Shara the Victorian Era Assassin

My in-home editor and "other half", Scott, announced that he wanted to run a Savage Worlds game yesterday and that I needed to think of what I wanted to play. I answered without hesitation: Rippers.
The pen-and-paper role-playing game set in Victorian England is full of supernatural creatures and all sorts of spooky fun. I'm sure many of you don't know what a pen-and-paper game is. There was a time when we played games using only pencils, paper, dice and rule books. Some of us nerds still do th

London 1867

Metal as icy as the first snow touched the tender skin beneath his beard. Several small hairs that were once part of his beard fell beneath the high collar of his shirt, itching his neck and attesting to the blade’s sharpened edge. Jacob needed to swallow but knew that any movement on his part would draw blood from his neck.
There was no chance that he could stall until someone happened upon them. It was too dark for a bystander to realize something was amiss and he couldn’t voice his distress else he bring upon himself the very thing he was seeking to avoid. Somehow his attacker had managed to extinguish the lamplight a mere second before he’d been held up. It had happened so fast that he wasn’t even certain how big or small the individual that stood behind him was.
Jacob breathed slowly but not too deeply. He began speaking gingerly with great care taken against making any movements unconsciously or otherwise. “You do not want to do this.”
“Do what?”
The voice that answered surprised him. It was a female with a low unfamiliar tone and an impeccable accent. This was no mere streetwalker come to steal his money clip.
Jacob breathed a slight sigh of relief. He would at least have strength on his side. Slightly braver, he forced a firm note into his voice. “You do not want to kill me.”
She laughed three times in succession. It was a soft yet sardonic sound that froze his heart. He remained still and awaited her action.
Yet several moments passed in inaction.
“What do you want?” Jacob asked.
“You will come with me.”
“Yes, of course.”
The woman pressed a hand to his back, shoving him forward. Jacob gave a shout and watched portions of his life flash before him as his neck careened toward the knife’s edge. But it never hit.
When he recovered his wits he found his hands were bound behind him. She’d also removed his coat and was now replacing it over his shoulders to hide his hands. No blood poured from his neck. Not even a scratch itched his sensitive gullet.
“You will come with me quietly, in a well-behaved manner or I will be reduced to violence. Are we in accord, Mr. Waite?”
“We are.”
His hat was replaced on his head and then he was once again shoved forward. Jacob began walking quickly but was pulled backward by his coat.
“Walk as if nothing is amiss,” she demanded quietly.
“I will endeavor to.”
He glanced aside as he stepped forward. She could not be more than five foot seven with a slight build but it was difficult to tell beneath the cloak and cowl. He tried to look more closely.
Her commanding voice interrupted his perusal. “Do not look at me.”
Jacob returned his eyes forward and concentrated upon how to be free from the binds. She’d tied him with a sturdy hemp rope. Too much movement would welt the skin and eventually cut it. He did not fight it and instantly felt a lesser man.
“What do you want from me?”

The End

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