The Tool

[Darkhawk76]

Solo

I’m not one to keep track of my money. I travel where I need to, sleep where I need to, eat where I need to, and spend where I need to. The only time I notice a need for money is when I open my purse and find it empty. Of course, it’s always a meal or sleeping quarters that is desperately needed when I find an empty purse.

This time, it was a meal.

I had walked out of a tavern in Lamberton, a bustling trading city of elves and dwarves nestled on the Raiaeran side of the Mountains of Twilight, and expected to breakfast on a few fruits bought in the open market. Sadly, my empty purse would not allow it.

This led to a necessary chain of events, as these types of things often do, that ended with me outside of a warehouse on the south side of town, looking for a bounty I had tracked all day. All of this for a rumbling stomach that begged to be fed.

The bounty I had been following was a man named Robby, wanted for multiple accounts of rape and murder. He wasn’t high on the list, garnering a small value, and had therefore been allowed to run a bit freer than the more high profile bounties. He was perfect for my needs though, a man who would probably be little trouble and gain me the money to keep moving.

I entered the gaping opening of the warehouse, my own elongated shadow escorting me in and disappearing into the mass of its fellows. The stinking smell of fish and salt assaulted my nose, and my ears heard the scurrying of rats. Containers as wide as small shacks and a head above my own were placed within, many of their sides showing signs of wet rot caused by the seafood held within.

I slipped between the cracks of the containers, my faded clothing gaining new stains from the makeshift walls. My blue eyes stared out from under my grey hood, keeping my eyes open for anything. My hands were at the ready, prepared to flick out my weapons at a moment’s notice.

My ears were suddenly filled with the sound of a closing gate. I had just enough time to look back and watch the Warehouse’s opening close, like the eyes of the dead being shut.

“You’ve been very, very sloppy about you’re trail, Kyle Delaney.”

The voice was gruff and strong, mocking my attempts to track down the fiend. How he got my name was anyone’s guess.

“I didn’t achieve the bounty I have by letting guys like you take me unaware.”

I smiled haughtily, for no other’s amusement but my own, and flicked out my blades, a dagger in my right hand and a stiletto in my left.

“Right, you achieved that by raping and killing young women. Then running and hiding.”

“We all get our kicks in our own ways.”

“Very true.”

The warehouse had become eerily dark, the oppressive shadows masking everything. Robby could have been anywhere. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Everyone, even if they deny it, gets scared when they’re up against something or someone they know next to nothing about.

Thinking about it, Robby must have been scared to. My own digging had told me he had had very few hunters on his tail. Mostly angry fathers and brothers who had no real ability save their own rage. They had been easily eluded or dealt with. I was the first hunter to actually come looking for him and seem to have some sort of skill to back it up.

The fright tactics of the closing gate and echoing voice was just that, fright tactics. Robby knew what he was up against, and while knowing didn’t always cause fear, sometimes it could cause more than the unknown.

“I’ll let you leave now, if you want. I don’t have a reason to kill you.” The voice had little tremor in it and was spoken with a cocksure attitude. I twirled my dagger with a bit of swagger. The man was scared. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have been bargaining.

I kept moving forward, hoping to find him in the clutter of containers. I took a left, and then a right, the smell of rotting fruit now entering my nose. A few more turns and the smell was overcome by that of grains kept outside far too long. I kept moving, my eyes trying to break through as much of the gloom as possible and my ears opened for anymore of Robby’s taunts.

Instead I heard footsteps, heavy ones, running. I moved quickly, following the. He never came into view, but the sound gave away just the type of man he was. He was large, and while running as fast as he could through the maze wasn’t as fast as me. It wasn’t long before I heard ragged breathing. He was moving at random, doubling back at random intervals.

I wasn’t sure if he knew that I was following. Maybe he was trying to lose me, or set a trap. I heard his footsteps stop, his ragged breathing continuing. I stopped myself, still not seeing him in the gloom. I slowly moved forward and followed the breathing cautiously. Wherever he was, it was probably where he me wanted to be.

I turned a corner and saw him. He was large and burly, his face flat and brutish. He was weaponless, holding a weak lantern that only illuminated a small circle around him.

“You want me,” he whispered, “come and get me.”

He was serious and frightened. A dog in a corner. The joking was over. He knew I wouldn’t be scared off. He knew I could kill him. He was goading me, trying to move me into a trap.

I took a step forward anyway, preparing for whatever it was he had ready. He didn’t move. I took another. Nothing. I took a third. Again he was still.

I, however, was noticing a slick something under my feet. I sniffed the air discreetly, my face masked by my hood. The man was smarter than he looked. He had created a small oil slick. He had apparently not gauged it correctly.

I was standing some fifteen feet from him, on the edge of the oil.

I took a few steps back, seemingly retreating.

“You tell you’re other friends that they don’t want to mess with me, got it?” He had let a small smile come on his face. “I’m not that dumb and there are bigger fish they need to fry.”

Suddenly I was moving forward. Right where the oil began I jumped. I was halfway through the jump when Robby finally threw the lantern, my movement surprising him. It was too late. The lantern passed by me harmlessly as my left hand careened into his neck.

As a blaze of fire erupted behind me, Robby fell beneath me, my left hand burying my stiletto down his neck and into his chest.

I crouched there for a moment, savoring it. Robby could only take a few gasps, his body in utter shock at the few inches of steel jabbed into and down his corpulent neck. The blade throbbed from the rushing blood.

I had taken this man’s life. I chose whether he lived or died. My hand controlled him and destroyed him.

I liked that.

[Darkhawk76]

When you’re going after dangerous criminals, some known for arson, you would think that the local militia would give some leeway when it came to property damage caused by bounty hunters. This was not the case however.

I had dragged the body (no easy task) out to the back of the warehouse as the grain-holding containers caught fire. Not thinking of the consequences, I called over a few young men to help bring the body to the militia building, only a few streets down. They were hesitant at first, though after I explained the situation they readily agreed, knowing a friend of a brother of one of Robby’s victims. I had the corpse brought inside and talked to the man who headed the bounty board.

I left an hour later, with no gold to may name. I had readily told them about how I had found and dealt with him in the warehouse. I left the issue of the fire out, but with word spreading of one just beginning in the warehouses, they quickly put two-and-two together. I was sent out with a thank you and notified that my reward would be used to repair the damage caused by the incident.

I had fought the verdict of course, but the militia man would have none of it. I had almost drawn a blade on him, but stopped when I noticed him calling over some more of his friends. They were prepared to throw me out by force if needed.

So I left angrily, heading back to the tavern I had spent the previous night. The streets were crowded with people heading home as the evening was coming to a close. Everywhere I heard the buzz of the fire. Much of the first warehouse had been burnt down (with all of its mostly rotting food), but the fire hadn’t spread. Either way, the news hurt. I wouldn’t be eating tonight, all because the man threw a lantern.

As I entered the tavern, it came to my mind that eating wouldn’t be my only problem. I had no money for a room.

Simmering with anger, I took a seat at a nearby table, my cold gaze roving around the room. The place was packed with tired men, having a meal or a drink before going home. Others were travelers, telling stories of their adventures.

My eyes were riveted to the food, though. There was a hambone with a mug of ale beside it. Another had a bowl of soup and a loaf of bread. Still another had a turkey leg with a block of cheese. All of it was utterly tantalizing in my hungry state.

I saw the barman behind the counter, cleaning glasses to refill, and bringing out food to hand out to the constantly moving barmaids. None of it was for me.

Continuing on, I saw the stairs up to the rooms. I had stayed there last night, and had awoken with a chill from the meager sheet. All of could think of then, though, was how much colder I would be this night, out in the streets.

I dropped my head in my arms, looking for the entire world like a man who had enjoyed a little too much of the bar’s special brew. It was ironic that I had enjoyed too little.

As I sat there, I let myself forget about the world around me and the day behind me, focusing on utter nothingness. I paid little attention to the opening door. Nor did I care much about the soft footsteps coming nearer. I almost ignored the body that sat down beside me. It’s a bit harder to ignore a gentle touch and a soft voice.

“Excuse me, are you Kyle Delaney? The one who killed Robby?”

I looked up angrily, willing my blue eyes to flash hatred at whoever had reminded me of my successful failure.

I wasn’t very surprised to see a young woman. The soft steps and gentle voice had given that away. She was pretty, with raven black hair that fell just below her shoulder. Her dirty face had a cute quality to it, like a young woman that was still showing a tentative hold to the little girl she had been.

Her eyes were what caught me the most. They were blue, only a shade off from my own, and while mine were hopefully flashing anger, hers were offering a view into a sorrowful worry. They made me feel as if I was her only hope. I felt that I wanted to help her, had to help her.

My hungry stomach and quickly tiring mind helped to keep my anger fueled against it, however.

“What do you want?”

“So you are him, you’re Kyle Delaney?” She seemed so innocent.

“What do you want?”

“I need help.”

She sounded as if that explained it all, as if with just that I would leap to her rescue.

I found myself gazing from her eyes down to her body. She was buxom with a nicely shaped waist. All of it was hidden beneath badly sized peasant’s clothes, though most men would say they were sized very nicely. She was the type of girl I enjoyed playing with. I didn’t feel like playing at the moment, though.

I got up from my seat and walked to the door. The girl almost knocked over her chair as she stood up to follow.

“I truly need your help!”

I ignored her and walked out the door, stepping out into the quiet street. The sun had just finished its descent, and the stars were beginning to peak out, decorating the black sky for the moon’s rise.

I was beginning to turn down the street, to go off and find an alley to curl up in, when the girl came barreling out, grabbing onto my tunic and pushing her body against my own.

“Please,” she whispered, her warm breath against my ear. She was tantalizing in her worried innocence. My hand was brushing against her, my thumb feeling the softness of her lower back.

“Please.” I looked down at her. She was asking for help. My brain wanted to hurt her. I was getting angrier and worked up. The girl was turning me on. I didn’t have the time for this. I didn’t want to deal with this.

“Found yourshelf anudder friend?”

I looked down the street to see a small man, his hair matted and a crooked grin on his face. He was clearly drunk.

“Don’ mind sharin, though I not sure you like my way of sharin, girly.”

The girl pushed harder against me, which only worked me up more, and pissed me off more. “Please, don’t let him hurt me.”

I wanted to hurt someone. I needed to let out some rage.

I was reminded of how good it felt, dealing with Robby. I wanted to do that again. I wanted to take control of someone’s life. I wanted to kill someone.

I decided that he would do.

The man didn’t hurt the girl.

[Darkhawk76]

I left the man to die a silent death, a wound in his armpit, his hamstring cut, and his throat slit. He was going to die in the back alley of the tavern, where no one would find him before he was gone. I didn’t need to watch him die. I got what I wanted.

Before I knew it, I was entangled with the girl, her small sweaty body lying over my own. She had bought me a meal and the best bed in the tavern. I had asked no questions and neither had she. I had seen no reason to. I had done the girl a favor and she was paying me back ten fold. Who was I to complain?

I awoke later in the night, asking the questions that I had earlier pushed away. How did a girl that was dressed in rags have enough money for a noble’s room? How did she know me when I had no reputation to speak of? Had she…?

I pushed them away again as I turned to face her. Her eyes were open, her face calm, sad, innocent. She was curled up by herself, a few inches between us. I felt like I had taken advantage of her. I felt like I owed her.

“Thank you.”

I got up from the bed roughly, wanting to clear my head. There was a window that opened out to the street below. I opened it and hung my head out, breathing in the cool night air. It didn’t help.

I turned back to the bed and the girl. She had sat up, drawing the blanket over her clumsily. Her black hair was mussed, some of it falling to cover half of her face and one of her eyes. The other looked didn’t look at me.

“Who are you?” I asked. It didn’t seem unnatural for me to not have asked this.

“Lana.”

There was silence, with me looking at her and her staring at the ground. She broke the silence.

“You could work well as an enforcer.”

“An enforcer?”

“Someone who protects people… and hurts them. People pay for someone like you to do their work.”

“I don’t swear myself to people.”

“You could work freelance. I’ve heard of people doing jobs based on certain principals.”

This was not the type of bed talk I was used to.

“I have a job I could use you for.”

Again, I didn’t ask why a peasant girl would have need for someone to do a job. She looked as if she didn’t have enough to bathe regularly.

“What kind of job?”

“There’s this guy who keeps pestering girls like me. He’s a big guy, with a lot of muscle.”

“You’ll pay me to kill some big street urchin.”

She looked up at me finally. She looked scared, worried.

“He’s not some street urchin. He’s a big guy, with a lot of people. He controls part of the town. He’s the only guy like that in Lamberton. Guys have to pay him. Girls do too, especially the ones on the streets. Guys and girls pay differently though.”

“What do you pay for?”

“Protection.”

“From who?”

Pause. “Him.”

There was a long pause. I’m not sure what she was thinking about. I wasn’t sure what I was thinking about. I wanted to help her. My anger wasn’t around to push that feeling back.

I walked back to the bed and rejoined her. We fell asleep, entangled and exhausted.

[Darkhawk76]

I was awoken by the noise of the tavern coming to life. The noise of food being prepared, of tavern maids preparing for another day, and of rowdy men prepared for another day of drinking filtered throughout the whole building. It was noise that I was used to waking to, the noise of people coming to life, ready to lead their lives.

I lied there for a while, watching the unmoving ceiling and listening. Soon I was able to forget the noise of the outside and listen to the world within my room. One person breathing.

I extended my hand over, expecting to find Lana lying beside me. The bed was empty, and cold.

I became scared for her. What had happened to her? Where was she? Had she left on her own? Was she okay?

I rolled out from my bed and glanced around. Nothing had changed. One bed, one desk, one wardrobe. The only difference was a new addition. In the corner was a tub, filled with water, hot coals underneath it. I walked over and put a finger in. Warm.

I turned to the door as it opened and Lana stepped in. She had apparently found a set of different clothing in the wardrobe, though these were terribly loose on her petite frame.

“I got you a bath,” she said, handing me a small bar of soap and a rag.

I took them and got into the bath.

She left as I washed, disappearing back into the building. The bath was normal, nothing of importance.

As I got out and dressed, she reappeared.

“Have you thought about last night?” she asked.

“No.”

“Would you be willing to do it?”

“Do what? Take care of this man?

“Yes. And free a friend of mine.”

“Who?”

“Her name is Samantha.”

“Where would I find this guy?”

“He owns a Show House on the other side of town.”

“Show House?”

“He holds all types of shows there. Funny acts. Magic shows. Dancers. All that stuff. He keeps his special guests there too.”

I looked at her. She seemed so helpless. I wanted to help her.

“Alright.”

I finished dressing, making sure my blades were in there respective bracers, then moved out.

I felt different as I walked out onto the street. My mind felt clearer. I suddenly was asking questions again. I decided to deal with them later.

I moved unerringly towards the Show House. I didn’t know how I found it.

[Darkhawk76]

My eyes adjusted slowly to the dimness of the Show House. The front door opened to a large foyer, with stairs leading up to a second floor. The walls were covered with pictures and rugs, depicting images varying from the magical and epic, to the sensual and erotic. They were placed in such a way to mark the many doors and curtains that disappeared into various rooms and wings of the house.

I moved forward hesitantly, looking around and taking all of this in. It was only after I saw the whole room that I noticed the small man standing in the middle of it. He was of an indeterminate age, and was almost short enough to be considered a human dwarf. His smile was smarmy and confident; as if he had a secret that he knew you wanted to know. Slick hair, impeccably groomed, was only matched by his pristine clothes.

“My dear sir, I welcome you to the House of Magnificent Visions, where all your dreams can be made real in front of your very eyes. My name is Nickel, and will be your guide if you so need one.”

The sound of his voice was smooth and strangely seductive. There was nothing erotic in it, but it made you want to follow him.

“I don’t think you can help me.”

“Oh, but I am quite sure that I can sir. You see, you came in here looking for something. Everyone does. If you say that I can’t help you, you probably don’t know how to help yourself.”

“I think I can find my way.”

“My good sir, if you knew the way then this would not be your first visit. If this was not your first visit then I would remember your face. I remember faces very well. Especially those who wish to hide them.”

I brought may hand up to my cowl, almost perpetually hiding my face, and pushed it back. My brown hair was a mess compared to his, still partially wet from my bathing.

“Ah, blue eyes. That is said to be a gift given to few, good sir. Now how may I help you?”

“I’m looking for someone. I believe he runs this place.”

“You’ll have to forgive me, sir.” His use of the word sir was getting on my nerves by this point. “The owner of this fine establishment is not here at the moment. If you would like, you may wait for him in one of the rooms. I’m quite sure we’ll have one that fits your tastes.”

I let my eyes wander the walls. The man was playing some game. I didn’t know what it was. Maybe he assumed I was someone, or something, else. I suddenly wished I hadn’t lowered my cowl. The man would see my face if I delved into his mind, and he would know something was up.

“Why don’t you follow me, sir? We’ll find something that will fit your tastes until, Mr. Vermite can meet with you.”

“Mr. Vermite?”

Nickel’s face gave me a strange look for just a moment. He was back to his confidence before I could ponder it.

“Yes, Mr. Vermite. The owner. Follow me.” With a smile he turned and disappeared into one of the curtains.

I didn’t bother looking at the art around it. I didn’t really care where I was going.