[ WP ] In his right hand he carried a dagger for vengeance . In his heart the blackness of hatred . On his left hand the declaration of their liberation . The feast of the oligarchs would soon come to a bloody end ...

His raged burned from deep within, a fire stoked by years of oppression and torment. Now was the time he would gain his vengeance, after all this time. 
 He took a step only to realise he was at the top of a small flight of paved stairs, slippery with moss and fragile with age. His step did not find a footing and he fell, toppling over and coming to and stop at the bottom, brick dust and moisture all around him. Moisture from the damp moss but, no, it was sticky, and warm. He pulled his hand up and saw thick red blood, looking down to see the knife plunged deep into his belly... 
 After all this time, to fail, like this... Blackness overtook his vision and his breath faded to nothingness. 

