RP:Indiscriminate

Part of the What You Leave Behind Arc

Summary: Blut meets his contacts within Kahran's organization, the dark sisters Renne and Amarillienne. His mission: find and eliminate three high-priority targets across Lithrydel. Across the realm he'll go, into danger and evil purpose. Along the way he'll be stopped by Mulgrew, who asks him a simple question and bids him good day -- but promises they will meet again.

Well Met

Lionel | Amarillienne folds her soft hands over one-another and inhales the steam off the top of her piping-hot chocolate. Her sister, Renne, scoffs as she removes her gauntlets to gain a sturdier grip of her whisky. “What ails you, sister?” Amarillienne’s brilliant violet eyes search Renne for an answer, but her elder sibling -- half again as tall and thick and dressed in sapphire armor as would befit any proud knight -- offers no nonverbal clues. Instead, she speaks her mind, as Renne has always done so well. “We’ve come to one of the seediest taverns in all the realm on official business for our master. You’re sitting pretty in a sundress sipping cocoa like it’s midwinter feastday back home. I’ve told you to take this seriously more times than I can count.” Amarillienne pouts and makes her eyes wide to emphasize her faux-innocent dismay. It’s all Renne can do to resist scowling more deeply. They have indeed come to a dark place. All around them, the vampiric and undead denizens of The Hanging Corpse go about their often-illicit dealings with cautious eyes. Blades and bows are visible everywhere. Steadmen is playing a jolly old tune on the piano which clashes discordantly with the haze of smoke and audible threats of violence between patrons. With civil war come to Vailkrin, rival houses have come to fatal blows here terribly often in recent days. More than once since her arrival, an unscrupulous person has offered coinage for Amarillienne’s perceived ‘services’, and more than once Renne has flashed her steel. On one particularly disdainful occasion, the sight of a strong woman willing to slaughter for her sister only worked to make the interloper more intrigued by the thought of having them both, and on that occasion the fellow found themselves lacking a left hand. That hand remains on the hard stone floor as Amarillienne sips her hot chocolate coquettishly. “I am sitting pretty in a sundress,” she mocks Renne, smirking. “Oh, because of you, sweet sister. You saved me from a fate akin to that Valrae. I drink merrily to that. Now tell me, is this Blut supposed to be tall and handsome?” Renne rolls her eyes so far she feels a headache starting on. “Blind as a bat, more like, and out of the question entirely.” Amarillienne’s smirk only intensifies. “Well then I won’t have to dress up for him in the slightest.”

Blut entered the tavern quite differently then he normally would. Rather than fumbling through through the loose tavern doors Blut walked through them like he normally would. He doned his black assassins armour and cloak. The man looked like he was ready to go on a mission. He still carried his sensory stick but he had no more need for it his vision had returned but only with the wraps on. His white hair was combed backwards while the rest of his face was exposed. He took a seat by the bar and asked for wine before throwing gold on the table. Blut took off the wraps revealing his changes. His irises had turned into the shape of clocks allowing him to see mana once again in exchange for this blindness. He looked around for kharans mana or atleast traces of it.

Lionel | “That’s him. Ten o’clock.” Renne is forced to gesture with her hand toward the new arrival when her less militarily-inclined sister looks in exactly the wrong direction. “He’s not what I imagined,” Amarillienne says with a sigh. Renne’s generally sour face almost lights up in glee at that remark, but her joy turns to ashes in her mouth when Amarillienne continues. “He’s even better.” There are no words to adequately describe the proud dark-hearted warrior Renne’s distaste just now, so she won’t even bother trying. Instead, she hoists herself up from her chair -- in full and resplendent armor, it’s a harder job than it could be -- and seats herself beside Blut. “Greetings. I am Renne. The woman over yonder is Ama…” She bites her lip. “Lady Amarillienne,” the younger sister offers, having crossed the distance over to Blut’s side even more briskly. She holds out her hand. Does she expect him to kiss it? Will he even know it’s there? “You must be Blut,” Renne willfully interrupts. “The master has sent us to offer you a critical assignment. It will make full use of your rather unique abilities.” Amarillienne, not wanting to be cut off, hastily recites the rest. “You are to search for unusual manna traces in three major settlements. You’ll know the vibe you seek because it will feel harsh, discordant, yet pure. The color will be grey streaked with white, should that help. I have heard you see color in all things.” Surely Amarillienne’s own blushing cheeks will paint a vivid red. “Venturil and Chartsend. But before you set off on such journey, know that your first target is right here in Vailkrin. Once you’ve located each target, you are to eliminate them by whatever means you deem wisest. Do it quietly. Do it for me.” Renne’s head turns to her sister and she carries the biggest grimace in the tavern.

Blut turned his head to the woman. His eyes whilst stranged looked nowhere. If the woman paid attantion he wasn't looking at her but more like he was looking through her. Not able to see her hand as he reaches out to put on his wraps restoring his vision. Gazes at the woman before looking at a companion. "What's the pay or am I expected to do this for free." Blut asked as he closer at them "You may need to kill everything but I still have costs for my weapons." Blut took out a journal "Also tell me details of the others if you want me to hunt I need to know what I'm looking for." Blut explained before smirking " tell me this and I might do this for you." .

Lionel | Amarillienne’s pout eclipses even the best of rival pouts. She’s an expert in the art of pouting, and Blut has triggered in her the most audacious pout Vailkrin will have ever seen. She retracts her hand and loses interest in the conversation. A passing vampire grunts in frustration when she almost blocks his path, but the daggers Renne’s eyes throw to the vampire convince him not to do anything untoward. He steps carefully around the witch and exits the tavern before Renne chimes in to answer Blut’s inquiries. “Your pay will be handled in full upon successful completion of the mission parameters. 700 gold pieces for each kill. 2100 in full. The first target, here in Vailkrin, is employed at the weapon shop at odd intervals. Her hair is red and her skin is ghostly pale. She is, after all, an undead. Her name is Elayda. The second target, in Chartsend, is a pirate from overseas who does frequent trade at the tavern. Reports indicate he sports a red satchel and his hair is blond and overly curly. His name is Revierre. The final target, in Venturil, is somewhat of an oddity. They are a saurian -- one of the razurath tribe, so anticipate a somewhat humanoid shape but scaled and with hooked feet. Details are scarce but the town is not large and saurians have only just begun trading there. Locating them shouldn’t prove overly difficult.” Renne’s lips curl into a frown as she remembers her own misfortunes in Venturil. If she ever finds that bastard Lionel or that haughty Meri, there will be hell to pay, and not just on Kahran’s orders.

Blut finished writting about each of the targets. The man got up and pulled up his robe hideing his face. After the man gets up he puts his book in his cloak. "Then I shall be off it has been a pleasure to meet you ladies. I assume you will find me when I'm done. They should be dead by the end of 2 weeks." Blut claimed as he started walking out of the tavern. Blut had a job to do and he was not the type to disapoint.

The First Cut

Lionel | Elayda lived a fruitful, if simple, life for her first twenty years. She grew up in a small village which seldom pops up on maps, far to the northeast of such famed cities as Cenril and even Vailkrin. She was happy, if somewhat unfulfilled. She was an adventurous spirit at heart but her parents needed her to learn the family trade. Smithing was traditionally a man’s profession in her town, as indeed is the case in many elsewheres the world over, but in her family, everyone learned. Elayda can still remember the first time she forged a blade. She remembers that blade well; after all, she used it to skewer the goblins who raided her village two decades after her birth. She remembers the smell of roasting flesh as the town went up in flames. She remembers the blackened corpses of her mother and father and younger brother. She remembers it all. She even remembers her own death. The necromantic passersby saw something in the way her corpse lay sprawled atop a dozen goblins, her blade richly red with their blood, and decided to grant her unlife. Ever since, she’s proudly guarded Vailkrin’s chief weapon and armor shop, and her blade has gone red again on several occasions. She forges the finest steel, just as her parents taught her so many moons ago. And, in recent months, she’s developed a close affiliation with men and women in Lionel O’Connor’s employ, testing fresh new magics on herself to check for rot and sediment in ways no living person could. Elayda has heard of the terrible fates befalling outskirts villages like hers since Kahran announced his attentions. She’s heard what the orc and troll hordes have done, striking from out of nowhere like mongrels. It’s enough to make her sick -- no easy feat for an undead. Her greyish streaks of manna surround and bind themselves to her as she works at smithing. She’s strong despite her litheness, and quick on her feet. She’s also the only person working the shop today…

Blut approached the armoury after dislocateing his knee makeing him walk with a limp. He carried a cain which was slightly broken which helped him walk the small crack hidden from view. In his right hand was a broken sword in it's sheeth. The man didn't wear his leather armour or cloak just his civillian clotheing with 2 daggers hidden up his sleeves. The man walked into the armoury with a polite knock and asking "hello is anyone here." With his wraps on his face it would be easy for the man to pass off as blind his white hair makeing some people belive he was old. "Is the blacksmith here?" the man asked quitely looking very innocent.

Once Blut’s been let inside the shop, Elayda smiles pleasantly enough. But between the horrors of her origins and the ongoing strife here in Vailkrin, there is a veneer of caution in her eyes. Nevertheless, the approach of some blind elderly gentlemen is just about the least dangerous thing next to little children at play -- perhaps it even trumps that, given how frequently demons have enjoyed roleplaying as boys and girls until their victims are lambs to the slaughter. Elayda lets her guard slip somewhat, silently admonishing herself for her icy nerves. “Greetings, ser.” She curtsies terribly, but she tries. “Master Dennet is out on errand, but I’ll be happy to assist you. I work the forge -almost- as well as he. Just don’t let him hear me saying that.” That’s it, Elayda. A bit of small talk never hurt. It should be noted that she’s within arm’s reach of a wide array of weapons in case she’s in need of protection. There’s also the matter of her magical abilities, although who’s to say what they portend…?

Blut chuckled as he took another step forward. "Ah I might keep my lips sealed for a discount." Blut chuckled a little louder but innocently all the while as he stepped closer not looking directly at her more like he was looking through her. The man applied pressure on his cain "I was hopeing you could fix up this old blade -owf" Blut exclaimed as he caused the cain to snap and the blade flew from his grasp harmlessly from the ground. The blade itself unsheethed in her presence showing the broken blade. If the girl helped the man up the strike would be instant the moment his arm was around her neck and she looked away Blut would instantly draw his holy blade from his sleeve to plant into her neck. At the same time he would use his left hand to draw his unholy dagger to impale her torso. The holy dagger was extreamly sharp capable of cutting even iron where as the unholy blade may not be as sharp has a paralysis effect which would spread through her torso within minutes makeing it very hard for her to breath. 10 minutes after that it would start moveing through her whole body leaveing her dead in 30 minutes tops.

Lionel [Post 1 of 2] It’s truly a shame about Elayda. She was a nice girl by all accounts, if fierce and protective. But after what she’d been through, who wouldn’t be? Without Blut’s interference, her role in history was all but assured. She’d have helped from the shadows, conducting magical research invaluable to the war effort against the whims of one terrible man and his underlings. Already, she’d unlocked the secrets to multiple arcane defensive spells she was eager to share with her contacts in Lionel’s camp. Elayda would have saved hundreds of lives. She would have been a heroine in undeath. Now she’s simply… dead. Her pretty eyes stare up at the ceiling in confusion. Her hands never even reached for a weapon. She tried to help an old man up from his tumble. She tried.

Crows

Lionel [Post 2 of 2] Far away in Chartsend, the mood is almost as sour as in Vailkrin. The sun shines brightly through the clouds on a rare winter’s day without heavy overcast, and the seabirds from the western shore chirp noisily overhead, but there is precious little brightness in the way these denizens walk, nor the forced thin smiles on their faces. It’s a hard season for Chartsend. Kahran’s forces nearly made it through the gate one month past, and then surely these folk would have been slaughtered mercilessly. In fact, if it weren’t for Blut himself, they’d have all been dead in minutes. The brush with death still stings, and the overworked, underslept militia that guards the paltry perimeter fence can often be found muttering under-breath about the need for more men. There is still some cause for cheer: the autumnal harvest went well enough, and so there’s enough food to avoid starving. Three migrant workers have given birth to healthy boys and girls, too. But it’s not enough. Heads are kept low, fresh gossip has gone stale. Yet there is one man, head held high and sporting a red satchel, who carries himself with such charismatic thrill as to be noticed wherever he goes. His name is Revierre, and he’s a pirate of some renown. He frolics with the serving women, dancing at the tavern to whatever tunes the musicians are paid to perform. “Aye,” Revierre says to a crowd half the size it used to be. The Slippery Eel can house 70 patrons, but these days they’re lucky to find 35. Still, the crowd seems entranced by his tales from overseas. “I stuck me dagger in the leviathan, I did, for I’d lost me halberd in the real war: the war against a sultry lass who’d threatened me overboard!” Several patrons chuckle, some even genuinely. The ale flows freely and the songs keep playing. Revierre has two sharp daggers holstered to his hip and he’s tall and fit and looks like he can do some damage. His manna is as grey as the sisters Renne and Amarillienne have claimed. Taking him down might not be so easy.

Blut jumped from rooftop to rooftop till he found himself at top of one of the ships at the chartsend dock peering over the edge of the crows nest. At this time of the day sailors were either out eating drinking or doing anything but shipwork. Even men of the high seas yearn for time on land. The sun was right up high in the sky as Blut peered through a spy glass looking for a clear shot. Many buildings littered the landscape but he could still see the eel from his position. However after removeing his wraps the man was positioned near the bottom obscureing him within the buildings. Thanks to the mans overwelming mana he could easily spot him but he could also see the numerious minor mana spots that represented people. Blut had to time this shot perfectly as he pulled out his crossbow. A new creation made from the parts of the holy and unholy crossbow makeing it considerably more powerful but not very useful in short ranged combat. Blut pulled out a bolt that was litteraly crackleing with energy some of the sparks leaveing tiny scorch marks on the nest. Blut shook his head unable to make the shot at this angle. With the rocking of the ship and the angle of the nest there was no way for him to cleanly make this shot one or two walls the bolt could handle fine even dense brick could be shot through but multiple left chance and Blut wasn't about to make a bet with faith. God knows how many times he lost that bet. However there was a way Blut thought as he turned around and leaned back allowing him to fall. He caught the crows nest with his feet leaveing him dangleing but at this position he could cleanly shoot through multiple windows to hit the man. Blut waited as the ship rocked and him with him until the perfect shot arrived. Blut pulled the trigger with a bolt that has been chargeing for the course of 2 days eagger to finally be put to use as it bolted forward in a flash of purple lightning. The bolt flew smoothly moveing slgihtly at the brief gusts of wind. People who the bolt flies by would swear they just saw lightning as the bolt traveled to its destination. Blut continued to dangle and watch with his wraps off to see if the mana would desperse as a sign of death.

Lionel | Revierre holds hands with a comely lass as they each move their feet in time with the music. Even for all Chartsend’s troubles, the lass can’t help but find joy with a man so dashing. Revierre has been smuggling raw materials from far-off lands through Chartsend’s port which have been manufactured into weapons for Lithrydelian villages and hamlets to better-equip themselves against Kahran and many other dangers, Revierre’s exploits have prevented the easy routing of three such towns to orc squadrons in the last two months. His exploits are now at an end. When the lass jests by way of abruptly letting go of her dancing partner, Revierre takes his now-freed hand and scoffs playfully, bracing his fingertips against his neck in a showing of mock shame. The lass giggles, and the rest of the crowd giggles too. Tonight, these hard-working people have truly taken a break from all their worries. That is, until Blut’s arrow pierces Revierre’s neck straight through the slits between the man’s fingers, bursting through his larynx and splattering an obscene amount of blood in every which direction. There is a wild gasp amongst the crowd. The lass screams. The grey manna disperses as anticipates. Blut’s victory is not without setback, however. A militiaman clutching a pair of lucky dice turns a corner by the dock and gasps to discover a person dangling from the crow’s nest of a nearby shi with a crossbow at the ready. Although he’s exhausted, the militiaman is one of the best-trained in town. Immediately, he tenses, and he reaches for his whistle to alert others to this bizarre event whilst making a break to run around that corner again for alleged safety.

Blut emediately rears as he loads another bolt as the man approaches with his new vision he could see everything with mana not just the highly powerful. Closeing his eyes so the man could see the world again he shot the bolt. Being just a regular bolt and unsure of it's potential to kill Blut straightened up on the crows nest The boat rocked in the water and the nest being the highest piviot rocked the hardest. Blut saw a clear view of the water and so he jumped fastening his crossbow to his belt and submurging. Blut put his wraps on underwater allowing him to see. Whilst swimming Blut reached into his pocket to pull out two bags. One he undid and let loose it was filled with blood attracting any ravinous fish in the waters to it rather than him he also took off his cloak as a means of showing that the man had died. Also as a means of throwing the investigators off guard. The blood and cloak might show he died to whatever lurks benith. The second was a nagas root a tree root that provides a outstanding amount of oxygen with this Blut could stay submurged for hours at a time till he could swim round to the empty lot. Where a dry set of clothes await him and a place to emerge undetected.

The Lonely Road

Lionel | The investigation into the deaths of Revierre and the militiamen will be ongoing. Chartsend’s political situation is presently tenuous, but appropriate parties will be notified. Regardless of the very different-seeming ways in which these two men died, the fact is, their deaths happened almost simultaneously, and Chartsend is hardly a Cenril or Larket in size. Word will spread like wildfire. But Blut will have vanished, escaping justice thanks to a combination of quick wit and ample tools. And so it goes that Venturil, distant enough but still a mere two-day trek out here in the western reaches, will be the home of Blut’s final target. Along the way, however, he’ll chance upon something strange: a woman of apparently middling years, her hair grey and her eyes piercing, with decorative gems upon her dress and the feather of some exotic bird perched upon her ear. It’s late at night by now, the sky filled with stars, and the desolate trail between Chartsend and Venturil rarely sees many travelers even at day. At this hour, it seems ludicrous to find this woman alone, with her arms crossed, waiting on the trail as if expecting someone. The dangers she could face! All manner of monster haunts these plains and canyons, but the woman has nary a worry on her visage. And for good reason, too. Blut will sense a tremendous amount of manna flowing through her. It isn’t the same color as he’s finding on his victims; it’s a rainbow of splendor, strong and harsh. It will rival the very strongest manna Blut will have ever sensed. Indeed, his powers of detection may reveal that she is something not far off from a deity. She smiles knowingly at Blut’s approach and calls out in a most arrogant tone. “Fancy evening for a stroll, Blut? Oh, don’t give me that look. I know everything I need to know about you. And you can carry on your way as you like, too, but first I must ask you a question.”

Blut shakes his head as he walks towards her. Bet before he's even 5 feet away from her he sits down and looks at the sky." A seer huh. Well alright ask way." Blut asked nonchalantly knowing that this night only one will walk out alive.

Lionel | The woman chuckles dryly. Her eyes gleam at him; there’s something about those eyes that suggests she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “My, aren’t we cozy? Perhaps I’ll fetch some hot cocoa for you, too. I think not, though. I’ve too many places to be… as do you. So, I’ll ask the question and be off, then -- unless you hope to slay me?” She scoffs. “You do, don’t you? They sure are bold in this era, aren’t they? That is positively endearing, but I’ve no time for it, either. Assassin, tell me this one thing: why do you fight?” The woman scratches her nose idly and awaits his reply.

Blut shook his head "your asking a assassin why he fights." Blut laughed dryly before stopping abruptly "But I don't think you'ed belive me if I said gold." Blut explained thinking back through his hundred years of life playing with the dirt with his finger. He looked back to the woman his wraps off his face with a resolut look in his eyes. "It's not about what I have to gain. Money gold a kingdom followers they will turn to dust before me. It's about what I can't afford to lose. I have no idea what will happen to me if I die. I'm not even sure if I have a soul anymore So what will happen to me if I happen to pass beyond. This is why I fight, to make it further than any mortal has ever been." Blut explained before getting up reading a fighting style and takeing a step back. "Now if your quite done I have a job to do." Blut explained whilst he was talking and remembering all these things he wasn't thinking about the trap he layed. A very thin string of mana vailed around her feet in a ring. Prime to rise and crush her throat in order to mask this plan Blut never thought on it. Ever since he realised his opponent was a seer he performed these actions instinctually sitting down playing with the dirt thinking about all the things in his past all a cover up for this moment.

Lionel | The woman smiles, satisfied. “Fighting to survive, as it were. A lonely path, but then, is it not so that throughout history all the champions and truest challengers lived the loneliest lives of all? Finish your contract, assassin. We will meet again.” She disappears, either unaware or unamused by Blut’s failed trap. The night is quiet again, but for the howling of a coyote somewhere in the cold plains. Night fades into day, then night again, and by the following dawn Blut will arrive in Venturil. Early-morning merchants set up their shops and stalls and kiosks, hoping to catch the earliest tradesmen and offer bread and blade. Thanks to a recent adventure of Meri’s and Lionel’s, much of the stigma against the razurath tribe of saurians -- vaguely anthropomorphic lizard men with blood ties to lumbering dinosaurs -- has faded. Blut will see a few of them walking through Venturil, trilling and snarling at one-another by means of communication. But where is Blut’s target? Neither of these razurath seem to harbor strange manna singles, but perhaps they’ll know where to find one that does. Venturil’s market district is wide open with limited spots for sneaking, and its roofs are rather spiky, prohibiting easy travel. There is a small unused shack near the eastern entrance. At this hour, it shouldn’t be too difficult to keep one’s distance from the townsfolk, but it won’t be easy to blend in with so few of them out of bed yet. For some strange reason, Blut will not be able to sense the manna of his target anywhere in town just yet -- but he will sense the manna itself, leaking across Venturil as if something bad has happened and it hasn’t been contained. The target is here, somewhere, but the question is where?

Heroism Unlikely

Blut turned his cloak inside out and grabing a random stick off the ground. A rather large one at that. The brown inside made him lokk alot like a traveler and without his crossbow people will more than likely mistake him for a mercenary. Blut looked around with his wraps around his eyes he could see the world for what it was. No point looking for mana where it ain't showing itself. Blut put up his hood and put on his mask hideing all traces of ways to identify him. Blut no longer needed to sleep or eat for that matter. In persuit of his target he would traverse the whole town to find her.

Lionel /| The pubs are closed, the shops are closed, and the lobby of the local inn is manned by a young boy who must be the owner’s son, nephew or otherwise blood relation. He dutifully stacks glasses atop one another and fetches basic foodstuffs for the three early risers who have descended the stairs for breakfast. “Oi, lad, this toast is sour,” a woman complains. “Can’t say I’ve ever tasted sour toast, or even thought it possible,” her fellow remarks. He takes a bite, grimacing once his lady’s complaint is proven true. “I don’t know how that could have happened,” the boy says with a frown. “The bread is as fresh as can be. Grains were from just yesterday.” He pops a piece into his mouth and gags. “I’m so sorry, sers, madams. I don’t understand at all…” Before he can do something about it, however, the other patron abruptly combusts into flame. The boy, the man and woman, all of them screech in horror. They rush to the doomed person’s aid but it’s too late by far. The flames rip through flesh and leave a searing husk to the floorboards. Patrons from upstairs, roused by the ruckus, come down to critique the inn’s noise pollution and then promptly scream to see the corpse. The inn is awake; everyone runs outside fearful that they’ll be next. And once they’re out there, chattering at one-another in their confusion, it’s enough to wake half the town. The merchants who’d been readying their wares all come over, too, and the two razurath saurians trill and bark and attempt to speak the common tongue to find out what’s going on. Blut, with his expert sight, will notice a slight twinkle coming from inside Venturil’s tallest building -- a windmill. The twinkle came from near the top, and it’s gone as quickly as it’s arrived. Just seconds later, one of the saurians erupts into flame, and the town is wailing all over again.

Blut dashes towards the windmill in the middle of all the chaos with increadable speed. Just as swift as a elf as he ran past the crowd physically shoveing people aside if they run into him. Blut approached the windmill materailiseing his mana into physical form. Spikes appeared at the soles of his feet as he ran vertically up the windmill reaching the first windmill before haveing to form claws on his hands for more stability. Blut began to steadily climb up the windmill towards his target.

Lionel |Unsurprisingly, the crowd does not take well to being pushed and shoved. “Lark!” A gaudy man shouts. “Ho!” That’s from a woman. “This sneak-thief must be an elf, and elves are all trouble,” an elderly man as much as spits. “He’s the one what did the firing of people, right shine as rain, I know it to be true.” It’s the local drunk. The lark-shouter and the ho-exclaimer are drowned out in the rabble that follows; the elderly man is accused for a racist and old arguments sprout about elves, and the drunkard is dismissed as inebriated leading to an uproar about the need for prohibition. It’s amazing to think these people had only seconds prior witnessed the spontaneous combustion of two of their peers. But they’re all back to fear again when the elderly man, who has just insinuated that all elves are descended of Hind’s rear, and that there is a reason he was named Hind, is suddenly frozen solid mid-insult. His cigar is held tucked to his lips and his face is full of self-righteous fury but he’s dead, done, a veritable icicle. The crowd screams, of course, and disperses, and by now Blut is most of the way up the windmill. “Lark!” The former lark-shouter larks once more. “Ho!” It’s the ho-exclaimer, and she’s mortified. But none of them can do a thing about Blut now, if indeed they could have in the first place. And what will Blut find once he’s ascended to the window sill near the roof of the mill? A razurath, her claws outstretched, leaping toward him and casting yet another spell. A bolt of electricity zips across the scant two meters from her rod on an impact course to fry Blut in his tracks and send him either falling from great height or stunned enough that the razurath can rip him to shreds.

Blut 's eyes widdened as he saw the razurath lunging towards him. Blut let go of the wall as he fell back his feet still planted to the wall so rather than falling his body tilted as he back against the wall. Blut placed more mana onto his feet as claws extented made purely from mana. The new density of his mana made them far more durable than before. Blut pushed off against the wall till his was just under the window his face planted against it useing his mana constructs to stick to the wall. He would remain that way till the woman looks out the window and straight down. At that moment Blut would jump up to grab the woman and throw her onto the ground before letting go of the building to land on her. If the fall wouldn't kill her the man falling on her will.

Lionel | [Post 1 of 2] “Egh’krall,” the razurath snarls, irritated that her prey has eluded her ambush. “Tali’zor. Than’krio. Urdn’wrex!” Whatever she’s saying, she’s pretty damned passionate about it. She studies her windmill hideout quickly with predatory eyes. Her inscriptions, which have contained detailed studies on the victims she’s made with her magical training, are safe and secure. Lionel and his allies will never need to know how many she has killed for their cause. To her, employment means seeking whoever will fund her studies, and here in the western frontier she’s been well-funded, her experiments safely anonymous. Who would miss the occasional traveler? Today was different, though. She’d heard word of the death of a contact out in Vailkrin, some squishy undead blacksmith apprentice or other. The details didn’t matter. The facts did. The razurath had kept a careful lookout up here for days, wary of any strange passersby, and when she sensed Blut’s powerful manna she knew to strike. To kill indiscriminately, first with fire and then with ice, but to do so in such a way as to reveal her location with a twinkle from this windmill. Everything had gone so smoothly in those moments, until Blut revealed the full extent of his climbing prowess. Now it’s all ruined. He’s down there somewhere, waiting. He’s the hunter now. She’ll be ambushed. She seethes, reaching for a crossbow of her own. She readies an arrow, primes it, and dares to glance ever so slightly down the window sill. That’s when she’s caught, dragged and tossed overboard exactly as she’d feared she would be.

Lionel | [Post 2 of 2] The razurath, who shall remain nameless for no name was ever given and it would likely be a real challenge to pronounce besides, collapses onto the ground below. Her thick scales prevent complete shatter, but bones still grind and crunch. The crowd gathers anew, and they stare in contempt upon Blut when he silences her forever with his own well-timed tumble. The people of Venturil scowl and rush toward him to apprehend this killer.

Blut takes out some orbs from his pouch crushing them with his hand. He knew a few alchamest in the area. In the area as dark as it is was a perfect idea to test out his new toy. Blut took off his wraps as the area erupted into light. He was told that these chemicals would create a large spark of light if they were exposed to air. Anyone who bore whitness to the light would temporarily be blinded and with a smoke bomb covering the area in a solid screen of smoke. It should cause enough confusion for Blut to get out following the mana seeping from the ground.

Lionel | [Post 1 of 2] “Lark,” one of the blinded townsfolk grumbles. “Ho,” another one agrees. “It be him, I says, and y’all dinnae be listenin’, oh, because I’m drunk,” the drunkard rants. “An’ now who’s blind? Aye, every lot of ya, but me? I can see just fine, for in my line of work the world is always glowing, ‘cept when it’s not. I remember me and my fair Sheila was once on a stroll through the woods with naught but our underclothes and a bottle of gin, when…” He prattles on at some length. For all the evil Blut may have committed over these past several days, he may have just saved the population of Venturil from a morally compromised sapient dinosaur woman who’d have picked them all off one by one in the name of science. Go figure.

Well Done

Lionel [Post 2 of 2] “There’s never anything -fun- to do here,” Amarillienne pouts, swinging her legs back and forth atop her chair. “We’re in a land of perpetual darkness and scheming vampiric houses embroiled in civil war and you want something fun,” Renne replies in distaste. The Hanging Corpse is quiet this evening; too many of its regular patrons are off doing precisely the scheming Renne has just referenced. “Yeah? What of it?” The younger sister shrugs. Her shrug just happens to cause the tip of her blouse to collapse, revealing her shoulder. She wiggles it for the various men and women whispering at other tables to witness, and yet not a single one of them turns to see. “Oh, I can’t stand it anymore. This is the most boring post ever! Kah…” Renne grabs her sister by the arm and twists her hand. Amarillienne winces and gasps but covers her mouth with her spare hand. She knows not to cry here. “Say the rest of that name and you’ll wish you hadn’t,” Renne threatens, but there’s a hint of sympathy in her eyes. As much as they can’t afford to let their cover get blown, they’re still sisters, and Renne did rescue her from Larket’s witch camp. “Our contact should be arriving shortly. Then we can go home and you can waste time with your dolls or whatever it is you do in that room.” Amarillienne is freed from Renne’s grip, and she hmphs and pouts some more. “They’re magical dolls, I’ll have you know.”

Blut entered the tavern with a new cloak and with sharpened weapons. Blut approached the sisters takeing a seat by the eldest. Not more than a couple of weeks has past since he was given these assignments "you gave me quite the run around but here I got your jobs done." Blut explained takeing out 3 items as evidence of his kills the book of the blacksmith, a newspaper of chartsend showing the death of the man and finally the scales of the razurath. "I've done my little bit now what?" Blut asked wraps still around his face but no longer looking like he was looking through them he was looking straight at the eldests face.

Lionel | Amarillienne opens her mouth to speak but Renne speaks faster. “Fine work. I see now why our master chose you.” She nods cordially, reaching beneath the table to fetch a plain wooden chest. “700 gold pieces for each kill. A bonus of 400 for reducing our need to cover your tracks. That brings your total to 2500. Is there anything in particular you wish to report about your mission?” Now would be the time for Blut to mention that strange, powerful woman he met on the trail to Vailkrin, if he so chooses. He can keep the information hidden instead if he wishes; nothing in Renne’s voice suggests she’s aware of it. Either way, the woman -did- say she and Blut would meet again, so he’ll probably see her again in the future. “And me,” Amarillienne chimes in. “Me. You won my respect and perhaps even a hint of my affection.” She grins at him; who does she think this guy is, anyway? Renne sighs. “Be that as it may. Your job is finished for now. At some point in the next two weeks you will be contacted again to be brought to the master’s side. There, he will have words for you. I don’t know what they are. But if I were to venture a guess, you’ll have new orders -- and rich reward.”

Blut chuckled as he put away his trophies as well as the gold "Well I'm glad to have pleased you ladies well then I guess I will take my leave. Nothing special to report" Blut explained as he got up and turned to leave. "I look forward to our next encounter" Blut explained as he waved without looking back.