Cowards and Madmen
The dagger was the weapon of choice for the coward and the madman. The coward lurked clandestinely in the shadows, waiting patiently for his victim's weakest moment: sleep. When slumber took her, this craven fiend would unleash a flurry of strikes to the heart and head. If they favoured haste, a quick thrust to the jugular would suffice. It was bloodier, messier. But in the blackness of night it was all the same. Then he would slip away comfortably into the refuge of darkness. But the madman's methods were strange to the coward. He was a different beast. Danger was the madman's greatest ally. Safety his fiercest foe. There was no exploitation. No secrecy. No tricks. The madman didn't wait for the gloaming. He didn't tarry until nightfall so he could assassinate a hapless victim. His combatants weren't faceless, slumbering avatars. Nay, the madman thrived when the sun shone brightest. He knew that his opponents had souls, and he pined for naked encounters on th...