I am the terror that flaps in the night! [open!]

[visualspice]

Jarrett smirked at her threat. "So that the wolves who followed you can get to you?" He gave a shrug and stood up. "If that's what you wish," and slunk his hands into his pocket and moved towards the window.

[Rhindeer]

"Wait!" Owl moved again, but this time it was to block the window with her body. "What are you talking about? So far, the only one I see that's followed me is you. You're a 'wolf', right?"

[visualspice]

Jarrett paused by the window frame, glancing down at Owl with a curious tilt of his head.
"A single wolf," he told her gruffly. "Not a pack." And he plucked her hand away from the frame and moved one long leg over the sill as he moved to step out. "And I told you before to be careful and wary of the shadows. Wolves are dogged creatures."

[Rhindeer]

Owl grimaced and stepped aside, now nervous for a new reason. Great. If he'd found his way here, who else? This was so bad...and she'd thought she had been careful.

And he'd tracked dirt on her floor.

And she didn't even know why she cared about that right that moment, but she did, because of all the crazy things that had happened this night, it was the last little straw on the camel's back.

She worried at her cape; he couldn't leave quick enough, and yet his words left her with a bad feeling that made her wish he wouldn't.

"Hey, uh...please don't tell anyone about this?" she said, and glanced around him, peering at the landscape below. "And be careful. The groundskeepers will be getting up soon--or now--and...it'll be awkward. And the 'Wolves' didn't follow you, did they?"

[visualspice]

Jarrett paused in mid descent to look up at her, hands gripping into the lattice work on the side of hte building, and the vines, then glanced over at his shoulder.
"Guess we'll find out soon enough. But it looks like the sun is rising. Good night, Owl," he said with a smirk, then continued his climb down into the garden. But he too, was wondering if they had followed either of them. His path was less traceable. But he knew wolves were smart. And if anything, they'd be good on their mark. Either way, it would become a question of who was hunting who.

[Rhindeer]

As soon as Jarrett was gone, Owl wasted no time in shuttering the window and leaping to work, cleaning up the dirt and changing her clothes. Her sword got returned to her closet and the outfit got stuffed back beneath the floor, though she'd have to discard the tunic when she could; the blood had ruined it.

Wincing, she pulled her nightgown back over her head and then darted to her washbasin. Drawing on her magic, she returned her hair and eyes to their proper color, and then she worked on cleaning her wounds.

Her arm looked a lot worse than she remembered (and felt it, too), but she bandaged it in a clean cloth and hid it beneath her gown's sleeve. Her lip was trickier; it was always more difficult to alter her own appearance than that of anything else, like her body and mind rejected the changes because she knew it wasn't actually her. It was hard to make a split lip look normal when she could feel it throbbing, and when every little movement reopened it. Illusions worked best when there was a degree of separation.

Time was wasting, though, and as light began to show, she had to abandon the effort. She decided instead to say she'd slipped and bashed her face on the headboard or something. Or, she thought as she slipped into bed, pretend to be sick and bedridden all day.

All things considered, that wouldn't be a difficult role to pull off.

[Aeytrious]

(ooc: WOOT! for this 8eing my 88th post! Love that num8er 8! It's the GR8EST!!!!!!!! }8-P)

Canis Rufus went into his private room in the Wolves Den, and closed the door behind him. He slipped behind his changing screen and sat at the desk there. He pulled off his eye patch and placed it on the mannequin head, pealed off his nose, and began washing off the makeup in his hand basin. Tonight had not really gone as he had expected. Dirus was dead after such a short time, but these things happen. He'd have to find another muscle bound oaf to fill the spot. Didn't need to give power to a big man with a brain.

He looked at his face in the large mirror that was mounted behind the desk, the face of Theodore Wrenthis. It was the face of a pickpocket, of a conman, of a common thug. In Zantaric he was born nothing, and as an urchin of the streets he had to struggle to stay alive. But he was smart, and he was ruthless, and that had brought him far. The children of Zantarin whores, normally died in Zantaric with little to nothing to their name. Not him, he got out as soon as he realized he didn't want that slum to be his grave.

Here in Arca, he had been nobody. He came without a name without a face. All he had was a lot of gold and jewels that he had backstabbed and double crossed to get. That face in the mirror wasn't Theodore Wrenthis any longer. That was the face of Ryk Handelaar, wealthy merchant, and backroom politician, who frequented balls and parties of the rich and powerful. But he still craved the danger of the streets, and so when he learned of the Wolves, he donned his costume, and took to the streets. It took little time for someone like him, raised in Zantaric, to oust the leader and become the new Red Wolf. Rufus, the name he took, the name he truly was inside.

He read the reports on Jerrett and Owl, he left orders for the day time activities of the wolves, and then he slipped through his secret exit and headed home to get some rest. It would be best if he woke in his manor house. Best not to make it a habit of sleeping in the Den. That's where he had slain the last Red Wolf after all.

[Rhindeer]

[ooc: Awwww, bye-bye 88! And can I just say how much I love that Rufus is basically doing the same thing as Owl in reverse. 8D Epic.]


Owl stayed awake until the household came alive, surprised by how much the night's events had actually shaken her--and she couldn't shake the dead men from her mind, or the worry that she'd be outed, or that maybe someone else was trying to get in through her window. And when she'd worried herself to exhaustion, her throbbing arm kept her awake.

She didn't sleep until it was bright in her room and the household was alive.

Somehow, she managed to get through the day unnoticed, burrowed in the covers of her bed. Her parents were busy people, so when they learned she was sick, they left her alone--they couldn't afford to get sick themselves, after all! Only servants came to her room to bring her food, change her chamberpot, and make sure she was well, and she feigned a hacking cough whenever they lingered too long to send them scurrying.

Owl hadn't planned on going out that night. She figured laying low for a bit would be wise, but she encountered a new problem that changed everything: an angry redness began to form on the edges of her wound. Her choices were either go out and seek services, or fess up, and the latter was not an option. Adventure was addicting and they would skin her if they knew.

Donning a fresh tunic and her usual disguise, she hit the streets again that night, though her wandering was rather aimless as she didn't exactly know what she was looking for. A healer, obviously, but where? Surely in these parts, there were enough tavern brawls to warrant someone being open to patch the fools up.

Arms crossed over her chest, she paused at an intersection and frowned. She'd been walking for a while without any luck; maybe she was in the wrong district for that? With a sigh, she chose right and kept walking, spotting an open tavern down the road. With any luck, someone there would have an idea.

[visualspice]

The tavern was far too easy of a place for him to get his next mark (and a mark that had nothing to do with either wolves or owls). His name was Jessi Morrison, and well, he had dabbled a bit too far on his game of luck with wine, women and money. Someone wanted him dead, and fast. Someone knew he knew too much. And Jessi Morrison was easy enough to find, and he didn't even have to leave the city. And he was even easier to kill. The man had a red storm about his face, and his laughter was loud and obnoxious, and he took easily to his beer. Thankfully, the entire tavern faired the same, it being loud and busy, so no one would notice their conversation in the back corner of the room- a conversation that, after a few rounds of drinks in, turned lethal.

Jessi Morrison would hardly see it coming, as the blade sunk into the back f his head, his face, going long, his eyes, wideneing in surprise as he muttered out one last puff of breath, before his eyes glossed over with the first remenants of death, and blood lightly dribbled from his mouth. Thankfully, the cut was clean, and he helped lean Jessi Morrison in his chair, keeping him sitting up right as if he were still alive, but Jarrett took care to lower his face down so it was cast upon the table. And also took care to wipe off the dribble of blood. Adjusting a few drinks upon the table so it appeared as if he were simply lowered forward, Jessi having grown ill over his drink, he cast his eyes around the place in hopes no one had seen. But of course, no one had noticed two gruff men in a corner enjoying a drink.

Then again, most of the other patrons here were gruff men as well.. except one familiar person who entered wearing a mask and cape, and he couldn't help but let his eyes wander over to her, staring her down and tensing. Shit. He'd have to get out before she noticed him, sitting at a table with a corpse.

OOC: After I wrote this I realized Owl is outside the tavern still, so yeah, I can fix this if you want, just let me know when you get back online 8D
Just had a silly idea that if he were to run into her again (or any one.. really) that it would be very awkward, considering he has a dead man sitting next to him XD

[Aeytrious]

(OOC: Naw, she's stuck with this. Its golden! Too good to pass up. ;))

A burly fellow entered the tavern right on Owls heels and wasted no time in knocking her roughly to the side as he barged in. When a man his size plows through you, there is no shame in falling to the ground. Before she could voice a protest, the man was shouting over the noise at the top of his lungs.

"WHERE IS HE? I KNOW HE'S HERE! Jessi Morrison! Where is that rat?! I have it from a reliable source that that shill is here tonight! He owes his bookie a hefty sum! And that bookie is a wolf! If he has money to spend on booze, he has money to pay the Wolves! AND I'M HERE TO COLLECT!"

An entrance that big received a quick response, and it was not long before he was pointed toward the table Jessi Morrison was slumped at. He was clearly drunk, and it appeared he also had a guest. The large man headed that way.

[visualspice]

As the large man approached the table, Jarrett swore beneath his breath. He had heard enough to realize this man was also in bad with those wolves, and hid his frown behind a dark smile as the man approached. But he leaned back casually in his chair, he rested his boots up on the table, an arm going around the slumped and deceptively dead form of Jessi Morrison as he quirked a brow at the man and kept the dead body steady.

"Can I help you?" he asked, keeping that hand behind Jessi with a firm grip, though no one could be the wiser who stood in front. Well, at least the man was large enough, maybe Owl wouldn't notice him back there, too (though the man's mouth was large enough, and people were already beginning to stare..) But Jarrett seemed indifferent, and waited for the man to speak.

OOC: Woo, this is my 5,000 post 8D

[Brisinger987]

((Ooc: MaGiCaL JoInInG!!!!))

Torak had been sat peacefully in the tavern bar virtually all night, enjoying the spoils of his targets. As long as his targets died, his employers cared not what he did. People died, employers paid, he drunk and was promiscuous. He liked that sort of life. But lately he had run into trouble with a gang calling themselves wolves. They were irritating. They dogged him, and thought he was a threat. Plus he had killed someone in their early rank structure, from what he knew, or a valuable ally. And they had killed a girl who he had been fond of in retaliation.

This new variable claimed to work for the wolves. As he shouted for a Jessi Morrison, Torak made an approach, donning his helmet, and his hood. Silently, he prepped a knife, seeing that the man was being a pain. Torak put one hand on the man's shoulder. The other kept firmly on the knife under his cloak. If the man went to make a move he would simply stick the man in the ribs. "Leave these patrons in peace." The helmet made his voice sound raspy, like a respirator, through a magical enchantment. He paused, letting out a long, loud, slow breath, sounding like a respirator sigh. "Please." Torak added sarcasm into the mix. "Go back to your masters, and give them, this." He held out the prized necklace of his kill. The man was supposedly identifiable by this necklace. Inseparable from it. Being given the necklace was his way of warning the wolves not to cross him. He waited for the response.

He had already surveyed the situation. He could teleport into the alley to his left if needed, or up into a patrons room, or the roof. Teleporting back would take him onto the street, and likely into the view of people, or possibly wolves. The roof was his safest option, as wolves would likely be in the alley too. If any were around. And Torak would not risk getting caught between them. The roof or attic. He could escape from the roof. The attic likely had no windows, thus no way of knowing where he could teleport. That was his escape plan, the roof.

As for people. There was a whole crowd of the average bar, drunkards, workers, the usual. There was this man, burly, didn't look very agile. But as the man had entered, he had seen a young girl. She looked like a climber. Quite possibly a quick one. And to teleport up, the only way was to jump. There was also the drunken man on the table, accompanied by someone who looked confident, therefore likely armed, or well allied. Possibly both. This would be a tough one to get out of.

But he had a message he needed to send to the wolves.

And he was going to send it to them. Even if it crawled there with a knife between it's ribs.

[Rhindeer]

[ooc: HAAAAAH! xDDD Yes, WAY too good to pass up! xDDDD Pah, I'm easy, the answer is always yes, especially if there's lulz and awkwardness involved! >8D]


The tavern was packed that night, and Owl paused by the entrance and scanned the crowd for an empty seat, and failing that since it looked pretty full, a person that didn't look completely shitfaced. (Ah, the words she'd picked up on her adventures!) It was on that second sweep that she had to do a double take, blinking and looking over at the back corner where a familiar man was lounging next to a passed out drunk.

Jarrett?

That was when a brute of a man knocked right into her, and she toppled over and landed on her rear with a grunt and a wince. Scrambling back to her feet, mask askew, she started to dust herself off and fix it when the man started howling about some Jessi bloke--and mentioned "Wolves". And he was heading straight toward Jarrett's table. Her heart leaped and she froze, considered booking it, but then steeled herself against the impulse. "Owl" didn't run, after all, and she wasn't about to let anyone think she was scared, especially after the big things she'd said.

So she followed after the man. She needed to speak to Jarrett, anyway, and as another masked man stood and intercepted the Wolf (and left her feeling a under-dressed, because his outfit was so much fancier than hers, jeez) she slipped nimbly around them and sidled up to Jarrett's table.

"I see I have an adoring fan," she said as she grabbed a chair across from him, turned it around, and straddled it. She rested her arms on the back of it, bad arm atop her good arm, and stared at him. "I don't know whether to find that flattering or creepy, but at least you're not in my bed."

She nodded to the passed out man. "Who's your friend? You look pretty...cozy."

[visualspice]

Jarrett simply stared at Torak when he appeared, and nothing more. It seemed there were many men after Jessi. Too bad Jarrett had already killed him, and he was fully prepared to fight for his kill if necessary. After all, it was his blade that had sunk into his back. But it was Owl that had actually drawn his attention, piqued his interests, as he peered over at her when she sat down at his table, the cigar smoke wafting up between them lethargically from where he had long since abandoned it upon the table.

And at her words... he smirked.
"Just a.. friend." And he patted him on the shoulder. "And you could say that." And he paused to consider telling her before the words just seemed to come out, "because he's dead." And his hand and since slipped into the back of the man's sleeve and he lifted it up, much like a puppet as he had the dead man wave limply to the girl before putting his arm down back upon the table.
"But.." he said, leaning forward, pressing one finger to his lips. "Don't tell anyone."
And he leaned back, picking up his glass of rum and took a long swig. But his green eyes never left hers.

[Aeytrious]

A dirty little fellow crawled out from under a table near the double-wide big mouth and tugged at the huge oafs sleeve. The big man didn't take kindly and began to shout until his eyes landed on the little guy.

"WHAT IN TH-!" At the little mans beckoning finger, the large man bent to allow the short one easy access to his ear. A murmured whisper, and a few nods later and the big man was once again standing erect. He snatched the necklace from the stranger in his way and handed it to the little man who quickly dashed out of the tavern.

"Thanks to you stranger it seems I've been promoted. I am now The Dirus! Hahahahahahahaha," his bellowing laughter most assuredly annoyed all the patrons of the bar. "I'm told my boss has transferred the debt of Jessi Morrison over to a Jarrett L'isson. 500 gold L'isson!" the oaf bellowed, "That's what you owe me and I'm told you're 'im," he pointed to the relaxed fellow that was sitting across from the skinny boy in the odd costume.

He placed a hand on Torak's chest in preparation of a shove and had every intention of heading to Jarrett and Owl.

(ooc: is it horrible that I keep setting up random NPC's to get killed? lulz)

[Rhindeer]

Owl's eyes grew wide and it took every ounce of willpower not to jerk right out of her chair when she realized she was facing a corpse. Instead, her hands gripped the chair's backing until her knuckles whitened and she flashed Jarrett a too-wide grin.

And then she lifted a hand, wiggling her fingers in a weak wave.

"I'm...not even gonna ask," she said through her stiff smile, trying to act all casual. She was getting the feeling that she'd come at a very bad time.

A bellowing laugh made her turn in her seat, and then she sighed and looked back at Jarrett, propping her chin up on her hand, keeping her posture relaxed even though she'd gone tense and alert. She slid good arm off the chair and under her cloak to rest her hand on the pommel of her sword. Yuuup. Definitely chose a bad time. And Dirus? Like the dead man the other night? Uh...

She jerked her head toward the burly man. "Another 'friend'?" she asked Jarrett cheerfully. "You're popular tonight."


[ooc: I'm getting the feeling Canis Dirus is a cursed rank. xDD]

[Brisinger987]

The man was now this 'Dirus'. And he had promoted someone, had he? Wonderful. If this man was a wolf, he was on a hit list. And he was bothering the patrons. Torak looked around. Was it worth it? Yes. Was it sensible? No. But he had a plan.

"Who, in this tavern, believes our friend, here, is ruining a good night?" A fair few people cheered in response to Torak's question. Good enough for him.

In a blur of movement, Torak drew his dagger, and in a swift, clean motion, cut the man's throat. The crowd would be in shock. So he needed something to stop his imminent death. What did they want, he wondered. Drinks.

"Two rounds of drinks for everyone, courtesy of me, your host and benefactor, Torak!" He made a bow, and flourished his dagger. More cheers and happy people. Now to help out the sorry man who had an unwanted debt. A 20,000 coin reward for one target, stolen from the very client, was more than enough to keep Torak going for a while.

"Now..." Torak pulled a chair up to the table, remembering to pick the necklace back up from the body, and kicking it out into the street. "Would you three care to explain what just happened? Torak poured out a bag of coins, beginning to count 500 coins to give the man.

[visualspice]

Jarrett stared up at the man making a scene, and the man threatening right next to him. But he never lost his cool, simply staring at them as he lounged back in his chair, keeping one hand on the dead man and the other idly twirling a ring on his finger. It was only at Owl's posed question that he replied and began to pick at the skin on the side of a finger nail.
"Can't say I recognize him," he said, flicking the skin he picked off aside in nonchalance, then rose his eyes over as Torak tore a blade across the large man's throat. Another assassin? Though this one hardly had the sense of secrecy. He never knew why men had to always boast over their jobs. He found his art of killing more of an artwork, and if there was an indication of that, it was in the dead man still sitting beside him, looking slumped over and drunk rather than dead.

"Suppose that's one way to get him to shut up," Jarrett commented just once about the dead man,then turned back to Owl, ignorant of anything else going on around him as he asked. "Looks like we get free drinks." ANd he smiled over at Owl and patted dead Jessi on the shoulder, making the dead man bob his head. "And it looks like our friend Jessi is happy about this two." And he leaned over, picked up his discarded cigar and placed it back into his lips, taking in a long, steady drag before blowing smoke towards the ceiling. "So what brings you out on a night like this? Shouldn't you be keeping low?"

[Spirit]

[OOC: BRACE THYSELF, NOOB ABOOOOARD.]


     The air was moist yet clear of any clouds or possibility of rain. The moon hung high in the air, its proud radiance bathing Faelwyn in a spot light as she walked through the forests of Serendipity. Her eyes wandered, taking in the lush underbrush and bright colors of the vegetation around her. Serendipity seems nice, she enthused, smiling at its vicinity regarding all things natural. The only minor annoyance was that it seemed the trails and roads seemed uncharacteristically long, without many taverns or inns close by for rest. Every other night Faelwyn has found herself sleeping in trees and washing up momentarily in rivers and streams, only to later find an inn to wash up in that day after traveling.
     Her feet were sore from all of her walking; each step seemed to be another dull ache she knew nothing of before. It pained her to walk any longer and she found that arguing with herself on whether to stop and look for a tree.
     No, she ventured, Absolutely not. No more trees or lying on the ground for sleep. There has to be some sort of inn or tavern around here somewhere.
     She arched her back, determination now in her stride, and strolled on, easing into a rhythmic step. Every ending to a path seemed to be plain and barren, nearly without a single person. Faelwyn sighed, pain throbbing her feet as she walked on aimlessly, or so it seemed.

----

     Half an hour later, she wandered into a bustling square - complete with suspicious markets, alleyways, and best of all, buildings. Each building was designed specifically for a purpose but Faelwyn had no desire to explore the new finding just yet. Her exhaustion was evident and she made it a purposeful gesture to wander into the nearest tavern.
     The murmuring of hushed conversation and loud drinking echoed in the room. Animated discussion was filling up the room: drunken men throwing their hands up, several minor arguments heating up, and the frustrated yelling of the server behind the bar.
     Clutching her flute case to her chest, Faelwyn made her way over to the bar and sat down. She had no idea if this tavern had an rooms for lodging.
     "Excuse me, sir," Faelwyn tried in a tired voice, "do you have a room available?"
     As she waited for the server's answer, she listened to the conversations around her. At a table in the back, she noted the quickly escalating exchange between two men. Beside them was a female in costume, who she regarded as odd to be here.
     You're one to talk, you know. You're quite the oddball here as well.
     The man sitting down next to the costumed girl blatantly ignored the other, speaking to her like an old friend. She watched, clearly spotting their familiarity with each other, the ease of conversation.
     Faelwyn caught herself staring and turned back around to the bar, mumbling as she watched the server do his job: perhaps he had not heard her question.
     It really is rude to stare.
     

[Rhindeer]

[ooc: WELCOME! 8D]


She was surrounded by madness.

Owl hadn't seen the throat-slitting, but she'd heard shocked noises around her and had turned to look, just in time to to see the body crumpling to the floor. With a gasp, she jerked back around and stared at Jarrett, body rigid. Madness. Wow. Yeah. Something had shifted last night and she didn't know why or how. Her earlier outings had been far tamer compared to this--and no one had died.

But if one was to be a hero, wasn't that the point? That things got harder, scarier, and more challenging?

She laughed, more of a forced "ha ha" than a real one, and kicked Jarrett under the table when he made "Jessi" bob his head. "Don't be grotesque." As the rounds were passed about, she grabbed a drink for herself and took a large gulp, because the way this night was going, she was going to need it.

She was also going to need to stop acting like prey, though it was hard not to when there were dead bodies everywhere. With couple more gulps for good measure, not stopping until she'd drained half the cup, she slammed the mug down onto the table and leaned her arms back on the chair's back. "I probably should," she said at last. "But I'm not going to, just because of some posturing mutts. Owls hunt mice, they don't act like them."

It made sense in her head. She took another sip. "Anyway, maybe I just really wanted a drink. Or decided to come spy. Or was planning on an epic showdown with the new Dirus before some other gaudy bastard stole my quarry--"

That was when she noticed Torak, sitting at their table, and she froze with her mug raised to her lips. When had he gotten there?!



The barkeep, Abel, was an older man with the long-suffering look of someone who had been in this business for a while, and was used to dealing with the rowdiness of his particular patrons. For the most part, he pretended not to notice what they did and focused instead on his job. Willful ignorance was the best defense here. He didn't ask questions and kept the drink flowing? They paid and didn't harass him.

However, as things escalated to murder, he found himself watching while pretending to polish a mug that he'd been polishing for the last five minutes. Where did they put the body? Gods, he hoped not in front of the door. That wasn't good for business at all. But then the masked man was calling for two rounds for everyone, and he bustled off to work again.

He'd just completed the order and gone back to his polishing, watching and hoping no furniture would be broken this time, when he turned and noticed a girl sitting at the bar.

He grunted in acknowledgment. "Ya lost or somethin', girlie?"