Lye
12-06-13, 06:26 PM
“Sir, the name in this contract has been coming in repeatedly and no one has accepted the job.”
A thin man in azure silk eastern attire stood in the presence of a grand throne crafted from skeletal remains. In his hand lazily flopped a worn, beige piece of parchment scribbled with black ink and stained with signs of neglect. Before him sat another of much greater physique harboring an aura of disinterest.
“And why is this?” firmly inquired Lye upon the throne. His posture was lazy. One leg hung over an ivory arm of bone with a torso slouched within the towering back piece fashioned from various skeletal components. An elbow rest on the alternate arm of the grand chair, palm supporting a resting chin. The only leg in its proper position clicked away rhythmically with boot against grey stone.
“The request seems to have been made by a number of drunkards and hopeless romantics. The target has not done anything particularly noteworthy, the bounty is low, and the ones that have seen her do not want to strike her down.”
A gloved hand scratched against the stubble of Lye’s chin, emerald stare remained locked on the presenter. “And why is that?” he asked.
“Well sir… she’s absolutely beautiful.”
“And that’s stopping them?” the words rang sour and the master assassin righted himself. Fingers came across his lips and steeped against each other.
“S-So it seems…”
“Send one of the women.”
“They’re all on leave with other contracts.”
“And the more vile of our ranks?”
“They are more interested in exotic targets, more coin, or personal leisure.”
Lye held out an open hand and immediately the presenter hopped into action, placing the contract in question within his grasp. Once the exchange was made, the thinner of the two made two swift steps back. His movements were rigid as prey in vicinity of a predator.
“Unacceptable. They need to have an example made,” Lye read through the paper. A measly two hundred gold to claim the life of a thin blonde not much younger than he. Her crimes were heartbreak, deception, and temptation. These were indeed pathetic reasons for one to die. Still, names that filter in repeatedly by the ravens must be considered a target of the people. Innocence and beauty can cause just as much disruption as corruption or repression. Because her name was crafted to contract, she had to be dealt with. “I will execute this myself.” Lye stated, casting the paper to the chilled stone floor. “I want you to make sure that the Ai’Brone, Corvanik, is available when I return.”
The presenter grew wide eyed, opening his mouth for words but was not given the opportunity to speak.
“And make sure the Chamber is cleared. I want there to be room enough for all hands present,” Lye rose from his wrought ivory throne which was draped in black silks marked with a crimson handprint. He advanced upon his colleague placing a single hand on a startled shoulder. He leaned in close, a scarred eye fell in line with opposing irises.
“That includes yourself.”
He removed his firm grasp and continued his steps to the grand doors of the Great Hall’s entrance. From a stand crafted of leather bound stag horns, he lifted a cloak of arctic furs and donned them before venturing out into the thick onyx haze of The Hollows. A blast of the Scavian winters swept across the cavernous interior, colliding with the recently relieved individual within. The two large wooden doors groaned in protest to the cold as they shut by the force of the winds, locking the presenter in his own isolation. The serenity he felt was bittersweet, for he knew the events that were soon to come would be much more difficult to withstand.
A thin man in azure silk eastern attire stood in the presence of a grand throne crafted from skeletal remains. In his hand lazily flopped a worn, beige piece of parchment scribbled with black ink and stained with signs of neglect. Before him sat another of much greater physique harboring an aura of disinterest.
“And why is this?” firmly inquired Lye upon the throne. His posture was lazy. One leg hung over an ivory arm of bone with a torso slouched within the towering back piece fashioned from various skeletal components. An elbow rest on the alternate arm of the grand chair, palm supporting a resting chin. The only leg in its proper position clicked away rhythmically with boot against grey stone.
“The request seems to have been made by a number of drunkards and hopeless romantics. The target has not done anything particularly noteworthy, the bounty is low, and the ones that have seen her do not want to strike her down.”
A gloved hand scratched against the stubble of Lye’s chin, emerald stare remained locked on the presenter. “And why is that?” he asked.
“Well sir… she’s absolutely beautiful.”
“And that’s stopping them?” the words rang sour and the master assassin righted himself. Fingers came across his lips and steeped against each other.
“S-So it seems…”
“Send one of the women.”
“They’re all on leave with other contracts.”
“And the more vile of our ranks?”
“They are more interested in exotic targets, more coin, or personal leisure.”
Lye held out an open hand and immediately the presenter hopped into action, placing the contract in question within his grasp. Once the exchange was made, the thinner of the two made two swift steps back. His movements were rigid as prey in vicinity of a predator.
“Unacceptable. They need to have an example made,” Lye read through the paper. A measly two hundred gold to claim the life of a thin blonde not much younger than he. Her crimes were heartbreak, deception, and temptation. These were indeed pathetic reasons for one to die. Still, names that filter in repeatedly by the ravens must be considered a target of the people. Innocence and beauty can cause just as much disruption as corruption or repression. Because her name was crafted to contract, she had to be dealt with. “I will execute this myself.” Lye stated, casting the paper to the chilled stone floor. “I want you to make sure that the Ai’Brone, Corvanik, is available when I return.”
The presenter grew wide eyed, opening his mouth for words but was not given the opportunity to speak.
“And make sure the Chamber is cleared. I want there to be room enough for all hands present,” Lye rose from his wrought ivory throne which was draped in black silks marked with a crimson handprint. He advanced upon his colleague placing a single hand on a startled shoulder. He leaned in close, a scarred eye fell in line with opposing irises.
“That includes yourself.”
He removed his firm grasp and continued his steps to the grand doors of the Great Hall’s entrance. From a stand crafted of leather bound stag horns, he lifted a cloak of arctic furs and donned them before venturing out into the thick onyx haze of The Hollows. A blast of the Scavian winters swept across the cavernous interior, colliding with the recently relieved individual within. The two large wooden doors groaned in protest to the cold as they shut by the force of the winds, locking the presenter in his own isolation. The serenity he felt was bittersweet, for he knew the events that were soon to come would be much more difficult to withstand.