Cold Hearts IC Thread

[Malochai]

The passageway didn’t open up as the Judge’s wife led him through the sharp corners of the dusty, cobweb-ridden route. Indoril kept his hand warily on his knife; this was now very much her domain, and he was trapped. Barbs stuck out at obscure heights, and he had already pricked himself on several of these, and they must have had some minor poison on them; his blood had thinned and his breathing was slightly harder - he had continued with much greater care, and followed exactly where his prisoner walked.

After half an hour, he was lost. They had gone past numerous passageways, all lit by runes from above, and despite him attempting to keep track of which turns they took he couldn’t, a new feeling. He narrowed his eyes, and when the passageway finally opened out a bit, he grabbed his hostage, pulling her backwards, the thin material tearing easily in his hand. Shoving her against the wall, her cheek scraping against the smooth, cool stone. “You seem to be leading me a merry dance. We are leaving. Now!”

He waved the knife threateningly just over the rise of her breast and she shied away noticeably - ‘Clearly it is excruciatingly painful,’ he thought with glee. Her fighting spirit seemed to flee, or it’s physical manifestation, at least. Her eyes, indigo in the rune-light, shimmered with hate, but he merely enjoyed it; he would take his pleasure later, and how pleasurable it would be ...

He pushed her in front of him and continued following, this time on a course that seemed to have a more defined path. He growled quietly; it was obvious she had been leading him a merry little dance. Another ten minutes passed in the dark light, and then finally the druchii woman leant against another wall, and pressed her hands against it muttering, much as she had in the room where he had poisoned - and then, cured - her. Runes lit up, and the wall disappeared. Striding out confidently, Indoril thought that the air felt closer and narrowed his eyes again. Noticing his stance and tautened body language, his hostage stated, “We are below the main house. The slave quarters.” Nodding warily, he continued following her, smiling as they were steadfastly either avoided or treated with sickening sycophancy, the slaves bowing and scraping, falling over themselves to offer her anything she so wished. He kicked occasionally, sending them off with broken ribs, curses on their lips and dark looks in their eyes. The Lady ignored them all, as befitted one of her status, and strode imperiously through the corridors, blanking the filthy cells that she passed.

Time passed in a haphazard way underground, beneath that manse. Eventually, though, the two of them were in a cell, as filthy as the others and otherwise just as bare, but she murmured, and drew a fingernail across her right hand, and then did the same to her left, placing them together and smudging the flowing blood across her palms. She frowned, but placed her hands across the stone and moved them about, creating patterns of blood. Turning anxiously, Indoril checked they were unseen, and when he looked back a section of wall was receding, the stones covered in runes of a baleful red. ‘Khainite magicks,’ he told himself ruefully; he should have realised that the woman was more than she looked. ‘Although, in that case, why would she accompany me?’ The thought flashed through his mind an instant before the blood hit him, and then it began to burn, eating into his cloak, which he had drawn over his face at the last second. The assassin spun, keeping low, and barreled into her, knocking her to the floor. The bottom of her dress was already ragged, and had bunched upwards, covering only the tops of her legs. Holding her throat with his left hand, he trailed his right upwards, from thigh to chest and face. She nipped at his finger, and he slapped her across the face, a red blotch forming instantly. She glowered, and he started to throttle her, and then his employer’s words came back to him. Triple pay, if she’s alive. He let his hand go, and slapped her again. A low moan escaped her lips, and he did his best to ignore it, thinking again of what he would do to her later. Another blow to the temple, and she was out cold. Picking her up and carrying her over his shoulder once more, he followed the straight corridor to the end, finding only a hidden door instead of an enchanted opening, much to his surprise. The assassin had expected to have to await for her to awaken and then teach her how to obey. Forcing the squealing door open, he picked her up, but when he turned back he found himself face to face with a nauglir, it’s rider dead in it’s saddle and the blood stained teeth, long as knives, feet from his face. A small scale battle was taking place not far away, ten paces at the most, and the same distance the other way were the gates, his chance to freedom. First, though, he had to survive the attack of a Cold One - no mean feat, even for him.

 

[The Archivist]

After wandering all across town, doubleing back to make sure she wasn't followed and switching garments and makeup every other alleyway, she arrived back at the dock wearing mage garb, her broom handle acting as a staff. She raised her arms, muttered a few inconsequential syllables, and swung herself beneath the dock in a manner that would be interpreted as vanishing into the water. She returns to the hideout with a scowl on her face.

 

[Mello]

Mythas took stock of the situation. It seemed that the cold ones here were either new or not looked after properly. He wasn't an expert by any means, yet even he knew that one put some foul liquid of theirs all over you to make you smell like them. Armies with cold ones in, as far as he knew, always covered themselves so that the nauglir would just think that the army was more of whatever they deemed themselves to be.

Mythas could hear shouts and tramps of armored feet. It was evident that reinforcements, many of them, were on their way. As arrows once more began to whirr past his head Mythas ran for it. This time, at least, he had the distance to climb, and so he did. First up a ladder. He glanced behind him to confirm that he had spotted a painter's platform on the opposite wall (which was of the main castle). Leaping backwards he launched himself off the wall, and caught the edge of the plank in one hand, swinging a little before he could pull himself up. Now it was a bit easier to climb, a simple matter of navigating faults in the masonry and window ledges. Yet the arrows were getting a little closed. At one point Mythas cried out as an arrow thudded into his shoulder, thankfully the impact was taken by what little armor, the first time that it'd actually worked as protective equipment really. Looking down, he saw why. In his haste to escape, he had climbed a little too high. A hiss made him look upwards. The harpies!

He took a deep breath in, and tried the window in front of him. Locked. Grimacing in frustration he lent in and pinned himself to the side of the wall, as close as he could ho. He could hear it pacing around on the roof above him, heck he could hear its heavy breathing. Ragged, cold in a flawed kind of way, as if nature didn't want this thing to stay alive, but it persisted through sheer force of will. It paused and started sniffing. Mythas desperately hoped that the wind wasn't blowing in the way he thought it may be.. After what seemed like hours but was probably only a couple of minutes, the creature grew bored, and with another earsplitting screech, flew off.

Mythas exhaled noisly, he had been holding his breath the whole time, and thought he may have died from suffocation first. He had wondered whether it was sheer force of will or the beginning of rigor mortis keeping him attatched to that wall..

Either way, he had a great view from up here, and he was looking for a particular building, a plan was hatching in his mind. His eyes fell upon the place he was looking for. The stables, a low wooden sheltered area with some horses nonchalantly grazing on some hay. More importantly, right next to it, in only the stupid and illogical theory that calls itself order in a judge's mind, the cold ones' stables, a much more barren, solid stone building. No windows, and one single, large wooden door.

Mythas shook his aching arms as he approached the single guard manning the door. Too much climbing vertical walls in one day for his liking. Evidently all the other guards were now scouring the compound for him. The guard stiffened and raised his halberd. Mythas drew his weapon surreptitiously and readied himself, rebalencing slightly.

"Halt and identify yourself.. errr, there's a know-"

While the guard had been declaring formalities, Mythas had spun around, speeding up with great ferocity, and with a flurry cut the centre of the guards face in two, although to his credit (at least in his opinion) he hadn't touched the brain. The guard sank to the ground in agony, clutching his face. Mythas walked, ever so slowly up to the main door, and unbolted it. Deep, throaty roars reverberated from inside. Emerging a couple of minutes later, Mythas positioned the guard so that his blood ran into the building. The roars soon turned into screams of bloodlust. Whatever was keeping the Nauglir in wasn't going to last much longer. Mythas slowly climbed onto the roof and watched, amused as the guard tried to escape from his eventual fate. But such was life. In a splinter of wood, and a crunch, his tiny, worthless spark was extinguished. Lost amongst the masses that were to come. If any person had passed by, Mythas would look like some ancient god of the wild, standing atop a building with nauglir streaming out, calling to the sky, in his white robes that gently flapped in the wind.

A couple of minutes later, Mythas strolled around the outskirts of the cold one's massacre of the remainder of the guards, who seemed infinitely more terrified of the nauglir than they did of Mythas leaving the castle unharmed with their employer's wife. More and more guards piled in, and Mythas couldn't help feel that they were without a decent leader to co-ordinate them, an oversight on the judge's part, he guessed. As he surveyed the carnage he noticed something odd, a cold one was simply staring at a old, disused door. Mythas' curiosity soon turned to horror as Indoril, and more importantly, the target emerged right in front of it. Not for the first time today, Mythas started running.

Seeing he wasn't going to get there in time, Mythas did something he'd never really tried before: throwing his epieu. He hadn't done this purely because he was paranoid of loosing it, but this seemed a suitably epic way of loosing it, after the blood it had seen today. Luckily, or unluckily, depending whether you were Mythas or Indoril, the blade struck home, but only embedded itself in its thigh, serving to increase its rage. As Indoril desperately fended the creature off, Mythas came up with yet another stupid, brilliant plan. Sprinting forwards, Mythas used his weapon as a foothold to get on top of the nauglir, which was now more than a little confused. Retrieving his weapon, Mythas forgot where he was and let out a little whimper of joy, kissing his blade and hugging it, before joyously stabbing the creature repeatedly in the head. After flailing around for a good minute, with Mythas clinging on for dear life, the creature eventually let out almost a apologetic sigh, and gave up the ghost, sinking to the ground.

"Come on!" Mythas shouted as Indoril sunk a couple of bolts into the last few remaining guards at the gate. Mythas appreciated it, he was rather tired after all this. Still, he had the woman to look forward to..

 

[Zephyr]

Kelarith limped back towards the hideout, figuring he would never catch up with Iriden in his current condition. He faintly heard some screams in the direction where he had last seen her so he figured the prey had been caught one way or another.

It took him a long time, too damn long he cursed to himself, to reach the hideout. Kelarith didn't even bother to look around to see if anybody else was present. He limped towards the nearest darkened corner and sat down, carefully removing his greaves. His right leg was fine though it probably hurt a little from straining it too much as he had put most of his weight on it. His left leg was a mess, though it had stopped bleeding for now the puncture wounds the shark had made could start to infect later on. Angry black and purple spots started to show through the skin. Kelarith dismissed those, knowing them to be simple bruises.
He grabbed the pouch hanging from his belt and rummaged around in it. After a short while he found what he was looking for; a small vial containing a burning and pungent liquid. It had been a trophy from a kill where he had not been able to collect any fleshy parts. There had been nothing left.
It contained a great deal of alcohol as well and would sterilize the wound as best as was possible in these conditions. He uncorked the small vial and gritted his teeth as he poured its contents over the bite-marks. The pain was almost unbearable yet he accepted it gladly, it was a punishment for his failure tonight.

 

[Malochai]

The Lady - as Indoril had come to think of her after deciding he didn't care to know her name - was dumped unceremoniously to the floor as the nauglir lurched forward, attacking with it's huge, bloodstained teeth. Slashing his knife frantically, he scored a faint, thin line across it's jaw. A roar sounded directly in his face, spittle laced with spidery veins of blood flinging all over his face.

He had managed to keep the beasts attention from the woman by making leaping attacks and dodging out of the way, sometimes by a hairs breadth. One of it's eyes had been burst, which only made the creature angrier, and when Indoril saw the flashing metal fly, he had a moment of help, until it only enraged the beast further. 'Fool,' he thought desperately.

Mythas leapt onto the nauglir and it blurred past; one of the creature's teeth had nicked him. He only saw his unhappy comrade flinging about on the beast. Slumping against the wall, he fumbled for a vial at his belt. A minor antidote, just enough to help him concentrate. Downing it, he replaced the vial and shot a couple of bolts, picking up the woman.

The other assassin called to him, and he nodded, downing a couple more guards with bolts, although they were slightly off. With a sigh, he made his way out of the gates and through the winding city streets, back towards where he had exited the lair of his employer. Eventually, he placed his prize on the floor, and growled to the elf Markus. "She is mine. If you send her back, I get my time before that. In fact, I demand first going with her. Victor's spoils, beyond my payment." Staring him down, Indoril was just waiting for a reason to attack the damned, burnt elf.

 

[The Archivist]

January stood banging out a rythmn on the wall with her handle.
"Kelarith, Iriden, who f***ed up the plan? Where was Raniq? And why on earth does Kelarith look like he swam here from Brettonia?"
She smacked the handle blunt end into the floor, hard enough to leave a mark.
"I know it wasn't me. I went down into the slave-hold, waited forever for Raniq to give the signal that Kelarith had killed or maimed the captain and Indoril had killed the quartermaster, then I heard fighting up above. I took it something had gone wrong, lit the blue touch paper and stood well back."
January took a broom head from beneath her robes and fastened it to the sharp end of the handle, so as to resume its benign appearance.
"That was a waste of time, effort and, worst of all, a massive pun! So can someone tell me what happened?"

 

[Mello]

Mythas laughed hollowly, stalking into the room, reunited with Sylvia at last, who was busy eating a man's hand.

"Yeah, I saw the huge mess you guys made on the way back here. You guys sank, wait for it, four ships due to the huge firestorm! Well if that isn't a subtle, accidental death I don't know what is." Wheezing laughter filled the whole cave, and Slyvia felt inclined to caw loudly to be helpful to her companion.

Mythas shrugged off his joviality as Indoril and Markus returned, they had done a perfect job anyway. No breach of contract terms, and he'd learnt a thing or two about Harpies and Cold Ones to boot.

When Mythas up his payment stash, Sylvia cawed in delight. All that was in the rather large chest were an assortment of living and dead vermin, strips of flesh, and worms. Sylvia jumped in with a happy squawk. Mythas smiled a paternal smile. It was lovely not to have to worry about her next meal, and she was occupied during his contracts, brilliant.

He turned back to the.. less successful group,

"So, please do relate the.. unlucky? circumstances that explain your monumental failure?"

 

[Lynks]

"If you are looking for shoulders to lay the blame on then you don't need to look any further than the masked mad man that thought it prudent to ignite one ship with explosive and then attempt, and fail, to single handedly storm the target's vessel before utilising acid to make a pathetic and lousy get away, ruining all the effort that had gone into preparation of me and the others." Iriden replied venomously, speaking no no one in particular.

Without a breath she continued. "Were it not for the manic machinations of our grand leader then there would be none of this mess down at the docks. The plans were sound and effective, however it seems that thinking things through is a skill beyond the man apparently in charge."

Turning to Mythas with a glare, "Regardless, there was no failure. One target died by any means necessary as allowed. the other died in what can only be termed a catastrophe. No one will expect the debarkle was all to kill one pitiful man and now one will ever be able to identify his body that no serves as a cruel reminder to the dangers of crossing me. There was no mention of avoiding collateral. To all others the death of my target remains unintentional in the eyes of the many. I care not who or what burns in the crossfire. I clawed the pitiful mess the man in charge made back to what can only be deemed a success. I care not who lives or dies, if they stood in my way I would sink a thousand ships and all their crew or send the entire city to their deaths if it meant achieving my goals."

 

[Mello]

Mythas chuckled as he absently stroked Sylvia as she steadily grew slick with blood.

"Frankly I don't give a toss about your contract's terms, however you interpret the letters on the page, you can't deny there was any form of subtlety or.. finesse to it. This is an art we do here, a way of destroying the society we exist in one soul at a time, not a dull, mindless business, except for Khaine-boy over there. Except for Sylvie here, she trades in flesh" He chuckled at his own joke.

 

[Johnny-Crass]

A horrid sound echoed around the cavern and it took everyone a minute to realize it was Markus's laughter.
" I talked to a few members of our coven before all the action and I was requested to take their place. As you can see my methods border on the destructive side, but the mission was completed and full pay will be rewarded. Now what of our prisoner?"

 

[Mello]

Mythas shrugged innocently, although he full well knew what would happen to her.

"Indoril will take care of her shall I say. I should mention you're not seeing her until I've had my turn too."

 

[The Archivist]

January looked at Markus with something bordering on irritation.
"Hang on a second. Do you mean to tell me that the beautifully laid out plan, culminating in one sunk ship, one dead captain, one huge, hilarious joke and one sad circumstantial death of a quartermaster was ruined by our BOSS?!"
"We had it all planned out! Kelarith stuck the captain, Iriden subtly took out the quartermaster, I weakened the hull of the ship and placed the messsage, and Raniq stove the ship in from the outside! There was no problem with changing the plan a bit... we could have done with the exta person... but does our BOSS do the sensible thing and tell us he's doing this one in person?!? NOOO, instead he decides to tag along on a precise and intricate assassination and cause a scene! One of them nearly got away!"
She slammed he broom down for emphasis.
"A leader has to integrate. Inform their people of changes so they can react to them. If you don't shape up I'm out of here. I'm here for one reason and one reason only, and if I can't execute that aim..."
January pointed up.
"Then I'll cut the contract and find someone else."

After the outburst she calmed down a little and realised getting angry at Markus might not be the best idea.
"It's not much I ask for. Just... do it, okay?"

 

[Malochai]

Indoril finally brought the Lady back into the main room, covered only by the thinnest wisps of her diaphanous dress, her pale ceramic skin weeping vibrant crimson blood. She moaned in a mixture of ecstasy and pain. He readjusted his clothes delicately as he walked across the room, settling them more comfortably over his lean body. 'Ahh, the delicate pleasures of pain,' he thought, deciding he would try out some of his new less-than-lethal poisons out. The thought of the fiery pain racing through his veins made his shiver in excitement, eyes lighting up in anticipation.

He let the woman slump onto the floor before Markus, his eyes bright, and revealed the blood that had sodden his cloak. If one looked at the woman, it was obvious at least one of the things that Indoril had done - his knives had blood pooling from their sheaths. A large square of skin had been completely removed from her stomach, revealing the glistening muscles below. Less noticeable was the fact that some of her hair had been cut, but if anyone looked they could see. Looking at Mythas, he smiled evilly. "She's yours ... If you want her. Alive and ... Well, not quite well.'

He gently tapped a roll of what looked like parchment which was tied at his waist, blood oozing from it sluggishly. It was much neater than the one he had attempted earlier, but he had had the time to concentrate. It was tied with her hair and fastened to his belt.

"Markus, where is my payment? I have ... Considerations that must be made. Indeed, I might have to hire some of those here, to travel across the seas of Chill and Malice, to pay my dearest sister a visit ..." The marksmans voice trailed off and his eyes glazed over, before focussing again and staring at Markus. "She's yours ... His," he barked, angrily, gesturing at Mythas, "Do what you will and tell me how long I have!"

 

[Johnny-Crass]

At a snap of his fingers a number of slaves came out bearing the chests and placed one before each elf in the cave "I decided that it would be against my better judgement not to pay all parties their max possible income due to some.... Views on how I give assistance."

Stooping next to the woman Markus pulled out a short knife and with a fluid motion took three fingers and her wedding ring right off. Her pathetic whimpering went unnoticed as Markus began wrapping his parcel. "Please keep in mind I need her to talk and write. Anything else is your prerogative."

 

[Malochai]

"Well, after Mythas has taken some pleasure, I will have her back. I have plenty more planned for her. The woman is surprisingly resilient, I'll give her that. A skilled healer and I may take her as my own when I come into mine."

Opening his chest, Indoril looked at the gold piled within it, and smiled malignantly, albeit handsomely, beneath his half-mask. He picked up a handful and let it flow through his gloved hands. 'Yes ... This will do nicely ... I can hire a couple of these and have spare left over for beasts ...' The idea of all kinds of chained beasts deeply appealed to him, and he saw himself lounging lazily in his father's black iron 'throne', lined with blood red rubies and sapphires the colour of the sea floor. "No," he murmured, "My throne!"

"Markus, how much would you charge to hire out two of my number?" A plan was forming in his mind already, and he had an idea on who he would choose if Markus gave his permission. "I have business in Naggarond."

OOC - it's, of course, absolutely fine to refuse him. He'll just simmer and plot to kill you at a later point in time

 

[The Archivist]

January threw open her chest, checked the contents, and nodded. She put the chest next to her previous one, which still lay where she'd left it before.
"A welcome reward for an unpleasant job."

 

[Mello]

Mythas glanced down, smirking. His voice seemed somehow deeper.

"My turn."

------

The pair of them stood in a quiet room in the cave complex. Mythas was standing up, his hood down, his normally smooth skin slightly worse for wear and in need of a shave, his sharp, angular face casting odd shadows on the wall. He picked up a bucket of water he had brought and splashed it over her. She shivered slightly, but at least woke up from her surreal stupor. Some of what used to be fire in her eyes returned, she had some spirit left in her now. She shimmied up to the edge of the wall and brought her knees up to cover her face. Mythas stood motionless at the other end of the room, watching. She really was what one would consider beautiful, her long legs rose elegantly, and thickened out into angular, accented hips, narrowing down to a smooth waist and a beautiful, if slightly worse for wear face. Her abdomen muscles glistened temptingly.

The silence seemed to drag on interminably. Suddenly Mythas spoke, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Did you try and seduce him?".

The woman looked up slowly, full of malice. Mythas grunted and tried again,

"The other assassin? Did you try and seduce him?"

She stared at him angrily, there couldn't be more hate in her eyes. Mythas met her gaze impassively as he leant against the wall. She seemed to give up her internal struggle and slouched a little, sighing.

"Yes."

There was a pause, and then Mythas burst out laughing, a cold harsh grating sound.

"Oh dear, oh deary me. Well you seem pretty well off if you ask me, save for the skin problem. I tell you what, I'll make you a deal. I swear on everything I hold dear, my life, Sylvia, all my wealth; that if you manage to seduce me, I'll let you free with no harm done."

"How can I trust you?"

Mythas shrugged, "Isn't it at least worth a go?"

The woman raised herself off the ground, and stretched, turning around, trying to show off the best parts of herself. After catching her breath she levelled her eyes at Mythas, who still leant against the wall looking wryly amused. After some brief internal battle, she abandoned her dignity and flung herself at Mythas. She grated against his body, her hands exploring every part of it too, and she moaned loudly with unsolicited arousal, no matter how fake it may be. She started kissing his chest and worked her way up until her lips were centimetres from his. He could smell her breath now, it came in short sweet bursts, and smelt faintly of rose. Their eyes made contact and Mythas grunted. She smiled, moving in.

Their lips never did meet though, the next thing she felt was her face exploding in pain as a blade went through both her cheeks. Dragging her by the face Mythas snarled and embedded the epieu into the wall, forcing it into place, along with her head. She broke into tears, she honestly thought she had him then. It had all been a test, and she had failed.

Tears of rage streamed down Mythas' cheeks.

"That's all you ever do isn't it? Use your body to bend other people's wills because you're TOO DAMNED LAZY to do it any other way!!! Well let this be a lesson to you, and a punishment" Mythas hissed, raging at the bleeding, disfigured woman.

"I don't know whether you'll leave this place alive, but I plan on making sure if you do, you will never be able to re-integrate into the comfort you once knew, you over glorified WHORE!" Spittle flew all over her face. Indoril's punishments may have been more painful, but not permanent..

Holding onto the epieu to steady it, Mythas gently rested his hand on her forehead and gently applied pressure. Her eyes screwed shut in pain and her fists beat against his chest uselessly. Mythas leant in and whispered into her ear.

"You know, not once have I seen you smile since I met you, not even when you were trying to have damned sex with me! Well, I can't have that can I? I wouldn't want you to look so sad for whomever your next victim may be."

Mythas slowly started forcing her head backwards, and her cheeks started tearing towards the lip. Her eyes snapped open with realisation and she started mutely screaming. Words would never again be an option for her now.

Mythas lent in close to her, smiling viciously.

"What's wrong? Why are you so.. serious?"

And with that he forced the blade out of her mouth, she fell over backwards, and scrambled up, spinning around in circles, screaming at the top of her lungs before she fainted from the pain and the disfigurement. Laying on the ground one half of her cheek lay wetly, bleeding profusely.

-------

Mythas came back into the meeting room, with the woman slumped over her shoulders. No attempt had been made to stop the bleeding and a steady trail of blood followed Mythas. He dumped her body unceremoniously on the dias in the centre.

"All done." he said chirpily.

 

[Malochai]

Indoril looked up when Mythas returned with the female elf, and raised an eyebrow, before shrugging. "You could have left her a bit more presentable," he said, sounding slightly irritated. Turning to Markus, he raised an eyebrow. "See what you can do about the damage once you are done, if you would. I still intend to keep her as my own."

Taking a knife, he wiped it clean on a cloth and made sure the knife tip was sharp before he advanced on her. Gently caressing her cheekbone, he leant down and whispered in her ear, "You were playing for the wrong side ... And now you're mine." She whimpered again, her deep purple eyes full of a curious anger and only a hint of fear now. "Play it right and you can ... Serve me when I come into my inheritance. You will do no better; remember that." She nodded, almost in resignation, and he placed the tip of his knife against her forehead, drawing the razor sharp blade against her skin, tracing out the rune of house Nerefteen, adding his own unique marker to it. "You belong to me." He lifted his head up and pulled down his half maskto free his lips, before kissing the wound he had just made, savouring the sweet taste of her blood. A drop of blood still on his lip, he pulled his mask back up and withdrew again to his chest, calculating what he could hire to take his revenge.

 

[Zephyr]

Kelarith limped towards his chest giving Markus a dark look. He would not lift a finger against him as long as he was in his employ. He still did not know who was behind his current situation and if it was the Temple itself it would be unwise to kill the pompous fop.
He turned his gaze towards January inclining his head just a fraction to show he agreed with her outburst. He opened his chest and scoffed at its contents. Money. Great. He would donate it to the Temple, Khaine knew they needed it in this wretched city.
He only took a small amount for himself so he could go to a healer. Not that the medical establishment could be called such in Naggaroth; it was more a pain-filled experience than "healing" but he loathed the idea of his leg rotting off slowly.

He closed the lid with a loud bang and listened whilst Mythas was playing with a female somewhere near. He stared blankly at his leg, his ears fixed at the scene playing out. He never understood the need for screaming and name-calling. A kill should be clean and quick. But had he not simply hacked into survivors this very evening himself? Had he not done so purely out of rage because the plan went wrong?
Kelarith sat down on his chest and grunted, not out of pain but the realization he was working with some very frustrated and angry Druchii. The most dangerous kind. The kind that would mess up sooner or later because their emotions got the better of them. And he himself was being affected by it too.

 

[Johnny-Crass]

Markus turned to Indoril slowly and smiled "We shall gladly take you contract. Do you have a specific crew in mind or is it open sign up? Anyone else I have a contract ready and for some of you I have been having some of my moles digging around for your information and we may of found a few nuggets.... But that is for another day."

 

[Malochai]

Indoril nodded severely at Markus' decision, and then turned to look at the elves arranged before him, scanning them all critically, deciding which ones he'd trust most with this, the most precious of tasks for him. He had fought with most of them, and despite himself he was disposed to use Kelarith in this endeavour. Of the others, he had to make a tough decision. The money he had would pay for but two of them, leaving some to establish himself as Lord Nerefteen. Mythas was clearly an accomplished killer, but their competitiveness could lead to failure. This contract would take absolute dedication to their roles. January, however, was ferocious in her own rights, and seemed dedicated to following plans to the letter.

He closed his eyes and focussed on what he had learnt of his sisters' movements since she had arrived in Karond Kar. 'January,' he decided. This contract would require meticulous planning to prevent Aeria's escape. 'As long as she realises it is to be my plan, and executed as I see fit.' Decision made, he returned his steely gaze to Markus.

"I've got my preferences. Kelarith and January shall assist me- so long as they understand that, seeing as I am paying for this contract, and I know the target personally, I am in command. They fail to realise that, they die, and my dearest sister will live." Turning, he looked at those he had decided upon. "Do you accept this? Will you aid in bringing me my sister's head?

 

[The Archivist]

January raised her eyebrows.
"You do know I'm not in this business for gold, right? There's only one thing I require, and that is a grand, public, joke, preferably at the target's expense. And before you ask, there is a reason, just not one I'm willing to reveal."
She shrugged her shoulders.
"Take it or leave it. The joke doesn't have to be any good either."

 

[Malochai]

"So you are willing to aid me?" Indoril ground his teeth; he had a feeling the woman could be interminably irritating. "Personally, the joke would be seeing the Vaulkir's guest murdered in his city. But, that would just be myself."

 

[The Archivist]

"Ooh! That would be good... You don't mind if I left a taunt would you? That would be the best punchline."
She snapped back from her daydreaming.
"Yes, I'll help you. It sounds just down my street."

 

[Malochai]

"I am glad to hear it. I have a plan, but it must be performed exactly right or my dearest sister might well escape my rightful wrath." He nodded with self appreciation. "The plan in it's current incarnation, however, requires Kelarith's assistance. We alone may not be able to overcome her guards."