“Imagine; you might be the next leader of this group once the Temple decides to move in." The Executioner’s obvious attempt to seduce Indoril into such a role, to keep him on side, still had an affect on the assassin, despite knowing what he was trying to do. He decided not to respond, instead fastening his half-mask back to his face.
"Come, the Temple awaits us. You will lay the offering upon the altar." Nodding gracefully, Indoril retrieved his offerings to the God of Murder, placing the heart in his greatly-depleted coin purse along with the tongue, holding the skin like a newborn. Entering the front room of the blacksmithy, he left a gruesome message on the ground:-
We interfered with the Cold Hearts. Our lives are forfeit; offerings to Khaine.
“Lead on, Executioner ...” he said, neither a command or request, before following him confidently.
Never, since leaving the House of his birth, had he felt comfortable walking openly down the streets, but as people gave both Druchii a wide berth, he felt more powerful than ever, sure his appearance was gruesome and awe-inspiring.
‘And they know so very little ...’
***
The Temple was impressive - not so much as that of Naggarond or Har Ganeth, which he had visited when young, but they were exceptional structures of dedication, blood and death - and the sheer amount of death could be felt; even by Druchii standards, the Temple was a place of evil. Acknowledging Kelarith’s advice, he lowered his head and followed the Executioner into the large confines of the extraordinary building. As they reached the Altar, Indoril was preparing himself to produce his offerings and give thanks to Khaine, but was interrupted by the arrival of the Maibd. Still as a statue, he waited for the beautiful, lust-inspiring, yet sinister form of the elf-woman to finish what she would do, and had his eyes bowed in obeisance - despite his great arrogance, he felt no desire to test himself against those who preached the scriptures and bloody rituals of Khaine. He didn’t look up until he heard Kelarith’s next words; missing the winning smile she flitted at him as she departed.
‘What we could do with a woman like that ...’ he though, mind filled with violence, lust and pain, before kneeling at the base of Altar.
It was with reverence he placed the skin on the bloods-stained surface of the stone, spreading it so that the rune of Khaine was visible to all who looked upon it. Then, muttering bloody ceremonial rites, he produced the heart and tongue from his coin purse, feeling the sticky, viscous liquid stick to his hands. It sent a thrilling shiver down his spine, and finally he thrust his head backwards, staring up at the amazingly intricate statue of the Bloody Lord, taking in all the details of the Aspect of Khaine. The tongue was placed atop the skin, and then Indoril drew his knife and slit the heart, dipped his finger into it, and drew more stylised runes onto the skin, offering devotions to Khaine. Finally, he licked the wound in the heart, and then placed it alongside the rune-daubed skin.
“Come, Kelarith. The others will be wondering where we are,” he said as he stood, leaving a bloody handprint on the cold stone floor as he pushed himself up. Without another word, he turned on the spot and strode from the temple. He found that the weather had become violent; driving winds forced icy spears of rain heavily towards the ground. As soon as the liquid hit the ground, it started to freeze, causing patches of deadly ice to form. With firm, but careful, steps he led Kelarith back towards the Cold Heart’s lair, feeling invigorated. Kelarith’s words about his worthiness, maybe leading the Cold Heart’s on behalf of the Temple, still pulsed around his mind excitedly.
***
On the dockside, Indoril paused and turned to Kelarith.
“I shall join you and the others in a few minutes; despite my love of spilling blood in Khaine’s name, I cannot live with the precious life blood of others covering my clothes forever. I have spares in my own base of operations nearby; I shall be gone no more than a quarter of an hour.” With a swish of his cloak, Indoril disappeared into the thronging crowds which were scurrying around the piers and quays; it seemed that slavers had returned and were about to unload their precious, yet expendable, cargo. In seconds, he had disappeared, and was at the door to the pleasure house, looking around before he entered the door, not that it made much difference - there were so many elves around he had no way of knowing if he was being observed.
Madame Ilira was nowhere to be seen, so he quickly made his way up to the room he had acquired indefinitely and opened the door. He smiled to see the form of the Madame in the bed with his two slave-girls, and shook his head, before seeing the forms of his two newest slaves, unconscious, shackled at the far side of the space. Quickly, he opened a trunk at the bottom of the large bed and pulled another set of robes, dark blue this time, and another half-mask and cloak which matched. He then stripped and replaced his blood-stained clothes with the new ones, before striding to the bed and running a hand across the bared flesh of his slaves and the Madame, who stirred as he did so.
“Should you not be with your customers, darling Ilira?” he murmured, a sparkle in his eye. She smiled sleepily at him, and then he turned and exited the room.
Minutes later, he was in the tunnel beneath the pier, where he found Kelarith waiting for him, and made their way back into the Cold Heart’s base in silence, where he found the others in discussion, Mythas speaking bitterly. January’s voice drew attention to her, and Indoril looked at her.
‘Ah, the Spider returns!’[/u] he thought, before brushing forward out of the shadows of the tunnel.
“We are here, January. Acquiring our next contract, and the money for the last ... As well as dealing with some business. Kelarith, if you will?
Anyway, I am glad you realise that my presence is necessary for the Cold Heart’s to function successfully. Shevael ... Well, your newest initiate was a fool. Got himself eaten by the hydra, after being arrested ... And bringing us a damned wytch. What is she still doing here, anyway? I’ll not reveal the next contract until she has at least been removed to somewhere she cannot hear us. No doubt she could make use of any information she gleans to our detriment!”
