The following evening found Nazer in his dimly lit room once more. This room, like most in Ironclad Keep, was a modest affair. Rough-hewn wooden beams supported the low ceiling, and a small window allowed a sliver of moonlight to filter in. The furniture was functional, with a sturdy wooden table and a creaking bed draped in coarse linens.
Nazer's attire was a practical choice for his upcoming adventure. He donned dark, loose-fitting clothes that offered him the freedom of movement he needed. A leather belt, adorned with various pouches and hidden compartments, held his tools and weapons in place.
But what truly set Nazer apart was the intricate tattoo that covered his entire left arm. The design is an enigmatic tapestry of swirling patterns and ancient symbols. He kept it concealed beneath his clothes, a secret known only to him.
As he prepared for the heist, he couldn't help but cast a furtive glance at the tattoo. Its origin remained a puzzle, and its significance eluded him.
His weapons, carefully selected for their practicality, included the sword with concealed compartments he had used the previous night, throwing knives concealed within his boots, and a grappling hook with a sturdy rope. In the dim candlelight, he checked each weapon meticulously, ensuring that they were in perfect working order.
Nazer's heart pounded with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. The looming heist was a daring one, and the stakes were higher than ever.
As Nazer made final adjustments to his gear, a gentle knock rapped at the door, drawing his attention. He glanced up with a smirk, his tone light. "Lyra, You here to witness the finesse of my preparations, or just couldn't resist another glimpse of my dashing self?"
Lyra, the fiery-haired woman unswayed by Nazer's antics, simply rolled her eyes without missing a beat. "Neither, Nazer. Kael wants us all set. It's time to move."
Nazer chuckled, undeterred by her indifference. He rose from his seat and followed her out into the narrow corridor. As they walked towards the rendezvous point, he decided to persist in his playful banter.
Nazer couldn't resist a smirk as he and Lyra moved through the dimly lit streets. "Lyra, you've got to admit, I'm growing on you."
Lyra remained unfazed, her lips quirking slightly. "Nazer, you're like a persistent mosquito – annoying, but eventually, I'll swat you away."
Their playful banter continued as they navigated the winding alleys, the tension of the upcoming heist momentarily forgotten in their exchange of words.
laughed heartily, appreciating her wit even if it didn't deter him from his pursuit. The banter between them was a familiar routine, a lighthearted diversion in a world filled with danger and uncertainty.
As they continued their journey through the dimly lit streets of Ironclad Keep, Nazer couldn't help but admire the way Lyra navigated the shadows with grace and silence. She was a true professional, and while she might not succumb to his charms, Nazer knew he could always count on her when the stakes were high.
Stolen novel; please report.
As Nazer and Lyra rounded a corner, they joined four more figures waiting in the dimly lit alley. Three men and one woman stood there, their attire and demeanour speaking volumes about their roles within the gang.
Kael, their leader, was a burly man with a rugged face and a scar that ran across one eye. His attire consisted of dark leather, adorned with various tools of the trade. He exuded an air of authority that was impossible to ignore.
At Kael's side was Aric, a tall and wiry man with a scruffy beard. He specialized in lockpicking and stealth. His dark attire blended seamlessly with the shadows, making him nearly invisible in the night.
Beside Aric stood Renn, a stocky fellow with a shaved head and a wicked grin. His expertise lay in close-quarters combat, and he wore sturdy armour that clinked softly as he moved.
Completing the group was Sylia, the sole woman among them. She possessed an air of elegance that contrasted with her deadly skills as an archer. Her dark attire, adorned with a quiver of arrows, hinted at her deadly precision.
After a quick exchange of nods and greetings, the gang mounted their horses. The animals were sturdy and well-trained, their hooves making a muffled sound against the cobblestone streets as they began their journey towards the temple.
Their horses moved in unison, their riders cloaked in the darkness of the night. The city of Ironclad Keep slumbered peacefully, oblivious to the audacious heist that was about to take place. With each passing moment, the temple loomed closer, its towering silhouette a stark reminder of the challenges that awaited them.
In the hallowed halls of the temple, a figure emerged from the shadows. A man of around fifty years, his features weathered by time, stepped into the dim light filtering through stained glass windows. His eyes, though lined with age, held a sharp glint that spoke of wisdom and purpose.
As he made his way through the sacred chambers, his lips curved into a mysterious smile.
His presence was known to all, for he was none other than the revered priest of the temple. As he moved through the sacred chambers, the temple's devoted followers acknowledged him with deep respect. Their faces reflected unwavering devotion and loyalty to the man who held a position of great significance within the city.
With each cautious step, the gang drew closer to their ultimate destination—the temple's treasury room. Their excitement was palpable, their adrenaline coursing as they anticipated the riches that lay within.
It was Renn, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nervousness, who reached for the ornate door to the treasury. Slowly, he pushed it open, revealing a room filled with glittering treasures, swords, and relics of unimaginable value.
Yet, their objective was not to amass wealth. They had come to challenge the authority of the temple, and their prize was something more profound than gold.
However, Inside the room, an unsettling sight awaited them. Seated upon a grand chair at the heart of the chamber was the temple's priest, a man of age and wisdom. Behind him stood twenty devoted followers, their faces reflecting unwavering loyalty.
Priest image: https://ibb.co/4shp4fL
As the gang entered, the priest turned his gaze toward them, and a knowing smile curved his lips. His eyes gleamed with anticipation, and he addressed the intruders with a calm demeanour that sent shivers down their spines. "Ah, my unexpected guests. I've been awaiting your arrival, growing rather weary in the process."
The gang's collective breath caught in their throats as they faced an unexpected twist in their carefully laid plan. The temple's guardian, an unforeseen obstacle, had shattered their hopes of a swift heist.