Jggidorrry Lim-Fao
03-29-15, 02:50 AM
Jggidorrry tossed his trusty iron dagger One end over end in front of him. It was odd how one might come to trust a thing like a weapon. The thing had dents and scratches up and down it's length, but never on the edge; Jig had made sure the thing was sharp at every possible moment. He walked through the bustling marketplace, flipping the knife as children and servants and shopkeepers all bustled ahead of him. It was as if he were the slow moving log on a river made up of organised chaos. Every now and then someone would step just a little to close to that spinning blade, eyes going wide and legs losing connection to the brain for just a second. Once or twice, someone bumped into the arm set to catch the blade; a mistake that would end with them on the ground, and The Jig simply carried on, never failing to catch the blade as he had intended. They'd look up for a face to yell at, only to find an emotionless mask before them. Jiggy regarded them with as much attention as a trash-hauler might regard a passing cloud. They were worthless to him, and they made no difference. The smart ones held their tongue; the dumb ones tended to lose them in the next convenient moment.
There was a job to be done, and Jggidorrry was actually rather happy to be hunting again. The target was a shopkeeper with a few items now and then that might be considered less than legal. The local constabulary had no idea, but his supplier wanted him dead for some reason or another, and the payment was hefty for sure. Bringing him back alive was worth a small bit more, but entirely unfeasible because of the man's location and profession, and the possible bail he'd have to pay for kidnapping far outweighed the extra payment. This job would certainly be a tricky one, and even for someone skilled in the art of murder, required much thought and planning before committing to any one plan.
And so he thought, tossing his knife idly.
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One week ago...
'Radasanth needs these items' he thought. 'They might be illegal, but I'm sure The Company won't miss a few gold in their coffers.'
Grom picked up the smuggled goods he had purchased from the local chapter, looking carefully around to make sure no one noticed as he dropped a few extra pouches of an extremely rare and dangerous plant that had been banned. Of course, the state had access to these plants, as they could be distilled in just the right way to create a powerful magical antidote. The local thievery used it to treat the various infections gotten from roaming in the muck of the sewers, or perhaps those poisons coated so carefully on the blades of rivals. Whatever their ailment, it was almost guaranteed these herbs could be used to treat it, or at least prolong the effects enough to seek even more powerful healing magics.
Grom of course, was unaware of just how detailed The Company kept their stocksheets, and word traveled quickly back to the local leader of the chapter. Whether or not Grom knew it, the amount he had stolen was worth the price of his house, shop, and all his wares, and then some. Of course, he sold them well under their value, and some aspiring entrepreneur, and would end up making a hefty sum in very short order.
Grom knew not what was aspiring. That's how The Company in Corone liked it. They kept what information they had to themselves, and gave out any actual work by way of underworld contracts. Messengers familiar with local heavy-hands might 'let slip' that The Company wanted someone bullied, and it tended to happen. Perhaps they needed more stock of a particular drug, a basket of fruit was delivered to a grower, a specific code followed very precisely. Being unable to provide was a matter that could be discussed, of course, but cheating the system was always a death sentence. The same went for sellers; smart sellers bought what they could sell quickly, and kept up their contract. Dumb sellers, sellers like Grom, had their contract terminated.
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Jiggy felt he had his plan down. He watched the man's patterns, going into his back room to retrieve an item every so often, handing it off carefully, indiscreetly. He never spent more than just a few seconds behind the curtain, and it must have been a very small room dedicated mostly to stocksheets and his safe. Jiggy's contact specifically forbade him from taking any items whatsoever from the mark, money included. He figured the kill was worth more than whatever was stored away anyway, the shop itself was far too small to make any real money quickly.
The best bet would be to wait until the man is preparing to close shop in the evening, and taking him down just as he opens the door to leave. That would be a bit of waiting, and waiting always pleased the head-hunter. Like smelling a fine roast in the oven; watching the juices overflowing into the pan, listening to the faint searing of flesh. And he would savor for hours and hours, and longer if he could, just to make stopping his target's heart just that much more satisfying.
There was a job to be done, and Jggidorrry was actually rather happy to be hunting again. The target was a shopkeeper with a few items now and then that might be considered less than legal. The local constabulary had no idea, but his supplier wanted him dead for some reason or another, and the payment was hefty for sure. Bringing him back alive was worth a small bit more, but entirely unfeasible because of the man's location and profession, and the possible bail he'd have to pay for kidnapping far outweighed the extra payment. This job would certainly be a tricky one, and even for someone skilled in the art of murder, required much thought and planning before committing to any one plan.
And so he thought, tossing his knife idly.
--------
One week ago...
'Radasanth needs these items' he thought. 'They might be illegal, but I'm sure The Company won't miss a few gold in their coffers.'
Grom picked up the smuggled goods he had purchased from the local chapter, looking carefully around to make sure no one noticed as he dropped a few extra pouches of an extremely rare and dangerous plant that had been banned. Of course, the state had access to these plants, as they could be distilled in just the right way to create a powerful magical antidote. The local thievery used it to treat the various infections gotten from roaming in the muck of the sewers, or perhaps those poisons coated so carefully on the blades of rivals. Whatever their ailment, it was almost guaranteed these herbs could be used to treat it, or at least prolong the effects enough to seek even more powerful healing magics.
Grom of course, was unaware of just how detailed The Company kept their stocksheets, and word traveled quickly back to the local leader of the chapter. Whether or not Grom knew it, the amount he had stolen was worth the price of his house, shop, and all his wares, and then some. Of course, he sold them well under their value, and some aspiring entrepreneur, and would end up making a hefty sum in very short order.
Grom knew not what was aspiring. That's how The Company in Corone liked it. They kept what information they had to themselves, and gave out any actual work by way of underworld contracts. Messengers familiar with local heavy-hands might 'let slip' that The Company wanted someone bullied, and it tended to happen. Perhaps they needed more stock of a particular drug, a basket of fruit was delivered to a grower, a specific code followed very precisely. Being unable to provide was a matter that could be discussed, of course, but cheating the system was always a death sentence. The same went for sellers; smart sellers bought what they could sell quickly, and kept up their contract. Dumb sellers, sellers like Grom, had their contract terminated.
--------
Jiggy felt he had his plan down. He watched the man's patterns, going into his back room to retrieve an item every so often, handing it off carefully, indiscreetly. He never spent more than just a few seconds behind the curtain, and it must have been a very small room dedicated mostly to stocksheets and his safe. Jiggy's contact specifically forbade him from taking any items whatsoever from the mark, money included. He figured the kill was worth more than whatever was stored away anyway, the shop itself was far too small to make any real money quickly.
The best bet would be to wait until the man is preparing to close shop in the evening, and taking him down just as he opens the door to leave. That would be a bit of waiting, and waiting always pleased the head-hunter. Like smelling a fine roast in the oven; watching the juices overflowing into the pan, listening to the faint searing of flesh. And he would savor for hours and hours, and longer if he could, just to make stopping his target's heart just that much more satisfying.