This is a story of a girl named Shadow Night.
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PART 1, In which I write an annoying letter
The Effectiveness of Imperial Guards When you think of Imperial Guards, what image pops into your head? Safety? Reassurance? Peace? No. The Imperial City has problems nowhere else has. Moreover, out of the 326 citizens interviewed, 325 of them have been pickpocketed, robbed, or assaulted (The one person who wasn't pickpocketed, robbed, or assaulted was an Imperial Legion Guard). Well, sure, in theory, the guards are close enough to everywhere, close enough to hear "Pickpocket, pickpocket!"
In reality, it takes several minutes to arrive, with spilled coffee on their armor, and by that time, the thief has already run away. Then the Imperial Guard proceeds to write several short, undetailed reports which go to lots of people who ignore them. Thus is the life of an Imperial guard.
Of course, the Watch Captains are also to blame. Why, only yesterday, I brought a case of a corrupt Imperial Watch Captain to Heiromymus Lex, who ignored it. When I talked to him later, he told me : 'Never blink, never wink, never compromise the law.
Hypocrites, the lot of them.
It was noon, and everyone was standing in front of the Black Horse Courier, besides, of course, me. I looked down at my published essay once again, and giggled. Ooh, they were going to kill me. Or, at least, try. Since I was amazingly fast, good at disguises, and never took the road, I hadn't been caught in my life. Of course, that was partially due to the fact that I hadn't used the same name twice. Actually, I'd used so many, that I wasn't sure if my real name was. Whatever it was, today I was going by Shadow. In fact, I even looked like a shadow; black hair, covered by a black hood, Blacksmiths pants, dark shirt, Leather boots and lots of black eye shadow and blush to cover my fair skin. So, of course, no one would recognise me.
While I was pondering my appearance, a rough voice shouted, "Get her!" I turned around in time to see three Guards running towards me. Time to demonstrate my lack of stick-around, I thought. So, of course, I ran. Ran like the non-existant wind. Or perhaps even faster. I ducked behind some armored arms, and through a door marked City Isle. Perfect
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Nothing is more discouraging than unappreciated sarcasm.
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