No Honour Among the Damned

                                        CHRONICLES OF THE BLACK DAWN
                                                              PART I
                                        NO HONOUR AMONG THE DAMNED

                                                             Chapter One

         “We got another one! Get over ‘ere!”.

         Astor awoke to find two hooded men grabbing him up from the dirt. He had no idea what had happened, or indeed, what was going on; he could not move nor speak. A sense of terror took to him for the short time he was conscious. “Don’t worry mate, you’re gonna be fine now”, spoke a rough, abrasive voice before he again lost consciousness and sunk back into a somniferous state of dream.

         Astor Nightshade was a thief, nothing more than a criminal. He had spent his life on the streets. With no recollection or memory of any family or friends, he was a man of little moral. His earliest memory was that of him and a local boy, Samuel; attempting to steal a purse of gold from a passing merchant. Unsuccessful, to say the least. Samuel was killed and Astor came home a shivering wreck. That was twenty years ago, since then Astor’s skills had been honed to near perfection, he had gained a reputation within the underground as a talented thief; many would hire him, all would admire his success.
         There was one night though, one night when everything went wrong.
         Astor stumbled upon his biggest contract by chance, as he walked hastily through the narrow alleys of his village. His mind was busy, full of ponderous scenarios and slight presence of dread; a group of watchmen had been following him the previous night, this had happened countless times, and Astor grew quite accustomed to being watched by the authorities, his guile and wit usually providing him with an alibi or an escape plan. But on this one particular night he had noticed that almost everyone he set his eyes on had been watching him. All of the eyes staring back had been unfamiliar, certainly unusual for a man who had grown up in this particular village. Reality suddenly returned to Astor, hitting him like a fist. He heard a blacksmiths hammer hit the anvil, the sudden clank of metal on metal bringing him back from his thoughts. As he stopped to let a horse and cart pass in front of him he looked to his left, a glint of light reflecting the suns rays from under the mud of the path shone into his eyes, blinding him momentarily. He focused his vision, it was a coin; being the covetous man he was, he took a chance and slowly walked over to the coin. Checking for any signs of it being a trap or ambush before crouching down to pick it up. His steady hand, now placed over the coin was ready to pocket the goods, when a large boot appeared right in front of it. Astor looked up, rather coyly; it was time to see who was wearing it.