Jahn looked down at the crossbow in his hands. It truly was a murder weapon fit for a king. Say one thing those who hired him, they had style. The slim ebony stock seemed to draw in the light from around him, and spit it out again through the silver swirls of its engraving. He steadied his breathing. Everything seemed to slow down. He reached into the small quiver at his waist, produced a quarrel, shining silver as the dawn, fletched with the wings of the night sky. With movements as smooth as the calm, unstoppable flow of water, he drew back the string of the crossbow, loaded the bolt. Took aim. So much rested on this one moment. He expected to feel at least some tension, and yet here he was, truly serene. This was what it is like to change the world. As his breath calmly breezed forth from his throat, he pulled the trigger. The bow's string sang. The bolt ripped the air in two. It sped forth, arcing like a fish jumping. It glittered silver in the light, appeared filled with rippling energy. The energy of change. He had done it. He had broken free from the cycle of human insignificance. The king's head turned, too late. The bolt thudded home, throwing him from his seat. Screams filled the air, distant, as if heard through walls. Jahn looked down at his work. The crossbow bolt protruded from the king's leg; a non fatal shot. Yet, the poison he had applied to the crossbow bold would slow his blood pressure within minutes, leaving just a cooling corpse… The poison! He had forgotten to poison the bolt!
