RP:A Killers Realm
Part of the Of Contracts and Families Arc
Location: Leafy Lodgings
Synopsis: An old “friend” by the name of Quincy, interrupts a meeting between Lanara and Eli. Apparently, he is the more experienced man, who obtained the new lease on Eli’s contract. What follows is not for the faint of heart. Quincy’s true colors are revealed, and Lanara learns a little about the man who trained Eli.
What is happening is not at all expected. The meeting of two lovers having been replaced by something else entirely. For standing in front of Lanara’s statuesque Eli, is a man dressed in a cloak of skin, and hair - bearing a countenance beyond the sandman's own murderous gaze. What exactly had Lanara stumbled upon? Both men seem ready to utterly annihilate the other; hands slid into hidden pockets - gripping whatever deadly weapon hides within. “Do forgive the intrusion.. Elioyahazer.” This man knew his name? “Despite why I’ve come,” which can be assumed as a prior conversation. “I have no ill will.” The strangers eyes flick from Eli to the treeline and then back. “It’s just that, I couldn’t pass up the pay.” The sandman closes those eyes or a moment, thinking. Where the hell is Lanara? Is she alright? Had he captured her before meeting him? These thoughts are interrupted with the utterance of the strangers words. “Jacob, sends his regards.” A wicked grin berates the assassins features. “Your illusions won’t work on me Eli,” and Lanara’s desert born killer knew as much. For the glasses this peculiar man wore, broke through most illusion. He couldn’t be tricked with simplistic spells. Eli clenches his teeth hard, and slides a foot backwards, preparing himself for the inevitable. Something about this man is odd - as if, he’s not really there. Certainly he is though, right?
Lanara eagerly steps through the bramble and brush of the overgrown forest, intent on meeting up with Eli at this somewhat remote location. Her little sister had been frequenting the cottage, feverously working on a costume for the Samhain celebrations, and Lana had yet to reveal that she was seeing someone. That conversation could wait a while longer; however, their relationship had relocated to an even smaller lodging, tucked neatly east of the sanctuary. The trek wasn’t all that far from her workplace and home, and there was something about their need for privacy, for sneaking off into the wilderness, that really intrigued the witch. She is beyond smitten with the desert born, so as she bounds up the steps and lifts her hand to open the door, she sees that it’s already ajar. Had Eli invited another to join them? She was –not- into that sort of arrangement, and she narrows her eyes, before bumping the door open the rest of the way with her shoulder. A cloaked male is speaking a mixture of pleasantries and threats to her beloved, and he knows his name. His real name. An identity that the assassin prefers to keep to himself and only a few select others. The whole situation seems horribly off, and Lana feels twinges of worry prickling every one of her senses. Immediately, she takes in the scene and her hues trail over to Eli, a thousand questions in her expression. What was going on? “Sandman?” Being silent was –not- her style, and perhaps the arrival of another would cause the stranger to back off.
There is a sudden flash of magic - rumbling through the leafy lodgings, and the stranger is gone. Vanished from sight, without rhyme or reason, and perhaps to Lanara’s delight. The presence of murderous intent is also lifted, and just as she might give an audible sigh, to relieve the stress from her frame - she’s horribly wrong. For within the shadows, the nooks and crannies, blades are flying through the air. Tossed from unimaginable locations at unparalleled speed, from nearly every direction. The enemy had simply melded into the void of light, become one with the absence of it and attacked. The sudden barrage of steel comes as no surprise to Elioyahazer, but Lanara’s presence and questioning is ignored entirely. Not because he wished to upset her. No, for instead, this man had his -full- attention. Her desert born is suddenly a whirling dervish - a sand devil of his own right. His scimitar spinning in a show of footwork, spins and a shower of sparks by deflecting the blades with metallic clanks. But as soon as it had started, it ends. It’s over in a hideous laughter, and the rooms shadows lighten, and disperse. “I’ll be seeing you Elioyahazer. Very soon.” The two are suddenly alone, as was meant to be. Her assassin examines the room momentarily and finally sheathes his weapon with a deep exhale. He had totally forgotten that Lanara was even present, and she probably has another million questions to ask of him.
All rhyme and reason leaves the woman’s mind as she steps into the fray, slamming the door, and pressing her back firmly against it. This stranger would not flee, unless he wanted to take on the magic-wielder and her badass boyfriend. She’d be more than happy to use her elemental powers and escort him –through- the wall of the cottage, but if he desired to leave via the exit or a window, he’d be sadly mistaken. Everything seems to go to hell all at once, and Lana stands there, wide-eyed and helpless as steel rapidly flies through the air, slicing and dicing as it goes. She knows enough to stay put, to not interfere with a spell, or worse, to further advance into the room and risk her own life. Rooted in place, it ends as quickly as it had begun, and the assailant ends up being some sort of apparition that dissolves through the wall and exits the love shack. Lanara exhales, having held her breath for the duration of the attack, and relief replaces the feeling of dread. “Sandman…” At a complete loss for words, she closes the distance in a matter of a second, and throws herself into Eli’s arms. The embrace is tighter than is appropriate, as she clings to him for dear life, fearing that he too would vanish from sight. “Are you alright? Who was that? What’s going on?”
Elioyahazer has no words to offer her. The grim expression ‘pon his uncovered features suggests that he’s at a loss for words. Terribly so. After all these years, why? What was Quincy doing back here? Despite Lanara being within his arms, his mood is unchanged. That man is dangerous. Beyond compare. He knew Eli. Trained him. Knows all of his weaknesses. If Quincy was hunting Elioyahazer now, the game is decidedly weighed in his enemies favor. He wants to curse out loud. Scream and shout. His entire frame is still on edge, half clenched in an anticipated attack from the shadows. But his witch was safe. That knowledge at least helped to peel his mind from this reality. “I..” His voice trails off for moments. It’s the first time that his tone has shown actual fear. “I’m alright.” He nearly chokes out in response. He was alive. For now. “His names Quincy.” He lets go of the hug and steps back to look into her mahogany eyes. “Most know him as the laughing shadow.” No matter how moronic the name might seem to her, she had heard his mocking laughter. “He’s never failed a contract. No once. Even when involved in killing women and children. The laughing shadow only cares for gold.” Eli sheathes his blade, desperately trying to free his mind and body from all the tension. “And he’s the man who trained me.” And there she has it. The truth. Quincy is the assassin that was -paid- to train Lanara’s beloved Sandman. He had intimate knowledge of her murderous assassin. He truly understood everything about him. And now, he is hunting Eli as well.
Lanara senses the shift in Eli’s mood, almost instantly. The man was trained to separate emotion from reality; he was a high caliber assassin, the finest in his field… Yet, the look in his eyes, the way he brushes off the embrace, and the seriousness in his tone all add up to a sum that was sure to give them both nightmares. Her Sandman was afraid of this man, he had been trained, and so this creepy stranger would know all of his strengths and weaknesses. It would be like battling yourself, except the foe holds more power and experience. The witch refuses to believe that –anyone- is stronger than her beloved desert born, and she defiantly shakes her head. “Okay… So… Giggles is big and bad and clearly after you…” Lana rejects the mention of his actual name… Quincy or the ‘laughing shadow’ would not do. Branding him ‘Giggles’ adds a comedic spin, in an effort to ease the worry that Eli felt. “I thought that Jez raised and trained you… And… He-He never failed a contract?” Was she that close to losing Eli? If she hadn’t arrived when she did, and proved to be a distraction, would he have drowned in a pool of his own blood? Sickened with this notion, she looks away, at a lantern, the unmade bed; anything other than Eli’s mottled hues that were scrutinizing her face for a reaction. She’s rather easy to read. She’s horrified that her man will have to face an opponent that he doesn’t stand a chance of annihilating. Would she let him go out, without trying to help? Like hell. They were in this together, for better or for worse. “Well. You have something that Giggles lacks… A witch. I will help you. In every capacity. If your life is on the line… Mine is too.”
Elioyahazer does not catch the prodding joke of giggles. The refusal to even say his name. “He’s very bad. And this was just a warning. He thought it beneficial. To prove how strong I’ve grown. Quincy seeks a target that has the possibility to silence his own violence.” Eli goes silent for moments, “The perfect specimen.” Perhaps Eli was up for such a challenge? He does know however, that even if he were to win, it would only be by the skin of his own teeth. The laughing shadow is no laughing matter. “He appeared here to tell me that I must seek him out at home.” His gaze stays upon Lana, “Or he will start with, and I’m quoting him, your womans precious animals. Then her sister, my father, you and then finally me.” The sandman doesn’t have time to plot this mans demise out. He -has- to leave. And leave now. Whether she was ready or not. “Are you coming with me?” His tone of voice is serious and still carries that fear. This news also confirms that her life is on the line, before she even admitted it herself. He waits but only moments, before offering her a hand. Their plans had changed, and Eli begins to march out of the door. Tonight would be bloody.
All is still and silent in the room, save for the pounding in the elf’s chest, as her eyes well with tears. Some sick bastard wanted to harm her animals? Her sister? Her love? Odd, but she doesn’t even consider her own life in this equation. What sort of life would she have without Taly, Eli, and her many companions? The urge to flee from Sage Forest, to transport the entire sanctuary to a safe haven, to escape this madness that haunted her assassin, is so great, that she unsteadily sways and forces herself to focus. Consumed with the need to make things right, she tunes out the words of her partner, finding it nearly impossible to fathom the amount of danger they are truly in at this moment. A shiver runs up her spine, and she wraps her arms about her slender form, swallowing hard. The minutes tick by, and after what seems like an eternity, she snaps out of her stupor, and Eli mouths those five fateful words. Should she stay behind and guard those she swore to protect? Was she capable of letting Eli exit that door, possibly never to return again? At a crossroads, she weighs her options, and heaves an exasperated sigh. He was waiting for an answer, and in a rush to end this drama that he had to endure since his youth. Lana doesn’t give a verbal reply, though she does slip her hand into Eli’s offered appendage and the two step out into the crisp air.
A Killers Realm
By the time the duo arrive to this wooden shack in the middle of nowhere, its far beyond sunlights last kiss. Well beyond the warm embrace of light that it provides. Deep down Eli knew that they were in Quincys domain. The realm of shadow. He knew that the killer they had come to face this night was ready to bring death as if it were upon wings and delivered to all the good boys and girls. Without any glamorous wording Eli simply speaks, “We’re here.” Finally his death grip on Lana’s hand is released, and the assassin pulls tools from his belt. In moments, an audible click denotes the fact that it's now unlocked, with minimal effort. Was it always so easy for him to get into others houses? Yes. Yes it is. One last glance is given to his witch, followed by a nod. The time to end this was now, but as he enters the home, no one is around. The only signs of life within are the last death wails of a women in the basement. They would be far too late to save her. Not that Eli really cared. He finds himself shifting to those stairs, moving down them and finally through the last threshold between insanity and reality. For what greets them in the dark is beyond comparison…
The room at the bottom of the stairs is dark, lit by only the smallest of windows; allowing the most insignificant pouring of moonlight to seep in and bathe the room in its eerie glow. The area itself stinks of rot. Of aged, coagulated blood and every so often a sickening squish helps to confirm such thoughts - jelly beneath the boots. It’s almost as if the torture chamber has walls that can scream. Arms which pin you down - weights that press against your chest, making it difficult to even breath. This place is sick and twisted. The workings of a madman. Meat hooks hang from the ceiling covered in dried vitae. A lifeless cadaver lays face down in a pile of its own crimson liquid. Tools from some unknown origin have literally peeled the skin from its back, creating a massive hole in the body which can be used to stare into the very depths of human anatomy. By the look upon her face, whatever happened was agonizing and slow. Severed bits of skin lay scoured across a shoddy oak table, trophies which have yet to be stitched into the laughing shadows infamous cloak. He loved to carve off souvenirs from his targets. While they still lived and were able to scream. But the putrid miasma of psychosis that devours this place means nothing compared to Quincy. The raving lunatic who stands at the other side of this godforsaken place. His own lifeless eyes are a direct contrast to the sickening smirk that covers his broad features. “Welcome Elioyahazer.” Welcome indeed.
Coming up to their destination fills the witch with dread, her hand squeezing Eli’s so forcefully that her knuckles turn white. Would this be the last time they held hands? Took a breath? The evening is brisk, nearing the witching hour, and it seems as though even the stars are hiding up in the sky. She knows deep down that nature would never desert her, that the Goddess is carried in her heart, and that the magic that flows through her veins is a welcome comfort. Their hands part, and immediately Lana’s lifts to gentle finger the pentacle that rests against her chest, mentally muttering a prayer to the powers above that they would make it out of this, mostly unscathed. Eli picks the lock; they enter a seemingly normal home, save for the feminine wailing emitting from the basement. Lifting her head, she exchanges a long look with her assassin, before they both turn and head for the lower level. Darkness envelopes their forms as they descend the creaky steps, and the putrid stench of bile, blood, and a recent bowel movement, assault their senses. Lana fears she may vomit, so her hand moves from her pendant to cover her mouth, as she fights the urge to gag. The cadaver in the center of the room, surrounded by unimaginable gore has the witch turning away, her stomach lurching. Fresh air would be fantastic right now, but it would have to wait, as Quincy stands on the other side of the room, looking to be amused by their speedy arrival. The witch slinks close to her assassin, taking in the sights, the smell, and of course, the ever fading wail of the woman. There wasn’t any amount of magic in the world that would save the victim from this house of horrors, her injuries were too severe, and it looked as though her flesh had been flayed. Was Quincy taking trophies? Lana whimpers, despite her best efforts to keep a poker face. This was wrong, on so many levels. The desert borns teacher wasn’t an expert in attack and defense… He was an abomination! The man has the audacity to greet Eli, like they were here for a dinner party, and Lana drops her hand, swallows the bile back down, and issues a glare and a welcome of her own, “Shut it, Giggles. We’re here to end this.”
“Giggles? How fitting to deflect fear with humor” Quincy’s sickeningly perfect features twist into a sadistic grin. “You’ve done well for yourself Eli. You really have.” He’s obviously not bothered by her verbal assault. Manners first my dear lady. He would have fun teaching her his rules. The tools from his latest kill are placed upon that skin covered table. “But tell me, woodland witch.” Wait he knows of her too? This man does his homework. “Would you still smile so breathtakingly for me after I’ve pulled those pearly teeth from your mouth? Biting isn’t a fantasy of mine, and I do wish to remain in tact.” There is nothing about his demeanor that even elicits an attack. No foreshadowing of grim assault from the plethora of shadows. His hands shift behind his back, fading from their view entirely. “Tell me witch, have you seen your beloved’s own handiwork?” Clearly his manners are what rubbed off on Eli. “Do you truly know that which you love? Have you seen the depths of his own depraved reality? He is a gift. An artist of death. Perhaps even rivaling my own abilities and yet here you stand. Claiming to be just. On the winning side of this quarrel.” His smile, shifts, in the briefest of moments. However, it’s not his lips. Instead, its his fangs. Quincy is not mortal. “How utterly foolish. I shall enjoy forcing Eli to watch you suffer at my hands. I may not even kill him this night and instead choose to let him wander his days in loneliness. Distraught over how powerless he was to save you.” His eyes switch to a deep, glowing blue. Feeding time had begun. Without words, his supernatural speed has him appearing behind the duo, faster than anyone could blink. “Your much too slow my dear.” Lanara might suddenly feel a hand grabbing at her own wrist, in an effort to wrench it up and behind her back to her shoulder blades. “And much too weak.” That hideous laughter echoes throughout the room, perhaps rattling her eardrums in such a close proximity.
Eli had no intention of waiting on this man to attack. His resolve however, melts when Lanara calls his infamous teacher Giggles. What is she doing? Then his speech comes along. Clearly neither were ready for this man and his abilities. For in an instant, Quincy is behind them and Eli is scrambling to react. Pulling free his daggers, and swiping behind Lanara to stick the pointy end into the Laughing shadow. This however, only aids Lanara, if she attempts to escape his grasp. Quincy is forced to retreat and let's go if his attempt. Eli is not ready for what comes next, because his master has stepped into shadow, and a silvery blade suddenly plunges into the back of Eli’s thigh - just beneath his buttocks. Torturous indeed. He gives his own wail of pain - crying out in agony, but only more laughter ensues. It is a good thing that their target does not favor poison, and instead prefers to wreak havoc on their minds. An ever moving target, dancing from one shadow to another. How frustrating! Eli grabs the blade and pulls it free, throwing it back into the rift from whence it came hoping to hit this vampire.
Lanara rolls her eyes as Quincy sees through her foiled attempt at attacking his ego. All criminal masterminds thrived on infamy, they demanded the utmost respect, and truth be told, the witch wanted to get beneath his skin. This room unnerved her, the way his cerulean hues begin to glow, and the fangs that were suddenly all too visible, leaning towards the fact that he was much more than a human. Quincy was a vampire. She –hated- bloodsuckers, and although she’d make a lovely thrall, she wasn’t in the mood for being bitten. Lana doesn’t reply when he issues a threat, nor does she react in any way to his transformation, or his obvious suffering from blood lust. The only words that spark a reaction from the witch are those that are directed about Eli’s line of work. He would torture his victims like Quincy? Keep trophies? It’s a twisted lifestyle. Lana doesn’t want to be here, she doesn’t want to keep inhaling the disgusting odors of death and decay, and she also doesn’t want to be having a conversation that paints her assassin in a bad light. A slight tilt of her head, and she’s eyeing the cellar steps, wondering if they’d have a chance to escape, and maybe return when they were more prepared. She didn’t even have a dagger on her person, and the fact that she aimed to provoke the vampire by calling him Giggles, likely was going to be the last action of her life. Lana yelps as her wrist is grabbed and held painfully behind her back, and she’s so caught off guard that she isn’t able to dodge the attack, or free her arm. “Let. Me. Go. Giggling. Bloodsucker.” Temper flaring; she awkwardly dangles, kicking in the air as he lifts her by one arm. Eli steps into action and dances with his daggers, giving her a moment to plant a kick to Quincy’s thigh, before she’s tossed like a ragdoll to the side. Falling to her knees, her fingers soaked in the blood of the once wailing woman, Lana gasps as she lifts a handful of teeth, some with the roots still attached. The horror on her face mirrors the horrors that were committed in this room, and she struggles to pull herself to her feet, her shoes sliding in the slick crimson that lines the floor. Just in time, she rises, to see her beloved take a hit to the back of his leg. Unacceptable. Quincy resorts to lurking in the shadows, playing behind a cloak of darkness, and doing what she knows best, Lana hums an incantation and the room is filled with light. Spheres of fire circle the room, and if one were to get too close, they’d surely sustain a burn in the third degree. The witch makes sure to dodge her own work, as a few of the flame balls get too close for comfort, though this also will work in Eli’s favor. Without shadows, Quincy wouldn’t stand a chance at evading the knife swipes… Right?
Quincy had clearly bitten off more than he could chew, but still, even now, he reveled in the sport of death. That life hung within the balance. That all three could easily find themselves adrift in the ever after. The world beyond life. Where even he, could continue to torture those the he saw fit. The ever protective shroud of shadow is used like blankets to disguise his own location. The dagger Eli threw back, finds itself entering the shadow, and exiting out behind the sandman's position. Where it threatens to strike the other leg in the exact same location. Lanara’s position is noted, be he does not expect her magics. Not while in the middle of sending a wave of shadow at Eli, which could slam him into any number of objects within the room. Her fiery spell has him shielding his eyes in the most abrupt of moments. Nearly screaming about burns which have suddenly seared his beautiful flesh. An opening had been created, within her surprising attack, and he finds himself retching over in reaction to the pain he actually feels.
Eli hated the fact that he couldn’t use his illusions with this man. He loathed to admit that he is powerless beyond his skills with a blade. It was frustrating to realize that thrown dagger did not hit its mark, but instead went into the shadows, and jumped out of another; only to sink right back into his thigh once more. Quincy was a foe to be reckoned with! However fruitful Lanara’s attack is, Eli finds that tidal wave of shadow rolling towards him, and the ever exhausting laughter that ensues tiresome. Even while trying to dive out of the way, he realizes that resistance is futile. Escape isn’t an option. The magic that comes for him, slams into his legs, spinning the desert born through the air like a pair of blades. He collides hard with the filthy ground, coughing at the impact. Spitting out a mouthful of flesh it had somehow collected from the diseased floor. It was disgusting. Putrid, and Eli nearly gags. Were they doomed? His hands shakily press against the ground bringing him to his feet in moments. His scimitar finally meets the air, and he follows Lanara’s attack with his own; stepping between those balls of light.. The two overpower Quincy and combine into a single moment that spells death for the vampire. His newly lifeless corpse drops to the ground, and Eli finds himself irritated with the knife in his leg once more. Gripping the handle and throwing it at the supernatural creatures body. “Are you okay Lana,” his words are shaky. He’s not just tired. Nor exhausted. He’s mentally drained from the excitement of it all. “If you hadn’t used magic, I’m sure I would have died this night.” He scoffs over Quincy’s corpse. The false tales that he had weaved before his death. The sandman had never tortured his target. Death was always swift at his hand.
Lanara shivers in place, her arms tightly wrapped around her frame, as she watches the battle unfold. Two assassins… Vampire teacher versus human student with his woodland witch sidekick. The odds would ever be in the vampire’s hands, however, none had predicted that his shadows would be torn from the equation. Without the cover of darkness, he’s demoted to nothing more than a cold blooded killer with glowing eyes, and although Eli takes a few hits to the rear of his thigh, none of them are fatal. It’s a first, and she knows it, as she watches the now evenly matched men duke it out, hatred spewing from their fingertips with each slash of silver. A rogue ball of fire smashes into Quincy, burning a hole through his clothing, searing his flesh, and in a matter of minutes, the vampire crashes to the blood soaked floor. Lana watches all of this, warily, and only when her assassin tosses his dagger atop the lifeless form of Quincy, does she stop shivering and unfold her arms. “Sandman… You’re hurt.” The compliment is brushed off, for if her love were to have died tonight, she would have soon followed. She’d have perished of a broken heart, if Quincy hadn’t taken her out. Closing the distance between them, she takes Eli’s hand and kisses each of his knuckles, before hungrily eyeing his lips. There would be no kiss, not after he spit out a mouthful of someone’s flesh. “Are you okay? Let’s go home, and get you stitched up, okay?” She had been so concerned that she would lose him, and for the first time since they’ve a couple, Eli would be able to see the love reflecting in those big brown eyes. There’s no need to utter those three words, for he’d feel the beating of her heart as she pulls him in for a tight hug.