Cold Hearts IC Thread

[Zephyr]

Kelarith spotted Foernus hurrying outside and pointing angrily at him, attracting the attention of all his guards. Had the others failed in their plan?
"KILL THEM!"
His Lord's voice roared so loud in his head he almost winced. He immediately picked up his fighting pace again though he noticed the dripping form of Raniq close by, seemingly disappearing into thin air. That must mean "Foernus" was January.
So the deed had been done. Good. Now he could focus on the guards completely.

He had been simply dodging and parrying for a while now, keeping the guards alive long enough to distract any others that could have possibly interfered in the assassination. He was more focused on drawing away the guards but other Druchii present could have just as easily spoiled the whole plan.
During that time he noticed their imperfections; just a tiny bit too slow response times here, a weak wrist there and just sheer shoddy footwork from one of them. Not bad for hired guards, he was honestly impressed, but still nothing compared to a trained killer like him.

It was now easy for him to dispatch them. The first guard went down cleanly after a feint he had learned from the Master Executioner himself. It had cost him three broken ribs but he had accepted the pain and thanked him for the lesson. A lesson that now would see an end to this guards' life.
Just a simple redirection of the power put behind his Draich and off went another head.
The second guard went in a much more messy fashion, the Executioners that had met battle in war and conquest once told him that this was sometimes inevitable in larger combats but it still irked him.
He cut into the guards' right knee making him drop to the floor and though Kelarith had adjusted for this new position it was a little too low; slicing not through the neck but his torso.
Blood splattered all over him and he praised Khaine whom was in his head still, almost purring like a complacent beast that had a belly full of flesh. He stopped counting after the fifth one.

He looked around, flesh and blood sprayed in an almost perfect circle around him and he was pleased with what he saw despite for that second kill. It would haunt him for some time to come.
He walked towards a table with some sheets of cloth draped around it, hearing a Druchii behind the stand mumbling praises to Khaine. Kelarith felt bile rise in his stomach at this and though he never killed in anger he grabbed him upright by the hair, holding him there for a moment and impaling him figuratively with his cold steel-eyed stare.
The Druchii' eyes widened in shock as he impaled him literally with his Draich. A quick thrust through his abdomen made the man splutter less coherent sounds. Kelarith watched as the life slowly faded from the eyes. He felt nothing. He had heard of how trilling it was to see another die but found it did not stir him. It never had, it was the skill with which one killed and the released soul glorifying the Lord of Murder that mattered.
He took the man's head off and fastened it with the long hair to his belt, it's eyes still rolling around in its sockets. Now Khaine had answered his prayers. Khaine did not save the weak who could not fend for themselves.
He ripped a cloth from the stand and cleaned his Draich before finally sheathing it.

He took out an old notched dagger from his belt and took small pieces of bone-scraping from all the other kills. He finally noticed that the elf behind the stand wasn't the only extra non-guard victim he had made. If Khaine told him to kill he killed, simple as that. It mattered little if they were bystanders.

Putting the dagger and slivers away in the pouch on his belt he noticed that there were other Druchii around, hiding behind whatever they could. They didn't dare to make any sound seeing what had happened to the other Druchii behind the stall. Kelarith snorted, he despised their stupidity and above all, their complete inaction. The guards at least were Druchii he could respect, fighting to the last. These pitiful wretches weren't even worth spitting on.
He stretched himself out fully, back straight and arms towards the sky, before releasing all the tension in his muscles and exhaling slowly. Another check of all his gear and he started to away as calmly as from a normal morning exercise routine.
Khaine was quiet now which meant he was pleased with him and nothing pleased Kelarith more in return.
The very real sounds the survivors heard when he walked away on his way to the hideout was the thumping of a head against armor, the rattle of chainmail and a surreal beautiful voice...singing.

After some time Kelarith finally entered the cave. Others already stood there in front of Markus and asking about payment. As far as he was concerned he had already received his so he went over to a corner, crossing his arms and standing still as a statue once more.
His eyes caught the sight of a large ship. It was clear where it originated as the craftsmanship was less than that of Naggaroth but still better than most races could manage. Also, the ghastly colors hurt his eyes so it definitely came from their hated kin.
His thoughts ran wild, he simply lived to serve Khaine but he had always held one dream; to kill a Phoenix Guard. If Khaine wished it so who knows where these contracts would bring him?

 

[Chaos_Born]

Once again Verikar took a good long while after his carriage had come to a halt before exiting. He cleaned and sharpened the weapons he had just used and changed his armament a little, discarding the heavy cathayan longsword in favour of a pair of delicate curved shortswords inlaid with chaotic symbols. They were the most valuable weapons he had brought with him and he felt guilty leaving them in the carriage again.

With the golden scabbards hanging from his hips, he proceeded down the pier once again and hopped down the passage, heading into the cave. He thought little of the ship and moved so he was standing a few feet behind those already talking to Markus. He said nothing, but smiled in such a way that his success was evident and Markus would know he expected reward.

 

[Raizi]

Others had already assembled in the cave when Raniq came. There was no camouflage, nothing was hidden this time. He carried a small bowl of water and placed it on the table. Small orange herrings were swimming in the bowl along with a small black squid.

Raniq took the squid from the bowl and placed it in front of Markus, it's tentacles still gently moving on the table. Then he took one of the orange herrings and signaled the rest to take them freely. There was one herring for everyone else.

His finger's were dripping wet when he held the slippery herring and opened his mouth. A long, swollen and dark purple tongue greeted the herring, touching it gently an kissing it on the head. Then he put the herring in his mouth and swallowed it whole.

After he had eaten the fish, Raniq smiled for the first time. When he smiled, he revealed his teeth. They were sharp and filed into a triangular shape, like those of a shark.

Raniq smiled like a genuine predator among his peers.

 

[Mello]

Mythas raised an eyebrow as the wet man proceeded to have what appeared to be a snack, but then realised what was being implied. Some kind of foreign thing perhaps? He approached the table and took his own herring, and, after a moment's thought bit two large chunks of flesh off the sides of the fish, where it would have been filleted. He held the rest in his open palm and Sylvia hopped off his shoulder and began finishing it off.

Mythas chuckled, despite the disapproving looks of others, he had eaten much worse in his street urchin days, and the fish didn't taste that bad anyway, possibly some salts..

 

[Johnny-Crass]

As the last assassin entered the cave Markus flashed a signal and in came a chest for each killer, each carried by two sniveling slaves.

"I trust you will find more than generous payment held within! But as you all well know our line of work is never done. So would any like to leave our little venture? If not you will find your next contracts in your chests along with the payment I promised."

Looking down at the squid Markus began to dissect it on the table, making sure to keep it alive.

 

[The Archivist]

January took a carpenter's hammer from her bag and tossed it highin the air.
"I'm here for more than just gold. I'm not leaving until I get what I want, and that you have no say over."
She caught the hammer by its head as it came down, and strode to the chest enscribed with a broomhead.
"I see you've personalised them too. How kind."
She took her broom and lifted the lid.

 

[Zephyr]

Kelarith looked at the strange "ritual" Raniq had performed. He just stared at the bowl in which some small herrings were swimming about. Surely this Raniq-character did not expect him to swallow down a fish? It could be poisoned for all he knew. What annoyed him the most was the heretical talk about deep gods or some such nonsense and he would not do anything to please them. More disturbing was the fact that the others in the group did not seem to mind his talk, or gesturing, about his 'wet deities'. Khaine's Bloodied Hands, one even downed a herring without so much as pausing!

He heard a low growl in his head. Oh Certainly He did not mean...an angry cry of rage cut off his train of thoughts. Right, if more kills were to follow he had to be trusted, assimilated into the group and that meant their silly little bonding rituals were to be done. And if Khaine did not object to this 'ritual' he wasn't at all disgusted by swallowing a live fish anyway. He had eaten still beating hearts from his victims in worship.

He walked over the bowl, scooped out one of the small orange herrings and turned around with his back to everybody, removing his helmet and the cloth in front of the lower half of his face. Making sure nobody saw his true face he swallowed the slippery thing whole in one go. Kelarith replaced the cloth and his helmet, turning around to look Raniq straight in the eye, making a small bow as he did so.

Having finished the childish 'ritual' he passed the others and walked over to his awaiting chest.

 

[Malochai]

Indoril watched Raniq's odd exercise with a cold suspicion lingering in his hard eyes, and watching the one with the bird copy him without pause. 'Such foolish behaviour,' he thought, with a slight shake of his head. 'How could eating a herring be to my benefit, anywa?' he asked himself. His thought were disturbed, however, when the chests were brought in. He searched for his own, and found one emblazoned with his family crest and a bolt carved beneath it. The design faintly reminded him of a chest he'd stored his treasured items in as a child, before leaving the miniature fortress he had considered home ...

He hadn't been listening to Markus, only hearing that there was more work available. With a smile hidden behind his half-mask, he opened the chest, and looked within, seeing in the corner of his eye Markus cutting into the squid, and thought of the irony before looking for his next contract.

 

[Mello]

Mythas went to his own chest, curiously unmarked, Markus obviously didn't want to acknowledge any lineage that Mythas had originally had. Opening the chest up, Mythas smothered his disappointment, inside was just a lot of money, much more than he'd ever need. He pocketed a little, and left the rest untouched.

After everyone had taken what they wanted from their chests, Markus beckoned and two more slaves came in, each carrying a letter. One was written in the same handwriting as the first contract involving Mythas' victim, and he smiled. Hopefully there would be another dead rich person by the end of the day, Slyvia paused to caw before delving back into her extenxed lunch.

 

[Johnny-Crass]

Markus passed out two packets to each killer before standing and addressing the cave.

"Laddies and gentle-elves today I have three people who must die. These contracts all ring of a personal nature to me and for that you shall be payed very well again." Pausing to take a sip of some dark liquid in his cup Markus continued.

"The first contract involves our dear friend at the High Court as it seems our first message did not get through his thick skull. But luckily we still need him so I have decided that his family must suffer more. The next target is his wife, she should be at his compound under what I expect is heavy trained guard. Now there is one small catch.... I will triple your payment if you take her alive. That is all the information I have on her, guard change happens at midnight and I can make sure you have a carriage waiting for you when you leave."

Sipping more from his cup Markus continued
"This second one is very personal for me. I have recently been freed from.. unfortunate circumstances from across the seas, and have a score to settle with a certain captain of a ship. I don't know his name, but his ship is the "Dusk Strider" and should be in port for some time at the moment, some complications.. happened. I will double your payment if you bring me his head"

Sitting down in his chair Markus sighed deeply.
"This last contract is fairly simple. My organization backed a certain elf in the Captain of the Watch elections and he came in as the runner up. Now this has put a strain on our relationship, but I swore to him I would fix this. So I need you to kill the current captain, but make it look like a accident. His address and home-hours are in the packet."

Rising from his chair Markus looked around the table "Any questions?"

 

[Mello]

"I've already tainted myself with the blood of nobles, I see good reason to continue to do so. Nothing angers me more than corruption, especially arrogantly ignorant corruption. Count me in for the wife." Growled Mythas softly, crushing a coin in his hand in anger, bending it slightly.

 

[The Archivist]

"Slavery, don't have to capture someone, get to leave a calling card... I'll take the slaver."
January rumaged around in her bag for her manacles, and whirled them around intently.

 

[Raizi]

Raniq had been watching the bowl of herrings intently while sitting on top of a chest that had his mark on it. A kraken eating another kraken. He hadn't bothered to open it, he seemed to be more interested in the fate of the herrings.

When Markus had revealed the information about their contracts, Raniq walked to the table with a long filleting knife in his right hand. He took the remaining herrings from the bowl, and gave a slight nod to Markus, Mythas and Kelarith. Then he put the remaining flapping herrings on the table and cut them open, while giving a cold look to each member of the team who had not taken one when it was offered.

For a few minutes this continued and Raniq seemed to muddle the table at random while filleting the herrings. Suddenly Raniq struck his blade on the table and looked to Markus before returning to his chest.

On the table there was a picture drawn with the remains of the last herrings. A ship was on the sea and caught in the tentacles of a giant kraken. A lone man was standing in front of the aftercastle of the ship, presumably the captain. The filleting knife had been struck though his head.

 

[The Archivist]

"Heh, nice. I look forward to working with you again Raniq."
January sat down and shuffled the carpentry garb around, exchanging it with rags in such a way that no-one actually saw a direct change. When she was finally in rags she rubbed dirt into her face again until she looked like a grimy slave. She finished by taking her broom and reattaching the broom head, before standing and resting with pressure on the handle.

 

[Malochai]

Indoril smiled grimly at the coin placed before him; it made the amount he had stolen from his father years before pale in comparison. He started to imagine the various ways he could have his sister removed, until Markus’ voice broke his concentration. The marksman quietly closed the lid of his chest, resenting the fact that he couldn’t lock it up; ‘Am I to trust that these killers won’t try and steal my share?’ he raged in his mind.

He first listened to the others start to make his choice, but his mind had already been made up - ‘Triple pay ... With that, I could secure my place at the head of the House of Nerefteen’ was the first thought to flit through his mind. He looked to the silent one; amused to see him looking back, his eyes hard, cold, and angry. He shook his head, nodding back with what he hoped was a sardonic look in his eyes. ‘Why should he be irritated? He’s a murderer; surely he wouldn’t trust anything we gave him?!’ The irrational actions of the Silent One, as Indoril thought of him, puzzled the self-obsessed Indoril, but he shook his head and turned to Markus. “

“I will work with Mythas to take this woman, but I do have a question. What are we allowed to do with her?” His question was asked with a vicious undertone, and the stretched material of his half-mask showed his mouth was wide, clearly a grin of unadulterated lust, but which urge he desired to sate was unclear. “Is it unharmed, or ... Still alive?”

 

[Zephyr]

The lid of Kelarith's chest closed with a loud bang. He had taken out a black silk cloak, stitched with golden runes. Each rune a depiction of a way to kill.
He draped the cloak around his shoulders, fastened the clasps, and checked his arm movement. The cloak did not interfere and seemed to be made to fit. Perfect.

He walked towards the others and listened to the contracts on offer. The guard captain was interesting but not a lot of people lost their heads in accidents. The kidnapping sounded like a fast job but maybe he could be a distraction for the guards again.
But ah the sea captain...his head was precisely what was wanted and THAT he could deliver easily. He had already seen January and Raniq in action though and Kelarith felt it was best to get to learn all of his "fellows" abilities.

He thought it over and eventually moved towards January and Raniq.
"Let us go collect a head shall we?"

 

[Johnny-Crass]

"She has to still be able to write, talk and listen Indoril" Markus said softly.

 

[Mello]

Mythas chuckled inwardly. Write, talk and listen? There's many things one can get rid of then, all she really needed would be an intact right arm and one ear. And Sylvia liked eyes oh so much, and she can't get them out of her sockets on their own. Besides the optical nerve was the best bit..

Surfacing from his fantasies, Mythas heard the crossbow guy say he was going to join him. He walked over and drew his hood down.

"I trust you have a suitably ambitious dream to perform on this woman as me then?" he said smiling crookedly.

 

[The Archivist]

"Indoril, I'm no psychologist but doesn't trauma cause amnesia, amongst other things? June's case certainly did."
January laughed befoer a look of contemplation swept across her face.
"Damn I'm getting informal. The last guy I spoke to about my brood promptly recieved the sharp end of my broom..."

 

[Malochai]

Indoril smiled to himself at Markus' words. "Believe me, she'll be able to. There's much I can accomplish without rendering her incapable."

He started absently scratching his left palm with a practiced motion, with the particularly sharp nail on his right index finger, creating a cut in his skin, following a slightly pink scar which stood out in stark contrast with the rest of his pale composure, until blood started bubbling to the surface and he was silent until the killer he was to work with, Mythas, walked over and spoke. He shifted his eyes to look coldly at the other elf, not even deigning to shift his head. "I have things that must be practiced, and she is as good a canvas as any," he replied, before the woman spoke, and he had to turn to take her in, but his eyes were still cold.

"Then you must be doing something incorrectly. From my experience, the 'trauma' of my art hasn't caused amnesia. Indeed, they continue to tell me whatever I want to know for weeks, if not months after.
"And that would not be the wisest move in a room full of killers. Keep your broom to yourself." As he said this, the blood covered fingers of his left hand started beating a tattoo on one of his daggers handles, the threat clear, before turning around again to stare directly forwards and then, as if only realising, looked at his left palm and cursed quietly under his breath, drawing a scrap of cloth, a deep red in colour, from one of his pouches and mopped up the blood silently.

"Where does she live? This cave has an oppressive feel to it," he asked Markus, looking pointedly around to his 'comrades'. "I'll go ahead and scout out a path to this she-elf. She's mine," he growled towards Mythas, the implication that he was staking his claim to her early clear.

 

[The Archivist]

"Who said I was working with him at the time?"
January twirled her broom above her head before thwacking it down on the floor.
"My sister's amnesia was a result of her buxom figure and a rather overly interested guard. I just finished her off several years later. Anyway, I think I've gone off the atmosphere, and before I crash and burn I'd like to kill a captain. Two kills a day keeps poverty away."

 

[Chaos_Born]

Verikar briefly looked into his chest. Nodding, satisfied, he turned back and thought hard about the contracts.

Making it seem like an accident. Doesn't really seem like my style. A voyage on a ship with these...doesn't seem like a pleasant prospect. Kidnap? Again not exactly my forte.

Verikar stood quietly until the others had made their decisions, and then finally walked up to and spoke to Markus, 'I'll take the contract on the wife.' He approached Mythas, traces of distaste on his face. 'Once more we shall be working together. How do you want to do this?'

 

[Mello]

Mythas glared coldly back at the barely disguised snobbery that presented itself from this noble of some sort. He seemed no worse than the target.

"Frankly I couldn't say until we see what she's cooped up in, it could be a simple shot through the window" he murmured, motioning towards Indoril with his head, "Or maybe she is moving amongst guards where you could simply just kill them all, but that'd be boring anyway" he said childishly.

"Shall I go and have a look then?"

 

[Malochai]

Chuckling dryly at Mythas' cold look, Indoril turned his head away. Tired of waiting, and irritated with Markus for his inattention to those working for him, when it could be a matter of great import, he strode towards the exit, before stopping on the lowest step, and calling back,"The woman's mine, so if you want her, you're going to have to get there first, friend." With that, he continued quickly, walking with an odd mix of grace and speed.

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Fifteen minutes later, and the marksman was atop a house in the expensive region of the city, looking down at the streaming throngs of people below, following the mesmeric ebb and flow of life beneath him. And then something caught his eye - a particularly attractive female slave was winding through the sea of people. Nodding to nobody, he flitted from rooftop to rooftop, keeping her in his sights until she left the main stream of elves and slipped into an alleyway. Smiling, Indoril shimmied down drains and dropping from window sills until he was on the ground, roughly cobbled and deadly when covered in ice, as were many in the city.

Moving up behind her quickly, he drew a knife and slipped it up his sleeve, until he grabbed her by the shoulder and pushed her towards a wall until her cheek was grinding against the freezing stone, and his knife was pressed against the soft flesh of her throat. Deepening his voice, he began speaking:-

"The judge whose daughter died. You know of him?" Surprisingly, the slave showed bravery and tried to elbow him, but she was weak and human, so it did nothing. The elf chuckled, and pressed the knife in a bit further. His other hand had hold of her waist, his grip like iron. "Don't struggle ... You'll just make what's to happen even worse. Now answer my question!" he hissed venomously, "Do you know of him?" Blood trickling down her throat, the servant nodded, tears starting to form and trickle over the soft features of her face. Voice softening, he cooed soothingly, Indoril pulled the knife away slightly and wiped away one of the tears.

"Don't cry, it won't stop what's coming." Suddenly, his voice hardened again. "Where does he live? Where's his complex?" The voice that emanated from his mouth was gravelly, so unlike normal. The slave continued to sob; each heave of her chest causing the blade to bite deeper, but managed to spit out the directions to Indoril's satisfaction. "Now, that's better." His voice was once more soft, and he turned her around, so she faced his masked guise. One hand still on her waist, he trailed his hand down her body, and then pulled out a vial, unstoppering it with his teeth, and forcing it into her mouth. She swallowed more than he would have liked, nearly three quarters of the bottle when less than a thimbleful would have done, before he pulled it back out, forcing the bung back into it. His half-mask disguised the lascivious grin that distorted his face, before she started to tense up, and tighten. Before she froze up completely, he managed to scramble back onto the roof of a building, dragging her with him. The few slaves who he'd seen lowered their eyes and walked away quickly, ignoring the scene before them.

Once they were safely atop the roof, he lifted her shirt up and, drew his knife coated in slow-acting poison, the surface of the blade oily with the viscous liquid, and slipped it under her skin, slicing a strip of skin as wide as the blade of his knife and twice as tall, and cursed when it came out ragged and uneven. The marksman then looked up and noticed the time he'd wasted, and cursed even more emphatically, before abandoning his work. At least he knew that she would die painfully; it helped ease the guilt of leaving the job half-done. The image of her in such pain, wanting to writhe and scream, to scratch her own skin away only to find her limbs immobile, unable to lift them, turn her head, open her mouth.

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Another half hour passed before he was overlooking the vast compound which the slave had told him belonged to the judge. On his stomach to keep his profile low, he saw the numerous guards striding over the rooftop. 'But not for long ...'

 

[The Archivist]

January left shortly, prepared to do some quick reconnaissance. Once she was up on the docks again, she nipped into the shadows. She drew herself up in the garb of a professional slavedriver, a carefully cut piece of leather that was slightly worn slung over her clothes. She hung a whip from her belt, and turned her broom into a slave-beater.
She began wandering the docks, calling out 'Mirrin! Mirrin!' She let a scowl cross her features. Several times she stopped passerbys, asking them if they had seen a slave pulling a cart pass by.
She worked her way closer to the boat on which the contracts were. Observing from a distance as she ranted up and down, an idea occured to her.