RP:A Promise of Blood

Part of the Two If By Sea Arc

Synopsis: Krystan is sent by his employer to subdue Zirael and bring her back in order to turn a profit. However, the assassin got more than he bargained for when the mermaid put up a fight and then proposed a counter-offer. The mermaid paid the human handsomely and promised him more riches and deaths to come should he serve her faithfully, with plans to decimate the city of Cenril. Only time will tell where their destructive path may lead...

Cove

Zirael was the very image of all that a mermaid should be. Perched on a rock? Check. Beautiful, long hair that she was currently combing with a whalebone brush? Check. Fish tail with resplendent scales that seemed almost like white gold? Check. Eerie yet surprisingly beautiful humming? Check. Zirael sat in the middle of the cove, perched upon a rock that barely breached the surface of the water. There are broken barrels and crates smattered about the cove, implying smugglers or some kind of activity had occurred not too long ago. The mermaid, though, seemed content to sit and brush her luscious locks and hum her siren tune. None could touch her without wading into the water. And none would be so stupid as to enter –her- waters.

Krystan is the very standard for what he is. A killer for hire, trained in various fields that combine into what he deems his art. A long cloak conceals his form from view, the color such a dark pitch that any light that finds its way upon its surface seems to be absorbed and lost within the dark fabric. Billowing sleeves hide his limbs, and a high collar rises up in unison with an attached hood to all together hide any other noticeable features of this seemingly out of place visitor. And the manner in which he seems to just suddenly appear within the mouth of the cove could be unnerving to some. But most of all it is the man's eyes which seem to gain the most attention in his recent encounters. A brilliant shade of blue that seem to glow in the shadows cast by his hood, those enthralling orbs seem to hold untold power, yet at the same time seem void of life. Not in the manner you see in undead, with their glossed over look, but rather if you look into this one's eyes you feel as if a cold emptiness has suddenly filled the area. And with his dark attire that seems to call to the shadows themselves, this stranger's appearence just seems wrong. Most get a varying degree of the urge to flee, be it across the room and father away or outright as far as they can get from the malign presence of this strange wanderer. But, either way he is here, and his gaze seems locked upon the mermaid as she hums her seductive tune and combs those long locks of hair.

Zirael’s white gold tail slapped against the rock as she combed her hair to perfection, fingers chasing up after her touch of the comb to make sure every little bit was in place and absolutely perfect. Mermaids were creatures of absolute vanity, after all. They loved none more than they loved themselves. For a moment, it looked as if she had glanced over her shoulder as she fixed her equally white gold hair. But it didn’t matter, now her hands were planting on the rock to gently push her off the edge and into the water with a little ‘splash’. The mermaid moved soundlessly in the water, but the light reflected off her white gold scales: she was fast approaching Krystan who stood at the mouth of the cove. Her head breached the surface of the water, wet hair plastered against her shoulders and her chest though she wasn’t abashed about her assets. Weaker men would stare and guarantee her a meal. Men of note wouldn’t care nor stare and that dead look in his eyes suggested he was the latter. Emerald eyes stared out at him, blinking slowly as if she were taking him all in and memorising every last inch of him. “Come closer,” she bade him in that melodic voice of hers, every word a seduction.

Krystan was a man, and because of such felt the pull of this creature's supernatural abilities to ensnare the senses taking hold upon every fiber of his being. It came as a barrage upon numerous senses, for visually she was breathtaking, her voice sounded heavenly, welcoming and held untold promises that made his mind conjure up primal thoughts. Even the smell of the ocean that clings to her seems sweeter, enticing and arousing. But while he was indeed a man, this creature of the sea would find her charms falling just short of entrapping her next meal. The man stands just out of reach of her potential grasp, those cold eyes never leaving hers as he replies in a voice that is low in volume, but calm and controlled in tone. " No." Reaching into one of the various inner pockets of his cloak, the assassin procures a roll of parchment. With a flick of his wrist does the aged paper unravel before him upon the frigid sand at his feet. Kneeling down before it, Krystan's eyes fall upon the ancient language etched into the weathered parchment long ago, and begins to recite what is written. The presence of fall is felt, as in this cave the chill in the air is strong, causing the man's breath to be seen with each verse spoken. The language is old, sylvan perhaps, but he pulls it off. With every passing word spoken on could feel a power being released in the air, which begins with a collection of energy begining to crack and spark all about the cove. Krys' eyes never leave the mermaid's enthralling gaze, as if he was testing her powers of seduction against his own formidable will. But, either way the man was here because he had a job to do, and he does not fail at his job. So with precise infliction of every syllable verse does the man near the end of what is written upon the parchement before him, just mere moments left before the completion of his task.

Zirael was perfection in every way it mattered. There would never be a more beautiful creature than her and she wore the confidence that said she knew that to be an indisputable truth. Yet Krystan’s refusal comes as a surprise to her and a source of annoyance, as seen by the ever so brief glint of sheer anger in her otherwise emerald eyes. The mermaid swam a little closer to him, as if proximity would help her seductive powers. “No…” she repeated, the word echoing throughout the cave just as melodically as she had said it. He might have a piece of parchment, but she had the water; she had the power and she was the mistress of the sea. Water was what this woman loved and it loved her equally. Her emerald eyes did not look away from his own, promising unspoken promises that only the mind could conjure up. “Are you afraid of me?” she sang the words, “Afraid I’ll… eat… your flesh?” The word ‘eat’ had all the emphasis on it, as if she had literally taken a bite out of the air. “Put that away,” she bade him, nonchalantly flicking her hand and bidding the water to curl up towards him and dare to float the parchment harmlessly away from him. The parchment was not drenched or taken under, it was merely floated a little distance away to keep it out of his grasp.

Krystan is a man who is a master of his own craft, and as confident as the mermaid feels in the water so does he feel when he accepts a task from an employer. A week of preparation was given for him to study what little is known from the very few, and brief, encounters most have had with the mysterious creatures that have begun to spring up upon the shores on Cenril. But in the time that they have, many things have happened. One such thing was a desire to see such creatures, especially the mermaids whose beauty seemed unparralled in the port city, or even in many of the other kingdoms that dot the land. Such a demand has caught the attention of one of the prime criminal bosses of the numerous organizations that hold considerable power within the chaotic underground of Cenril. A hefty price was offered to capture one of these creatures, alive, so it could become a centerpiece in one of his various establishments. Of course with these types there is always more to the tale, as information is just as valuable as any amount of gold, and naturally the assassin's employer has more in mind for the creature. While a small fortune can be made having the mermaid preforming in various establishments he owns, maybe even giving her to sailors for the night who'd pay a month's wages to sleep with the sea incarnate, rumors have been heard of bigger catches. Leviathans, kings of the oceans, ancient and powerful. If this particular crime lord could use the mermaid, which are lesser creatures these leviathans guard in a way, if the rumors are true, then this one could be used as bait to lure out such a top prize. And so, enter Krystan. A man with a reputation for never allowing his target to escape, a rather incredible sum of gold was offered for a mermaid to be brought to him. And after careful planning, researching numerous rumors, eye-witness accounts of the capabilities of these strange creatures, and reading up various stories and documented studies from scholars and mages now long dead, the assassin felt he was able to accomplish the task. And so, as the mermaid tries to whisk away the parchment, she fails to see the threat before her. Maybe it is her own hubris, her own desire to make this man fall into her web of seduction, that does not allow her to destroy the spellscroll. But, due to the slow nature in which the mermaid tries to take the parchment away, Krystan is able to complete the incantation and release the spell. The energy that has been building up all throughout the cove suddenly converges into one mass, before a thunderous bolt of lightning erupts from its center to slam down into the water below, impacting right next to the mermaid and releasing powerful currents of imobilizing electricity within a wide radius of space. It is here, with the crackling explosion of elemental power, that five more men rush in, armed with handheld crossbows, and release a volley of small bolts upon the (hopefully) stunned mermaid. These bolts are coated in the infamous drow knock out poison, the dose enough to sedate a fully grown ogre. During this time as well, Krystan thrusts forth his left hand, allowing the spring loaded sling to launch forth a net from his left billowing sleeve. The net expands out in an attempt to ensnare the mermaid while she is stunned, thus making her both an easier target for the bolts, as well as ensuring the assassin's control of her movement. All of these things happen within moments, a precise and timely executed plan. Should it work, another group will enter with a large container to house the mermaid, and carry her back. Should it not, the five men move to block to exit of the cove, armed with nets, while Krystan himself readies for such an outcome.

Zirael liked to let the humans try. They liked their big spells and all their fancy manmade devices, manmade elements like these conjured storms. She can feel the static building in the air, she knows what is coming and she’s known since the energy begun to swirl in the room. After all, she is seaborn. They have storms in the sea. “You are a silly boy,” she tells him softly, as the energy begins to reach its peak point. Lightning was one thing, but the sea was another. The sea was made to weather storms and break the weak. The mermaid’s head dips under the water as the lightning surges down, but her cover of water is soon gone: erupting upwards to collide with the lightning and illuminate the room in some suspended bubble above them all. Zirael had leapt from the water as it surged upwards, now upright and standing on the land with two legs. Two. Legs. No tail, but two very human legs and a long-handled trident in her hands. Krystan she ignores, instead tossing the trident into the first of the crossbowmen as she screeches loudly and in an unholy manner; like a banshee who had been scorned and was out to make the world bleed for its insolence. The crossbowman with the trident in his belly obviously falls to the floor dead, while the other clasp their hands to their ears to defend from her unending screeching. Some fire their bows, attempting to catch her naked flesh before succumbing to her ungodly screeching. Her mouth ajar, she turns to look upon Krystan: her mouth a gaping and an unholy sight, like an angler fish ready to consume all the little fishes who were drawn in by her light. Confident steps take her towards Krystan, slow and sensual, the dip of the hip, the steps of a woman who was seduction personified. Yet as her screeching continues, it seems as though a voice permeates through the air but if Krystan were to ask, no one else would hear it. Words only for him. “I will see this city drown. I will drown your women, your children, I will feast upon the flesh of your men and I will take this place to repay the blood debt your people owe mine. Help me and I will reward you with riches and boons you might never access otherwise. The ocean holds everything. Knowledge lost, riches hidden, secrets untold. Help me and I shall make you a king amongst men.”

Krystan watches as the sea's power is displayed before him through the mermaid. It was why he took this job, after all. These creatures have sparked his interest, which is no small feat. The games played by those in power have bored him for years now, and with strife at an all time low, work has been boring as well. Small game that this particular hunter gained no pleasure from capturing. The display of power, of prowess in the martial arts, the way she kills the one man, and crushes the others under her powerful wails is noted. If this escalates into a fight, Krystan will find a foe worthy of his own talents. That alone brings forth emotions long since dormant within the man. Then she speaks. And he listens. A counter offer? Surprising indeed, but it is something he has always been open too. Of course, he is cautious. While she erupted from the waters, the assassin tossed about objects all around the sand between them. Small objects that can easily be missed, but a deadly mixture of small gas bombs and poison tipped spikes that if stepped on would do a lot more than simply make her movements harder. But that is one of the many tricks of the trade this assassin uses. Balanced daggers suited for throwing find homes in each of his concealed hands, he'd have to be careful of that wail she has yet to direct towards him. But he has experience handling bards in the past, such abilities are not unknown to him. But for now, direct confrontation isn't the only option. Her offer may rival, or dwarf his current employers. " I care little for this city, or if the sea swallows it whole. But if you think I am part of some blood debt, you're mistaken." He has no family. No ties to anyone, he really didn't care who ruled what kingdom or which was destroyed or not. He was a survivalist first. " So, what aid can I give you?"

Zirael kept her emerald gaze upon Krystan as her hand flicked casually, allowing the suspended bubble of water to cascade upon them like a light fall of rain. With the water now back where it belongs, she gently moved her hand once again to cast the water towards the subdued and dead men: not bothering to watch as the water coiled around the shaft of the trident and pulled it along the sand towards her, forming into a pillar to gently place the trident back into her hand before joining the main body of water. The mermaid held her trident like a queen held a sceptre, it was a symbol of office and a deadly weapon at that. One she evidently knew how to use. Her wailing subsided and silence fell upon the cove, only to be replaced by a delicate humming. The men that had once been kneeling and screaming from the agony she imposed upon them were now swaying in a trance like status. “Give me you. Everything that you have and everything that you are,” she sang to him, “and I will give you… anything… you want in return. Gold. Position. Even names to kill, if that is what you wish,” oh yes, she knew death and murder was better than gold to some people. “I must cause disarray and gather power… so I might drown these miserable land-lovers and feast upon their flesh.”

Krystan watches as the men still alive enter a zombie-like state due to having fallen into her spell. Another thing to note. But the mermaid would find that Krystan, while having seen her power, was still not afraid. He remained calm this entire time, his voice still controlled and smooth. His posture even seeming relaxed. His eyes held no fear, no anger at the loss of men, or even a hint of enthrallment to her seductive power. He doesn't even flinch when offered seemingly the world. He does reply though, after a moment. " You wish death upon people. I am a servant of such. But I need to know your offers are more than words, Sea-Dweller." Still retaining that absolute calm, he says. " Show me what the sea can offer, and I shall reply honestly in return." He has no use for outright lies. He was being blunt. Show me your counter offer. This was business, afterall.

Zirael smiled at his words, white gold hair shifting as her head tilted with that smile. It was almost sweet. “As you wish,” she purred, stepping back into the water with no concern of having just stood entirely bare before him. As she stepped into the water and even further into the depth of it, the trident disappeared amongst its depths and soon the familiar glistening of her scales was visible. “Why don’t you deal with your friends while I fetch your first little prize?” The mermaid would wait only a moment before dipping below the surface and disappearing out of sight. Five minutes later and she would return, surfacing with what appeared to be a watertight chest in her hands. “Come. Claim your prize,” she bade him, outstretching her arms. “I promise not to eat you…” she almost smiled.

Krystan is used to orders, but knows too that its best to leave no witnesses to his accepting a counter offer. Dead men tell no tales, right? So as the woman turns to leave, and yes, Krys notices her bare flesh, the man goes to work doing what he does best. With them in such a state of confusion, they are easily slaughtered efficiently. Dragged close to the water, as he takes an educated guess on how the bodies will be disposed of, the assassin turns to see his new employer return. Unlatching the clasp that holds his cloak on, Krystan drops it to the sandy shore of the cove, revealing a sleeveless armoured coat beneath, covered in various blades and pockets that house untold tools of his trade. A zipper is undone, to allow it to fall as well, before he takes off his boots leaving him in nothing more than his leather leggings. His body is honed to perfection, evidence of a life spent mastering his craft. Every muscle serves a purpose with each step he takes, and while he may seem unarmed, to believe so would be foolish. He makes his way into the waters, blonde hair now framing a face that seems to youthful and clean to belong on the body of such an emotionless killer.

Zirael glanced briefly to the shore to look at those dead bodies. They were fresh enough that she would eat them and delight in their flesh. They would make her stronger and that was what she needed to be, she needed to be strong enough: she must be the wave that purges this city. The mermaid watches as he discards of his coat and shirt, his boots and everything but those leggings. He is a killer, through and through. His body is a weapon and now she is the handler of said weapon. The mermaid passes the chest to him, smiling a smile that said ‘I’m a killer too’. “Help me colour the seas red… and you’ll be so happy.”

Krystan watches as the chest is brought forth from the depths of the ocean, and how easily she moves it to the shore. But it is her now that captures his attention, as he makes his way into the frigid waters without so much as a flinch or shudder. He was used to pain, to discomfort to the cold harsh reality of the world. Yet, her desire to destroy and kill and gain power, it vaugely mirrors his own desires. He wanted to watch the world burn, the weak fall to his own prowess because that is what the world is. The strong survive, the weak perish, to feed the wolves of the world. Long ago Krystan decided he would be a wolf, and never again allow himself to be prey. Cenril was home to corruption, to filth and weak minded fools who thought more coins meant more power. Who played petty games for said power, by hiring actual killers to remove other weak fools so they may claim the title of most powerful weakling. It was sick to watch. So, here in this cove the assassin has found another who wishes to see it all gone. Her reasons differ, but the end is the same. Krystan wanted to see it all burn, this one wants to drown them all. Either way, it would end. " What is your name?" He either asks, or demands, its hard to tell due to his tone. He moves about now, studying the creature that is as deadly as it is beautiful. Or was she more stunning because of how good a killer she was? Who knew.

Zirael’s eyes track him as he moves in the water. Here she will be forever quicker than him, here she can swim away and wait in the depths without the fear of drowning. “I am Zirael,” her name like a plucked chord, it seems so ethereal and full of promise. There is power in a name, they say. “Do I call you silly boy… do I call you canny boy? What is your name, hunter?” she purred every word, recognising him for the hunter that he was. A hunter of men, to be sure, but a hunter all the same. An apex predator, just like her. “I want you to find something. Something that says you are a friend to me and mine,” she smiled that killer smile. “The Seref. It’s a ship that washed ashore not too long ago, it’s south of here, do you see it?” she gestured, knowing the outline of the prow might just be visible in the twilight of the day. “They say there’s a map that leads to treasure in there. Kept safe from where the water might otherwise corrupt it. You find that map, it’ll take you to this man… Smitty, Smithy or Smutty, I don’t recall the names of these more feeble ones. Do as he says and he’ll give you a…” she smiled that salacious smile, “token of my appreciation.”

Krystan hears how her name rolls off her devilish tongue with a sense of pride. Maybe she liked to hear it said out loud, so he repeats it with near perfect mimickery of her own tones, save in his own manly depth. " Zirael." Her own jabs at calling him a boy are ignored, he has dealt with worse. He replies. " You can call me whatever you wish, as I have many names, and no name worth remembering." He often went by many an alias, but has only ever told a select few in his life his true birth name. He often lets employers title him whatever they wish. Then a task was given, and so he listens, taking in all the information he can and sealing it into his memory. A ship, the Seref. A map. A man and an item. While to most this sounds simple, he knows there is more to it, so he asks the basics. " What will I need? What can I expect?" Here things usually get tricky, as most people who pay him to fetch things dont want him to know the true value of the item, which usually dwarfs in value what he is paid. But as things go in this line of work, the first job is usually a test of both skill and loyalty. He knew the game well enough.

Zirael had, oddly, not meant her names to be jabs. A flirtation perhaps, but not an insult or jab. “Hunter,” she repeated, thinking that this name would best suit him an the purpose he served. “There is nothing more to it, other than wits. Solve riddles, puzzles… claim the token and wear it with pride,” she said in a sensual whisper as she raised up in the water ever so slightly, a sharpened fingernail tapping against his clavicle. “Wear it with pride, Hunter. Wear my little mark right… there…” she tapped on his chest again. “Bring it to me and if I think you worthy of the next token, you’ll get it.”

Krystan felt the sensation of her nails slightly digging into his flesh, and the ever present pressure of her seductive powers tugging at his mind. Urges to take her flood over him, but he shrugs it off each and everytime. He was curious of her nature, she was the sea incarnate in many ways, and as well the sea itself could be death incarnate. She has dubbed him her Hunter, and so he is. " Very well, master." He allowed her the title, given the way she carries herself as a superior being, he judged she'd like the title in return. " My methods are not shift, rushing headlong into the unknown gets people killed. " He keeps that calm look as he adds," Usually by people like me." He'd begin to head to the shore unless she'd stop him. " I'll fetch your token, and wear it while I hunt and kill those you wish to die, so all will know of your might."

Zirael would have purred if she were a cat. Instead, the corner of her lips twitch slightly as he dubs her ‘master’ and speaks of her might. “Stalk the shore, Hunter, use your caution and your skill. Leave me to my dinner… we’ll speak again soon,” she promised him, before long digits grasped his wrist to stall his departure. Her scale speckled body shifted in the water, pursed lips pressing against his cheek before she pulls away entirely. “You smell human. My kind will know you are mine now… but that token will serve you better,” she cautions him, sinking into the water yet not vanishing entirely just yet.

Krystan feels the brush of her lips against his cheek, then watches as she returns to the watery depths that is her domain. Making his way to the shore, the assassin allows himself a few moments to dry off, using the shirt of one of the now dead men he came here with. A few moments later he is once more shrouded in his armor and that large cloak again. And, as quitely and qickly as he had appeared he is gone. Once more on the hunt, though this time he no longer has a crime lord behind him, but it seems he has the very ocean itself.