Morgan began running exactly two seconds after he started hearing the footsteps. The slow, deliberate, almost inaudible pitter-patter of death wandering ever so quietly in his direction was enough to jolt him from the pits of slumber and spot his foe. The significantly older man smelt of soap and lavender, but his hooded face gleamed with what Morgan assumed could only be murderous intent. The evening, all things considered, was beginning very badly for the Collector.

“Oh this is not good,” muttered Morgan under his breath. Despite the fact that he kept slowly backing away from the masked man, his foe seemed to be in absolutely no rush, almost as if he was enjoying the experience. “Is it a he?” Morgan narrowed his eyes, he could not really discern the true gender of the person, but assumed from the very slow, very powerful way that it moved, his intended murderer was in fact a dude. That and the man-chest.

“Oi, mind telling my why you’re following me?” Morgan asked. His question was not answered as the foe continued his tortuous-like advance. “Well, think you can turn back the way you came? I swear, I had no idea this was your sleeping patch. The grass just looked so soft, you see…” Still no answer, and a tingling shock coursed through Morgan’s body built primarily out of fear and secondarily out of panic.

As Morgan started feeling for the Collector Deck the bad man withdrew a long sword from a sheathe on his belt. Morgan began considering praying to deities he had long forgotten the names of to save his life. “Uh…oh, this is bad,” he whispered and retrieved his first Collector Card. The dark man remained silent, but focused his attention on the card Morgan held in his hand.

“Okay you big oaf, you asked for it,” Morgan muttered. “I’ll just collect you too! Morgan Card!”

The Collector Card flashed and vanished, and was replaced by the Collector Sword. The assassin drew back, as if hesitant, but when the flash cleared resumed his slow approach. Morgan gripped both of his hands on the broadsword’s hilt and issued an audible gulp.

“Well,” he said, “this is gonna suck.”

Then his opponent charged.

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Signature by the Sinfully Delicious Lady Knives