[Ravok Quest] Havoc in Ravok (Quest Participants Only)

by **Roman** on April 15th, 2011, 11:41 am

"Please try to keep still sir, you might make the wound worse if you move around so much!" the ebonstryfe symbol, even though it was informing him about the consequences of letting this man die on his table, they already had his life in their hands now due to his first mistake, if he let this one die he would probably be killed on the spot! quickly shaking his head and pushing that thought away before he panicked, panic would only make this worse.
"Sir hold on for a moment, I am going to tie you down to keep you from moving and opening the wound even more."
He reached for the two long over-sized leather straps he kept around for exactly this type of situation.

"Now lay still for a moment as I strap you in." Roman's concern for the man only grew when he once again convulsed, some blood oozing out of the wound again. He really needed to get that wound closed as soon as possible before the man bled to death.
Restraining the man as fast as he could so that he could go back to trying to save the mans life.

Now that he could work without the man moving around and ripping open his stitches and damaging himself even more he gave the wound another careful cleaning before taking his needle and thread, quickly dipping the needle in the alcohol to sterilize it before slipping the thread through the eye of the needle before carefully beginning to stitch the wound close. Keeping an eye out for any complication's that could rear its head.

by **Alenias** on April 15th, 2011, 2:47 pm

The smelly man who had been behind Alenias had drawn several frightened looks from her before, but when Aello told her to go help the bar maid up she scampered over to the woman with an angry glare for the man. From what Aello was saying these weren't bad men, like the ones who had tried to take her away before, but they were smelly and rude men.

Only when she knelt down next to the woman did Alenias stop glaring at the man, and she gave the bar maid a smile as she offered her a hand to help her up, "Don't worry, Aello is really strong," she said reassuringly to the woman, and then glared at the smelly man next to them, "She killed a huge wolf all by herself."

She understood the concept of puffing yourself up to look bigger and scarier than you were, and guessing this was what Aello was doing, she tried her best to help out. She glared at the men and nodded with the scary things Aello was saying, and when Aello mentioned she would enjoy their screams and cries for help she did her best job to grin in a scary manner, "Yeah, I wanna hear ya cry for mercy!"

As the two waited for the men's response Alenias glanced around the room and the people nearby to try and find a weapon she could use. If it did turn into a fight she wanted to do more than she had done with the wolf.

by **Cassandra Coven** on April 15th, 2011, 3:53 pm

Cassandra froze, like a rabbit caught square in the sights of a hawk, as the gloved hand shot out to enclose around her wrist. The strength behind it was inhuman, the sensation like being bound by manacles, and the barmaid could no more resist the force behind it as the robed man pulled her close than she could stop the beating of her own heart. Her face was drained of all color as the man whispered in her ear, and she did her best to paste an expressionless facade on her face as she absorbed his request.

Deep inside, fear gripped her heart, however.

Whatever the Acolyte was asking her to put into the food of the handsome man, it was sure to be nothing good. It could be poison or a dangerous drug of some sort. Every fiber in the young woman's being screamed at her not to obey, but she knew that to do so was tantamount to signing her own death warrant. She really had no choice in the matter. Not if she wanted to live.

And so when the Acolyte released her with a slap to her buttocks, Cassandra's reaction was automatic, turning upon the man's companions the full force of her charm. Full lips, slightly parted, curved into a blatantly suggestive smile as she drew close to the two cronies, her free arm settling lightly on the shoulders of one of them.

"And the same drinks for you gentlemen as well?" she asked, as perfect a cover up to the Acolyte's actions as she could think of. "I'll bring out the house special for all of you then."

She parted their company with a wink, sliding her fingers along the length of the arm of the man she had touched as she walked away. Her hips swayed a little more prominently as she sashayed into the kitchen, certain that everyone's eyes were on her. She forced herself to keep up the act until the swinging door closed behind her.

Only then, when she was finally alone, did the trembling start.

They want me to poison him! Even in her own mind, her thoughts sounded panicked and horrified.

Cassandra paced back and forth over the kitchen floor as her mind whirled on what she should do. She did not know what the Black Sun had against the handsome stranger but she was certain their purpose for using her as a tool was not for good or justice. The man did not seem a bad sort, to her at least. She did not want him to end up in Black Sun's cruel hands. But should she even interfere with what was most likely a government-sanction activity? The Acolyte and his men were for the ruling body of the city after all.

"Oh Priskil, guide me," the dark-haired barmaid said in prayer. The words sounded hollow in her ears. Did she not do evil things with her delicate yet deceptively deadly hands? The crimes she committed - by herself and with no one to force her - always ended with a life taken. Was she not the same as these Black Sun?

No, there's a difference! What I do is needed for my own survival!

She knew there was no time to argue with herself over her dilemma, for the Acolyte might become suspicious if she spent too long inside the kitchen. Taking one of the pieces of chalks used by Mama to write on the board outside what meals the tavern served for the day, Cassandra wrote three words on her serving tray, only large enough to be readable up close. And then she piled the tray with the man's meal and drink (a mug of ale) and three Silver Slivers for the Acolyte and his men, making sure to sprinkle the contents of the small pouch onto the meal and the ale. She picked up a damp cloth and stuffed it in the pocket of her apron before going back to the main room.

The scene she returned to almost seemed normal, with everyone enjoying their free drinks. The three men were still there however and it was back to putting up an act for Cassandra. Her seductive smile returned as she sauntered over the Acolyte's table, serving tray expertly balanced high above her head with one hand. It was to ensure that nobody saw what she had written, though she had made sure to cover the text with the plate of food. One by one, she distributed the mugs of Silver Sliver to the three individuals, giving out flirty one liners to each as she did so. It was all an elaborate ruse, one she knew she had to maintain until the very end so for the three Black Sun, the stranger, and for herself most of all.

That done, she proceeded to the table of the handsome man with the silver tongue. Cassandra made a show of wiping the man's table with the damp cloth before she set down the tray on it, neatly arranging the mug of ale and the plate of food in front of him. The action also revealed the warning she had written on the tray. In clearly readable script, small enough that only the two of them could decipher it, the following words were written: "Both are poisoned."

Cassandra held the tray down just long enough for the man to read the message, and she even positioned her body so that it covered what she was doing from the three men at the other table. Hoping that her warning had been received, she placed the damp rag over on the tray, covering up the message. The cloth would absorb the chalk and wipe away any trace of what she had written, removing all evidence that she had warned him. What he chose to do with that warning was up to him now.

"I hope you enjoy your meal, sir," she concluded, an ending for her little act. "If there's anything else you would like, please let me know. I'm here for anything you need."

And then she was off again, looking for other patrons to serve, but mostly just to keep away from the three Black Suns.

by **Crismento Miren** on April 15th, 2011, 8:37 pm

Crismento watched Cassandra walking away and being stopped by one of the three men. He thought he had lost his waitress for that evening, but it turned out to only be a peculiar way of ordering something. Cris couldn’t blame the man. He barely resisted the temptation himself, deciding to act more subtly, but the man that may have been drunk with power might have felt he was fully entitled to behave in such manner. And he probably was, as nobody else in the tavern protested.

Cris didn’t join the loud approval of the free drinks, but just wondered, for his own amusement, if the drinks that were ordered just moments ago were included in this generous offer that was so obviously intended to appease the patrons and make them forget about the minor incident. A simple technique, quite effective, but likely attracting too much attention. Cris could imagine drunken clients coming over to his table after pulling such stunt, thanking him and trying to begin a friendship, which would probably last only until sobering up. That would be rather distracting from the issue at hand, unless that was the issue at hand. Networking while pulling of a rich, carefree, larger than life persona? Trying to impress somebody important?

His analysis was interrupted by the sight of Cassandra returning with his order. ”Welcome back, darling, my saviour,” Cris greeted her still wearing the same smile she had left him with. Anything else he had been ready to say have been left to be unspoken as a short message written on the tray had been revealed while Cassandra was placing his meal and a drink on the table. The three words immediately ruined his whole evening. Crismento’s heart skipped a beat and then decided to make up for it by slowly increasing the rate at which it was operating. He was caught completely off guard. Cris looked up at the waitress, his surprised eyes asking for some sort of further explanation. But she had none to give, instead offering him a couple simple, ordinary phrases that went with the meal at places like this and sounded rather cold given the current circumstances.

Cris was left alone and his mind finally caught up with what was going on and sprang into action. Someone was trying to kill him! Crismento quickly took the liberty of shortening the rather lengthy list of possible suspects to fit with the conditions. He quickly looked around the tavern trying very hard to keep his face from reflecting the nervousness he felt inside. Cris hadn’t noticed any familiar faces earlier and nobody he could recognize popped into his sight now. Cassandra was off the list, too, as her message was definitely more of a warning than a threat, telling him to comply by force. But the way she acted suggested that someone was watching her. Was it somebody from the kitchen hiding behind the doors and watching the scene through the gap? Maybe… But perhaps a more likely possibility was the three government men. Was it a coincidence that they were there? And that display from earlier; was it a coincidence, too? But even if they were the ones behind it, Crismento struggled to come up with a reason they might have had to kill him. And if there was one, why did they act so subtly? He wasn’t an important public figure, so they could’ve just shouted “Criminal!” or “Traitor!” and ended him then and there without any trouble. Or just waited for Cris outside the tavern, stabbed him and thrown his dead body into a canal, never to be found. The thought gave him some hope, that whatever this poison was, it might have been not lethal. Or it could’ve been someone in the kitchen just waiting for Crismento’s instant death, after all.

One thing that Cris knew for certain, though, was that he was taking too long with his thinking. There were a very limited number of options of what Cris could do. Ideally of course, he would send the meal back and ask for another one, preferably with less poison this time. Or maybe he would just outright stand up and leave. Inside his mind, however, he already knew the only real course of action that he had to take. Arousing suspicion was not part of the plan, so he couldn’t just sit there, further examining his food. There was little reason to do that, too. Cris knew nothing about poisons, so trying to sniff his ale or food would just look foolish. Anything more subtle that a sign saying it was poisoned would have gone by him unnoticed, and he had already been shown the sign.

Crismento didn’t know what effects to expect, so he assumed that faking it might fail. And if someone was really trying to kill him via poisoning, they had to be assured that Cris felt for their ploy. He raised the mug and smiled to himself. ”Cheers, Rhysol!” Crismento thought as he took a gulp that was bigger than a man, who knew he was drinking poison, should’ve taken. Cris didn’t know how much was left for him now. A day? A couple of chimes? A brief moment to reflect on his short life? He had taken a risk bigger than he was supposed to, but now he was committed to it. Crismento moved on to his meal. The only consolation was that if it was to be his last one, at least it tasted good.

About halfway through Crismento realised it was definitely less than a day he had left. It was harder to focus his thoughts, and though it was too early for his bedtime, his body seemed to disagree. Cris frowned as if he didn’t like the taste of his meal and pushed away the plate. He reached for his pouch and even though his fingers slightly struggled to cooperate, he finally managed to fish out a few coins, enough to cover his bill. Crismento left the payment beside his plate as he stood up feeling a slight swirl in his head. There was no time to spare and he had to hurry. He had to get everything that he had eaten outside of him. Ideally somewhere far away from the tavern, but even just around the corner would do, given the pace at which the poison, or hopefully drug, was progressing. Best case scenario, he would leave the content of his stomach near somebody’s wall and would be presumed dead. Worst case scenario, he would collapse and die on his way out. ”Perhaps, I’m not all that smart after all,” Crismento thought.

OOCThe post got a little out of hand, and ended up being needlessly long

by **Verilian** on April 28th, 2011, 2:27 am

Reaver

If there was a ghost around it did not answer Reaver when he spoke to it and the Nuit was left in silence. His house was empty, save for the locked coffin and a few items of little worth. Whoever had robbed his house did not have much finesse, having left a bit of a mess behind. They obviously had come in through the front door but there were no signs of forced entry. Either the thief was good with the lock pick or the door was already open. Perhaps Reaver had left it ajar when he left? No other signs were apparent and just as Reaver was about to give up he noticed something, a note tacked to the wall with a small dagger. How had he missed that before? ..or had it just appeared? The parchment was faded and wrinkled as if very old. The dagger keeping it in place was fairly unremarkable and easily removed. The parchment had been tacked to the wall face down, though there were some numbers written on back.

3-8-1-15-19

Reaver turned over the parchment to see the other side and was surprised to find an old map of Ravok. Before he had a chance to look it over closely, however, everything around him changed. Suddenly he was in another building, too large to be his house. He was no longer holding the map, but had a long sword dripping with blood in his hand. The first thing about his new surroundings he noticed was that it was very hot and there was smoke... Everywhere. He was in a burning building apparently. He also might notice he was wearing his mask again and in his left hand he clutched a sack. Through the smoke and flames Reaver could make out four very important things. The first, and most important, was the door. The next, and blocking his path to the door, was a man clenching a nasty sword wound... probably caused by the dripping blade in Reaver's right hand. The other two things were bodies, both dead men. One of them was missing his head completely, the other has a strange perfectly circular wound in his chest right where his heart should have been... As of it and the flesh around it had simply vanished. Reaver also felt magically drained, as if he had recently used a moderate sum of djed.

The injured man glared at Reaver, his eyes full of hate. "I'll die before I let you leave!" The man barely seemed to have the strength to issue his threat yet he somehow managed to not only do that but to also charge forward toward Reaver. What he hoped to accomplish in his current state Reaver could only imagine, but it was clear if he wanted to escape the burning building alive he would have to deal with the man. Flames roared and smoke billowed all around them, and while the smoke wouldn't bother Reaver the flames certainly could. If he didn't escape soon he would be trapped.

OOC :

Cassandra

When Crismento stumbled out of the tavern the Acolyte nodded to his two Stryfe who stood simultaneously and followed the drugged man out of the tavern. Cassandra did not see any of them for the rest of the night, though the Acolyte remained in the tavern for some time sipping from his mug. At times he seemed to be watching Cassandra, but other times it seemed he was just staring off into space. Truly it was hard to tell anything from those colorless eyes, but Cassandra could feel them on her from time to time. After a bell or two he stood and left the tavern quietly, leaving three stacks of coins, five high each, of golden mizas on the table as tip. The rest of Cassandra's shift passed without event and finally it was time to go home.

When Cassandra entered her room and closed the door she was met with another unfortunate surprise. A voice spoke up behind her, "An excellent job, Miss Coven." It was the Acolyte from earlier! In her home! He seemed to be alone, though the thought would do little to comfort her, and was leaning against the far wall, a subtle smile barely visible on his lips in the flickering light of the lone candle in the room. Candle lit? How did she miss that when she walked in? It should have been dark. But it didn't matter now, she was alone in the room with the Acolyte. She could try to run, perhaps, but what good would it do? He knew her name, where she lived, where she worked, and who knows what else.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the man said as he pushed off the wall and approached slowly. "Trevinus Nitrozian, Acolyte of the Black Sun, at your service." He stopped barely an arms length away from Cassandra, that smile still on his lips. He was of average height, had short brown hair, an expensive ring on his left hand. Were it not for the two pale eyes one might have said he had a handsome face, but the pale emotionless orbs were too disturbing to get past. "I know what I requested was difficult for you..." Trevinus took another step closer, his white orbs staring into hers. "But you performed marvelously." As he spoke Cassandra found herself unable to look away, unable to even move without much effort. Her mind screamed in alarm, but at the same time told her she should not run. She wasn't able to move until he finally broke eye contact, glancing down at her hands.

"You carry a terrible burden." He reached gently for Cassandra's gloved hand, the one bearing the mark, though he would not appear offended it she pulled away and would simply keep speaking. "Do not fear for the man from earlier, you will see him again soon I think. Know that you have been of great service to me, and to the Black Sun." His eyes locked onto hers again, and Cassandra felt the strangest sensation of desire for the man. "Perhaps... you could do me another service?" If he was holding her hand the Acolyte pulled Cassandra closer, eliminating the space between them. If he was not already holding her hand he would step forward, one hand reaching for her wrist as he pushed her against the wall. Either way Cassandra could feel the desire in his... region, and though he did not have her pinned firmly Cassandra got the feeling refusal would not be met warmly.

OOC :

Crismento

As soon as Crismento exited the tavern the Acolyte nodded to his two Stryfe who stood and followed the drugged man out the door. Crismento could feel the fatigue coming on quickly and could barely walk even a few steps before stumbling to his knees and being forced to crawl if he wanted to go any further. Darkness was creeping in around the corner of his eyes, and he knew it was too late. Still, he could try to vomit the contents of his stomach if he wished, but he would only end up lying face down in a messy pile of ale and food. Crismento might notice the two figures grabbing his arms and hauling him up, but he completely blacked out before he ever had the chance to resist.

The next thing he knew he felt cold stone beneath his feet. As his consciousness was slowly regained he noticed more details about his surroundings. He was in a stone room, lit by torches. He was sitting in a wooden chair, his hands were bound to the ground by long chains that would allow him full use of his arms, but nothing more than that. And he was not alone. Sitting across the room from him in a similar chair, though minus the chains, was a vaguely familiar face. It wasn't someone he knew personally, that much was certain, though perhaps it was someone he had met in passing at one point in time. Behind the man was one of the Stryfe from the bar, and if Cris checked behind his own back the other Stryfe was standing there.

"Well, well.. Crismento Miren," the mystery man in the chair addressed him, leaning forward slightly. His accent was easily recognizable as Zeltivan. "I must say, after all my employer told me about you I would have expected you to be a bit more impressive. Ah, but where are my manners. I am Leeland Seawarden, though you might better know me as The Shark." Crismento had heard the name before, though he likely knew little more than anyone else did about The Shark. The man was a mercenary/assassin, one usually employed by the Zeltivan criminal underground, and rumor had it a very effective one. "I am here to take you back to Zeltiva, dead or alive. I thank my friends here for making it so easy." The Shark began to stand, but a quick movement from the Stryfe behind him and he was shoved back into his chair, holding him firmly in place. "What are you doing? What is the meaning of this!?"

"Change of plans, Shark," the man behind Crismento responded coldly. Meanwhile the other Strye quickly snapped a pair of shackles to the Shark, drawing more confused shouts of protest. "I'm sorry, but his skills could be useful to us." The soldier stepped around Crismento and faced him. "This man came to us requesting help in your capture, Crismento Miren. He told us all about your activities in Zeltiva and demanded we help capture you." The Ebonstryfe glanced over his shoulder at the now restrained Shark, then looked back to Cris and reached for his wrists, unlocking his bindings. "The Ebonstryfe does not respond wells from demands by outsiders. ...and we happen to need someone with your talents. I offer you a deal. Your life, for your services until we relieve you of them. Or you can go with him, and an escort of city guard to ensure you do not escape." The Stryfe drew his sword, offering the hilt end to Crismento. "End this Shark's life now if you accept. Refuse and your life is forfeit."

Roman

Roman found luck was on his side as he worked on the man's wound. While his patient did flinch from time to time the straps did what they were designed to do and held the man in place, allowing Roman to work on him without further injuring him. Once he got going time seemed to fly by and before he knew it Roman had the wound stitched and cleaned. Checking the man over Roman was able to doctor up any other cuts the man had before finishing up. The man, who had somehow managed to keep his consciousness throughout the entire procedure quietly whispered his thanks before promptly passing out cold. It was as if he had been determined to stay awake and make sure he didn't die, but with the danger gone he was able to sleep soundly.

If Roman thought he would be doing the same he was mistaken. Perhaps a bell after his patient had fallen asleep and Roman was finishing any remaining chores that came after a bloody operation there sounded another knock on the door. When he opened it he was met by the cold gaze and black armor of one of the Ebonstryfe. The man was accompanied by two others, also bearing the garments and emblems of the Ebonstryfe. Furthermore, he was accompanied by three men wearing the uniform of the city guard. All were armed, all wore serious expressions on their faces, and all appeared ready to jump at the slightest provocation. And then the leader among then smiled.

"Roman, I presume? It has come to our attention you have taken on a patience of particular interest to us. ..Rhysol thanks you for caring for the people of his city. But.. the man in your care is a criminal and a traitor. It would please us if he did not make it through the night."

The Stryfe did not wait for an answer, but instead turned with his men and left Roman in stunned silence. After all that, after all his work to save the man, the Ebonstryfe wanted him to kill the man. Would Roman do it, or would be deny their request?

Aello & Alenias

The man seemed taken aback by Aello's words... at first, but slowly a smile began to creep across his lips. Then he began to chuckle, and finally he fell into all out laughter prompting his less intelligent companion to start laughing too. This went on for a chime or two before the leader of the two finally stopped to catch his breath and drew a serious expression, eyes locking with AelloAnd Hypnotizing her!!! Lol, jk.'s. "Those are some pretty big words for such a little girl," the man said with a slightly amused tone. "Let's see if you can back them up." In one swift motion the man snatched Aello's bow off the table and cracked it right into the barmaid's face who had just gotten back on her feet. She crumpled, probably knocking Alenias to the ground with her, and hit the ground losing consciousness. The bow left a red mark across the maids face, prompting a renewed bout of laughter from the dumb one as the lead man turned back to face Aello.

"Jug, you deal with the little one. This one's mine."

The man apparently known as Jug nodded happily and reached down for Alenias, yanking her back to her feet. "You and me are gonna have fun." Jug shoved her hard, easily sending Alenias flying into a nearby table, startling the patron who had until this point been trying to ignore the conflict. The men at the table from which Jug and the unnamed leader had come cheered merrily, laughing and clapping. As the stunned patron, dripping in spilled ale and food, backed away from his table and the kelvic that crashed into it, Jug began closing in. Meanwhile the other man waited patiently for Aello to make her move.

OOC :

OOCAello - Sorry, it's my job to turn you psycho. ^^
Cris - No worries, I love long posts.

by **Cassandra Coven** on April 28th, 2011, 12:59 pm

Cassandra kept one eye out on the handsome stranger as she went about working the other tables, careful not to make her surveillance too obvious to the three Ebonstryfe lest she give away her interest in what would happen next. She wondered what the man would do with the information she had provided him. Part of her wanted him to be able to save his life from her efforts, but what he did instead almost made her trip as she walked across the tavern with a tray full of drinks.

The man still ate the meal despite her warning. Was he illiterate, perhaps, and could not understand her writing, she wondered. And then she realized that he had done that so as not to arouse the suspicion of the three men on the nearby table and, quite possibly, to protect her from their wrath as well for deigning to help him. As the man stumbled out the tavern doors, his meal left only half eaten, Cassandra's heart went out to him, even as the Acolyte's cronies followed in his wake.

The Acolyte stayed for a little over an hour, not doing much but watch Cassandra. The dark-haired barmaid could feel his unnatural gaze upon her the whole time she had been working and it made her skin crawl. It was fortunate that he did not call her over for refills or any other order. When he finally stood and made his exit, he left a very generous amount of mizas on the table, whether to pay for the round of drinks he called earlier or as tip, Cassandra did not know. But none of the other barmaids wanted to touch it; Cassandra knew it was for her and her alone. Reluctantly, she went over the now empty table to clean it up. She almost did not want to touch the neat stacks of mizas.

Working for the 'Stryfe now, are you Cassandra? A paid assassin, are we? her conscience vehemently asked her. She had not felt as miserable as she did then when she realized the truth of her words. The man was probably dead by now, his body dumped into the waters of Ravok Lake, to be fished out by a random boatman. Or worse, sitting in a dungeon and tortured, making him wish he had indeed died instead. She shuddered at her imaginations.

She must have stood there for quite a while, as one of the snootier barmaids sauntered over and poked her in the ribs, and whispered in a nasty tone, "You going to get that or what? The rest of us could use a little help with the remaining patrons, if her highness can be disturbed."

Guiltily, Cassandra pocketed the coins before moving off to assist on serving new orders for food and drink. The rest of her shift remained uneventful, though the other barmaids passed her looks of what she could only describe as envy, as if the service she had rendered for the Acolyte and his men were something to be proud of.

What is wrong with these people?! she wondered, not for the first time.

Eventually, her shift ended and she thankfully headed for him across the plaza, thankful that everything was over and done with. She would try not to think about the fate of the handsome man, but she would keep an eye and ear out tomorrow for any news of his fate. She hoped and prayed that his body being fished out of the lake would not be the talk of the ravosala drivers in the morning.

She entered her room and was about to start the motions of stripping to change into her night clothes, so tired that she did not even wonder why there was a lighted candle in her room when she had yet to light one, when a voice spoke from behind her. Fearfully, she turned around, her fingers stopping their work on the buttons of her blouse.

It was the Acolyte!

He was in her home! Cassandra did not know how he got inside, all she could think off was running away. But the man's gaze held her, froze her in place, like a rabbit cornered by a wolf. Try as she might, she found that she could not look away from those pale, expressionless eyes. When he spoke, it only completed the hypnotic spell he seemed to be weaving - Cassandra knew she was trapped and there was no getting away.

The man moved near, and Cassandra's mind screamed at her with growing urgency with each of his steps. Strangely, the mental voice seemed to belong to another, a man who was a regular visitor of her home, telling her to "run, little mouse, run!" But the Acolyte, Trevinus Nitrozian as he introduced himself, continued speaking, his voice lulling her into apathy such that even her mind's voice quieted down. She could still not help but regard him with fear, however.

When he took her hand, the gloved hand that hid cursed Krysus' mark, his gaze led hers to it, as if letting her know that he knew what lay underneath. His words only confirmed it. Cassandra paled, losing any lingering resistance in her that she could not even pull her hand away from his vile touch, no matter how much she wanted to. She had been discovered. They knew!

It was easy then for the man to pull her to him, and when he asked for another service for her to perform, she knew without a doubt what he wanted - the stiff content of his pants pressing against her flesh told her in no uncertain terms what she had to do for him. It reviled her, this stranger asking her to do such a thing for him, like she was some...some...some common whore! She should fight him, her mind shouted, resist his insidious words and earn herself some respect! Vaguely, she remembered the stiletto dagger that was sheathed and hidden beneath the hem of her skirt. Her free hand drifted close to it, as if contemplating to pull it out and then stabbing the man in the neck...in the chest...in the eye...those damnable eyes...

And then she remembered who it was that stood before her and, for the second time in the span of a few minutes, her will to fight, to resist, to struggle against the Acolyte's dominance, died a premature death. She knew she could no more fight him than the rest of the citizenry could fight the whole of the Black Sun. They gave the people life, they gave her life, allowing her to live, relatively unharmed and in peace, in their city. Even for all the evils she had committed in the darkness, in the shadows, hurting and killing the unwary, they had not taken her away to be punished. For what they had given her, how could she resist such a small and simple request? Especially when the consequences of refusal could be oh so dire? As she reached this conclusion, Cassandra felt herself in agreement with the second, more insistent voice, whispering in her mind that to please the Acolyte was to please herself. It had been playing the man into a good light the whole time it had made itself known in her head...which was about the same time the man started speaking, if she thought about it. Which she did not, for the decision now seemed quite obvious to her.

"I...I am here to serve, my lord," Cassandra whispered, her voice catching in her throat. Somewhere inside of her, she knew, a part of herself died as she uttered those words. But she ignored all of that, as she prepared her mind - and body - for what she had to do for this man before her.

Her free hand, hovering close to her skirt before, now changed direction and move to undo the Acolyte's belt. It would be a night of pleasure for him...and for her as well, but only in body. It would be one of misery for her spirit.

Almost unseen, a tear fell from her eye as she freed her other hand to help ease the man of his trappings.

by **Aello** on April 28th, 2011, 3:49 pm

As soon as the sound of Alenias crashing into a nearby table reached Yune's ears, she fluttered away from Aello and her opponent, and towards the girl. She touched down lightly on the Kelvic's right shoulder, and began to tug on her cloak, as though willing the girl to get up. She was chirping rather wildly, as though she were giving Alenias a warning perhaps, or telling the girl how to proceed. After a few moments of this, Yune unwound her tiny feet from the Kelvic's cloak, and flew up into the tavern's rafters. From there, she stared angrily down at everything was happening. She was chirping about something which Aello could not tell. Perhaps it was some sort of insult directed at her opponents, or some advice for her. Whatever it was, she didn't speak bird, and listening, proved worthless.

Thus, Aello ignored her bird, and allowed her eyes to pass from one person to another. First, to Jug, and then the maid, and then the leader. It was as though she no longer knew where to look, who she should turn to first. Finally, she decided to simply go down the line. Aello started with Jug. Her blade was held out before her, and tilted towards the man. It was pointing directly at this neck. "You will keep your filthy hands off Alenias," she growled. The blood on the cursed blade seemed to flash as angrily as the eyes of the woman who wielded it as she continued, "although, even if you stop now, it may be too late for you." There was a slight pause, "but then again, you're more likely to receive a mercy killing if you stop."

The next person Aello turned to was the barmaid. Her dagger was pointed at the woman's chest. Her voice was quieter now, but still a little icy, "you really should get out of the way." There was a slight pause, "and you might want to get something to help with that red mark on your face. Unless you want to try a doctor, you know, just to make sure he didn't break anything." The last person Aello turned to was the leader. Her dagger was pointed directly at his Adam's apple as she spoke, her voice icy, dripping with disdain. "And you had best but that bow down on the table." Aello took another step closer to her opponent, away from the table. When this turned into a fight, she would need all the help she could get.

Aello's palm continued to sweat, and her grip upon the dagger's hilt was loosening a bit. But she ignored it, along with the pounding of her heart. "And if you expect to live, you may want to quit underestimating your opponents," Aello snarled. Out of the corner of her eye, she could just make out what she thought was the barmaid trying to scurry away again. She ignored this too. "But then again, your weaknesses are your opponents advantages." There was another small pause as she took a half step closer to him. She lowered her arm, and twisted the dagger in her hand. Now, the blade was pointed towards her. Time to make his face our latest work of art. Time to add his blood to our blade. His name to our list of kills, Aello's mind whispered as she simply stared the man down.

"Ready?" Aello shouted as her right foot shot forward, along with her arm. As she brought her arm farther forward, the blade shot outward, and to the right side. It seemed to twist in a small half circle as it inched closer and closer to the man's neck. Aello's body had turned at the waist, and now, her chest was no longer pointed at him, but at a table to her left. Her fingers seemed to tingle as she watched her body move; in anticipation for what was bound to happen. Surely, after all, this man was too drunk to pose much of a problem. Or too large and incapable of swift movements; something.

But Aello was wrong. The man took an easy step back and out of the way. Aello growled. Feed off your anger, let it bring something more to your attacks. Let it fill you so you can destroy him, and then help Alenias. Surely that clown, Jug, is an even easier kill than this man will prove to be. Aello smiled weakly as she allowed her arm to follow through with the move. It was headed towards her left shoulder in a wide arc, when she stepped forward with her left foot, and brought the blade back in the opposite direction. Towards where it had started. The blade was sailing through the air in another crescent shape, back towards the man's right side, when he stepped back again, easily dodging Aello's latest advance.

Aello's brows furrowed and she grit her teeth angrily. Filthy bastard needs to learn how to die, she thought, as she stared at her with what appeared to be an amused grin upon his face. It seemed to convey: is that the best you can do? Because if that's all you've got, than you're surely no match for me. Aello's eyes narrowed as she took a few steps back. She was facing the man head on now, and he was doing the same. Although, it was apparent that her chest was beginning to rise and fall a little more rapidly than his. That she was angry, and starting to get a little winded.

He must have a weakness, Aello thought, as her eyes passed over him again. Everyone has a weakness. Perhaps he can dodge, but not attack? Aello thought, as she slowly raised her blade again. Her arm was bent, and the tip of the blade was pointed towards the ceiling. The blade itself was level with the center of her chest. Her legs were bent slightly, and her muscles were tense. She was more than ready to spring into action.

Several beads of sweat had appeared on Aello's brow, attempting to cool off the burning sensation in her cheeks; something she had been ignoring, so intent was she on this man's destruction. Slowly, she raised her left hand so that it was level with her blade. They were seven inches apart from each other. She curled her fingers, and cupped her hand. She moved the fingers towards herself, beckoning for the man to come closer. "It's your turn now," she called. "So give me your best shot." He is going to need it, Aello thought, as she returned her left hand to her side, and waited for him to attack her.

OOCBut V, don't I do a good enough job at that on my own?

Note to self: Keep Aello out of bars, and send her on an endless mission to destroy all hypnotists, should she survive this insanity.

P.S. Alenias, if you are opposed to Yune's actions, just tell me and I can edit/delete the first paragraph.

And V, if you see something wrong with how I rped anything, just pm me. Please.

by **Alenias** on April 28th, 2011, 9:03 pm

Trying to help the Maid up and away Alenias was right beneath her as she collapsed from the blow to the face, her thin body having no chance to support the woman at all. She only had time to give a startled cry before she was pinned to the ground. This, in turn, left her completely helpless to get away from Jug as he picked her up, and then shoved her into a table, drawing out a pained cry from the little Kelvic.

Being thrown into the table hurt, but not as much as being stabbed had. Still, it hurt a lot. Yune landed on Alenias' shoulder, chirping wildly, "Alenias! Oh dear, are you hurt? You need to move, the brute is coming for you!"

Yune fluttered away, and Alenias turned wide eyes at the huge form of Jug as he lumbered towards her. Giving a gasp Alenias ducked away as the man grabbed for her, just barely avoiding his stubby fingers as they grasped where she had been. Down close to the ground now Alenias frantically searched for something to use as a weaopn, as Yune chirped insults and advice from up in the rafters above.

Grabbing the tray the maid had been holding she turned around to confront her pursuer, only to have him shove her once again and send her tumbling into a recently vacated stool and under the adjacent table.

Somehow Alenias had managed to keep hold of the tray, and as Jug grabbed for her underneath the table she yelled and smashed at his thick arm with the tray. The hulking man didn't even flinch at her attack as he grabbed her cloak and pulled up, sending the table tumbling over and pulling Alenias up by her neck.

"Let go!" Alenias screamed as she pummeled Jug with punches and kicks, but it was just met by chuckles from the thick man.

by **Reaver** on April 29th, 2011, 4:53 am

Reaver stood a few moments before proceeding to decide what to do. The robbery was quite complete, but the mess was less blood and bodies then what he had before the incident. Be it the force that took him or another agent didn't matter if he wasn't smart enough to lock the door. As Reaver was about to start cursing and screaming in vain, he noticed a note forced into his wall, and a dagger. He took the note, and put the dagger into his left boot as he took a moment to think of how it got there. He reached his solution very swiftly. "Not done toying with me yet, eh?" The note was old, he mused how it would compare to his age. As he thought, he noticed the numbers written on it. After taking some time to commit those numbers to memory, he contemplated their purpose. An address, the spacing is wrong. Complicated coordinates? I'd need a map, maybe. As he flipped the page over to that thought, he thought he had found his answer. An old map of Ravok? Reaver assumed he had to be older then the page then. As he went to sit down, he woke up.

He found himself once again in a new location, inside this time. He glanced to what he was holding, a bag and a bloody sword. There were some odd things he noticed while looking at those, the temperature and the smoke. He swiftly gauged his surroundings. The smoke was everywhere, and evidence would support his location was on fire. In Ravok, that's not good. He noticed his mask was back on, that's a plus, as it meant the entity taking him took his stuff. He continued his survey, and noticed the men in the room. Two dead, one through what he hoped was magic, the other a dismemberment. A third man, quite angry, and recently injured by a sword. Behind them, an exit. Reaver also felt magically drained, as if he had recently used a moderate sum of djed.

The injured man looked ready to finish the fight he just found he was in. "I'll die before I let you leave!" Reaver thought of his combat capabilities. His sword skills were nothing, he had little knowledge of combat. His magic was drained, and very time consuming should he risk it. Time to look at the plus side. The man held a heavy wound, the threat seamed to drain at his little remaining strength. As Reaver went to form a battle plan, the other man charged him.

He went to deflect the sword in the man's hand away from him, and found the man's sword neatly dodged around his and now sat through his chest, quite painfully. Reaver dropped the sack and grabbed the sword in his chest, with his other he threw his sword far into the flames. The man clearly had an advantage with the sword. A short contest of strength followed. The man's injuries gave Reaver a clear advantage, but then his head went to attack Reaver's head. Reaver turned his head to the side, but the hit still hurt. Reaver used his now-free hand to stop further attacks like that, only to find his feet no-longer supporting his weight. It took effort for Reaver to fall so that the blade didn't cause further damage, and the man was now on top of him. Reaver pulled the blade out, and threw it into the fires now closing in. He did so at the cost of taking blows from the man on top of him.

I'm still at a disadvantage, but mayhaps I can outlast him. As he finished the thought, part of the building he was in fell down rather close by. Or not. Reaver remembered his dagger, stuck into his boot. With a struggle, Reaver realized his ability to move out wasn't working. He then noticed the bag, rather close to the new flames. He grabbed the bag and swung it into the man he was fighting, which was quite a feat of strength for him. He must have got lucky, as the man fell for a moment. That moment was all Reaver needed. Curling himself up, Reaver managed to barely reach his boot, and the dagger within. He then turned to face his opponent as he got back on top of Reaver, this time Reaver facing him. Reaver waited for the man to punch again, and swung his dagger at the man, intending to use the man's attack to keep him from deflecting the blow.

It worked, and didn't. The man stopped his attack to block the blade, but it managed to cut him. He also managed to grab the blade, and it was only a matter of time before Reaver lost the blade to him. As the other man used his other hand to try and pull out the dagger, Reaver used his free hand to simply stab his gauntlet into the wound in the man's chest. The pain must have been severe, as the man yelled out and recoiled, losing his grip on Reaver's dagger. Reaver pulled the dagger swift, and planted it into the man's leg. His muscles locked up, and after what felt like a very long moment, he fell limp.

The pain was catching up to Reaver, his mask may be broken now, and the heat was closing in. Disoriented, Reaver pushed the man off, grabbed his bag, and made his way to his feet. The board below him broke, and his leg was caught up. Another piece of the building managed to fall between him and the door. Am I too late? I must try. With some strength he hadn't known he had, Reaver managed to pull his leg up. Grabbing the bag he must have fought so hard for, he built some momentum by swinging it around himself once before he threw it through the fire and out the door. Reaver took a moment to prepare himself mentally, and charged the door not unlike the man did him not two minutes ago. He stepped right on the burning beam that landed between him and the door, and leaped outside the fire. He was drained, stabbed, heavily beaten, badly burned, and rather tired. What he would give for the key now. With luck, his next body was cleaned and waiting for him in that locked coffin. He reached out and grabbed the bag, curious as to how it had not caught flame, and what the square contents were.

OOCI could make it multiple posts, or one really long post. Either way it wouldn't be a terribly long fight. That bag WAS heavy, heavier then I had anticipated.

by **Crismento Miren** on May 2nd, 2011, 8:40 pm

Crismento successfully made out of the tavern, but the joy of the small victory was soon overwhelmed by realization that he wouldn’t make much further. The tiring feeling was similar, yet different from the one he had gotten after some foolish engagements in the arcane art he knew. Crismento’s legs no longer agreed to hold him and he fell on to his knees. Slowly and barely successfully he started crawling forwards on all fours, but that didn’t take him very far as he felt his sight being taken away. With the last bits of his consciousness before his mind completely refused to cooperate, Cris shoved the index and middle fingers of his right hand up his throat as deeply as he could. The act caused a violent reaction. His abdominal and side muscles contracted painfully as if it was an attempt to throw out his innards, but luckily it only forced out the recent meal he had had. The tearing sensation in his throat was the last one Cris was aware of as he finally fell down to the ground.

While Crismento’s mind was hidden somewhere deep inside, his body could sense rising up and the ground appearing below his feet, though couldn’t identify the feelings as such until Cris started to regain his awareness. He was sitting down, but not outside The Silver Silver, which was the location his awakened mind placed him at. The few short moments that passed to him were apparently long enough for him to be transported somewhere… Somewhere… Somewhere not very pleasant and promising, Crismento could tell from the new information that his eyes were feeding to the still a little bit dizzy head. A dungeon of sorts was his guess, reinforced by the sighting of the chains binding his hands. As Cris slowly raised right hand to his face, he realized that, surprisingly, they weren’t very restrictive.

Crismento lowered his hand while the recollections of the evening’s events were slowly making their way back to his memory. He noticed a man sitting in front of him with one of the Ebonstryfes from the tavern behind him. Cris felt a little bit of satisfaction deep down about being right in his rather simple deduction of who was trying to poison him, but the fact that the sitting man seemed vaguely familiar felt a bit worrying. Even on top of all the anxiety he was currently feeling.

When the man addressed Cris, his mind fell into panic. He knew his real name! It was years since he last heard it out loud, and now, despite sounding as a Zeltivan, which was bad news to begin with, the man addressed him as Crismento Miren. So much for aliases… It was unlikely that the man was sent by someone from the family or his mentor, which meant that he was really good at whatever he did. How much did the man know: only the real name and some activities in Zeltiva, or everything? Did this man across him know who Crismento Miren really was? As the man introduced to him, Cris became even more scared. He knew who the Shark was; or rather he knew what he knew about the Shark, and, given the circumstances, that was far from reassuring. Crismento wanted to make a comment of how he was disappointed to still be alive after being captured by the famously efficient assassin , but resisted the brief temptation. For one, it wasn’t how Cris played, but perhaps more importantly, the “dead or alive” part in the Shark’s words sounded both, convincing and scary.

Before Crismento’s mind even had the chance to begin the battle to decide whether he had to think of a way to get out or to give up and admit that he was done for, the tables suddenly turned as the Shark was shoved into the chair and chained, while another Stryfe spoke, slightly startling Cris, who hadn’t noticed the man behind him. Crismento saw that the Shark was equally surprised about the turn of events, if not more. However, this thought was soon washed away as he heard his name again, this time from the Stryfe’s lips. Cris felt naked… Exposed and vulnerable… ’How much do they know about me?’ He realised how small, weak and insignificant he really was. Crismento might have been able to trick the gullible and the feeble minded, he might have thought he was being very clever for hiding behind various different names, moving somewhere far away… But once someone really wanted to find him, they seized him swiftly and left him at their mercy.

Cris was listening to what the Stryfe was saying to him after freeing his hands from chains, but he already knew what they wanted. The Ebonstryfe wouldn’t go to all that trouble to simply demonstrate their kindness. They wanted him for themselves, whatever their purpose may be, and were playing the nice guys, his friends, offering an option where there really wasn’t one.

However, it appeared that Crismento didn’t know everything. When the Stryfe drew his blade and told him the deal in short, Cris threw his head back a little as if waking up from a dream. He wasn’t expecting such move, but that was probably because his mind hadn’t yet fully recovered. After all, he was in Ravok.

It was clear what he had to do, no question about it. Self-preservation always comes first. Yet Crismento’s hand wasn’t firm at all when he grasped the hilt of the blade. He held it a bit awkwardly. Rarely did Cris use a weapon, and he couldn’t remember the last time he had a sword in his hands, but that wasn’t important now. The important thing was that he would have to use it.

Crismento slowly rose from the chair with the weapon clutched in his both hands and held in front of him. He took a moment to stand still before the sudden dizziness would leave his head and he would regain the perception of balance. Once confident that he would not fall down, Cris moved towards the Shark, while the sword was still awkwardly yet somewhat threatening extended in front of him. His steps were sluggish and hesitant as though he was trying to delay the inevitable.

Cris had ruined lives, but never taken them. He had seen many of them taken by others though while growing up in Sunberth, so his mind wasn’t sure what was making him have such qualms. Was Crismento worried that he might be cutting one of the few remaining threads that connected him with these subjects that were to be called his own kind? Was he getting closer to becoming like his mentor?

Time for thinking had melted away quickly and Cris saw the end of the sword reach the Shark’s chest. The mercenary grabbed the edges of the blade with his bare arms in a final attempt to save himself at least for a little while longer, but Crismento’s grasp of the weapon was now firm. The sword was going forward, cutting Shark’s palms and bathing in the blood that seeped through the wounds. Cris saw the struggle and fight in the mercenary’s eyes be changed by a strange look of surprise as the blade pierced his body just below the chest. And then… he saw life leaving the man through his eyes, when the gaze in them turned dead. Empty…

Crismento released the sword and stepped back. The feeling inside him was extraordinary. It was some strange sort of immediate regret of his action mixed with the realisation of irreversibility. Was he sad about the fate of this man? Did he think killing him was a bad thing? No. Definitely no... And yet this heavy, unfamiliar feeling remained there inside him.

Cris slowly walked backwards never removing his eyes from the dead man. When his foot hit the chair, he collapsed in it throwing his arms by the sides. ”I…” He inhaled and released the breath loudly. ”I…” It wasn’t like Crismento to be at loss of words, but now he was really lacking them.

OOCI've been a little bit busy, so it took me a while.
Also, V, I took some liberties with the actions of the Shark towards the end. PM me if something needs to be done about that.