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A Wilting Lily [Alegretto, Closed / PM if interested]

Started by Nascent, March 25, 2014, 10:01:38 AM

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Nascent

(OOC: While this isn't an Open thread, if you'd be interested in getting involved PM Alegretto or myself and we'll see if we can include a few more characters in the mix.)



S C E N E   M U S I C
Castle Went Dark


Zantaric. It was a town with a reputation, a well-deserved one caked in blood and soot, stained with grave-mud and the swing of pitiless night-fallen steel. It was a devil's kind of town, and just such a one had, in fact, just taken a bar stool in one of the favored local taverns, the 'Headsman's Reprieve'. A black cloak covered most of his features, the shadow of its hood concealing the man's eyes but not his red goatee... or the small bag of coin he placed on the counter to draw the barkeep's attention.

"Give me something cold, hard, and dark..." The man's grin explained what he meant by the rest. "And an able hand to match."

Alegretto

The barkeep stared at the coins on the counter-top hungrily, but only for a moment before he turned away from the bar and started creating a drink to match his patron's request. While he worked, he considered what to tell the man on his barstool. People only ever asked for one type of "hand" at the 'Headman's Reprieve,' but he wasn't sure exactly what level of assistance this fellow needed.

He brought the drink back to the bar, and handed it to his costumer. He held out his hand for payment, and spoke at the same time. "What level of expertise are you looking for?" he inquired. "I can arrange a meeting with hands of all skill, though those of greater ability are far more expensive." He paused, "Of course, it appears cost is of no object for you, good sir." He eyed the coin pouch, greed once again coloring his eyes.

Nascent

"Quite correct." The hooded man nodded, opening the bag and placing several gold into the barkeep's outstretched hand -- on overpayment for one drink, to be sure. The devil could taste the man's greed, as though an aroma of it were wafting from his person; mingled with it was confidence, both that all the coin in that bag would be his soon enough and that, indeed, he knew a great many hands for a great many tasks.

The traveler took up the drink and sipped, leaning back. The barkeep could have simply reached out and taken the coin bag, but something told Mephisto that he wouldn't. Greed was never really satisfied, only sated for a moment, and this shady drink-pourer rightly guessed that there was more money to be made by playing the devil's game. "I'm in need of someone who has all the following characteristics: they must be discrete, cunning, able to operate alone and follow a plan to the letter. I need someone who is resourceful and can put on a good show without getting caught. In a word, I'm looking for an assassin... one with a solid track record --" A serious, cold tone found its way into the red-haired man's voice. "-- And who doesn't get carried away. Not a sell-sword or two-bit thug; I'm in need of a professional."

Leaning back towards the bar, the man grinned. "We'll call the rest of that bag a... finder's fee." His free hand traced the circumference of the bound cloth bag with one finger; then, with a theatrical gesture and a little sleight of hand, a second bag was suddenly sitting next to the first -- just as heavy with coin, perhaps even a bit more-so. "And this one, if I am satisfied with the work of whomever you point me towards, a commission bonus."

With another wave and sleight of hand both bags vanished from the counter. The barkeep would know they were real, though, by the coins in his hand. This was no magic of illusion; the gold was real, even if the customer had a penchant for the theatrical. Mephisto leaned in a bit more, swirling his drink in his hand. "So... what do you have that might interest me?"

Alegretto

The barkeep watched the bags of coin with an almost desperate interest as they moved around in the patron's hands. He wanted to reach out for them so badly...

But no, he'd learned long ago not to take coin until you were sure it was offered. He'd lost a finger once, making that mistake. Besides, something about the odd man screamed danger to the barkeeper's well honed instincts. Something about him flashing around so much coin in a Zantarici tavern. Only the incredibly powerful or the incredibly stupid would do that. This fellow didn't strike the barkeep as stupid. So he was probably the second one. The barkeep kept that in mind as he tried to figure out who to set this man up with.

He considered his options. A real professional, one worthy of the type of man to wave around this much coin, cut out a solid three quarters of the pool. The requirements of being discreet but able to put on a good show narrowed that list even further. Then he had to consider the willingness to follow orders. He was left with three names, and he knew two of them were out of town.

One choice left. The barkeep shuddered internally. Not his favorite choice, and never his first one, but The Scorpion it would have to be. He didn't like the man. He never had. Something about his disposition always reminded the barkeep about the bug he was named after...

But he was definitely good. Maybe one of the best, and he'd follow almost any instruction if the pay was good enough. "I know a man who's looking for work, and he meets the criteria you set. He usually comes by here about six hours from now, when the hour's very late, to ask if anyone's meeting him. You can come back then, or I can tell him that you want to meet him here at another time. Do either of those suit your fancy, good sir."

He said his last words in an ingratiating way, and he stared at the coins unapologetically now.

Nascent

"Good, very good." Mephisto's sly smile betrayed his sinister intent, the kind of smile that only someone who's out for blood or planning something well and truly evil could wear without being considered psychotic, and even then...

"I'll return then." He flicked his wrist and a bag of coin seemed to fly out of nowhere, landing squarely in front of the bartender. "Here's your fee; you can keep it, assuming your words ring true. If they don't... well, I'm guessing you know how that goes." The red-haired man directed his gaze towards the bartender's missing finger with a telling look. "Tell your man... that a devil's errand awaits him, with all the rewards of the blackest sin. Those exact words, if you please."

And, downing his drink, the devious man stood, bowed slightly, and turned towards the door.






He would, as promised, return six hours later, though no one actually saw him use the door to come in. Mephisto seemed to step from the shadows like one steps through a gateway, the slightest trail of a dark mist lingering at the edges of his cloak. The appointed hour, clothed in nighttime's sackcloth and the dread raiment of a moonless night, had come.

A devil and a killer would meet.

Alegretto

The barkeep carefully watched the stranger's hands for sings of coin. When Mephisto threw the bag, he frantically snatched the coins off the bar with fiendish glee. His greed was now in full swing, which was odd because he usually kept a better control of it. Something about his odd patron made him more desperate for coin than usual. He was so involved with his money that he failed to perceive the more, eccentric qualities of the man he'd just made a deal with.

He did, however, hear the threat, and the words frightened him. Something, something compelling about the man made sure that the barkeep believed every word he spoke. He was immensely relieved he hadn't made the mistake of trying to cheat this fellow. He have to make sure to remember to tell The Scorpion the exact message he'd received. He didn't want to piss this stranger off. He was more convinced of the danger the fellow presented then ever.




Haran walked into the 'Headman's Reprieve' confidently. He was known in this tavern, people were aware of the danger he presented, and he reveled  in it. Of course, there were only four people other than himself and the bartender currently inside the place, so there was that.

He paced further inside, and gave a nod to the barkeep. The man recognized him even in the dim light and help up his middle and ring finger. Haran smiled hungrily. A job, and the meeting was tonight.

He walked over to the man and sat down at the bar. "No drinks tonight. Apparently I have a client."

The barkeeper nodded. "Yep. He pays well too. He should be coming in any second now." He paused for a moment, before continuing, "Now, he's a stranger, but there's something off about him. Something dangerous. I think you'll like him. He told me to tell you 'that a devil's errand awaits you, with all the rewards of the blackest sin.'" The quote was said with complete seriousness and perfect recitation, like the barkeep had spent time memorizing it.

Haran nodded with no small amount of appreciation for his new client. The barkeep had seen many things in his years working the 'Headman's Reprieve.' The assassin was aware of just how bad those could get, he'd been the orchestrater of some of the grislier scenes, so for the barkeeper to find someone off-putting. Well that was interesting, to say the least. And for him to say that cheesy line with a deadpan face. This fellow must be striking indeed. "Well tell me when he comes in, I'm looking forward to meeting him."

However, even as he was saying his words, he noticed the barkeeper scratching his head in confusion. "What's wrong?" he asked the man.

"Um," he replied, "I think he's already here." He pointed to a table near the back end of the tavern. "That's him, but I didn't see him come in. Which is impossible, I've been watching the door the whole time. Maybe I missed him somehow..."

Haran's face twisted in thought. 'A Devil's errand.' Somehow, the phrase no longer sounded ridiculous. An intense curiosity took root in the assassin. It could almost be called excitement. Almost, but not quite. "Thanks, I'll go greet my new client." he told the barkeeper as he stood up. "Standard fee if the job's good."

He turned away from the bar and walked toward the seated figure. The closer he got, the darker the environment around him felt, and Haran could swear that the walk seemed much longer than it should have been. When he did finally arrive, it seemed as if only the faintest of light illuminated his client. The black-swathed man elicited a strange emotion in the assassin. Not outright fear, nothing that strong, but rather a sense of animalistic dread. The space around him felt oppressive and uncomfortable, and Haran's ever-present desire to hurt something seemed to grow stronger.

He tried his best to clear his head of the odd aura surrounding his client, and pulled out the chair opposite the man. He sat down, and started the conversation.

"I am The Scorpion." He said it simply, just stating a fact. "A mutual friend has told me that you require my service. He also said that 'A devil's errand awaits.'" He looked quizzically at the man for a moment, and then he spoke again. "Are you the devil?"

Under other circumstance, the question could be called ridiculous, but Haran spoke the words with an intense stare and complete seriousness. He honestly wanted to know. It would explain a lot.

Nascent

For a long moment the man in the cloak simply gazed at Haran, looking him up and down... not unlike the way one examines a horse up for sale, really. At length, the stranger shrugged and grinned. "Maybe. There are many in this world who pine for that title, and the dread respect that comes with it. Let's say that I am a devil, one who dabbles in many things. And tonight, the name of the game..." He paused, grin broadening. "Is... well, let's call it war profiteering, hm?"

"The man serving the drinks says you're good, the best he knows for what I'm interested in. From the look of you, the airs about you, I believe him. But let me be clear from the outset about some things..."

Placing a small bag, heavy with coin, on the table between them, the stranger spoke. "One, discretion is key. The job I have for you must be handled just so, as any deviation would ruin my... investment."

Another bag joined the first, seeming to simply appear in the theatrical man's hands. "Two, some questions you have will go unanswered. This goes along with the first point; my name, my face, and my stake in this are private as will be certain other details along the way. I know that a man of your accomplishments can keep a secret, but on some things I simply must be certain, you understand.

"Third," Another bag, much larger than the first two, joined the growing wealth on the table. The stranger's voice dropped to a strong, deliberate whisper. "This is not an assassination."

"This is a performance."

"If you accept my terms and the not-insignificant payment that comes with them, Scorpion, then I can promise you will find the job most agreeable -- a suitable challenge for your skills, I think, with little to no possibility of backlash or reprisals to bother you at any later time. What you see before you is a down payment, funding both for you and to cover any expenses with the job. The payment that comes afterwards will be five times that, if all goes well."

"So," The 'devil' leaned back, folded fingers resting against his chest. "What say you?"

Alegretto

Haran watched the shadow-cloaked figure of his client intently as the man spoke spoke. His client was theatrical, but his performance was in no way ridiculous. It spoke of total dominance of his surroundings, like he was an actor controlling a stage and everyone else on it and everyone who happened to be watching the show. The effect was unnerving.

The bags of gold did not impress Haran, coin wasn't his vice, but the raw power emanating from his client drew the assassin in like nothing else. And the job. Now that sounded interesting as well. The assassin appreciated how his client recognized a good killing for what it was: a work of art. Something special to be created and savored and then executed. A performance like no other.

He would do what this man, or devil, asked. The money, of course, was a factor, and the potential for power that came with it. The prudent side of Haran attributed this as his main motivation. However, his more primitive essence, the part of himself that he almost never used, told him to accept the job for a very different reason. It told him to take the job because it was the safer thing to do. His unconscious shrank from the idea of refusing this fell figure in front of him, and though he was not consciously aware of this reaction in himself, he still listened instinctively to the warning.

After the man finished speaking, Haran took a moment to collect his thoughts. He answered the devil's final question simply, and with finality. "I say yes."

Nascent

"Very good." The cloaked man smiled, his white teeth gleaming like wolves' fangs in the dimly lit tavern. Chuckling softly to himself, the client leaned to one side, resting his chin on the knuckles of his hand. "Very good."

"So, then... here is the job, in all its details -- or, everything you need know, at least. There are two targets: one must die, while the other must live to tell the tale."

"The one who must die is this man," And at this, after a moment spent digging around in his cloak, the client produced two rough charcoal sketches of faces -- one man, one woman. The man was of moderate age, with a wrinkled and kindly-looking face, while the woman had sharp, fierce features with flowing hair and cold, hollow eyes. "Father Samuel Falbren. He's a priest of Angsar in one of the smaller, less known churches in Reajh who's about to be investigated for harboring and abetting mages fleeing the new laws. The man is something of an idealist, with a soft spot for the hurting and downtrodden. Most of why he hasn't been put through a full inquisition already is that the information's fairly new and so many whom he's helped don't want to volunteer information that might incriminate him..."

The demonic man's smile became a devious smirk. "Your first task, after killing him, is to ruin his reputation. We want to make it look like he's more than he is -- take this kindly fool and plant evidence, which I will supply you, to make it look like he was part of a chain of persons smuggling mages both around and out of Connlaoth."

The client jammed his finger down on the priest's portrait somewhat violently, wrinkling the paper as he did. "He must die in such a way that it looks like his co-conspirators were trying to silence him before the priest could give them up -- this will set the stage for the main act of our performance, and the key target..."

"Her."

"My friend, meet Kasna Vel Telshear, Knight of the Order of the White Lily. She has a dangerous reputation for killing mages out of equal parts duty and enjoyment, and she's said to be one of the most skilled and deadly warriors the White Lily sisterhood has ever produced." The client pushed Kasna's portrait over to Haran. "She is quick. She is well armed. And she, apparently, always wears armor. She agreed to investigate the mage-hiding priest while she was in the area before heading north to Ajhfeld; we need to control what she finds and create the perception that whoever killed the priest wants her out of the picture as well."

"The priest, you can kill however you feel works best... Kasna, however, must be incapacitated but not slain. And for that a very particular approach is needed." The client leaned forward towards Haran. "Tell me something, Scorpion... how are you with poisons?"

Alegretto

Haran listened with intense concentration as his employer went over the details. It was quite a bit of information, and the requirements for this job were rather stringent, but the assassin was quite sure that it was all well within his capabilities.

He almost scoffed when the client asked his last question. Almost, he had better self-control than that. "I am quite familiar with poisons, quite familiar indeed. I doubt you would find a man more skilled with them in all of Zantaric."

Of course you might, hence the qualitative statement. Somehow, Haran had no desire to be caught out in a lie when dealing with this man, or demon, or whatever he was.

"Do you have any specific requests for this particular, performance?" Haran said the word 'performance' with relish, like an actor about to stand on stage for his starring role. "Something you will provide yourself? Or do you just have a list of symptoms you'd like to see Ms. Telshear exhibit? I guarantee you that whatever they are I can make it happen." The last sentence was punctuated with a too-wide grin that didn't quite reach the assassin's eyes.