Blood by Moonlight (Mok)

[Wrenmae]

18th Winter, 511 AV

What silver incandescence is this? Does the moon smile as strongly on this den of thieves as on the fair Alvadas? Sway, sway...what fancy and whimsy is born through desperation? Here...here the sins of man are the badge they wear so proudly, an emblazoning of something more than humanity...but the TRUTH of humanity. We are, all of us, scoundrels in our hearts. Not all of us tread a path best suited for those darker sides, but they exist in everyone. There is the potential for madness, for desperation...and bit by bit life forces us to make those choices, to come to terms with what we are. So what then for those who make no illusion to what they are already? Is there development for the cutthroat who murdered his parents at the tender age of twelve?

I'll tell you where one goes from there.

Cannibalism.

Man who eats man. And we all eat each other, bite by bite, and scheme by scheme. We consume each other's time and lives in a frenzy of blood and conflict.

There will always be time for man to grow darker...he need only plumb the depths of his soul to find it is bottomless

-Wrenmae's Journeys, Book 2


Shroud leaned against the cold stucco of a Sunberth building. It had no name, no residents, only the haunting reminder of life cut into its walls. The nicks and scrapes of previous occupants giving a sort of haunted quality to the whole ramshackle construction. Wrenmae might as well have been a part of the building itself. He practically vanished into its shadow, slight of body and still of motion, he was nothing to the civilians of Sunberth but ephemeral darkness. The house was not far from the bar that he would meet Mok and Cade in. Tonight he had to put on his best face, make a good impression with the barbarian. Induction into the Crimson Edge was a must, an absolute in his ambitions from here on out. A lone piece stood little chance against the combined might of every other group in Sunberth. Alone it would take years, if not decades to amass the direction he wanted in order to fascilitate change. But with the Crimson Edge? Well...if any of them were as effective as Mok had proven to be, he hadn't any need to worry at all.

Change would come of its own accord with them.

Unfolding from the darkness, he stepped out into the lane and followed a group of noisy drunks toward the tavern. There were notable differences in how Shroud moved from Wrenmae, but as Mok had only met the former, he had no need to concern himself with the latter.

Blood was thick in the air, old scent, sweat...the sour of refuse and the edge of decomposition. Somewhere an animal was decomposing...or perhaps a man, although technically there was no difference. Shroud liked Sunberth, and it went without saying that it had more possibilities than Alvadas. There, everyone manipulated everyone else. The illusion kept anyone from truly holding power and the various departments were well established. Here? Here it was simply the man with the most power, the most men to command...here any mercenary could don a bent tin crown and call himself king of Sunberth...and even hold the title to, so long as no one slipped a knife between his ribs.

In that way, this place was the most honest. Human condition was well established and even held the entirety of the city within its grasp. No one made excuses, everyone was who they really were...no need for a civil surface if everyone was dark as charcoal anyways.

Smiling to himself, Shroud entered the bar and slid toward the back, taking a seat near a back door and a window...situating his chair so that he could watch the door. It paid to be careful. Even if the apes of the city were easy to control, arrogance was the first step in a painful reminder of mortal possibilities.

He would wait for Mok and Cade to show up...he would join the Crimson Edge.

The first step of his journey began this evening...and by the heart thumping a beat of excitement in his chest, he could feel he was well set on a path that would honor Vayt.

[Mok]

Double checking all his equipment, the myrian was finally satisfied with his preparations. Mok was armored to the tooth this night. He would be gambling with his life, but he wouldn't be caught unprepared. Tightening the final straps on the brigadine, Mok was just about ready. The last thing he needed was some war paint. Mixing black ash from the fire pit with water, the myrian produced a thick black liquid which he spread across his face. With his shadow silk cloak and hood the myrian was basically undetectable now. If one was to look upon him they would see nothing but blackness.

Mok proceeded to the designated location. The moon was just awaking from slumber as Mok entered the streets of the city. It was cold, but none the less Mok could feel the warmth of a city going to sleep. Earlier that day Mok had mentioned to Cade that he had the perfect canidate for a new grunt. His cousin was always skeptical when Mok's recruits. The half-bloods recruits were usually either insane, schophrenic, or a combination of the two. Wrenmae was different. He was willing to shed blood when the odds were stack against him. If everything went well tonight, he could prove he was willing to fight to the death as well. Once one was blood brothers it was for life. One hundred percent loyalty. Hopefully tonight the ritual would be completed. Last night they got close, but it would be different tonight. He just hoped Wrenmae was ready.

Finally the myrian arrived the appointed location. As he came upon Wrename and casually took his place against the wall.

"Horror and moral terror, Wrenmae... they are only illusions in your mind, nothing more. Cast those thoughts away and do not hesitate. Trust only Cade, myself, and your blade." Mok openned the conversation in a whisper. His voice was low, flat and thick with a blood curdling myrian accent. A slight gust lifted his hood for a moment revealing to Wrenmae a stern, grinning face.

The myrian grunted and popped a bottle of cheap whiskey open, offering some to Wrenmae, "Drink up, we will begin as soon as Cade arrives."

"Also do you understand there is no return now. Once you are a blood brother its forever."

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

Mok spoke, Shroud listened. Around him the bar grew smaller, quieter, the murmurs of others faded to distant tinny sounds. Animals noises, pants and whines. In the end, all they were...all anyone was...animal, primal. The thin veneer of civility ran thin in Sunberth. Everyone eyed each other with undisguised predatory hunger. He has a limp, likely weak in a fight. She walks with too much effort, hiding something of worth beneath her skirts. Small catches and observations that filled any mind with lust of power and conquest. Shroud liked to keep these thoughts close, coddling them to grow but rarely acting on them. No, his place was to settle for now, grow and root within the community while it struggled for a breath. He would strike when he was finished growing, when his roots coiled around the most important place of all...underneath his enemies' feet. Nodding to Mok, he took a quick swig of the cheap whisky, hissing at the burn at the back of his throat. Wrenmae had never been much of a drinker and Shroud was ill accustomed to it as a result. He pushed the bottle aside, sighing and sitting back in his chair. The knife was on him, as was his other. Tonight nothing would stop him from achieving this first step in his Sunberth career. Mok was a good ally. They had already shed blood together and tonight felt as though it would be no different. What the Crimson Edge WAS, what it stood for...why it above all the others...he didn't know. Maybe it wasn't important enough to remember. But no other mercenary gang had so impressed the murderer, and so to the CE it was. To them and toast to victory. "Save your warnings," Shroud snapped at Mok, glaring at him, "I'm here aren't I? Is that not answer enough?" His blood was on fire tonight, hungry, waiting. It felt like leaping, it felt like pouncing. It felt like killing. Grabbing the whiskey he took one last swig and set it down, growling through the burn of the spirits against his throat, "What are we doing tonight, Mok, I'm prepared to bloody my blades if necessary."

[Mok]

"Good," Mok spat, "It is good to see the fire in your eyes my friend!"

Grabbing the bottle of whiskey back from Wrenmae, Mok finished the bottle in one long draught. The whiskey burned his throat but it was no matter. The feeling would go away momentarily.

Mok then immeadately explained the plan to Wrenmae, "Bounty on the head of a notorious criminal. Escaped from a prison somewhere, someplace. That doesn't matter to me. What matters is his head you see? Our job is to get his head... any means possible. Now we got to play this smart. We don't necissarly have to kill him, that might prove to be too difficult. Well just let others do the dirty work, then we will snatch it! YES! Rob them blind."

The myrian paused for a moment then continued, "But I get ahead of myself. We got to play this by ear you hear? Right now our job is to find this fool and scout the situation, you feel me? There is very little information on this guy, except that he is on run from another city. Why come to Sunberth? Freedom. His name means nothing here. No one would notice him right? We don't know anything else, but we do know he will remain low key and not try anything. It means he is probally hiding. But there is a small chance he isn't. Just maybe he has taken his freedom for granted. Maybe he has made his move already. It will only take a few minutes to figure this out. I suggest we talk to the Ephyrians down by Tall Johnny's and try to get some info first. What say you?"

Mok's mind was on the money to be made in this situation and nothing else. His thoughts were clear and his mind was on the buisness. The alcohol was only to keep the status quo.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

Shroud watched the Half blood as he explained, following the shapes of his lips, his arms lifting and falling, his hands splaying out, the expressions contouring his face. These were the languages of truth, the ones spoken not with tongue, but body. For Shroud, watching Mok speak alerted him of a few possibilities in the tangent. First, they knew little...and what little they knew was likely known by someone else as well. He sat back in his chair, eyes closed toward the end, thinking. The Ephyrians were a hard lot to deal with, always wanted cash upfront and their information was just broad enough that nothing was an overt lie. As far as intelligence gathering was concerned, it was safe to say that any information from them would either mean the man was too much to handle or they hadn't learned enough to pinpoint him themselves. As far as trials went, Shroud had been hoping for a more forward plan. "Very well," he said at last, opening his dark eyes and lacing his fingers together across the table, "So we have a quarry then, one that has gone to ground in a den of wolves. By that we know he's cocky, someone who thinks he can use the anarchy of Sunberth to his advantage." A pause. He thought a moment. "Probably a confident sword arm...or mage, we can't assume he's just an average brute. Something has him thinking that in a city of cutthroats that he has the upper hand. So...so we find him, what then? Do we tip off amateurs to throw themselves against his blade? If they get a lucky hit? If they call the Night Eyes or any of the other syndicates? No." He brought his fingers apart and slapped the table, hard. "We take the head before anyone knows...IF we even get that far. We split the bounty, obviously...but if any of the syndicates get word, we lose our bid. What makes you think the Ephyrians haven't already talked to other hunters?"

[Mok]

Mok sat a moment and pondered what Shroud had said. It was good that his friend had an opinion on the matter. That meant that Mok had not taken into account all sides of the equation. It was important that people of all different expertises worked together. Although Mok was an experienced sword arm, he wasn't the best at the intellegence part. Hence, the myrian took everything that the man said into consideration. He was not one to dismiss other people's input, even as a leader of the Crimson Edge. Although he had more experience than Shroud, he couldn't account for everything.

"Fair point. Now that I think about it, we won't be the first ones to go to the Ephyrians...Oh and the Ephyriand don't do bounties. They make their purse in the fights" Mok said to Wrenmae, "But no, we can't put our names into the hat just yet. I don't want any gang to know we are playing this game was well. Everything we do has to be under cover. Low key, you feel me? You are right though. Like you said, we need to find the location of the head first. That will tell us what to do next. We will just have to play it by ear at that point. I still say we go to the Ephyrians though. At least it will send us in the right direction, feel me? Plus so many people have gone through them, there won't be any word of our pursuit. Or do you know any better way to get us in on the right track?"

The myrian waited for Wrenmae's response. He gave full benefit of the doubt to his partner that night. It was not in Mok's place to judge him just yet. Until he proved his lack of knowledge, the myrian would consider his words. He just hoped that Shroud had a better idea than him. If not the two allies would embark on their quest, senses dulled with the bottle of alcohol. Mok sword was ready for blood.

As Wrename responded, Mok ordered another bottle from the counter with a single motion of his hand. They already knew what he wanted and they knew he could pay for it. He would save this for later though, once the duo had gotten thirsty.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

Fingers danced across the table, finally coming to rest briefly before Shroud was up and moving. "Up, Mok," Shroud said, standing himself and pushing toward the entrance of the tavern, "We have only so much moonlight." He hadn't anything else of importance to say, no defining wisdom or intelligence to offer. He had no name for the target, no identifying features, no assessment of skill. The Ephyrians worked for the casino first, as Mok said, but that was also Night Eyes territory. That syndicate stood stronger than their own, and more than likely they would run afoul of the group this eve, especially if there was killing to be done. Pushing open the front door, Shroud ran a hand across his arm in frustration, tempted to tear the skin from it in impotent rage. As trials went, this one held far too many loose ends. A depth of planning was not Mok's strong suite, but this was ludicrously funded, even for them. "Why not pick a fight with a syndicate," he offered, glowering, "Rather than playing hunter for a phantom with neither name nor description to aid our search." Pushing down a back alley, the murderer strode with a certain purpose. There was no give in his step, no stumble of hesitance. As they stepped into the NIght Eyes territory, his hand already strayed near his dagger, sheathed at the waist. Mok was in step behind him as they approached the doors to the casino, but Shroud hung back, looking to Mok. "They're your contacts first, not mine. Let's see if they can point us in a clear direction."

[Mok]

Grinning, the mad warrior rised with his lunatic friend. They were both truely mad. It was frightening just how calm they both where. Mok and Shroud laughed at death. They talked of this dangerous mission as a matter of fact. Any sane person would think twice about running with the big dogs of Sunberth. They were insane though, and they embraced the moment with no hesitation. No doubt entered their minds at all.

Shroud and Mok were one hundred gangsters; they walked the straights of fear with smiles on their faces.

In fact, Wrenmae mentioned to Mok a even more dangerous plan as they walked. He wanted to grind straight with one of Sunberth's syndicates. Bad idea, but good intentions. Wrenmae had the right frame of mind though.

"Listen, I can't deny your plan just yet, but if we can help it I don't want to cross paths with a syndicate. It could lead to alot of a trouble. Trust me Wrenmae. I asked earlier if you wanted to live forever, but that does not mean throwing your life away. Touch the wrong guy and your head is as good as gone."

The myrian wouldn't be able to stop him though. The die was already cast and it was too late to swim out of the tides of fate. All Mok could do was try to steer Shroud's young mind in the right direction. Wrenmae would become a fine gangster, but he needed to learn the laws of the streets first.

~~~~

Mok passed up Wrenmae with out a word and strutted towards the spot the Ephyrians where posted at. The myrian walked with purpose. He walked on the balls of his feet, always ready for flight or fight. The myrian walked big and with an aura of freewill. He was no badass though. He made no extra gestures. He gave eye contact to those whom deserved it, and he steered clear from the veterans. Mok wasn't very notorious, however he was not petched with even in this environment.

Walking straight up to the Ephyrians, the myrian openned, "Hey, what's good with it?"

The man responded with a grizzled handshake, "Shiit mang, same shiit different day, ya know?"

"Yeah, I feel yah."

"What you need, friend?"

"Shit, well you know, you see, I am trying to find the whereabouts of this guy. Has a bount on his head. Worth his weight in mizah. Anyways, have ya heard of a foreigner on the run with a price on his face?" Mok did not put the money up front. He had been here several times before and they knew of him.

"The Night Eyes are not interested in him..." the informant said.

Mok slipped him some mizah, "And?"

"No, no, no. You see, he isn't in the N.E. territory."

"Oh, I see...yup" Mok understood. The information wasn't local news so it would cost more, so he handed him more mizah.

"Good. A fugative was seen at the docks early in the dawn. Looks like the wanted poster arrived before the head. No other word on the matter."

"Understood. Be seeing you pal."

"Likewise. Take it easy my friend."

"Yup," Mok spitted.

Returning to the ally, Mok told Wrenmae the news, "Looks like we head over to the docks then? Or any other ideas?"

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

Shroud was not idle in Mok's absence, never so foolish as to waste time. Instead he slid his gaze over the rough textures of the building, the shapes of the guards that stood near the doors, stone faced and chiseled. Two men came in, two came out, and yet Mok had not yet returned. To these individuals, Shroud scrutinized them, memorizing the hints of texture to their face, the way they swung their arms, the body. The first was nursing an injury in his right leg, the tell was the half breath of pause before he placed it in front of the other. Gentle, tenuous. He did not want to appear injured and certainly played his role rather well. The man after him held all the features of an ordinary man, nothing distinguishing about him...down to the choice of clothes. This one Shroud watched the closest. Nothing was more out of place than someone who had worked too hard to appear unimpressive. The hint of dirt around his cheeks, the way his nails, while dirty, looked trimmed and cared...this was a man of money who had come to a place of darkness for words. Perhaps he was a cutthroat himself, playing the role of the brigand to satisfy a darker craving. Perhaps desperation drove him. The storyteller within him reached out, begged that he talk, inquire, learn. But Mok was back and he wordlessly nodded, heading towards the docks with the barbarian. The night cut a swath through their path, alighting their foots with shadows and a lack of concern. They looked for a man that they had not met themselves. The prisoner, his initiation, all of it was tied to a series of indebted reactions. They needed to find the man, so he had to play pander to a beggar. Of course these pitiless shades lined the corners of streets, dusty bones creaking as they reached for coin no one every saw them spend. It was one of these that Shroud approached, waving two silver mizas between his fingers. "Fair night," Shroud greeted, keeping his voice low. "Petching cold," the beggar snapped, retreating a bit into the darkness, "What do you want?" Shroud smiled, tossing the coins at his feet. But the man did not bend to pick them up...yet. "Someone who does not belong, maybe keeping his head to the shadows and a hand to steel." "Plenty of men like that," came the answer, "Everyone scared o' getting killed by something." He scowled, fetching out a gold rimmed miza and tossing it as well. "He'll be a man on a wanted poster, maybe looking for a place to hole up, secret place. Won't be staying long I'd wager, not in a city of cutthroats." A grin answered him, the man dropping down and scrabbling at the coins. "City's a perfect place to start anew young'n, plenty of men who don't give a petch about the past, just the strength of the arm." Another gold miza followed the length of Shroud's arm, bouncing off the stone. It would do no good to threaten this fool, he wouldn't speak if he didn't know...too cold to die, and if he was going to, he would do it on his own terms. Petching filth. "Not looking to let him seek employment," Shroud hissed, "I think a few more mizas and two more for a warm bed tonight says you don't care if he finds that safe harbor." The beggar looked up at him, pausing, face grave. "I am no slave. You can't buy my secrets and my freedom. I'll tell you boy, but not because of your coin." He shivered, pulling his rags close to him. "Does us no honor to have another monster prowling the streets. Better to let the monsters fight, makes it easier." Shroud nodded, silent. "I saw him pass this way three bells back, sent him to the shack three streets down, quiet place, just ruined enough to keep the sellswords looking and just upright enough to offer a little shelter." Shroud nodded and turned from the alley, nodding at Mok to follow him down the street. "Wait!" The beggar cried out, his hand a claw of enfeebled skin and bone, "My coin?" Shroud spit on the ground and kept walking, calling back over his shoulder as he motioned his friend on, "Let your honor warm you tonight, I'll spend no coin for your morals."

[Mok]

Mok spat in twisted delight. Wrenmae was turning out to be a great choice for the ranks of the Crimson Edge. Mok chortled at the fact that Shroud had played the beggar like a well-tuned fiddle. It was just great! The myrian gangster would never be able to accomplish such a feat, no, never. Shroud seemed to just have that knack to get what he wanted out of people using only words. Although Mok could accomplish the same with torture, Wren had found the location of the man to an exact point without wasting a single breath or any time. Simply amazing! Mok was sold, not only had this prospect proven he in the most notorious and bloody situations, but he had also shown his usefulness. He was a thinker, not just a sword for hire. Perfect.

The myrian wasted no words sharing his thoughts. It was all about business now. Their goal was to find this man’s head and nothing else. Conversation was best left at the tavern. Following the beggar’s directions, Mok found himself at the edge of the alley that was pointed out to him; it was an extremely narrow way which meant there was only one way in and out.

Drawing his blade, Mok took point. As soon as he entered the shadows, the warrior began to sprint. He could feel Wrenmae moving close behind. Within in moments they were upon the house. The door was closed though, so Mok crouched on the right side of the entrance next to the handle. The gangster motioned Shroud to take his place behind the myrian.

Grabbing the door handle and pushing in, Mok let the door swing open. He didn’t run in yet, but remained behind the cover of the wall. If the man was armed and waiting, that would save Mok from an unfortunate accident. Holding his breath, Mok waited for several seconds.

There was only one way the myrian was going to be able to survive the upcoming encounter. Closing his eyes, Mok called upon the darkness in his heart. As usual he let the blackness consume his soul. Pure evil and malice. He pushed away all his doubts and fears and embraced the situation, embracing his own death. He knew that beyond that door was a man ready to kill; a man with nothing left to live for, ready to take Shroud and Mok into the afterlife. That’s when the gangster realized that there was nothing else that he could do but make the moved.


Then he turned the corner. For a full moment the warrior was in surprising disbelief as he saw nothing but blackness. A moment later the whole room flashed blinding white. The bounty had been waiting and had slammed Mok in the head with a piece of wood. The man had hit Mok hard enough to make him fall, but not hard enough to knock him out. The myrian instinctively grabbed the man's ankles and attempted to flip him over.

The rest would be left to Wrenmae.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common