Greedy Little Infidel

[Anonymous]

He wasn't used to the silence. That damning sound that wafted between his ears, so palpable that he felt he could explode, right then and there, blood and guts all over the pavement. And at least, if he exploded, that'd be a lot more fun than standing here in the shadows, twirling his pocketknife between his lithe fingers, watching his target chat it up with an coquettish blonde tart. God! She had this sort of up-do that always resembled horns of the devil, and was clinging on his arm, saying, "You really should come back to my place." Fen dreamed a luscious dream in that moment — a glorious image of himself cutting her neck, slowly, so the life still lingered in her chest, while he laughed and asked, "Are you sure you don't want to come back to my place?"

What had his employer said? Don't get anyone else involved, or something ridiculous like that. As if death was that easy. Hah! Death was a set of dominos. Kill one asshole, he leaves a family behind. Maybe his kid decides on revenge, tracks Fen down in the middle of the night without knowing just who he's dealing with, and then he gets a knife in the neck. More dead assholes. Maybe his wife turns into a sluttish prostitute to pay the bills now that he's gone, then gets herself killed one night with her client gets a little too rough with his deadly fetish — asphyxiation. Even more dead assholes. But that was the beauty of it! To know that whenever you saw the light leaving someone else's eyes, more light would be extinguished in his wake.

Ten minutes he'd been sitting here. Fen remembered the face of that damn monkey who dared call himself a boss, how short he'd been, how he smoked cigarettes while he talked to Fen and was careful to always blow the smoke away from his general direction, taking note of the madness in his eyes. He'd been so informal, given him the info, and had been sure to say that absurd statement not to get anyone involved, before allowing Fen to leave. Or rather, as Fen dismissed himself, giving him that usual cocky grin before slamming the door behind him, whistling a tune that demanded the apocalypse to rise. He was someone with money, Fen knew, and he wondered if it'd be a better idea to kill him after this useless looking guy who relied on whores to boost his ego. Yeah, maybe he'd do that... Wouldn't it be fun, to choke him with his own cigarette?

All of these thoughts felt like dead weight in his head...

"Hey," the blood-mage called out, waving to his prey and company. He watched their faces twist in annoyance at first, at this white-haired stranger with no manners or protocol for how society worked. Lithe fingers loosened the white bandages wrapped around his neck, and he tilting his head, giving them a crooked smile. "Brandon Schneider, aged forty two, bartender in the light, pimp at night, where no one can see... murderer of Chelsea Vargas, the daughter of a drug-pusher back in the wild outreaches of Ketra." At 'wild' he stretched his voice, as he talking about the wild, wild west, as if he was nostalgic, as if he found this all hilarious. While he rattled off the data he collected, he watched the man's eyes nearly pop out of his skull, his blonde wench suddenly edging away from him, realizing how close she had been to being his next personal whore.

"Am I... wrong?" He tilted his head angel, feigning the innocence of an angel.

"He signed you up for this, didn't he? Well, that bitch had it coming to her, I don't have any regrets!"

"How cliché," he sighed, twirling the pocket knife in hand once more, before turning it to his arm, holding it close, like knight would to his sword. "More of this drivel! I feel like I've heard that line a hundred times and a hundred times over and over and over again... Am I getting old?" Slowly, as he spoke, he let the knife slide down his wrist, drawing blood, glorious blood, that heinous red liquid that drove him off the damn walls! He felt his eyes unconsciously widen as he felt it pouring from his body, driving the knife deeper, while a deeper part of him fought to stop his crazed masochism. The sane part (if you could call it sane) cheered him on, clapping wildly.

"Twenty-six years and I've seen it all. Maybe it's time to end it?" As he spoke, however, the girl by his side took off, not wanting to be involved in a conflict. Meanwhile, his target was on standby, naught but a miniature-blade in hand, as if that was enough to stop him. Maybe he didn't notice as Fen's eyes go dark, muttering under his breath, enchanting the blood, watching it dance. Watching it mold to his will, to his very thoughts, lashing out faster than anyone's eyes could see at the man, trying to wrap itself around his neck. Ah, but that blade, it was quite troublesome, and the man did not see himself ready to die. He could amp up the power, draw more blood, but Fen was feeling cocky tonight. Let that man try to slash and swing and his bloodstreams all he wanted, it would result in his death in the end, with naught but just one little cut. A dark laugh gathered under his breath, and he did not notice the figure lurking in the shadows, that would, perhaps, make this mission go sour...

[Anonymous]

Marten clung closer to the edge of the stone wall. Damn it Marten, he thought, If you had paid attention to your dreams you wouldn't be in the bad part of Arca in the middle of the night hiding with a stolen book on divination! Marten shook his head to clear his thoughts. Someone was chatting up some blonde harlot, or maybe a succubus, and in the shadows someone was watching them as well. I probably look like that, only shorter.

The man in the shadows walked towards and started talking to the man with harlot. The man that was in the shadows was much more imposing out of the shadows, looking like he was carved out of marble and that weird smile just took the cake.  He heard the what the man out of the shadows was saying and it seemed as if he was same kind of law enforcement. Aaaah! Marten thought, Law enforcement! The stolen book! Marten took some deep breaths to calm himself down, and looked back to the three.

The man with the whore seemed to be shouting out some over-the-top confession. The man out of the shadows replied and... slit his arm with his own knife! The man out of shadows seemed terrified and relieved at the same time. The harlot had ran off. Smart girl, Marten thought, For a whore. The man who had the whore drew a small knife, but as fast as lightning the man out of the shadows' blood had turned into a garrote.

Marten panicked. A very large portion of him wanted to ran away screaming "A mage! A mage! Everybody run for your lives!" but the remaining rational part of him told that was probably a very bad idea. He looked at both the men. The one being strangled was quite likely a wanted criminal, but he didn't deserve to be strangled by an insane mage.

Marten took off the shoulder bag with the book and propped it against the wall. He took out his crossbow from it's leather thong on his back. He had a plan to rescue the man, but he didn't think it would work.

Marten ran screaming at the mage, holding his crossbow above his head in both hands. As he came to the stream of blood he ducked under and pivoted on one foot to try and hit the mage in the face with the arc of his crossbow. After that he straightened his back and leaped up and tried to kick the mage's left kneecap. Marten landed on both feet, but had to take a few steps backwards from the momentum. When he stopped stepping back, he pointed his crossbow at the mage, his hands shaking with fear, and stared terrified at him, hoping his strategy had worked.

[Anonymous]

Fen loved... excitement.

God, he loved being able to feel his blood pumping his veins, it drove him crazy, off the wall! He loved surprises, spontaneous explosions of random occurrences, something to give him a little shock through his black and white days, like a taser to his neck, a jolt of welcomed surprise. So when a rather short brunette came rushing at him, avoiding the bloodstreams and making a dash for his face with the arc of his crossbow, understandable, he didn't see it coming.

Most people would've had the instinct to move away or back up from the incoming, spontaneous threat though, but Fen, no, he reviled in this turn of events. Reveled in it so much that he for a moment, he barely even noticed getting the arc of that crossbow hitting him in the face, near his neck, drawing blood even, he laughed, a slow and steady laugh. This laugh didn't dim his sense though, easily he avoided the dodge to the kneecap, his right hand still pressed on that injury near his neck as he did so, laughing slowly, a deep rumble in his chest. Brandon Schneider no longer existed, not in Fen's mind nor in the area, no. The bloodstreams dropped to the ground, just stains on the cobblestones now, and Mr. Schneider took off, his footsteps breaking the silence besides Fen's slow and heavy rumbling laugh, locking those burnt sierra red eyes on his little intruder.

God, he had... he had made him bleed. The blood mage wasn't worried at all, however, for he had just been thinking about cutting himself, bringing forth more blood, and it was easier this way, if the blood was already here. Roughly did he press his fingers to the cut, still laughing, but it was not a rumble now, but just a humming in his chest as he smeared his two fingers in the blood that was painting his neck, not worried about it at all. And yet his heart pounded, pounded so hard in his chest he could feel it - the hemophobia kicking it, his masochism kicking in, his lust kicking in... everything, just storming inside of him at once! It demanded the blood of this ... hilarious little intruder, but no, that would be stupid.

Death was stupid if he couldn't see someone's colors yet.

Right now, he seemed black and white, just another somebody on the street, but he had to have some color to be so stupid as to interfere with a blood mage on the job. Of course, it wasn't like he was one of those infamous killers or anything, that shit was far too overrated. He liked to keep his name on the downlow, so he could step in a bar and eye the women freely, without them knowing his name and his face and how he liked to listen to whores scream in pleasure and pain as he cut their throats... But no, he wouldn't no, so maybe he was an idiot. He was hoping to Curor that this one wasn't an idiot, since he'd have to kill him, and maybe he'd have to get a little bit angry.

It was almost amusing, how he pointed the crossbow at him too, but Fen barely noticed, just straightened up, cocked his head over at him and laughed. "I don't really understand it... but normal people, they have this thing called... ah, what's it called?" he stopped, snapping his fingers with his free hand, pocketknife still safe in the other. "...Morals! That's what it's called. A lot of people have this fucked up notion that murderers, rapists, con artists... they should all get a one-way ticket to hell. Imagine that! A one way ticket to hell. I wonder, friend, if you're one of those people."

His tone had a true sense of curiosity in it, but to the untrained ear, it might've sounded like sarcasm, like his tone when he had asked Brandon Schneider if his accusations had been incorrect. He tapped the pocketknife to his lips, as if deep in thought. "People say things like, 'A life for a life,' or 'An eye for an eye,' and go on monologues about how they should just kill people like me and Brandon Schneider and just live and let live. I say to hell with that." He placed his free hand on his hip now, taking three steps closer to the stranger. Granted, they were still a ways apart, but he obviously was not scared by the crossbow.

"But what do you think, friend? Kill me, for trying to kill a killer? I don't understand at all! Society... is broken, I think. Perhaps I'll have to fix it." And this was said with a tone as if he actually could fix it.

"I wonder, friend, what's going on in that head of yours. Are you always this intrusive? It's so... 'against the norm,' as some people would say. Daring, indeed! The brave hero, saving the unfortunate on a whim, under Arca's moonlit sky! Is that..." He paused again, solely just to turn toward him, locking those burnt sierra red eyes with his, "...what you've always wanted to be? A hero?"

[Anonymous]

Marten looked to the mage. He had managed to injure him, which was good. The mage broke out into a laugh that seemed fundamentally wrong, and it made Marten shake even more. He was shaking all over now, from his head to toes, as the blood hit the stones and as the man ran off. The mage had locked eyes with him, but Marten tried kept his gaze at the alley way he had just ran from, for those eyes were chilling. The mage smeared the blood down his neck, laughing and smiling as if this was one big joke.

"I don't really understand it... but normal people, they have this thing called... ah, what's it called? ...Morals! That's what it's called. A lot of people have this fucked up notion that murderers, rapists, con artists... they should all get a one-way ticket to hell. Imagine that! A one way ticket to hell. I wonder, friend, if you're one of those people."*

Marten wished he could yell out Yes, yes I am, but it took all his courage to not run away. He had saved the other man from being killed, but now Marten had to avoid being killed himself.

The mage continued on with his philosophical rant, and then he moved closer to Marten, and continued talking. Marten instinctively shuffled back a little. He wanted flee, but he was frozen in fear. He could feel his eyes watering up, he wanted get away from it all...  He hung his head low and stared at the ground. His breathing was quick and shallow, and very loud. The mage's words became a jumble in his head, until the last section:

"I wonder, friend, what's going on in that head of yours. Are you always this intrusive? It's so... 'against the norm,' as some people would say. Daring, indeed! The brave hero, saving the unfortunate on a whim, under Arca's moonlit sky! Is that ...what you've always wanted to be? A hero?"

Marten smiled at the unintentional compliment. It had given him a second wind. It was slight and probably wouldn't last long, but it felt good. He heard the mage's last  question, and felt obliged to answer. He lifted his head and looked right at the mage, and with the smile still on his face replied "Yes."
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*(ooc) Italicized text in speech marks is what the other characters (i.e. Fen) are saying.

[Anonymous]

In, out, in, out, like a behemoth standing right in front of him, quivering on his knees - that was this boy, or man, or thing, who had the nerve to interrupt his kill tonight and then not even bother to do anything, not even to say anything after. And while Fen's social code was a lot more skewed than the average person you'd meet on the streets, that kind of thing was... rude, could he call it? It'd be a lot more polite if he'd at least smirked at him, if he'd raise that crossbow with a fiercer pose, if he'd grin a little wildly and ponder about how he'd shoot him. But no, none of that! Not even a little laugh. Just a boy and his bow, who had the nerve to make him bleed.

Curor, so help me, there's no color to this one, Fen thought wildly, biting his lower lip. Alas, what did Fen expect? He lived in a play where he was the only main character and the rest around him were just extras, and constantly did he wonder if maybe... maybe there'd be someone else to take the stage, paint this black and white world. There had only been one so far, and perhaps no one else deserved to share the stage with him and his nirvana personified, maybe that was just how things were supposed to be. He'd take that and live with it, as he had for most of his life.

But then he looked up at him, wild hazel eyes daring to meet his own, a smile sketched on his face, and the stranger said yes. Just a stupid word really, one three letter word, but confirming it, that yes, he did want to be a hero. Yes, he had dreamed all the dreams Fen accused him of, yes, yes, yes! Ah, but without much enthusiasm, or at least to Fen, just a word was not enough for him to feed off of, not usually. He thought back to one wonder girl, however, who had been painted in vibrant colors, who had uttered one word to him and drove him off the wall. He stiffened at the memory and smiled at it, but to the stranger, it might've appeared that he was smiling at him. And maybe he was.

"You're so... mellow," Fen accused, as if being mellow was worse than being a murderer. "Yes? Really? Where's your sob story, stranger? People don't wake up wanting to be heroes. And quite frankly, you're doing it wrong." Instantly, he ran through books upon books he had read, books with stupid heroes who had either died or ended up so boring at the end of the tale that nobody wanted to give a damn about them anymore. "But then... who I am to judge, whether you're doing it wrong or right, perhaps... Ah, is that what you really wanted to tell me? You want to save everyone? From murderers, to rapists, to little girls with kittens stuck in trees and beautiful woman getting mugged on the street? Do you want to save them all?"

With that, he sighed, a long drawn out sigh, as if this conversation was tiresome. As if he were talking to a brick wall. The white-haired mage carefully placed the pocketknife in his backpocket, looking down and away from the stranger for that brief moment, not even the least bit worried about the crossbow. As soon as it was away, however, he was right back to that deadly stare. "The way I see it, you're a pretty biased hero, huh? Granted, nothing's wrong with that. Although I wonder: don't you think, maybe I need saving as well?"

Of course, Fen didn't see himself as a charity case, but he was trying to get a word out of this guy. As the blood was drying, he was calming down, little by little, that look of bloodlust in his eyes less frenzied, his smile less wild and more inquisitive. He wasn't up for killing this guy,  but his smile was still wild, enough to keep someone on edge. He'd kill him if he wasn't interesting, no doubt, but there was a spark of potential. A very, very small spark, so spark you'd need a telescope to see it... but it was there.

"Or maybe... you are the one who needs saving! Is that it?" For a second, he had paused, as if he had finished an essay, but with this new revelation, interest sparked in Fen's eyes.  "By saving his life, by trying to snuff out mine, are you trying to save yourself?" And suddenly, as quickly as he had been excited, he was bored again. "Talk to me, friend. I'm not one for watching someone quake on their knees for entertainment. It's pretty... boring, so to speak." And the dark tone in his voice implied that it was not a good thing to bore Fen.

[Anonymous]

It was odd. Marten knew that by now he should be fleeing as fast as he could, his second wind should have gone, but it... hadn't. This was a good thing, for while he was still shaking, he could think clearly now. And a clear head is exactly what you need against this sort of foe. The mage had, probably unintentionally, pointed an easy way out. Talking. It was a little surprising that this mage didn't want to seem quake with fear, but probing the minds of madmen was not Marten's job.

Marten started to walk slowly closer to the mage, each step made him quiver even more, but this was the best thing to do strategically. He was useless at range, while the mage was quite likely deadly. "For your information, we both need saving. It's just at that it's not easy to save someone who you absolutely terrified from a metaphysical problem. You and I," He said while pointing at the mage, "We're both mages. I need less saving because I use my powers in a way that doesn't cause harm to others. You, you don't care if it is psychological harm or physical harm, you want there to be harm. Sure, your powers don't seem to be easily applied to use for good, but you've shown me you're smart, you can think of something." By now, Marten was only an inch away from the mage, and as much as he wanted to fall on his knees and sob, he would have to wait. "Oh, and the reason I haven't shot you already is because I have no crossbow bolts. Is that enough talking for you?"

[Anonymous]

Whenever someone began a sentence with the phrase, 'for your information...' it always ended in Fen laughing, because said information was either something he already knew or a completely false statement in general. This time it was the latter, for the stranger spoke of Fen needing saving! Fenrisulfr Rotht! When it came to the blood mage, who spent days and nights soaked in blood (pausing occasionally to harass his favorite bartenders) he knew he was the last person on this planet that needed saving. It was obvious. People lived in cages they built for themselves, limiting their worlds, only seeing what they wanted to believe, instead of looking at the world as a whole. Some were inane, some were vapid, and some were dull, but all of them, he knew, needed release from this prison. Death was the only solace people like that could ever find.

Ah, but then, he was a mage. This brunette, he actually had some sort of magical prowess snuggled deep within him, who would've thought! But, he was one of those types, snobs who figured that just because they weren't actively shedding blood like he did, and painting the streets a lethal shade of red, figured they were higher, above people like him, who were free, totally... unhinged. "Have we sat too far on our high horse today, friend?" He placed one hand on his hip, laughing. "And aren't you a brave one! Standing so close to me, almost audacious of you, really." He gave him a once over, a look that a cat might give to a mouse after the pounce — but Fen's gaze was naturally territorial, for as the blood was drying on his neck, the less violent he would become. At this point, however, whether blood would spill or not was really anyone's game.

"To think, someone like you could be a mage— it is quite... perplexing..." After this, since they were so close, Fen laid a hand on his crossbow, fingers dancing along its profile innocently, looking down a tad to observe the strange weapon, before sierra red eyes locked on with the mage's once more. "Why then, are you carrying this clunky thing around, hm? Can you not attack with your magic? Or does ending a life with an arrow rather than a bolt of pure magic feel so much more humane to you?"

But apparently, he didn't even have any crossbow bolts. "Ah...I was wondering why..." Fen admitted with a dark chuckle. "It's a shame, really, I was looking forward to the blood." He shook his head, legitimately looking a little more downcast than before, letting out a pained sigh.

"Does that mean you aren't going to try and kill me? The hero has to finish the job off, doesn't he? If you let me go... well, I can assure you, that man is as good as dead." His eyes lit up again at the very thought of it, that Cheshire-cat smile painted on his features. "Where is he now, I wonder! In the taverns, in the bars? Drinking down whiskey while thinking to himself, 'I'll have to get out of the country,' but— aha!— little does he know! Little does he know, that no one hides for long..."

For that brief moment, he seemed lost in what was in his own little world, his eyes dreamily looking off into an invisible future, but then, suddenly, they focused back towards the stranger. He placed his hand on the mage's shoulder (or tried to — if quick, the stranger could've stepped back and avoiding this gesture) and brought himself closer towards the stranger, invading his personal space, a curious, if not both devious look reflected in those menacing eyes.

"Someone like you—a mouse quivering in front of the lion— must have some intriguing magic to make up for everything... or have They cursed you in more ways that one?"

[Anonymous]

Marten could feel himself... cracking . He had spent some much time being brave that he was running out of energy. Soon he would probably fall to his knees sobbing, at probably the most inappropriate time. Marten tried to hide his fear, kept taking steadying breaths, but he couldn't stop himself quaking like a young rabbit. The mage's laugh certainly wasn't helping...

Oh how a high horse would be lovely! Marten thought. He would be at least as tall this giant, maybe even taller! Did he mean a figurative high horse? Marten's mind must have been messed with from the fear. The assurance that he was brave was a little steadying, but it didn't give him the second wind like last time.

Marten whispered to himself "A bolt of magic would be so much easier." What did this mage know about his nigh useless powers? Heck, the closest they got to be useful in this confrontation was when they told him not to come to Arca. But then again, arrow was much less likely to cause the end of the world... This mage was getting more and more disturbing. Wanting his own blood to be shed? One day, that mage is going to exsanguinate himself, Marten thought.

But the mage did give away a vital piece of information; Marten was going to have to finish the job somehow. Maybe he could convince the mage that it was worthless trying to kill that man. No, that man did have decent list of crimes against him, and who knows, maybe he did deserve to be strangled by an insane mage in the bad part of Arca.

The mage put his hand on Marten's shoulder. He flinched a little, but hand landed squarely. The mage stepped closer, and Marten's bravado broke. He couldn't control his breathing, he felt dizzy, everything wasn't right. "They have cursed me," Marten said, his voice barely a squeak "Please go catch you prey, please!"

[Anonymous]

"They have cursed me," ... "Please go catch you prey, please!"

Instantly, Fen heaved a huge sigh, his eyes... disappointed. It was like waiting in line for a circus act, only to find that all the clowns were on holiday and their prime act was a literal one-trick pony. "They're crafty ones, alright," Fen sighed, shaking his head. For a moment, he was silent, calculating how long he had spent talking to this one. Maybe six or seven minutes tops... how long did that leave Schneider to run? He had no magical prowess, he was sure, so teleporting was out of the option... Did he had a horse and carriage? Some sort of fast transportation? And more importantly, how long would it take Fen to track him down again, if he decided to let him taste freedom for one more night?

"Your bravado is gone, is it? What happened to all that spirit? What happened to wanting to be a hero? Did you..." In a dramatic sweep, he placed his hand on his heart, clutching at it, staggering backwards, as if a blow had been struck toward him. "...did you lie to me, fellow mage? Was all that stuff about wanting to be a hero... a lie?"

He straightened up, and it was easy to see that underneath that little act had been a true sense of boredom. So the mage, after all, had no color. There was no reason to keep him around, really. And if he had been telling the truth, any powers he had were either useless or unable to keep Fen entertained, or else surely he wouldn't told him something, right? Right?

But anyway, he was just another extra. Whatever fun that could've been had here had been extracted...

Unless...!

Fen clamped his other hand on the mage's soldier, walking slowly towards him, hoping to drive him into walking backwards, so he could press his back into the wall. However, if the mage did not succumb to this pressure and stayed right where he was, that was fine as well. The desired effect was still given, Fen invading even more of his personal space — and those eyes that had looked so wild before, now seemed almost... downcast. It was a façade, of course, a blatant lie, but Fen was an actor, probably the best there was.

"I can't believe you would so rudely crash into my life like this, little mage, and hope to brush me off so easily. I'm afraid..." He placed his right hand on his cheek, tracing his cheekbone, humming under his breath. "I'm afraid I can't leave you just yet."

Granted, his grip was very loose. Such the stranger wish it, he could leave right now, wiggle out of his grasp and be gone forever. Fen would not give chase — he wasn't a runner, anyway. And besides, he was an extra — anything he tried to do would be seen as unimportant anyway, in Fen's eyes. This was all just for the excitement.

His hands slid off the mage's shoulders, and instead, he tugged on the collar of his shirt, eyes shifting from downcast to demanding. "You're to follow me, keep an eye for the authorities, haunting the shadows... And when we find my target again, you'll learn the consequences— what happens, when you interfere... You'll be Brandon's... audience." His mouth curled up into a devious smile. "Have you ever heard a dying man's final scream?"

It was music — everyone should hear it, at least once...

He tugged on his collar again, taking a few steps into the shadows of Arca's alleyways, casting the mage a sharp look. "Move, extra. Or do you have a name?"

He waited, wondering if he'd run. Most didn't, for some stupid reason. Maybe because Fen had the eyes of a predator...

[Anonymous]

Marten heard the mage's accusation. It hurt a little inside to hear it. He turned his eyes to his feet. "No sir." His voice was a faint crackle, both from the fear and the metaphysical blow.

Marten wasn't expecting the mage to push him. He slid back a few inches, his arms out like a distressed chicken. He looked up at the mage. The mage looked like he was just a moment ago. He didn't think he could hurt this mage's feelings, but he thought he just did.

Marten heard the mage speak. It was more chilling that usual, not because of the voice, but the content. Its repercussions. He heard the mage ask Marten to follow him. He didn't realize he could run. It was like all he could see was the mage, and the fact he would have to help kill a not-so-innocent man. Marten had never seen a man die before. Sure, he had trained for the guard, but he had never done anything as a guard, he ran away just after he finished training.

Marten ran to catch up with the mage. "My name is Marten."

[Anonymous]

"My name is Marten."

Fen tasted the name on his tongue, "Marten..." and furrowed his brows, sighing. It didn't stick, or rather, it refused to stick, as if his fact as a colorless, unimportant member of society had been sealed in this lad's fate ever since he had been named. Still walking at a brisk, but somehow relaxed pace, Fen placed one hand on his hip and shrugged with his free shoulder, tossing his hand up in a carefree, 'who cares?' sort of fashion. "Don't expect me to remember it," he informed in an almost matter of fact way, as if he regretted to even ask.

While most people would've stopped then to give their own name, Fen did not. It was a precious name, one that he threw around when he wanted to intimidate or scare someone offer, never to just inform. Knowledge wasn't a privilege, anyhow, or a right, especially when it came to things like his name.

"I wonder if you have ever seen a man die before?" Fen found himself asking, turning back towards Marten and grinning. "And I doubt you've ever killed a man before... I am most curious to know what you do with your magic, but I'm afraid you won't enlighten me. It's sad, but what can you do?" The last part of his sentence was followed up by a shrug, and even though he was clearly talking to Marten, he wasn't expecting an answer — although it'd be grand if he did. It was always better when his 'company,' was chatty, but nowadays, most blokes seemed to have their tongues stolen as soon as he looked them in the eye.

He was making his way through the streets at his usual pace, as if he knew where Schneider was heading, as if he had all the answers stashed away in the back of his head. Such was very far from the truth, however — he knew not where Brandon had went, but if he was an extra, he'd knew to fear the name who'd nearly sent him to his grave. He'd be going to the edge of town, of course, maybe hightailing it.

 If that was the case, he had time to make things a bit more interesting.

"Your crossbow," Fen interjected suddenly, calling out to the mage from over his shoulder. "Can you get more bolts from any other weapons shop? Or have you some special sort of crossbow bolt that only your bow uses?"

He just needed some pieces to set up the game, then they could really play...

[Anonymous]

Marten laughed a little when the mage said he would probably forget Marten's name. It wasn't a sincere laugh, it was just to humor him. Marten thought that if he humored this obviously insane mage, his death would be quick and less painful than normal. The mage probably didn't want any witnesses to the murder. Marten looked to the street ahead of them. He didn't hear the mage's name, but he didn't want to even unintentionally press the point. Let sleeping dogs lie, especially if they are bigger and scarier than you.

The mage asked if Marten had killed a man before, and then said that he probably hadn't. That was true, though Marten did not say so. He didn't want to be "taught". Then he was asked what did Marten do with his magic. "There is only one thing I can do with my magic sir, and that is tell my future."

"Your crossbow, Can you get more bolts from any other weapons shop? Or have you some special sort of crossbow bolt that only your bow uses?"


Marten looked to his crossbow. "It's just an ordinary crossbow, and I could probably steal the bolts, if I knew where a weapons shop was."

[Anonymous]

He was... laughing. Fen turned around, raised his eyebrow, and shook his head. "At least you find your fate amusing," was all that Fen mustered, incredibly bored. There was a time for laughing and there was a time to shut up and be a good boy, and right now was one of the latter. God, was this kid even worth keeping around? Sadly enough, it would be boring to kill him too, maybe even boring to torture him.

Maybe he'd scream, but he wouldn't beg for mercy, or say anything interesting while Fen scooped his eyeballs out of his sockets...

Fen recalled how he'd been when the blood mage had played twenty questions with him, riled up from the fresh blood Marten had spilled down his neck, how he'd been intrigued that someone could be stupid enough to stop Fenrisulfr Rotht from finishing a job. And then, for all his valor, he turned out to be another extra. How disappointing...

But then, finally, the mage decided to open up, if just a little. In such a small voice, he said that he could use his magic to tell his future. The way he said it though, his future. Was it only good for looking into his own cards? Or could he hold hands with the fates of others, and see into their destinies? For a moment, Fen wondered if such a power could ever be considered useful... and ended up shaking his head in the negative.

No, he didn't need to know his future because he already knew what lay behind it. He saw himself, finally conquering the coven back in Connlaoth, their blood staining his hands, his eyes filled with victory as he held the head of the coven leader in his hands... As long as such a destiny was still achievable, there was no need for him to know about his future, if he could even see such a thing.

"If you can read your future," Fen sighed, shaking his head, "then why couldn't you see that trying to save that man back there would only do you no good?" It wasn't a question marked with bitter hatred, mainly because Fen was running out of steam, so it was more sarcastic than anything else. He was more pissed off than anything now, and the sooner he found Brandon and killed him, while watching the blood light up his captive's virgin eyes... well, the better. The only reason he hadn't turned on Marten was because there was still the smallest of hope that some entertainment could be squeezed out of this situation.

Apparently, the crossbow could be refilled at any weapon's shop, and Fen's face lit up with a smile, eyes relit with that same wildfire flame that had been lost before. "You would resort to theft?" Fen asked, his theatric way of speaking returning. "How barbaric... but it can't be helped, really. What use would someone like you be on a battlefield, with no bolts?" As they continued walking, Fen pointed out a weapon's shop in the near distance, grinning. "And what luck for you, isn't it? A weapon's shop... all locked up, but thievery is no problem, is it?" He looked back towards Marten again, chuckling darkly.

"Perhaps someone like you steals all the time. That would make you and I more alike than you would've thought."

They were nearing the shop now, but it was still a ways away. This whole trip, hopefully, would be worth it, if all went according to plan.

[Anonymous]

"If you can read your future, then why couldn't you see that trying to save that man back there would only do you no good?"

Marten sighed. For an insane mage, he did at least ask logical questions. "I knew that coming to Arca would be a bad idea, but of course," Marten stopped mid-stride and looked up to the stars "I didn't listen."

When the mage pointed out the weapons shop, Marten jogged up to it. He went straight past the door, for he knew trying to pick the lock was futile, because he had nothing ti pick the with, let alone the skills to do so. He came upon the shop's window, it was about 3 feet wide and 2 feet tall, and it was a fair way off the ground it wasn't to high such as someone like Marten couldn't step over it's edge. Marten turned to face the window head on, and for want of a more subtle way, smashed it with his crossbow. Most of the glass flew backwards into the shop, leaving the window fairly open. The bottom and the edges had a few tiny shards still on the frame, but the top had many large, sharp shards still attached, like a myriad of knives facing downwards.

Marten carefully stepped over the bottom, and ducked to avoid the glass at the top, but failed. He got a shallow cut along the back of his neck, drawing a line of blood. He flinched and stopped mid-stride when he got cut, and it hurt like hell, but Marten could still feel his arms and legs, so he presumed it was not life threatening.

He took his other leg over the frame and quickly walked across the shop to the bolts. The bolts were in bunches wrapped in yellow parchment. He took a few of the bunches and dropped them in his boot, took a few more bunches and stuffed them between his belt and pulled his tunic over to hide them. He stepped through the window again and looked up to the mage for further instructions.