Infiltrate and Destroy(Open)

[Ivory Evil]

Open and I'm trying out first person writing

I marvelled at the beauty possessed by the young lady in front of me. She said her name was Talia, but that was information was useless to me. Since she began her speech I hadn't really responded much, except for the seldom 'yes' or 'no' to imply that I was listening. Her blue eyes expressed a great deal of urgency and I couldn't help losing my train of thought as I looked into them.

"So that's why I've come to you Vandahir, you are the only one who can help my people." Talia was very formal with me and I didn't understand it.

"I already told you Talia, just call me Van." I wasn't used to a woman who carried herself the way Talia did. She was graceful and had a certain confident pep to her.

"Well alright Van."

"So let me get this straight..." I tried to summarize what I had gathered from our conversation. "You say I am supposed to play a big role in your peoples fight against a secret organization."

"Yes Van, it's said that an Ivory clad warrior would come and play a crucial role in our fight against the Order of the Golden Leaf."

I looked down to my fresh white two piece suit, the flawless white fabric was enchanted to never dirty. "And I'm that guy, huh?"

"Yes Van and you would really be a sweetheart to just take it into consideration." She knew what men thought about her and used it well to her advantage. With eyes that blinked innocence she knew I wasn't going to deny her request.

"What exactly do I have to do?"

"That is for you to find out, but it does have something to do with closing the portals."

"What portals? You didn't say anything about any portals." She probably did but I had missed it due to her beauty.

"Look Van just read this, it'll explain everything. If you decide to lend your hand follow the directions listed on the back." From her purse she removed a folded piece of paper and stood from her chair. "Hopefully I hear from you soon." She smiled and handed me the paper as I lead her to the door.

"Yeah, I'll be in touch." I said as I gave her one last smile before she exited the sturdy oak door that I held open for her.

'Oh and Van..." She turned before walking the stairway from my small appartment in one of Scara Brae's rougher districts. "Please be careful, it is of utmost importance that the Order doesn't find you."

"Why's that little lady?"

"Because they will kill you..." A sense of seriousness floated with her voice, but all I could do was smile.

"Don't worry about me, I'm Vandahir Elaredhal!" I winked and planted my right arm firmly on the handle of my katana, the Spinetapper

Talia shot me one last smile before I closed the door. As I sat back in my chair, I opened the folded letter and began to read.

To Mister Vandahir Elredhal,

As you already know we need you to infiltrate the cult known as 'The Order of the Golden Leaf.' While we do not expect you to single handedly defeat the cult, it is believed by our people that you are destined to play a pivotal role. Hopefully by now Talia has explained their purposes, but in case you are unclear I will explain.

You and a small party will be employed to travel to three separate locations and destroy shrines that are intended to release demons. The locations of the shrines is currently unknown so you will first be assigned the task of infiltrating The Order of the Golden Leaf.

If you wish to help out just follow the directions listed on the back of this letter.

Thank you for your time,
Lucious Orondil

I turned the paper over revealing a detailed map of a path through town from my house. Luckily the meeting was scheduled near a bar I frequented or I'd probably get lost. I was still new to living in Scara Brae, even though I had several visits in the past. Above the map was written 'Enter the alley and follow it until you reach the third door on the right, knock twice and wait.' I blew out the lantern the suspended above my table and opened the door to my humble abode.

I better see Talia again! I thought as I closed the door behind me and entered to busy street below my second story studio. I could already tell this was going to be a long day.

[Ruby]

Dear Miss Delacrouix,

We have prospects for you; 7th and 3rd Avenue, 3rd Door - an artefact you have sought from the University is being held there - acquire it, without incident, and we will guide you to more, should your payments continue.

The Shadow Broker

Ruby La Roux once again found herself in a compromising position she couldn’t charm her way out of. As of late, these little ‘incidents’ were becoming all the more frequent in the Tantalum’s quest of reclamation; quite simply, this little strumpet had to get her fingers stuck in a lot more pies. As she crept along a distinctly bland alleyway in a distinctly unrecognisable part of Scara Brae she examined each dark and dingy doorway, searching for the one her contact had described. “Three doors down,” she whispered, squinting through the darkness and hocking up her dress to avoid dredging up more dirt than she dared launder, “easy lock to pick,” she hoped, “artefact of daemonic power.”

The smell that spiralled up into her nostrils was a little more foreboding than other parts of the city, which meant only one thing – she’d forgotten her peg. The dirt had a different quality in these parts, some had even reported to the city guard that it moved, of its own accord; the mages of the University had simply said it was the midnight scurrying patterns of rats and voles and other assorted rodents, but she’d seen different, and certainly heard. “Here we go,” she muttered, running her hand over the grubby door with a delicate finger, the gold ring around it glinting in the moonlight.

Under the cover of darkness Ruby arrived at yet another adventure, one which required her to kneel before an opening and for once she was glad that the only thing she was stuffing into a hole, was her hairpin into the lock. She twisted it slowly, and listened in the silence for that wonderful little click, hoping there wouldn't be anyone to come across her when she was vulnerable.

How she hated melodrama.

[Ivory Evil]

The alley was dark, but not too dark to ignore the fact that there was a very odd burglar at the door I was about to enter. What the hell was she thinking? I guess she didn't know the place was occupied. Even from the distance I could tell she was a sight. Hopefully I wasn't under dressed for the situation, but I guess there wasn't any particular attire for my current situation.

"Well hello, what do we have here?" I asked indirectly as I approached the hasty beauty. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news young lady, but I don't think whatever your planning on doing is going to work."

I hoped I didn't come off too creepy. I knew following a woman into a dark alley didn't look to well on my behalf.

[Sir Archibald]

As his squinted gaze crossed the richly embroidered tapestries on the wall of the auberge, sir Archibald Lenore wondered whether any place on Althanas could possibly be more headache-inducing than the Grand Hospice. Honestly, the woven images covered so much of the lodge's walls that they might well be considered far too colorful wallpaper, dizzying dull customers with depictions of Scara Brae's equally dull history. The air of heavy incense that covered the supposedly rywan-crafted furniture wafted into his nostrils like a haze that obscured any rational thought - except for maybe the faint, ironic deduction that permeating the room with such strong odors was merely a scheme to cover up the more natural smell of vomit.

Yes, wouldn't the world be absolutely shocked if a nobleman did something as perfectly vulgar as emptying his stomach in public? Archibald smiled, despite his rising frustration. It was true that only those of noble heritage visited the Grand Hospice; or more generally, anyone with enough money to pay the outrageous prices it charged for a room so small it could barely contain the ridiculously enormous bed within. Everything about the inn just breathed with sickening pretense, from the sycophant owner who could not tie a cravat properly if his life depended on it, to the haughty visitors that somehow assumed that staying at this place would do their imaginary status any good.

Apparently, Archibald's superiors at the Great Library in Radasanth had been under that same impression, for he had been forced to spend a good deal of his nights here ever since he arrived in the Scarabrian harbor. It all wouldn't have bothered him so much, had his scientific endeavors not been so utterly fruitless - it was as though this island had nothing new to offer, at all! He put his hands around his clean-shaven chin, his fingers rolling absently through the white streaks of hair near his ears. What a waste of two perfectly fine weeks! They would have been better spent counting the dullbrown fibers in my blouse! Why is this godforsaken island withholding from me any features that might captivate me?

A violent tumult downstairs broke the librarian's reflection on his miserable excursion. The screaming voices and thuds of crashing fisticuffs did not do much to soothe the orchestra that was trying its loudest to make his skull cave from the inside. He picked up his black hat from the counter and grabbed his waistcoat from the seat next to his, gracefully swaying the dark orchid sleeves around his arms as he paced towards the staircase leading to the auberge's entrance. He figured that this was probably just another instance of the guards - who defended this nest of decadence with their very lives - grabbing hold of an innocent boy passing by and beating him around for a while, just to show their misguided sense of authority.

However, Archibald's sight proved him wrong as he came within viewing distance of the Hospice's front door, travelling through a narrow hallway to land upon an unconscious man in the arms of two guards. The situation seemed everything but innocent; a bloodied dagger lay close to the scene, and one of the guards was covering a deep gash in his face with his hands while his two colleagues held up the trespasser's limp body. It was definitely a commoner, which surprised the librarian; the Hospice, for all its fake splendor, was known as a place for the rich and famous, so most normal townspeople would not think about setting foot in it. This man, however, seemed to have actually fought to try and get in.

This was serious. It took only a second for his curiosity to be sparked.

"What joyful company are you dragging into these premises now, Bolton?" He had grown slightly fond of the lead guardsman, if only because he was easy to sway with eloquence and stern looks.

"Nothing to worry about, sir," Bolton replied gruffly as he gestured his guards to drop the infiltrator at Archibald's polished black shoes. "Just someone who tried to sneak his way into the Hospice, got violent when we apprehended him." One of the guards chuckled as he drove his toe into the man's side. His white garments were cut near his shoulder; Archibald conjectured that he, too, had been the victim of a knife attack, but the assault has bounced off the leather pauldron concealed behind the traditional Scarabrian Guard outfit. "Not so violent now, eh?"

Archibald did not hear Bolton's explanation, or the guard's snide remark; his attention had been caught by a piece of parchment, along with the glint of an other, more precious object. He remained silent as he kneeled near the man, causing the guards to take a step back; fortunately, they had not forgotten about his Lenore heritage, even though he himself would love to live without it at times. As he inconspicuously slipped the shiny object - it appeared to be a golden locket - into his pocket, he unfolded the parchment. Offering the contents a brief glance, Archibald rose from the languid body.

He could feel Bolton's questioning eyes on his back as he turned around and walked solemnly back towards the staircase. "I suppose you could leave him lie there, Bolton," he hinted with caustic tone, without looking back. "Though I'm not sure if most visitors would appreciate this newest addition to the Hospice's many, many ornaments." The sounds of rushed movement behind him confirmed to him that he could still be that authorative aristocrat, if he wished to. The librarian's grimace at that thought turned into a genuine smile as his eyes scanned over the contents of the parchment. It appeared to be an invitation of some sort.

Travelling to demon shrines? I knew there were mysteries to be found here! As he made mental note of the person to whom the letter was addressed - one Edward Rothschild - he wondered whether the basic knowledge he had of demonology would be able to pass him off as a full-fledged member of a group in search of demon sanctuaries. Downing the whiskey he had left at the counter earlier in one fell stroke, he headed further up the building, into his private room.

An abundance of books greeted him. They were everywhere; in piles on the floor, on his bed, in and around his closet - he'd even hemmed a few into the small space between the end of his bed and the wall. With reignited enthusiasm, he scanned over their titles, frenetically collecting those who made any reference to demonkind. He had reading to do before he could head to the meeting place described on the back of the letter.

[Civilized Savagery]

Kirthi walked down the evening thoroughfare, casting wide eyed looks at everything she passed, and ignoring the similar looks directed at her by what seemed the majority of the city. Well, surely they didn't see many orcs this far south, this far out of the way. Scara Brae. She spent a moment to savor the word. She loved new places, new air, new people. True enough; it was certainly a quiet little place compared to the real metropolises of the mainland, but that suited her just fine. There's enough trouble in the world already. It was quaint, really.

She allowed herself to drift through the streets at her leisure, soaking up the sights and sounds of the city. She had secured a roof for herself with startling ease, and even better, they had stabling for her idiot animal. Folk were bustling this way and that, some on their way home for the night, some on their way out for business or pleasure. There a wrinkled odd merchant brayed at a pair of scurrying children from atop his cart, and there a young couple embraced from within their own private world. A vendor hawking his wares went suddenly silent as she passed, but only for an instant. Through it all wove that lovely stench that meant civilization, like a net keeping all the pieces of the city together.

And... what was this? A chorus of raucous laughter had burst from a nearby doorway. Though outwardly her expression remained a comforting neutral, inwardly she grinned. That sound could only be one thing. After a great number of thorough investigations, she had come to the conclusion that bars were indeed one of the world's greater virtues.

Moments later she passed through that blazing archway and entered a world of all of its own. The bar was a single large room lit by cheap oil lanterns, but brightly so. The air was thick with the smell of bodies and hops, and the sound of the place washed over her like a wave. It was crowded enough that her entrance initially went unnoticed. But as more and more people glanced from their drinks and their talk to see who had just entered their realm, a silence swept through the bar.

Time to go, she wondered? ...No, she decided. This wasn't a lynch mob, just a pack of curious drunks. Hm. She drew herself up to her full height, put a fist on her hip and glared out over the sea of faces. “Well? You boys never seen a woman in a bar before?”

A moment of silence stretched out past her words, then broke with another rumbling wave of laughter. Talk resumed, drinks were drunk, and if she received more than a few stares, well, let them get a good look. Eager to get on with the business of the evening, she quickly found a likely looking table populated by half a dozen traders and craftsmen. They paused as she helped herself to a seat. “Good evening boys. How're the drinks treating you?” The smaller one mumbled something that might've been 'good', before burying his face in his mug.

They weren't all so silent though. An big man sporting a thick beard leaned in and blinked blearily at her. He was older than the others, and also drunker. “I 'ain't never hear of a woman orc before. Thought they sprung up right out of the ground”

She leaned in and gave him a toothy grin. “No offense to you friend, but I don't think you're an expert.”
He blinked again, and then suddenly gave a great guffaw.

“HAH! An expert! No I ain't at that! Heh.” He leered at her. “You do look like a woman... but does the plumbing work?” Before she could say anything, one of the others smacked him upside the head, and he fell back to good naturedly downing his ale. His friend turned back to her with an almost genuine smile.

“So what can we do for you, Miss?”

“Well, I had a question I wanted to ask you.” He looked surprised, but waited for her to continue. She gave another orcish smile and looked around at the rest of them. “Which of you thinks you can out drink me?”

They all laughed, and her talkative friend answered again. “Miss, the day I get out drunk by a woman is the day I walk to Corone.” She only smiled and caught the eye of a barmaid.

“Lass! A round for the table on me, plus two!” The girl merely stared at her like a deer suddenly faced with a lion. Kirthi adopted a slightly gentler tone. “Come come, my dear. I only bite on Wednesdays!” The girl started suddenly and fetched there drinks, to the applause of Kirthi's new compatriots. She pulled out a coin for the girl as she served the drinks, but when she was done, she made no move to take it. Moving slowly Kirthi placed the coin in the girls hand, who made a small squeak and fled.

She turned back to the table and the grinning men. Talker looked at her curiously, “why'd you get two extra pints?”

She took a slow sip. “Oh, they're mine. After all, you lot started before me, and I have catching up to do.” She smiled a fierce, orcy smile. “But when I win, the rest of the drinks are on you. And then you have some walking to do.”