The Final Orders. (Syndicate Operation 1)

[Elthas_Belthasar]

(I am finishing this as a Solo Quest!!!)

During the reign of the Corone Empire, the Syndicate prospered. It had far-reaching claws in just about every aspect of life within Corone. Radasath had become soiled with the actions of the Syndicate over time. Their leadership body ever a mystery, even on to the most skilled detectives in Radasanth's policing force, a certain event had called the leadership to action. In full operation, an infamous villain named ~Lorenor~ (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21227-Genome-10-Prodigy-of-N-Jal) had begun to raid Syndicate safe houses.

Long ago, during the Demon's War campaign, the Syndicate reached a contract with the existing government of Radasanth. This contract allowed the Syndicate to take certain valuable Artifacts and Relics away from the Temples of the Thayne to prevent abuse and over-powering. The resulting actions lead to a series of bloody conflicts between the Syndicate and the church of the Thayne. Though the artifacts were procured and stored in safe houses with various safety measures in play, the organizations could never have accounted for a villain like Lorenor to appear.

Using the Thayne N'Jal, Lorenor had deciphered a way to break into the vaults, thus, destroying the purposes behind the Syndicate/Thayne war. Though only certain vaults were actually broken into, with the contents lost, (See: Said robbery attempts are-Jack Frost (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21965-The-Villains-of-Althanas-%28Chapter-1%29-%28Open-to-All!!!%29)/Seed (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21971-Villains-Seed-Vicious-%28Chapter-1%29)/Talen (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21049-Master-and-Apprentice)/Kurai (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?21972-Villains-Kurai-Kaosu)) the artifacts targeted were those having to do with the Thayne; N'Jal.

Lorenor's bloody campaign put Radasanth on watch and made the Syndicate much more paranoid than ever. Agents of rank were dispatched throughout Corone in an attempt pre-empt Lorenor's siege. The preemptive strike was a failure. Lorenor was never found and the artifacts were never recovered.

Now, the Syndicate was making up for the loss. It had suffered a costly set back in a dangerous time for Corone. The Syndicate's reputation as being the "largest group of bad asses" was all but ruined. The leadership body attempted to rectify the mistake of the Lorenor Campaign and refortify it's assets. It was in that environment that a certain man now faced a dangerous opponents. The dregs of Underwood even as the rest of Corone was threatening to tear itself apart.

***

Elthas Belthasar was an Elf belonging to a tribe that lived deep within Concordia Forest. They were Forest Elves and were skilled in the ways of the Ranger. Elthas though, was not a Ranger, but instead, was trained in the military aspects of the Elven forces. Times were dangerous in Underwood. Once, an Alliance stood between the humanoid races of Althanas that stood against the forces of the Living Darkness. As a proud Elf, Elthas long held on to those ideals his family had instilled in him. Loyalty, honour, respect.

Walking through the streets of Underwood at night was no safe act even for an Elf of Elthas's skill level. Bandits were constantly raiding from Concordia Forest, and the disenfranchised youth of Corone was in full uproar against the current regime in Corone. It was a dangerous time period. The roaring age of industry that once was held in high esteem was now gone in place of Corone's Empire. Anti-government propagandists seemed to be on every corner of Underwood preaching to their choir. Propaganda graffiti was emblazoned upon the brick of various buildings.

Many sects existed that attempted to aide the Corone Rangers in their "valiant" battle against the Empire's regime. Some sects simply wanted anarchy.

Elthas and his companions listened to anti-government propagandist for a short while until the words he spit from his mouth were a repugnant affair. Elthas sighed. What had happened to the Heroes that Radasanth once churned out? Elthas turned to one of his companions, they all wore the military garb of the Elven army. Elthas felt mentally worn out from the situation that was evident throughout Corone, everywhere he went. No matter where he went. Elthas and his superior officer exchanged a nod, dropped a gold piece into the donation coffers of the propagandist and walked off towards the Peaceful Promenade...

***

Late was the hour. Elthas and his cohorts stepped out of Peaceful Promenade after a healthy dinner was shared between the four-member squad. One superior officer, and three cadets in training. Elthas had spoken very little, his mind attempting to find solutions for the dangerous times around them. Then, something caught his attention. A group of ruffians had surrounded an elderly gentleman. A fight was taking place. Elthas suddenly turned to his comrades remember the allegiances of old.

"Look over there lads, an unfair battle. I say we assist." Elthas said carefully. "It shan't take more than a moment to save that gentlemen from the ruffians." Elthas added.

Then, his superior officer waved towards his younger, naive colleague. "Cadet Belthasar. Of Clan Belthasar. Radasanth's ways are not our people's ways. The old allegiances no longer apply. We must leave these people to destroy themselves like the beasts they are." There was venom in the officer's voice.

"Sire!" Elthas said in an incredulous way. "The gentleman needs help right away, I cannot simply stand idly by and allow someone to get hurt, possibly killed!" Elthas was looking sincerely worried.

"Elthas. If you choose to interfere with these people you will forfeit your rank in our army. They will court marshal you. I shalt see to that myself." The venom became more resounding.

Elthas shook his head, shocked at what he was hearing. "The Humans once saved our asses in the Demon War campaign. I cannot believe I am hearing this from you. To hell with rank and prestige, I am going to honour our allies." Elthas said and ran towards the ruffians...

...He never once looked back.

^(Enter here)

[Elthas_Belthasar]

Elthas knew bravery and he knew courage.

He ran towards the fight, never once daring to look back. For if he had, he would have seen that his superior officers were no longer there and had faded into the four winds. Elthas had a task to complete and as he ran he stripped himself of the badges of Clan Belthasar. It was a conscious decision to interfere in the world of men. It meant loosing everything. Elthas was well aware of that risk but decided that saving the old man was worth everything. He was ignorant as to the allegiances of the old man, but none of that mattered at the moment. As he got closer he saw the numbers of the small group of ruffians. There were five heads visible and the old man which made the number six. On the ground, the old man was getting kicked, and punched like a stray dog.

"Enough!" Elthas yelled.

He always had his crossbow pre-loaded and fired off a shot at the nearest of the ruffians. The fellow was a shorter Sapien and the bolt pierced his black heart smoothly. There was a muffled cried and the man fell to the ground, critically injured and dying. The other ruffians turned to look at the approaching Elf. Elthas had placed his crossbow away and drew both of his combat daggers, weapons of Elvish craftsmanship. By that point, he had made it up to the small group of ruffians and was upon them. The nearest of them drew his weapon, shortly followed by the rest. One of them pointed his sword to the old man's throat forcing Elthas's hand and forcing him to stop. The situation was severe.

"Back off, blue-blood!" The ruffian's leader yelled. "Take a step closer and the old man gets it."

One of the other ruffians was checking the critically injured man who just passed into the afterlife. Blood poured from the injury.

The ruffian looked at his leader and shook his head.

"You're gonna pay for that, blue-blood." The leader said. "I hope it was all worth it, we're gonna gut this old man like the swine he is, and there is nothing you can do about it."

"Tch." Elthas began. "Your cowardly ways never cease to amaze me." Elthas had his eyes locked on the leader, but they didn't know he was capable of seeing the whole lot all at once. That was due to his enhanced elven senses. Elthas tensed his muscles continuing to hold the battle-daggers in his hands. He rotated them from time to time. Right then, the old man was the priority. But Elthas knew he would have to defeat the ruffians first to get to the gentleman. "I am only going to warn you once, release the hostage or pay with your lives." Elthas demanded. His voice had acid in it. Before the leader could respond, Elthas was already on his way, moving with the enhanced reflexes and speed of his people. He became like a graceful gazelle of the highlander plains of Corone.

Elthas was capable of attacking whilst he moved in mid-air. He had agility and grace on his side, the ruffians did not have the training of his people. He jumped into the air right at the leader of the small band of misfits. Astonished, it seemed like an eternity passed for Elthas as he approached the leader. He was moving frightfully fast, capable of intense and constant bursts of speed. At about mid-lunge, Elthas launched one of his battle-blades right at the leader's exposed chest who never saw it coming. Then, Elthas moved to hold his remaining dagger with both hands, grasping the hilt tightly and engaging the remaining ruffians. The never stood a chance. They were simply neighborhood bullies, Elthas assumed, and lacked proper military training. In a few moments, it was all over and Elthas stood victorious.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

Retrieving his equipment, Elthas then moved to the old man who seemed to be clinging to life. Elthas knelt down to the old man, wrapping his arms around The Sapien. The gentleman appeared to be in his late seventies, he had blue eyes and platinum coloured hair that was gelled back. It was also short and tightly cropped. He was dressed in fine attire, a suit of sorts, and it was clear that this man was some sort of nobleman. Elthas knew very little about Sapien politics, but he guessed that the man was much more than just a fancy suit and handsome old face. Elthas held the old man close. When the old man reached to touch Elthas's face, Elthas smiled at him and picked him up.

"Thank you for that." The old man said. "It is my time. If you would have come sooner, my death might have been prevented." The old man said. "But I have a favour to ask of you young Ruildian." The old man reached into his blazer top to pull out a carefully wrapped bundle. Elthas looked at the bundle. "Take this to Katan over in The Syndicate's headquarters. Take me to them. There is not much time left, I am fading fast." Blood was tricking down the side of the lips of the old man. He was coming in and out of the physical world. Elthas nodded, and picked the old man up carefully, taking the bundle from him. At the time, he had no idea what the bundle was, nor the severity of what it implied.

A short time later, Elthas was guided to a nondescript building which housed the secret organization he was looking for. The Syndicate of Radasanth. Several guards were stationed in front of the structure, but they were not members of The Watch. This was a back-alley neighborhood in the seedier side of Underwood. Elthas watched his step as he made his way to the guards, the highest ranking officer's eyes went wide as he saw what Elthas carried. Quickly, there was a commotion and Several more of The Syndicate Agents appeared. Elthas walked slowly to the man who appeared to be the leader. It was a cold night, and a bitter wind blew in from from the South.

The leader approached Elthas.

"You. Halt." He began. "Where did you find him?" The man asked.

"Up a few blocks. There was a group of fellows attacking him, I made short work of them. The bodies are still there." Elthas said in a matter of fact sort of way.

"Did he have anything on him?" The man suddenly asked. "It is the practice of our people to always deliver critical parcel." He said expectantly.

Elthas removed the package that the old man gave him.

"He gave me this." That was after he placed the old man's body in the hands of The Agents. "He told me what it was for..." Elthas began.

"Not so loud!" The leader of The Agents snapped. "We operate under a cloud of secrecy for a reason, do you understand?" The man asked. Elthas nodded. "Good, you catch on quick. The old man was right to trust you." The leader stopped as if he was considering something important. "What's your name, Ruildian?" The man asked.

"Elthas..." Elthas was about to introduce his clan-name but stopped himself. He could no longer acknowledge ties back to his people for he had forsaken them. "Just Elthas." He said soon after.

"Do you understand what it is you have just stumbled upon?" The man asked.

Elthas nodded in the positive.

"Good." The man said. "That parcel continued a Conscription Recruitment token. It was meant for some spoiled son of nobility, but the fact that you protected the old man clearly shows you were more worthy that some rich-brat. I am going to offer a one-time only offer. Join us." The man said.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

At the private funeral of the old man, Elthas and a small group of Syndicate operatives quietly mourned.

The old man was a person of prestige to The Syndicate. A high-ranking agent of tremendous skill, Elthas was genuinely sad to see that the old man could not be saved after all. He passed in his sleep, quietly, about a week ago. The injuries he had sustained were more serious than Elthas would have suspected. There were Monks of the Order attempting to revive him, but the old man was simply too far gone and much too old for the magicks to take a proper foothold. So they made him as comfortable as they could and Elthas watched the entire event unfold. He never once left the old man's side. Bonded to the old man and his extended family, Elthas knew he had found a place to call home. Whilst he was there, he heard talk of the gathered agents attempting to place Elthas in their ranks for the tremendous deed he had completed.

Elthas was placed into The Syndicate as a freelancing Bounty Hunter.

Of course, it was quietly explained that he had to start at the bottom. And work his way up to The Prestige. Elthas was okay with that, and had gathered flowers from Ruild to place on the old man's grave. The strange thing was, they never told Elthas the old man's name or identity. The simply referred to him as "the old man". Elthas could not help it, but during the funeral's procession he found himself crying quietly. In the short moments that he had encountered the old man, he had made a valuable connection, and a valuable friend. Elthas studied the face of the old man before the coffin's lid covered him. Sighing, there was a High Priest and Priestess in attendance saying the words of hollow religious comfort. Elthas did not believe in the deities of Men. But he respected all walks of life. Nobody questioned Elthas's presence at the funeral.

He was simply accepted as just another Syndicate operative.

Elthas quietly grieved the loss of the old man, and then offered condolences to the old man's family.

There was a wake held after the initial service that Elthas dutifully attended. A large group of people was gathered, and Elthas simply sat on one of the many couches in the old man's house on Veulgrett Street. Elthas smoked a pipe filled with the herb known as cannibus. His mind was troubled, but he was thankful that he could be there for those people. Taking a deep pull of the herb, Elthas exhaled with his nostrils, and then put the pipe out. He covered the pipe and then put it back in his packs. His drink was in a nearby chalice, he took a long pull, then stood up. A woman walked over to him at that point. She had a sad expression on her face, Elthas had seen her at the funeral as one of the more vocal mourners. Elthas recalled that she spoke a few words about the old man.

Again, the old man's name was never revealed.

"They call you Elthas right?" The woman asked and Elthas nodded. "I am Jakasha." She said. "I knew the old man for a long time, I was one of his primary contacts in The Bazaar." She said, then reached forward to touch Elthas's face. "Your people have always been warm to the touch." She smiled. "They are placing you within my personal ranks. You will report directly to me on the morrow, I will have work for you understood?" She asked.

Elthas nodded.

"Your recruitment has been approved my superior officers. Welcome to The Syndicate." She said, a small smile touching her lips.

[Arden]

With careless steps Arden stormed across the threshold an arrived at last into Underwood’s damp embrace. Clad in delicate metalwork half-plate, red cloth and sweat, he surveyed the scene with his cold and calculating eye and sighed. His lips tasted of dirt and sulphur, the products of the steam boat that had carried him across the waters between the island of Scara Brae and cursed Corone. He could still feel the rusty iron railings digging into his hands, his calloused skin and weak sea legs suffering for the entirety of the two day journey.

He expected to feel better back on dry land, but there was no dryness to be found in the forest of Concordia. The skies had bled crystal blood for the many leagues south from Radasanth without mercy. The fallacy of the climate had swiftly eroded any hope of his assignment into the woods being short. Its heavy downpour had pressed a more literal weight down onto his shoulders as his pack grew heavier and his feet grew ever the sorer.

“I fuckin’ hate the rain,” he rasped. He pulled back his hood and looked up at the skies. He let his jaw drop so that the rain water dropped freely onto his tongue and the back of his throat.

He would have hated it more if it had not done such an excellent job at covering his tracks. No sooner than he had left his footprints in the dirt road, the weather washed it away into mud and memories. Oak leaves and spruces broken fresh from the new spring branches landed into the river of sluice and soon, the track looked almost undisturbed. Travelling alone had made the task of arriving without detected incredibly easy, and Arden made a mental note to request solitary assignments from the Master of the Scourge much more often.

“Inn,” he said flatly, setting his priorities straight before he could allow himself a moment’s thought. The sun was setting over the zig zag horizon of tree tops and it would soon be evening, soon be dark. Arden had spent much time in Underwood, enough time to know that even somewhere like this sleepy hollow, trouble rose from its daytime slumber when the sun went down.

The immutable sight of the Peaceful Promenade beckoned the weary swordsmen. His red cloth stood out in the gloom as he traversed the many gutters of mud and the furrows of mud that had been churned up by the late market wagons that carried the fresh produce from Jadet’s wide open fields north to the capitol. This little vista in the heart of nature’s providence was a crossroads, both literal and metaphorical. Weary travellers stopped him from all walks of life to bathe in the warm of the only tavern’s roaring fireplace, their backs burning and smouldering as the rain was scorched from their tattered fleeces.

He had killed and been killed in that place.

“Good evening sir,” the door guard said with a polite nod of his head as Arden ascended the staircase.

“Good evening Buckland, it is a pleasure to see you again after so long.” He smiled awkwardly as he set his hand politely onto the bullish man’s heavy shoulders. “I promise there will be no trouble from me this evening,” he stooped and crossed into the tavern before the guard’s nervous laughter could grate down his spine too much. The image of Buckland’s monstrous moustache and his odour of turnips were soon knocked into obscurity by what Arden saw inside.

The tavern was a lot more elaborately decorated than he had remembered. Ochre, gold and chintz were covering virtually every available inch of wall space. Great hunting trophies leered down at the customers alongside river scenes in charcoal and battered shields and shining swords, polished into bluntness. Molly the barmaid appeared to have grown considerably since his last visit, in every way imaginable for a young and buxom woman to grow. She beamed a smile that matched the décor and strolled back and forth on stiletto’s Arden could hear even over the din.

Blank had been involved with the Brotherhood group that had set fire to the place only months before, so he struggled to consider how they had recovered their assets so quickly. Of course, the deed was done by another, but he still felt guilty for it. Many of the patrons nodded to him out of respect as he wove his way across the wooden floorboards around the small circular tables towards the lounge.

“Well, well!” Molly roared with her boisterous accent impossible to mistake. “If ain’t my fellow red head, beer is it?” She turned on a heel and walked towards the opposite end of the bar.

Arden smiled.

“She never waits to ask me what sort of damned beer…” he fell into the wingback chair he always sat in, which always remained vacant just in case he returned. Its simple floral design was belittling of its comfort, which lulled anyone who sat in it into a soon to follow contentment.

He dropped his satchel with a wet thud to his right. It began to steam almost instantly as the warmth of the fireplace struck the cracking leather and well used cloth. Whilst he waited for his beverage, which would likely be warm piss poor ale he traced the elaborate weave which formed the staircase’s railing. It was a wide passageway up to the residential landings overhead, where patrons could sleep, or indeed not sleep much at all for a nominal fee.

“There ya go,” the red head chirped, slamming the tankard down on the small circular table to the right of Arden’s chair.

“Molly, it is a pleasure as always to see you in such high spirits!” He returned with a dutiful comment as he picked up the offering with his grateful fingers. The curved metal raking claws scraped against the tin and he gritted his teeth before pulling it to his mouth.

“What brings ya back bunny?”

Arden would very much like to have said ‘you of course,’ but that had been a mistake made many moons ago after too much Brandy Wine and not enough self-restraint. They had made joke many visits after that fateful occurrence about little red headed thieves running all over Underwood. Arden had to swallow his pride dutifully after that.

“Business.”

The word seemed to do more harm than he had intended. She winked at him and strolled away, hands rummaging in the front of her pinafore for some trinket or another of a past life. The swordsman settled back into his chair and with a draught of his strangely chilled beer, which tasted of hops, and not herpes, he continued to muse on the revitalisation of Underwood.

He smelt crime.

If he smelt crime, that meant crime could smell him, and that would make things complicated.

It would make things most complicated indeed.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

While that situation was occurring, another was happening in it's stead. Elthas Belthasar of the Elves of Ruild was getting his hair cut. To the Elven folk, hair was a status symbol. Hair was an important part of daily life that signified who you were as an individual. When Elthas made the conscious choice to betray the world of Ruild for the world of Humes, a sort of transformation had occurred in his heart. Elthas had become a Fallen Ruildian. His beautiful eyes had developed a sort of cold edge foreign to his people. His skin had grown somewhat darker, a darker shade of brown. The most important change of all though, was his desire to cut all of his hair. Now, it lay in clumps on the floor beneath him. Elthas wore a grim expression on his face. Several Syndicate operatives were observing their new compatriot as he became one of the few Ruildians who were bald. When the process was complete, Elthas had made one unusual request. He wanted to permanently let go of his hair so he had asked for a balm of sorts that could kill his hair at the roots and prevent it from growing back.

When the whole process was complete, it was already morning. The girl who had cut his hair marveled at how handsome Elthas was. Most of the Ruildians were a handsome, beautiful folk renowned for their almost ethereal beauty. The Elves of Concordia were never as famous as the Elves of Raiaera. But the girl, to her credit, could say that she witnessed history by cutting off Elthas's hair. Elthas stood up, and was given his trenchcoat, he placed it atop his shoulders and his arms in the sleeves. It was somewhat of a heavy material, but would offer more protection than just a standard suit by itself. The girl had an approving expression on her face and gave Elthas a small hand-held mirror. Elthas inspected his head to be certain that the deed was done. It was. Now the last part of his transformation, the black sunglasses that would be a part of his new professional career. He covered his green eyes with the black shades and nodded to his reflection in the nearby mirror. It was done.

Elthas turned towards a burly fellow named Relkan.

"A-hah." Relkan clapped two massive hands together. "I never, in all my days, thought I would see a bald Concordian. This is one for the books, and I've seen a lot of shit in my day friends." Relkan was a vulgar man, but he was as loyal as he was vulgar. Elthas had grown to like the fellow to a degree since the previous night's events. Relkan was a man clad in white, which usually meant that he was a ranking officer of The Syndicate. Several handlers had come across Elthas Belthasar in his short hours as a Syndicate member. His new superiors were impressed at how he had spend the entire time next to an old man that had little to do with him. Only the fact that he'd saved the elder gentleman's life from a group of Underwood Thugs. Elthas tired a Syndicate marked ribbon with two long tails around his forehead and left the rest of his outfit at that.

"Looking good there Lord Belthasar." Came a female voice, a familiar female voice.

Elthas and everyone gathered turned to the female superior officer who now stood at the door. She had a series of documents in her hand. Jakasha wore a small smile on her face as she looked approvingly at Elthas. Elthas swore he saw a spark of interest in her eyes. Shaking it off though, Elthas confidently walked towards Jakasha.

"You are the talk of the hour. Not oft we get a Ruildian in our ranks. This could prove to become very interesting indeed. And for Aztorean's sakes, did you have to cut off all your hair!?" Jakasha shook Elthas's hand. "Read this dossier whilst we walk. It represents your First Job, and it represents a matter pending from the Old Man. He was actually after this target, but our sources say he only got back into town last night. He was spotted in the inn by one of our Agents." Elthas walked alongside Relkan and Jakasha. Elthas looked at the documents, his sharp eyes scanning the information he needed. Arden Janelle, member of the secretive organization calling itself The Scourge. This man is a high-ranking operative. Elthas realized the job would probably be a difficult one. "One of our contacts is a girl named Molly. Go see her at the Promenade first. Gather what info you can and hunt this target down. Elthas, we capture our targets alive. Also, you won't get any normal reward for this job, sorry, but this is your first assignment. We gotta test your loyalty to the cause." Elthas nodded, he had money, he didn't care.

"How long do I have to track the target down?" Elthas asked as he stepped outside of The Syndicate building. It was in a more isolated part of town.

"You will be given the standard time of one full week starting now. And Elthas, you won't have any of our help for this job. Just contact Molly and make the rest come together on your own. Prove to us how good you Ruildians really are." Jakasha patted Elthas's back. Elthas adjusted his sun glasses.

"Good, cause I work alone anyway." Elthas said.

A wagon passed in front of Elthas, Elthas waited for it to continue and he crossed the street marching towards The Peaceful Promenade. If Elthas considered the situation as carefully as he thought, the Promenade wasn't going to be peaceful much longer. His boots sloshed in the mud from the rain that touched Althanas the night before. It was still drizzling this early in the morning. And Underwood was just waking up from a long slumber. He would have no trouble locating Molly. The dossier had photographs of the Syndicate operatives he would need for the operation. Elthas waved his hand towards one of the guards who took the morning shift. They nodded towards the Ruildian. Apparently, word had spread quickly of his deed with the old man. Elthas saw several bar patrons in The Promenade, but none that looked like Arden. So he moved on to the next objective which was to locate Molly. Apparently, Molly had history with the Arden fellow. Apparently, Elthas could attack Arden where it hurt the most.

Yes, this will be a good day. Elthas thought as he gathered himself a seat and waited as his eyes hovered on Molly's handsome person.

[Arden]

The beer was good, but it did not last long. Soon enough Arden found himself staring at the bottom of his tankard longingly, the cold, battered tin no comfort for his aching temples and the doubts that knocked on his forehead like a familiar but unwelcomed guest.

“Barkeep!” He shouted, as was customary. He raised his drinking vessel and as it reached its zenith, it caught the firelight and shone.

Several similar cries rang out through the tavern. It had always amused Arden, and indeed, amused most of the Tantalum just how lacking in peace the Peaceful Promenade was. Between hushed conversations and raucous bouts of laughter, men and inebriated women who thought they were men raised their drinking vessels and demanded they be fulfilled.

Confidently and cocksure, Molly appeared at Arden’s side with the sort of look on her pretty face that Ruby would have been jealous of. It said duty, but with added layers of contempt.

“I expected more from you,” she snarled between her clenched teeth. She was the happy go lucky daughter of the innkeeper, so she had to keep up those appearances to everyone but her favourite customer.

Arden looked hurt, but it was an act, and they both knew it.

“Don’t worry, I will leave the tavern standing come sunrise. I am here for a drink or two in quiet solitude and then I’ll be on my way.” He paused, his one good eye flashing over Molly’s shoulder. Even from his position by the fire he could catch a good view of the length of the bar without making it too obvious that he was doing so.

“Good to hear, I’ll join you if it gets a bit quieter,” she looked after him, “but as you can see, it ain’t likely!”

“I won’t trouble you dear,” he said softly, with the sort of voice that came with a thinking man’s pensive thoughts.

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, chinked the jug of beer against his half raised tankard and strolled away to greet the next wolf whistling drunkard with a hostess’ smile.

In amongst the hunting trophies, water paintings and dusty trinkets, Arden had seen someone he had not expected to see. The many faces of Underwood were obvious, well-worn, and hardy, deserving of a good evening’s rest before returning to the mitre and the field in the morning. One man in particular, someone he had not seen when his ad first arrived did not hold that air of labour about him.

He set the red cloth of his head right on his shoulders, and tucked the two loose strands of red hair behind his ears to try and compose his image for the subtle art of prying information from a still living body. He would have preferred it if circumstances were different, but the smell of crime in the tavern now had a source in his eyes. He had been brought up in a harsh enough worlds to know a fellow sleight of hand practitioner when he saw one.

When the elf looked at Molly, he could not help himself.

He rose from his seat and wove his way around the tables and chairs towards the individual.

“Good evening sir, I can’t help but notice you’re admiring a certain individual,” he prodded towards the redhead with his tankard. He stood amicably, no tight muscles, no flexed tendons, and dove his free hand into a pocket in his trousers to keep himself relaxed. “Mind if I join you, and tell you a few details that might improve your chances?”

He smiled with white porcelain keys chiming out a melody of friendliness, even though he heard a different song altogether than the outward notes revealed.

[Elthas_Belthasar]

One thing Elthas had always admired about the Hume population was their predictable arrogance. When the target practically landed on his lap, Elthas could not refuse any invitation offered by the man. This would become a chance to practice his trade on someone who was of clearly higher skill level. Elthas smiled at Arden Janelle, then motioned for the lad to have a seat. Elthas was high on protocol and the particulars of social situations. He would not seat himself until Arden had sat down. It was strange in a way, how everything was working out. Elthas was a spiritual person who believed in the old deities of his people. He knew that the gods oft guided their followers in strange and unusual ways, and this was perhaps, one of those times. However, Elthas was no fool. He would not strike until the moment presented itself and it would not be within The Peaceful Promenade.

Elthas studied Arden for a long moment (Small bunny) as they sat down. Elthas never liked the taste of Hume Ale, so he ordered a fine, Ruildian vintage. The vintages were premium drinks that had a unique fermentation and flavouring. The one he ordered had a slight tang of citrus and was known as a "Wildberry Brew". It was served in a fancy chalice and Elthas liked it that way. He nodded towards Molly, who in turned, looked at the Ruildian strangely. Then, Elthas turned his attention to the target. Second in command of The Scourge, Arden Janelle. Elthas respected men who were able to hold their own and obtain high social standing of their own skill. Elthas listened to Arden as the gentleman spoke. The entire time, Elthas had an amused expression on his face. The Ruildian was not a strange to the opposite sex, but any advice would more than be welcome.

"Ah. Well then sir, well met. Though truth be told she's not the reason I'm here tonight. My goal happens to be completely different." Elthas spoke in the sing-song fashion of the Ruildians. After he said that part, he removed his sun glasses to reveal sparkling green eyes. Elthas was quite a handsome fellow, but he was an Elf, after all, and they were all a beautiful people. Elthas stared at Arden for a long moment as he sipped his drink. "I am actually attempting to get acquainted with members of a certain...group. I am part of a wealthy Merchant investor's Guild that are looking to back this group. For reasons of security purposes, I cannot mention who these people are in public." Elthas leaned towards Arden. "A great deal of Gold is up for grabs." He was hoping that would pique the man's interest. "My benefactors are looking for someone of great skill to assist in this matter. They told me I should look for a man named Arden Janelle. But I know not who he is." Elthas lied. He was good at lying. "You seem like a knowledgeable person. Maybe you have heard of this person? I am new to these parts." Elthas spun words with the ease of a spider spinning her web.

[Arden]

“Arden Janelle is a hard man to find, except in the strangest of circumstances.” Blank’s words fell softly from his lips as he leant against the well-worn bar. He propped up his head with a lull in his tense muscles and gave the impression that he was relaxed, comfortable, no threat.

Even in his many under hand dealings on the black market, the silent swordsman was still in awe of the elven race. They were supernaturally quick, superbly honed in all manners of physical pursuits and they possessed senses and talents far exceeding even the most advanced layman in any human occupation. They were immortal, and that was the only common ground he could find between the high eared kin of old and the upstart kingdoms of humanity.

What surprised Blank more than the appearance of someone looking for him was the fact that he did not feel threatened. The title of merchant guild member was clearly a lie, and he assumed the gentlemen sat opposite knew this quite well. Playing the game was part of the chase, and he already had to play with his hand to shuffle his way back into the running.

“It is fortunate for you my friend that these are strange circumstances.”

The smell of iron and blood and stale red wine filled the assassin’s nostrils as he took a deep and heavy breath. He held it in for a few breath seconds before he exhaled viscerally. The hustle and bustle of the tavern continued to unfold all about the two man as they jousted with wits and testosterone.

“I have offered an answer to your question, so perhaps you could do me the curtsy of returning it in kind.” He cocked his head in his usual and aloof manner, and waved to Molly as she crossed behind the bar to drop a pile of foamy tankards onto the service hatches’ cluttered front. She nodded back at him and went about quickly pouring two glasses of fortified wine.

Blank had drunken here often enough to not even have to say ‘the usual please.’

“Why is someone like you looking for someone dangerous like me? Gold is beyond me, good sir, so pray tell me the truth before I boil it from your blood and do away with this sickening façade?” He leant forwards slightly, but not too far to cause a violent reaction. His breath was warm and curled through the air in invisible tendrils towards the elf’s pallid skin. Away from the fire, Blank was no longer sleepy and comfortable and lulled into a false sense security.

He was now very much aware that the smell of crime in the air when he had arrived was not just a lingering scent of an afternoon deal long departed.

It was a start to an eventful evening.

It was another question mark next to the outstanding rhetoric that Arden Janelle, Hound of the Scars Scourge had with destiny - who wanted to kill me this week?

[Elthas_Belthasar]

Elthas remained the guileful weaver of words that he was. He is good, I will give him that much. This will be a worthy hunt indeed. Listening carefully to the other man's words, Elthas was picking out things he could use. When Arden revealed himself that he was, in fact, Arden, Elthas nodded. He had one trump card he could pull at all times that would largely shift the tide of war in his favor. Elthas decided he would call Arden's bluff. Taking out The Eldritch Stone in his possession, one of the artifacts of his people, Elthas could have spun any lie he wanted. But he was a professional, and Arden had already earned his respect. Arden was not a man to be taken lightly, Elthas knew, and he removed the object placing it with a loud thump on the table. Elthas was an elegant individual, sometimes rash, but he was currently on the job. He had to behave a certain way where The Syndicate was professionally concerned.

Holding the small, earth-toned stone in his hand, it was shaped like an orb and appeared to possess some weight. Or mysterious halo about it. Grinning, Elthas looked at Arden directly in the eyes. Without flinching or holding back.

"Tell me, do you know what Relics are, Arden Janelle?" Elthas carefully worded the next few phrases. "I am a Bounty Hunter working for The Syndicate. Though it pains me to do so, there is a price on your head, Scourge Ranking Officer." Elthas continued. "We can do this the easy way...oh fuck it, let's just do this."

And with that, Elthas swung to action. He quickly thrust the table upward, rotating it skyward. It danced a few feet away causing quite a stir amongst the Promenade's guests.

"By orders of The Syndicate, I am here to claim you, Arden! Prepare yourself!"

Elthas drew the twin combat daggers from their scabbards and moved into combat position. He wasted no time. Accessing his enhanced reflexes and speed, he lunged towards Arden. Before he started that sequence of movements, he had replaced The Mute Stone with deft hands. He was determined to best Arden with his own hands. Elthas made very little sound as he ran towards his opponent and the world seemed to slow down around The Elf. As he moved, he could hear his heart beating in his throat and that excited the exiled Ruildian. His eyes were locked on the target, and he was focused entirely on running towards Arden. It was a calculated step, the plan already in place. He was no fool, Elthas had to play his cards exactly correct to claim his bounty on Arden. Then, he could return to The Syndicate as a triumphant member of that family and the old man's memory would be preserved.

Elthas felt the floor of the tavern, with it's wooden surface beneath his boots. As he ran, his eyes never moved from Arden's person. Elthas carefully calculated the few moments it would take to catch up to Arden's position, opposite where the table sat, and prepared the next phase of the plan. The dance was underway and Elthas could not reveal his ace quite yet. He had to wait, lull Arden into a false sense of complacency. The battle was not a death-match. Elthas had to capture Arden alive, the stakes were too high. Knowing that Arden was a criminal to The Syndicate, the guards looked the other way at the domestic disturbance. If need be, Elthas could go to extreme measures to secure Arden's capture. As he moved he spoke to Arden. His words coming to him quickly, the dance was almost beautiful to look at as he moved. Though despite that, Elthas did not attack quite yet, the attacks would come later in the dance.

"Arden, surrender yourself before it's too late!" Elthas yelled at Arden with a smug smile on his face.

[Arden]

Surrendering and grovelling were two things that Arden Janelle never did.

Though the elf was brash, fearless, and unafraid to charge him with a bullish speed and recklessness, the swordsman remained calm and composed as his would be jailor approached. He could smell the tension in the air, which had grown thick and humid as the screams of the bar staff and patrons curdled the warm smoke tainted environment of the tavern. He dredged the sound of benches flying and tankards clattering against the stone and wooden floorboards from the sea of noise, and settled on the sounds that remained crucial to his survival.

One noise in particular garnered most of his attention, the elfin footfalls, which were so silent and swift. They were so insignificant and so dainty in the din and cacophony of his surroundings they were almost inaudible. Arden’s eyes keened with a piercing stare to his right, as if they were judging the speed of the elf’s advance in comparison to distance, time and possible reactions. He made his mind up there and then how to respond, both to the inconvenience and the various headstrong commands, insults and facts that had been thrown at him like daggers through the dark.

The most important question was who were the Syndicate?

He stretched his left leg out and spiralled on his stool, slamming his tankard down onto the bar as he did so. It scraped an arc into the dark wood as it flew along with his movement, and he slipped from the seat and spiralled up and around into the elf’s advance – the steel drinking vessel connected with the elf’s cheek, arcing in from the right like a thundering horse over the broken planes of Corone.

As Arden’s muscles flexed, then eased, then contorted to carry his arm out of harm’s way along with the rest of his body, he was almost sure he could hear several patrons flinching. He took a deep breath, satisfied that he had staved off the elf’s advance. He had stumbled back, his pride hurt, his hands, still clutching their daggers covering his face where the rim of the tankard has connected with the cheek bone that gave rise to his high and prominent and Fae like features.

With his hands squarely at his sides, and his body easing into a steady, friendly stance, the two men stared one another down like alpha males fighting for supremacy of a shrinking dominion. Molly ushered several elderly gentlemen behind the bar, skirting the extremity of the tavern as if rubbing shoulders against cabinets and walls would give her a few extra centimetres of safety. The silence that filled their absence gave comfort to the silent swordsman, who thought about his response before annunciating it aloud with a soft, simple accent from the north.

“You didn’t fucking ask me nicely,” it broke through the atmosphere and vented his rage at having his drink disturbed in such a clichéd manner. “So tell me who this ‘Syndicate’ thinks they are to declare war against the Scourge so openly? What crime or coin has been levied against me to warrant sending a lapdog to bring in a true hound?” His nature as a bard formed his threat and question as a lyrical double entendre, but he did not smile at his own wit. This gentleman was clearly not familiar with the Tantalum, or indeed, from the looks of him, with the dramatic history of the human realms.

He rolled his neck to loosen the tension that lingered in his extremities and waited for the heavy beating of his heart to give room for his lungs to refill with air. He clenched his fists, to form them into weapons to stun, not kill. Whatever adrenaline he had unleashed to best the elf’s speed and to deliver his riposte would be short lived, and he knew he did not have a lot of time to quell the situation before the elf’s racial advantages pilfered Arden’s advantage and delivered a flurry of sharp, painful blows to the cracks between his red tunic and his mithril half plate. Its plates shone with gobbets of ale, wasted on the venture and blood, which had spattered onto the ornate metalwork as the tankard had broken through skin and air.

Its iron tainted smell and promise of a hunger sated raised a devil in the dark of Arden’s mind.