Deep in the heartlands of the steppes, Luther found what he was looking for; the arena, a veritable portmanteau of all the memories he had of those times…such a long time ago, yet those images were as effulgent as ever in his mind.
As he entered the ruins of this repository, he could hear the haunting melodies of the concertina being played by that old man at the main entrance, sucking toothlessly on his rusk, smile on his lips and a glint in his eye as if he had heard something calumnious about every person who crossed that portal.
Luther smirked ruefully, for no doubt that old buzzard was both voluble and egregious in his account of what happened that fateful day; shit, he could have dined out for months on that story alone.
Well, it their own damned fault. You train an elite warrior assassin, instil pride in him…