RP:Lethal Mission

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: After receiving a letter from Alred "Red" Gingerson, Zendor makes his way to Vailkrin to meet with either the fence or his employer. Gevurah meets with Zendor in a private sacrifice room and gives him a new assignment related to a recently escaped slave, a new order related to a trap, and reveals her sense of humor.

The Letter

ic letter written in code - first letter of each word

Very alarming information! Last known redhead is noxious - that's euphemism, my pal. Leprosy, encephalitis, or fetid venereal afflictions. Keep Mr. Action Tool housed and restrained.

Adios, Sucker,

Red

The Grand Temple of Vakmatharas

Zendor received a letter from a courier he sent days ago, and handed him the payment he promised. After studying the letter a moment, he crumbled it up and shoved in his mouth, poking it to make sure he got every bit. The most efficient way to dispose of it. Eventually it occurs to him that when utilizing this method of note-destruction, it's important to consider where the letters come from. He did so, and barfed. Stomping it to a pulp, he became satisfied and left for Vailkrin. Once there, he pulled a black hood over his head to blend in better and just kinda shumbled about the place, looking for the temple. He wouldn't ask for directions, so it would be quite a bit of aimless wandering. Eventually of course, he found it, and entered. Apparently making no trouble, the guards would let him by he assumes, and doesn't make an effort to avoid them. After glancing around the place, he takes a seat in one of the pews and awaits some kind cue.

Now that Zendor knows the identity of Red's employer, Gevurah feels compelled to face the mercenary in person and gauge his willingness to continue to work for her dark purpose. The trouble with meeting in person is that it exposes their working relationship and jeopardizes his cover as a double agent. Thus location serves a key role in masking their motives, and few places are more natural for a High Priestess of Vakmatharas than His temple. The choice is not quite so natural for Zendor, but workarounds and excuses can be furnished for a mercenary. The First Daughter approaches the altar with a glowing salamander wriggling in her fist. She kneels before her god and lifts the salamander over her head with both hands. Perhaps the creature understands its fate, because as Gevurah prayers it wriggles with a panicked ferocity. The captain of her guard, whom Zendor may recognize from his visit to House D'Artes, approaches Zendor's pew and sits. He makes eye contact with the human, nods, then rises, expecting Zendor to follow. Assuming her does...as they pass the altar, Gevurah guts the salamander vertically from pelvis to throat. Its blood collects in the large bowl whose blood seems to churn as it accepts the sacrifice. The guard leads the human to a small, private ritual room, usually reserved for mercy killings (or furtive assasinations). Two chairs face a low blackstone table. At its center sits a small fountain that bubbles blood. Its thick gurgling fills the room with a stomach-turning melody. Minutes later Gevurah joins the room and closes the door behind her. She takes a seat and stares at human expectantly, as if she came here at his behest and not the other way around.

Zendor rises after a moment, and follows the drow, who's butt Zendor thinks he could kick. Zendor also notices that the silly struggler is not actually a salamander at all, it's an axolotl. He's aware of its doom, and chooses to look straight into its beady eye, as if the slimy critter could understand his sympathy, or understand how they were similar. Yes, soon Zendor would be the axolotl he suspected. The ambient smell is offensive but familiar; and the sound is just tedious, knowing the cause. Next time, he would bring something to sacrifice too, but something that could fight back. He greatly appreciates that no Gingerson is present, and once they're both sitting, he asks: "Did you at last dispose of the middleman? I hoped that I would have that privilege some day."

Gevurah flashes a cordial, dishonest smile. Red eyes trace the room's architecture and decor. Her knee jostles impatiently beneath her black skirt. Her index finger slides back and forth against her long thumb nail impatiently. She inhales deeply as if keeping at bay some unseen burden. "Has the slave Nymh gotten in touch with you." She speaks her question as a statement. "I recall you were friendly."

Zendor leans back in his seat, having the small(ish) talk be cut down to such a wimpy nub by the weak smile. Perhaps he knew Red was there, and simply wanted to remind him of certain animosities. Perhaps he didn't, but he certainly made no apologies. He narrows his eyes, and a grin flickers, "Nymh, the slave? Certainly Nymh the slave has not gotten back to me. If you're talking about the free elf, bard. Yes, in fact he found me in Frostmaw, while I was isolated from the rest of the elves. Am I to believe that he has managed to escape? I merely assumed you and he had come to an understanding as we had!" He looks mock-sympathetically at the captain of the guard and shakes his head. Because clearly he was to blame.

Gevurah's lips thin and her expression hardens. Her spine straightens and she leans slightly forward. Without raising her voice, she lets Zendor in on a little secret in a conspiratorial tone. "I tire of your sense of humor. I pay for a sellsword and a spy, not a jester. If you'd prefer the life of a jester, I can find you a space in D'Artes's court and shackles in my slave stables." She winks, but doesn't smile. "That's my senseof humor. But I am pleased that you know Nymh is in Frostmaw. Kill him. I do not want him captured and returned. I want him killed. By you, specifically. No one else."

Zendor taps his fingers on the table and blinks intently. "Fine, no more sarcasm. No more jokes." He cleared his throat and leaned forward on the table. "But I don't think he does reside in Frostmaw any longer. By his word he did intend to, but his plans changed. It would seem," he sought to choose his words carefully, while still being very implicit, "that there are some drow, that do not take their orders directly from you. He was proud to tell me that he'd found a home in the underdark with another group of misfits, monsters, and half breeds. Though I can't remember the name. Would you seek to recall me to the Underdark and forgo my mission there? Otherwise this boy's life will persist a while longer."

Gevurah's face pinches in distaste as Zendor explains where Nymh has allegedly found a home. Laezila. It isn't surprising. Laezila expressed interest in him last they women met. Aggravating. "No, stay on the surface. If you see Nymh, kill him. If he's in the Underdark, I'll find him." She lets out a long exhale. "And do join the elves in the North Patrol." She fetches a bag of coins out of her satchel. "Payment for that intelligence." Another 1,000 gold. "Zendor, I hope that if you do see Nymh you do not stall on the directive to kill Nymh due to personal sentiments."

Zendor shrugs and nods, apparently quite oblivious to the goings on. However, due to one precious data-nugget, and this most recent confirmation, it seems probable that the dark elves could be pushed into disarray with a little more leverage. "I'll join the elves on their patrol, if that is what you wish. Please don't mistake me for the sentimental type, business is business. Nymh will understand." For a moment, he ignores the large bag as if he didn't notice it. And he puts a forearm on the table, bare now with his rolled up sleeve. "I've yet to be explained the purpose of this piece here. Shall you do me the courtesy?"

"To keep you honest," she explains dismissively. The priestess rises to take her leave. "Do you have anything else to report before I go."

He did his best and repressed the urge to inform her that honesty has no place in this line of work. "There's a new player in the game. An elf, I didn't catch his name but he seems dangerous. Motivated. I'll keep you informed."

Gevurah nods with genuine appreciation (for once). "Good. See if you can get him to join the elves in the north patrol." A candle near the door blew out during their conversation. Her fingers hover around the wick and it slowly catches flame. "Wait a few minutes before leaving." Her rogue follows behind his charge. As he passes Zendor he nods as well without malice.