Fire, Shadow, Soot

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Closed to Alydia Ettermire

Aurelius blearily opened his eyes, squinting against the harsh glare of daylight beaming in the small window. Shutting his eyes, the tiefling buried his face back into the pillow on the comfortable, albeit a little too soft, bed. It took him a few moments to remember where he was, and what had woken him.

Someone was hammering on the door of the inn room.

There was a stirring under the covers behind him, and Aurelius spared a glance at the curvy redhead who had kept his bed warm for the night. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and nudged the half-demon's tattooed back.

"Whoever it is, tell them to fuck off," she groaned, pulling the covers over her head.

Swearing softly under his breath, Aurelius ran a hand through the quills adorning his scalp, dragging himself out of the warm embrace of the bed and the chit, and marched over to the door. He snatched it open in the middle of another burst of fist against wood, startling the man on the other side.

Human, sandy-blonde hair and a crisp, clean uniform. His breastplate shone with a mirror-sheen, showing the half-demon a not particularly flattering reflection of his hungover dishevelment. The man stopped, lowering his hand awkwardly, and averted his gaze when he marked the warlock's complete lack of clothing. He cleared his throat, clasping his hands behind his back. A soldier, clearly, and not a local.

"Aurelianus Drak'shal?"

"Aye?" Aurelius snapped impatiently, leaning against the door and making no effort to cover himself up. He was still not entirely awake, or he might have thought twice about answering to his real name, here in Ettermire of all places.

"The train will be leaving shortly, mercenary," the human replied calmly, keeping his gaze locked on the serpentine eyes before him.

"I have been told all soldiers and.. mercenaries are to assemble at the station. Anyone not present in one hour will be left behind, and forfeit all payment."

His tone left no illusions as to his views on the noble Ixians having to stoop to hiring sell-swords.

"That so?" came the uncaring response.

The man bristled at the tone, but he settled for a curt nod before turning on his heel and leaving.

Aurelianus, his mind finally clearing away the fog of someone woken entirely too early after entirely too little sleep, closed the door and started hurriedly dressing. The redhead - he wanted to say Olivia, but he was damned if he could remember - stuck her head from under the covers and watched him for a moment.

"Where are you going?" she asked, one eyebrow arching at the guttersnipe over a perfect green eye.

"Sorry luv, duty calls," he replied, hopping on one foot as he tried to pull up his leather trousers.

"That's too bad," she smirked, lowering the covers to give him an eyeful. "Because I was hoping for one more go before you vanish."

Much quicker than he had put them on, the half-breed's clothes came off again and he dived onto the bed amid a flurry of covers and perfectly plump limbs.


***

Half an hour later, Aurelianus was stalking through the cramped, smog-clouded streets of Alerar's capital, blade armour hidden beneath his trademark battered duster. His all-too-recognisable quills and horns were tucked away under the wide-brimmed capotain. The dark-red leather also managed to hide his eyes from casual scrutiny. To say the fleshcrafter was wary was an understatement. His first foray into Ettermire had penned him firmly in the bad-books of one of the local bloods, and Aurelius was always waiting for the other boot to drop whenever he travelled through this neck of the woods.

He stuck to the narrower streets and the quieter thoroughfares, flanked on all sides by towering, monolithic tenement blocks and warehouses. Steam pipes punctured the walls at seemingly random intervals, gasping and wheezing, and filling the narrow confines of the alleys with stinking clouds. People could be seen every now and again, despite his attempts to avoid everyone; some dragged themselves through the city to go work murderous shifts at factories, to churn out items for export; others passed through as quickly as they could, clearly too affluent to belong in this area. No-one living in this part of the city was any kind of skilled worker - skills meant more pay. More pay meant that any sod with half a brain would move out of this dingy, dank little hole as soon as elvenly possible.

Adjusting the buckles on his coat and trudging towards his destination, Aurelianus let his mind tick over the potential problems that awaited his latest little venture.

He was heading to a train station, though not the one he had been directed to by the Ixian messenger. A cigarette clamped in his mouth, the guttersnipe made his way through the labyrinthine streets, always keeping his eyes open and his senses strained for any sign of pursuit or recognition. Bardin, the street-thug that had ended his night spread across one of the city's many back-alleys, had told the plane-touched killer no-one else knew he was in town. Not even, as far as could be discerned, Swanra'ann. However, it never hurt to be on guard - after all, didn't all the wise sods say you were most vulnerable the minute you thought you were safe?

The tiefling stopped at one intersection when he suspected he had a tail, but using the cover of asking someone for directions, he assured himself it was just his usual paranoia. He tipped the man with a gold coin, delighting the dark-skinned elf so much that he didn't notice Aurelius remove it from his pocket as they parted ways. It didn't matter that Aurelius' position of power within the Crimson Hand had his coffers almost as stuffed as his women; some habits were hard to break, and the planewalker had grown up fighting tooth and nail for every coin.

The meeting from the previous night (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?27982-Conference-of-Criminals) flickered through the half-breed's brain-box, and the scheming bastard allowed himself a small, dark smile.

Mostly, it had been a bit of pretence. A pantomime. It had fulfilled his objective of making contact with Alydia Ettermire, one of the most infamous thieves known. Aurelius had no qualms about working with the cross-trader, but he'd be a damn fool not to be peery of any signs of a double-cross. As far as he could tell (and it was hard to lie to a liar) the knife-ears was honest about her intention of only claiming the artifact she had told the gathering about last night. That didn't mean she intended to follow Aurelius' plan, though.

Cross that bridge when you come to it, cutter. For now, ‘ead in the game, he chastised himself mentally.

The conference had also allowed him to get two of the Remis close enough to gather information on. This, he mused, was a lovely little opportunity and had provided him with some juicy morsels for future intrigue. He would feed this back to the Crimson Hand, to keep up appearances of being a loyal and true spy-master - it didn't hurt any of his goals to do so, so he would let the Order do with it what they wished.

In truth, it had essentially all been for show. The tiefling, well-versed in this kind of game, had convinced the Remi cripple and the relative unknown, Marduk, to sign up for his heist. And, as far as they were aware, the plan was still on. They would still assault the Ixian contingent on board, and attempt to fulfil the objectives they had been given.

But it was a feint.

Unknown to the other players, their attack on the cargo-laden train was little more than a distraction; a touch of misdirection in a much more subtle plot.

The only person besides Aurelianus who knew this was Ettermire. The thief's talents were the only thing he required to pull this off, and he needed the others for nothing else. Like all good information brokers, he had weighed up the people who had answered his summons; gauged their dispositions, their resources, their dislike of the Ixians and laws in general. Everything had been tucked away in Aurelianus' head for future use. But the truth of the matter had been explained, succinctly, in the note he had passed the knife-ears as she left Ssa’s Hoills.

Finally, boots stained with the pollutant-rich water of the industrial nightmare, he arrived at the train station.

This one was nowhere near as large or busy as the main station, mainly used for cargo trains coming down from Kachuk, or shipping export materials across borders. The station itself was a squat box of rough stone, little larger than a warehouse. Workers frittered here and there, most of them natives. They unpacked cargo-containers, or stood in small huddles muttering in the ash-ashing tongue of Alerar as they savoured one of the few breaks they were likely to get in a shift. The air was thick with smoke, steam and the inescapable reek of industry that permeated every inch of this city.

Breathing deep, Aurelius reminisced about his own home-city, and how this pleasant little vision of hell reminded him of it. He only allowed himself a moment, though, before focussing again and wandering across one of the platforms.

There was one very simple reason Aurelianus Drak'shal had completely ignored the summons to the other train. And if anyone knew him, it would have been glaringly obvious to them, why. The black-powder, the one thing that had aroused the warlock's interest in the first place, wasn't on that train.

Oh, it had been very clever of whatever sod gave the orders, he admitted. One of the Orlouges, most likely, playing it smart. There was one basic principle of guarding any item or object - make sure no-one knows where it is. Sadly, when dealing with something like an entire train carrying relics and valuable loads like the one in question, this wasn't an option. So, in a cunning display of deceit, the Ixians had committed two of their more formidable warriors to guarding the cargo – Taka, the apparently infamous swordsman; and Astarelle Set’Roh herself, Champion of The Cell. As well as a contingent of soldiers, and a handful of mercenaries with solid reputations on top of that.

'Bout as subtle as a pikin' brick in the face, Aurelius thought with a smirk.

Anyone looking on would see the strength shown, and think twice about trying their luck. However, the smartest move was putting all of this strength on a decoy train. Because, no doubt, the Ixians were clever enough to realise they pissed all sorts of people and organisations off to no end. And out of these, there would always be those who lacked the self-preservation instincts that warned off the smaller fish. So everyone would take their own small army to attack the train. And, on the slimmest of chances the raid was successful.. well, grave disappointment was a just reward for stupidity as far as the warlock was concerned.

The mistake they'd made was simple, but no less forgiveable. Arrogantly, the Knights had assumed themselves smarter than everyone else. Aurelius was guilty of doing the same thing. The only difference was that he was usually right. The veteran con-man had taken one look at the assembled martial might, and twigged that something was not quite right.

After bribing, blackmailing and shagging his way through damn-near a dozen of those organising the transit of such a gathering of the Ixian’s might, the snake-in-the-grass tiefling has discovered there was more than one group being gathered and shipped out.

At the bottom of the platform, blending in like a cock in a rose-bush, stood one of these supposedly secret secondary gatherings. Most of them were clearly not from Alerar. Most of them weren't even elves. The tiefling marked a dozen little tells that gave away their identity before they could even notice his presence. He doubled back and took up a post near an empty train carriage. Lighting up another cigarette from the silver case in his pocket, Aurelianus let his practiced eye dance over his surroundings, piecing together everything to try and get an overview of the situation here. The one thing the Ixians had managed to do was keep the details on this secondary train well and truly dark – even, as it seemed, from the soldiers and mercenaries tasked with travelling on it. So far, he had found out sod-all regarding troop dispositions, cargo-location or any number of other details he would normally consider necessary.

Ah well, what’s life without a little risk? he thought, sucking idly on his cigarette. The charms around his wrists clinked and jingled as he moved.

Strolling back, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, Aurelianus made his way down the stone walkway and came to a stop before the assembled men. The apparent leader, judging by the quality of the weapons hanging at his waist, looked up from the card-game they had organised on top of a wooden crate.

"Can we help you?" he asked in a tone that made it unclear if this was a genuine question, or simply his way of saying 'piss off'.

Breathing twin streams of smoke from his nostrils, the tiefling tucked his hands into his pockets and shrugged, letting his inhuman eyes wander around the station.

"Was told to be 'ere, cutter," he replied after a moment, taking the roll-up between two slender fingers.

"You've been seconded to this train?"

"Would I be 'ere if I 'adn't been?" Aurelius smirked, sucking another lungful of acrid smoke and scratching idly at his jaw.

The man thought about it for a moment, clearly eyeing up the tiefling's sadistic armour and the plethora of weapons visible across his body.

"Fair enough. Be nice of them to tell me how many men I'm waiting on," the soldier grunted, before holding out a hand to the ashen-skinned killer before him.

"I'm Gavrin. Sergeant Gavrin Denue, Ixian Knights Mercenary Company."

"Name's Iharkav, chief," the warlock lied effortlessly.

Aurelianus took the offered hand in a firm shake, smiling amicably to the other men around him. A few stared at his features, but most didn't seem to care - they were mercenaries who thought they were soldiers. All that interested them was the money. Internally, the tiefling knew this was a good thing; men who fought for honour were harder to sway. More rigid. But if all a man wanted was the jink, then it didn't matter so much where the coin came from. His morals and his attentions were there to be bought. Still, Gavrin seemed the type to take his job seriously - an Ixian first, and a mercenary second.

Wonder 'ow many of 'is lads share that sentiment?

An interesting thought, and one that could definitely prove advantageous. But for the moment, the half-demon relaxed, and simply watched the group. He would worry about how to get around them later. All the guttersnipe could do was kill time until the train left. Alydia, if she answered his invitation at all, would not hit the train before it had left. That would too easy. Not flashy enough for someone with her reputation to maintain.

Looking across the small train-yard, he could mark it now. The train was neither as large nor as impressive as the steam-driven behemoth currently preparing to leave the main Ettermire station. All the same, Alerarans were crawling all over this one, loading on dark wooden crates, hefty barrels and all manner of other loot just waiting for someone to liberate it. There was a name stencilled across the front of the steam-engine, but Aurelianus wasn't familiar enough with the darker elves' tongue to read it very well. He could speak the gutter-variety of most languages, but some of them just looked like chicken-scratching when he tried to read them.

The workers were still only about halfway through loading the carriages, if the heaps of items lining the edges of the platform were any indication. So for now, he got comfortable. The train would leave soon enough, and he would be on it. If the cross-trader turned up, this jaunt would be the easiest thing Aurelius had done in a long while. If not.. well, then the fleshcrafter would just have to get creative.

Either way, by the end of the day it was likely every man here would be dead, and Aurelianus Drak'shal would have enough black-powder in his possession to leave high-ups across the continent shitting themselves.

It was going to be a good day.