The watchman viewed the people below in disinterested silence as the night passed on. Other than the gentle hum that pulsed from the scrying pools and the faint sound of his breathing...all else was quiet.
It had been fairly slow this evening, he hadn't felt the least suspicious all night about anyone that he had observed... He couldn't help but think of how word was getting around that the Merchants Square was not a place that one should steal from.
At least, not on his watch.
He leaned on the railing that surrounded the top room in the watchtower and breathed the night air in deeply. For now, it was peaceful.
Then he spotted it. Not the normal case of thievery that he was used too, something worse.
The large sleeves of his dark green robe billowed softly as his hands spun intricate designs into the air. In the next moment, the sound from where he was focusing became audible enough to hear.
"Let go! Stay away from me!"
He flinched when he heard a hand strike the woman's face. In the same instant his blood boiled as he balled his hands into tight fists. He scanned the area, and growled in anger. The nearest guard was too far—and though there were several people around the alley were the danger was, not a single person acknowledged what was happening.
Don't leave the tower they had said. To do so would be to violate orders they said. You could lose your position as watchman they had told him.
It didn't take him long to think it through. There were rules, and then there were duties. He knew how to use the sword, he knew how to use magic, and he knew how fast he was. Right now, he had a duty to fulfill, the rules be damned.
His hands were a blur as he worked spells that would aid him. He backed away from the tower ledge quickly, picked up his sword and sheathed it. Then without pause, he sprinted to the ledge and leapt from the tower out into the night.
He descended at an angle, building speed the farther he fell.
Just before he hit the streets, he unfastened his robe sending it fluttering to the ground behind him. He landed in a roll, and in the space of a heartbeat he was up and running. His loose shirt and pants made no resistance as he started to sprint.
He glided through people, his entire focus on the target ahead of him. People shouted in anger when he had to shove through them, but he did not hear them. When he was through the thick of the crowd he drew his sword, running his fingers along the blade as it came free from the scabbard. Blue-white flames erupted from where he touched, turning the blade into a weapon of both melee and magical power.
The men in the alley did not expect him.
The first man turned and was met with the point of searing hot steel through his eye. The second man tried to call out, but the watchman threw his free hand out with his palm facing forward, sending enough force to knock the man back dozens of feet before he smashed against a wall. Thunder echoed off the alley walls, rattling windows and dust from the roofs.
The last man, pale with fear, fell prostrate to the earth begging for mercy.