurking in the alley's, others are awake. A band of 4 thieves lay in hiding, awaiting the perfect victim. A lone figure in the night is the ideal target for a band of ne'er do wells.
As the robed figure enters the docks, out steps a representative of the rouges still in wait.
"Excuse me sir," the man asked, "But could you spare a gil for a friend in need."
The robed figure remained silent.
A snicker formed upon the thieves face. "Perhaps you didn't hear me, friend...." the man said as he drew his gauche, "Ill be taking your gil now."
Without so much as a sound, the robed figure reached into to its cloak. The dark folds of it enveloping every facet of the figure. The thieve stepped back preparing for an attack. bringing his gauche up, he prepared to defend this strangers raging blow.
A sudden feeling of calm rushed the thieves body, as the figure pulled a small pouch of gil and tossed it to his feet. "Wise decision, friend." the thief said as he reached for the pouch.
Upon retrieval of the bag, the thief glanced up again at the man. Staring into the dark layers of his heavy cloak. "A thought has just dawned upon me...." he said to the man, "I would think one so willing to part with his gil, must have more valuable things with him. Remove your cloak."
The figure did not respond.
"Apparently your not hearing me again, brother. I said remove the.."
In an instant, the cloak was thrown open, and a blade slashed deep into the gullet of the thief. Removing his sword form the mans lifeless corpse, the robed figure continued his journey onward.
The remaining thieves lept from their hiding spaces. All with Daggers in hand, charging the robed figure. the man, still heavily cloaked, made no motion for defense. No attempt at an offense, he merely kept his moderate pace forward.
As the thieves reached striking distance. A voice could be heard from the shadows. "Soul of thunder, strike my foes. SHOCK WAVE!" Within an elapsed second, all three thieves were surrounded by a wall of lightening. Every inch of their bodies, charged with electricity. None could even manage words before they collapsed from the deadly attack from an unseen assailant.
As the last of the thieves dropped, the robed figure, stopped and turned. "You are late." the voice said. "I'm sorry, I was being mugged." said the robed figure.
"Donovan Benson." the robed figure began. "I've heard of you, but I don't believe I've had the honor of your presence."
"Obviously not," Donavon said emerging from the shadows, "You are still breathing. Seeing as you already know who I am. Would you mind telling me exactly who you are, why the hell you had me shipped into this god-forsaken country once again."
"My my where are my manors," the robed man said with a smile, "through all the hustle and bustle of your grand entrance, I never properly introduced myself." The man said as he removed his cloak, "My name is Delita Hyral. I am your benefactor, and, while you reside in Ivalice, I am your king."
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