The sleepy little town of Halnark, only it was wide awake now, with the sounds of fighting in various parts. A strange cult had been causing problems in the Lorinian Kingdom over recent weeks but this was the first time anyone had seen them attack in such a force, several large groups of spellcasters and summoners with maybe a handful of warriors between them suddenly appeared in the town and started attacking. There didn't seem to be a clear pattern of attack, it seemed almost random, but there were those in the town that knew there was something worth such a major assault.

In order to protect this secret they needed outside help though, but their options were few, not many warriors or gunslingers passed through this town, while they had some guardsmen, it simply wasn't enough. But then some-one appeared. A woman clad in leather armor and red clothes, armed with only a short blade and a gun. They knew who she was, Isshon the Bloody, Isshon the Merciless, wanted for crimes, especially murder, the stories of what those murders were, however, always seemed shady at best. Regardless of this shady past, they needed help, so they hired her.

They made a horrible mistake, at least that was how they probably felt, they always did. Dark clouds hung overhead and a swift wind blew, to some it would have seemed like death was walking the field, and with a pretty face. With a dark demeanour and a red battleskirt, Isshon walked with calm pace along the war-torn street. She honestly didn't know the purpose of the attack on this place, but she'd been hired to fight them off, and that meant money, it was about all that mattered to her anymore.

These people that had struck the sleepy little town, these cultists. Had they been expecting an easy victory? Maybe, had they been expecting a seasoned, professional killer? Perhaps not. It suggested many things, all as likely as the next, but it didn't matter, not really. Steely gray eyes focused forward, watched as the cultists retreated, one turned, she could see the magic in his hand, as it sparked to life, a ball of fire, he tossed it, it shot towards her but she seemed to dash to the side, just barely avoiding it.

Her left arm flung out, silver repeater gleaming a soft orange as the flaming shot missed her. With a squeeze of the trigger the gun fired with a distinct ringing, the bullet found its home in the man's shoulder, he twisted around and a second shot dug into the back of his leg, the bones in his knee shattering and he fell onto it with a howl of pain. His compatriots had no choice but to leave him behind, or they would follow the same death, if not worse. It wasn't as though the woman enjoyed what she did, she certainly didn't act out in pleasure of the torment she caused, it was simply punishment.

As she finally reached the man, he was still crying for his fellows, but the cries were cut short as she drew her blade, swiftly digging it down into the man's heart. He wheezed for a moment before simply crumpling entirely. She withdrew the blade and looked towards the retreating cultists. Their terror probably increased when she moved again, because she was no longer walking. She set off at a sprint, her dress splitting at the side to reveal long stockings and boots. If there was any way to stop an attack, it was to kill everyone, she wouldn't let them retreat that easily.

They made a mistake hiring her, she was perhaps a worse monster than the cultists. And the latter made a mistake in attacking this town. It was all one big mistake. Did she even want to be here?

This place was too peaceful, the people were pretty nice, she guessed, hard working farmers on the surrounding land, a nice church and graveyard on the south side. Even the tavern she'd visited to stay in wasn't so shabby, she didn't even have a price on her head here. But then this happened. Did problems just follow her around?