The Addiction

[Izvilvin]

((Closed to Rayse and Requiem))

Izvilvin had been here before, in this familiar role, in this familiar setting.

He skulked through a dense forest, careful to avoid scattered twigs and brush that would give him away. He was a few feet from the road, hidden only by the thick bushes and trunks of nearby trees - it was a practice in patience for him to move so slowly and not strike. His stealthy approach was aided by the constant rumble of the wagon in the forest road, which tilted to and fro precariously on the rugged terrain.

He'd been in this situation many times, but the details shifted slightly. Now he was not attacking the caravan for the personal gain of a faceless, manipulative organization, but tracking it to gain information on another faceless, manipulative organization.

The caravan's guards were human, however, and spoke in lightning-fast common dialect. Izvilvin had a hard time following their conversation while maintaining his hidden status, but he'd been at this for a week already, and he'd learned several things:

Grow, a drug produced in Alerar, was a hot commodity for these people. They were hijacking shipments and stealing the supply in order to sell it back to Alerarian nobility at an inflated price, using a nearby village as their hub. Izvilvin didn't know, however, why Alerar was producing the drug in the first place, nor why this village hadn't sent a soldier or messenger to Ettermire to report what was happening earlier.

The thing was, Izvilvin had been sent by his superior at the Old Alerarian Outpost in Ettermire to investigate the village because many shipments had been spotted entering it. He didn't seem to know much about what was actually happening.

It all served the purpose of intriguing the warrior, who had spent the last week sleeping in the forest, following these caravans and groups of armed men to try and gather as much information as possible. Today would be the day he'd actually enter the village called Dunfore, or at least examine its layout so he could find a way to infiltrate it without notice.

[Rayse Valentino]

'We all see what we want to see. We all believe what we want to believe. It doesn't matter if it's right or wrong,' Rayse Valentino, Chronicles of Salvar: 5th Edition.

The sun was setting over the horizon, and the forested village of Dunfore was cast with an orange glow. A town in Alerar along The Kachuckian Border, it served as an important stop on many trading routes. Many sellers with their stands were lined on both sides of the main road, and behind them were neighborhoods of quiet humans and drow alike. The small wooden houses nestled between the trees were hidden from the action of the main street; a solitary confinement to keep away from the reality of the world.

On the roof of a two-floor windowless building that looked like it had been made in recent years, Rayse put his hands on the rails along the edges with a cigarette in his mouth. It was painted white, and inside was all the professionalism that was expected of Salvaran traders. The building overlooked the village, giving him a clear view of everything that came in and went out of here.

He pondered, 'Was this town always this quiet, or did it only become so after I came here?'

There were no children playing in the small roads that slowly melded into the forest, no old men wandering around recanting their youth. Whatever activities the participants had engaged in before were gone, replaced by a eerie stillness.

"This is not what I wanted." He spit out the cigarette and stomped it out. Opening a door on the roof, he walked down the staircase into a room full of men. They all gave him a stern look, as if he was interrupting, their weapons at their sides. The man before them was dangerous, and the stiffness of their postures could not hide the shaking sensation they felt in their spines. With the words "At ease, gentlemen," their eyes left his figure and they returned to sorting through unmarked packages.

'We all knew what we were doing to the people. Never had such a large-scale operation of polluting minds for profit occurred in this region. We all thought of the future, the payoff, but those thoughts only take you so far. There were a few who caved, and I showed these men what happens to traitors. I made sure those nightmares were worse than the jobs they were doing.'

He walked through several veils and curtains, his eyes shifting back and forth between his men and the lanterns with light crystals. Having to be housed in opaque glass, the crystals provided a constant amount of light for as long as they were charged up. The invention was one of the perks to working with The House of Sora. Walking out of the large sorting room, he entered a thin corridor. Most of the cargo was transferred from the first floor through a pulley in a hole in the back of the building, so none of it actually passed through this corridor. However, anyone who worked with The Salvaran Mafia was patted down in this area, confirmed of their actual clearance, and allowed through. Rayse's steps creaked on the makeshift wooden floor, knowing the purpose of it: In the event of a raid by Aleran officials, the entire corridor and staircase at the end of it would be collapsed and the product would be funneled down to the secret basement. Only a handful of men even knew about it, but down there was a tunnel that lead to a hidden door just outside the village.

However, how would anyone know? As he went downstairs, he was now in the grand lobby of the building. It was filled with crates, wagons, and traders of all kinds and types. The Contractor's operation was only a small part of this building's design, and most assumed that administrative affairs or more storage occurred in the above floor. Merchants haggled in front of crates, wagons pulled in and out, and many strong laborers carried goods in and out of the huge gates that carved out half of the front wall. Down here, darkness slowly crept across the area. Once nightfall hit, this establishment was closed for business. The supplying was coming to a close, but the distribution was just beginning.

Rayse walked outside, his appearance unremarkable to all who passed him. It was a stark difference from the looks he was given on the second floor, but it fit him well. Not only that, but he held onto a mystical orb that caused those around him not to question his presence, not to recognize his appearance, and not to take notice of his actions. No matter who knew him or how, he could always walk the streets in total anonymity. He figured he could grab a drink or two before it was totally dark and walked into one of the larger cafeterias off to the side of the main road.

[Izvilvin]

The perimeter of the city was unguarded. This was no fortress, after all.

Nevertheless, Izvilvin skulked about its outskirts like a predatory animal, his eyes rolling slowly over the features of the town. The living areas were separate from the core of the city, where kiosks were set up like a smaller-scale Radasanthian bazaar. The shoppers seemed listless, the merchants overeager and desperate.

This was not a mission like those he'd been given in Fallien or Corone. This was taking place in his homeland, in his territory, mere miles from where he lived. Though he'd spent so many years outside of Ettermire and away from the home he'd been born in, he felt a duty to uphold a particular set of values. As someone with the power to do so, Izvilvin felt obligated to investigate further even if it was beyond the boundaries of his duty. A hero complex in the ex-assassin, naturally.

There were few people on the roads or outside of their homes, and fewer still who seemed at all remarkable. There were muscled men who Izvilvin recognized as guards who had brought shipments of the Grow drug into town, a man who seemed oddly peculiar, and a woman who stood by the town's main road with an anxious look in her eyes.

As silenty as he could, Izvilvin dug a small trench in the woods by Dunfore's west edge, in a place hidden from curious eyes by a tall, wooden residence. Here he buried all of the equipment he could not conceal - his bow, his swords, his daggers and kukris. He even hid his armor, pulling the enchanted breastplate over his head and placing it in the makeshift hiding place.

Pulling his hair up into a ponytail, Izvilvin entered Dunfore as if he were a resident there. Clad in linen pants and a black cloth shirt, he approached a building that he knew to be a restaurant of some sort. Though the streets were not active, there was always information to be found where the locals had access to alcohol.

[Rayse Valentino]

Can I get a time for when you're usually on AIM? My PM box is perpetually full.

Back in the trading center on the second level, one man asked, "Who was that guy?"

Another replied, "You new or something? That's the supervisor, sent here by The Don himself."

"That guy? I could barely tell what he looked like."

"He's the only one allowed on the roof. Listen here... don't you dare think of doing anything behind his back. Last few guys who tried that got tortured to death and their bodies dumped into shallow graves. These guys don't play around."

At the restaurant, Rayse directed himself to the bar and sat down on a stool. He ordered some whiskey from the bartender and lit another cigarette.

"Leave the bottle," he said, taking another shot from the glass. A man dressed in a brown business suit and pressed brown pants sat down next to him. Without looking, he says "How've you been, Rob?"

The man was Robert, Rayse's right-hand man in The Company. A long time ago, they both ran a smuggling operation out of Knife's Edge, and Robert was in charge of book-keeping.

"Could be better," Robert groaned. "I don't like what you're doing here."

Rayse sighed, "What else is new?"

Robert's eyes floated to the right, indicating that they should take this to a more private place. Rayse took the bottle and hopped behind the counter, walking through the kitchen and down into the wine cellar. Robert followed, although he was getting stared at by the restaurant staff. When they got down, he was surprised to see a small room in nestled between two shelves of wine. They walked inside, and along the walls were candlesticks that were nearly a meter tall. Rayse willed a flame to form on each of his fingers and then spread his arms, having the flames jump to each respective candlestick. The room was lit, and in the center was a small wooden round table with a few chairs around it. Rayse sat down in one of them, drinking some whiskey from the bottle with the cigarette still in the corner of his mouth.

Robert stood still for a moment, and then said, "Aren't you worried about... you know..."

Rayse put the bottle down and grinned, "Relax, this place is Company property now. I've been keeping it on the down low for now, waiting to tell you in person. So would you kindly give me some updates?"

"Well- to be frank, the operation is getting ahead of itself. Shipping has been great, distribution has been great... things are going too well. I can tell that you've been spending the profits it on assets for The Company... but I can't help but worry."

"Of course you can't," Rayse said as he put his feet up on the table. "That's your job. Look, the precautions are already in place- The distributors are receiving their goods anonymously, so even if they're just a bunch of untrustworthy thugs, it can't be traced back to us. Not only that, but the supply-side is nearly anonymous either. None of the workers are allowed anywhere near the product, and in the case of an emergency there's a bunch of fail-safes in place to prevent discovery. Hell, we can even destroy a shipment if we have to do. We can afford it."

Robert shook his head, "I'm talking about you, man. Walking around in broad daylight like this. I heard that you're the supervisor? You're the damn Don! I need your little Ignore Orb makes you anonymous, but it doesn't work on-"

"Fateless," Rayse finished the sentence. "They're going to be a problem no matter what I do. Look, here's the deal: I have a couple ways of dealing with them. One, I coerce them into becoming our accomplices or otherwise reach an agreement of mutual goals. Two, I kill them. Those bastards can be pretty elusive though, so if possible I'd like to subcontract any assassination jobs to the Fateless currently on-board."

"...Unless they target you directly, of course," Robert said while crossing his arms.

Rayse put his feet back down and took another drag on his cigarette, "We can't all be perfect. If I worry too much about the little things, I'll lose sight of the big picture."

Robert was the primary archivist of Fateless as well. Potential recruits, potential enemies, he would assemble dossiers on anyone that Rayse considered part of this group of extremely dangerous people. He didn't like Rayse's 'get rich or die trying' attitude but there was nothing he could do about it.

They discussed the operation and some logistics affairs until the bottle of booze was spent.