Krir the Saboteur

The attack would begin at dawn.

The main attack, that is. Krir had never been a part of such efforts; he and his brothers worked under the cover of night, their own offensive strike landing far sooner than the battlecries that would ring out the next day. Their enemies would sleep, or sit at their lazy sentry duties, while their defenses would be slowly weakened out from beneath them. Distractions would be set up or planned. Vital intelligence on their structures and guard numbers would be gathered and handed back to the main base.

As the sun’s last light slipped behind the lowest peak on the horizon, Krir signalled his group to move forward. The trees had granted them precious cover for the last hour or so, but if they were to be of use to the larger force currently preparing only a few miles away, they would have to make the most of every hour the night granted them. Their first stop would be one of the eastern guard outposts of the town – planting small explosive material packs beneath the stonework, dulling blades left unattended… perhaps if they had opportunity, poisoning the guard water supply. It always depended on what they would find.
Krir drew his blade as he rushed across the wildlands, the only sound he could hear being his own racing heartbeat. The group moved quickly, quietly, just as they had trained.

No one would see them. But their work would secure the victory.