by Meland, Bikerdude

" In a city where every window is an eye and every doorway a whispering mouth, it is hard to keep a secret. When I learned of crime lord Archibald Flint's involvement in robbing me of the Grail of Regrets, I knew I'd have to strike quick, and strike first. But I failed. By the time I got near his place on Fiddler's Hill, every gate to his hilltop mansion was locked, every alley patrolled by thieves eager to kill. Two days later, I watched my tenement go up in smoke and flames. The hunt was on, and it wouldn't be over until they'd have their quarry dead or captured. Flint's main enforcer is a man named Grunt, known to communicate in written orders after his throat was cut in some altercation... a real bloodhound. I will have to deal with him one way or another to get the heat off of my back, and allow me to reach Flint himself... Flint is also looking for my dead body, and I'm planning to have it delivered right to his doorstep. Another underworld figure, Almsmaster Quandt, lives a few streets from Grunt's mansion, and he is said to be my spitting image, an uncanny resemblance. Wonder if Flint will recognise the difference... well, time to find out. Sometimes the only way to deal with a hornet's nest is to kick it over. This night, I am back in the middle of it. I have already run into a pair of sentinels, but I slipped into a small garden and jammed the lock behind me with a bit of wire. Hope they don't raise the whole neighbourhood, or this will be over real quick. Time to get moving."