Shrewd and Subtle

[Devin Argente]

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"We'll be reaching Scara Brae soon, sir," the old captain spoke hoarsely. The manner in which the man pronounced that last word conveyed a tinge of sarcasm, disrespect even. Now that the Raven's Beak had long left the coasts of Corone, it appeared that the man the words were directed to did not instill the same fear as did other members of his family. However, if the black-clad person felt insulted, he did a splendid effort to conceal it from the ship's commander. A slight nod; the information had been received. Just as the captain was preparing to leave, the wiry frame standing upon the ship's bow turned around and beckoned him to come closer. The elderly sailor hesitated for a moment, then chose to be obedient.

"Good work, captain. The Father will be pleased," the man shouted, even though the captain was standing right next to him, for the continuous racket of the harsh seawind would not allow for normal conversation. "Go find Mazek and send him to me."

Slightly disgruntled at the lack of a 'please' or any other word that could have changed the man's order into a request, the captain left for the midship. Devin Argente viewed his depart with a face void of expression. Strands of chestnut hair danced disorderly upon the lavish wind that forced the ship's white sails into a tensed, oblique position. The Argente shrugged and turned around again. It did not matter to him whether the old sailor liked him or not, but disobedience was a liability he could not leave unnoticed. He looked out over the sea. Although the sky was gray and the waves were more tumultuous than most people would feel comfortable with, the sight of the endless sea always managed to numb his mind. The powerful breeze pressing against his body made him feel like he could fly. He was quickly ripped out of the halcyon scene with the arrival of Mazek Contempous, one of the three 'associates' he had brought with him on this journey.

"Won't be long now, eh, Devin?" the dark-skinned man did an uneasy attempt at starting the conversation. Considering that Mazek hailed from Fallien, and had basically inherited all that country's xenophobic views, such an assertion was quite a feat for him. When the Argente did not directly answer, Mazek impatiently shuffled his large feet over the ship's sturdy woodwork, as though he were inciting Devin to reply. Few other people would leave a six foot five, muscled Fallien waiting, but the Argente kept slowly lulling his head to the tune of the saliferous breeze. Only after a few seconds, Devin's head shook upright.

"We have almost reached Scara Brae, Mazek," he spoke in a bossy fashion, completely neglecting Mazek's earlier question. The fact that he did not even turn around showed exactly how much he appreciated having to work with mercenaries - instead of trusted family members. "Go warn Vy and Anzala. We will all enter the village separately. Anyone ask, we are refugees from the undead menace in Raiaera, looking for a place to stay."

Silence. Devin turned around. Mazek was still there, eyeing him with a glance wherein fear and defiance battled for supremacy. Just as the Fallien opened his mouth to protest against the Argente's elitist instructions, Devin closed his eyes and slowly shook his head. "Just do as you're told, Mazek. Succeed, and you will get your gold. Fail me, and die."

The Fallien's furious gaze diminished, and the broad man paced back to his quarters. Both Vy and Anzala would dislike not having been personally attended to, but Devin could not bear another discussion with either. For one, all three associates were simple thieves. Stealthy at best, but not the brightest of the bunch, and definitely not trustworthy enough to reveal his entire plan to. In fact, the Argente had done his best to split their duties as much as possible, telling each participant only of his or her role in the scheme, instead of divulging the complex framework behind it. And until now, that had worked out fine. Mazek, Vy, Anzala. They all had dreams of greatness. They all thought that their role was vital to the family's machinations, whereas hypothetically, he could do without them. Then again, it's always easier to jab a nail into wood with proper tools than it is to do so with your bare fists.

Scara Brae's ominous contours were drawing ever closer. The vague blur of color it had been before turned into a mixture of forests and meadows. Ships could be seen here and there. The island's southernmost tip was graced with a plethora of docking activities, mostly for fishing ships, but the occasional passenger-faring was welcome too. In several moments, Devin Argente and his cronies would set foot upon the thriving barony of Richard DuBoue.

DuBoue. The Father had spit out that name as though its echo besmirched his tongue. It was beyond doubt that something had transpired between the family and the DuBoues in the past. The young Argente did not know what had happened, but the unmistakable hate with which the Father uttered the baron's surname warranted vengeance of some kind. At first, Devin had proposed to simply kill the man. The Father had smirkingly assured him that death would not suffice in this matter. Furthermore, the head of the family would not risk the hassle of torture. No, this undertaking would require a certain subtlety. The Knights of Scara Brae would most likely throw anyone stirring up trouble near their greatest source of seafood (an important product of export in these lands) off the island. "But if DuBoue could somehow be... let's say... discredited... Now that would be perfect," Devin mentally cited the Father's suggestion.

The Raven's Beak now verged upon the island's coast, so that Devin could see the ignorant Scarabrians walking the cobblestone streets. He ran a hand through his hair, which no longer indiscriminately bellowed in the wind now that they had left the sea's domain. There was one problem: the Father had said that DuBoue probably knew about the family's plans. It was up to Devin to find out whether, and if so, how the baron had taken precautions against the Argente family's contrivances.

A bell rung from the midship. Two minutes later, the ship lay still, next to a large, wooden pier that led up to the docks. Devin's face returned to its emotionless self as he rearranged his charcoal jacket and made his way off the ship. Vy, Anzala, and Mazek were already waiting for him. Not saying a word, he made a single gesture with his hand, then started walking toward the town. His followers marched silently in his wake.

[Ingenious]

Kichiro was quite poor after leaving everything behind that day he had ran away from his parents. Until now he had been living a meager existence in Corone having to live off of what he could swipe and escape with or haggle his way to get for barely nothing or in some cases he even worked for food, which might seem like nothing to most people, but Kichiro hated work. He himself wasn't sure how it had happened but he found himself working for the Argente family. The main part of the family had come up with some intricate plot to deal with some rival or another. That detail he didn't care about. He just wanted to get it over with. Kazuo as always had chirped up and told him he shouldn't but Kichiro didn't listen to Kazuo's advice to often so he joined in anyway.

They had left port only a few days before, perhaps less, from Corone and they were now heading for the Scara Brae port. Appearently the Argente business lie at this place and as such, Kichiro's business lie here to, much to his chagrin. Being the person he was, Kichiro had managed to do as little as he could the whole trip here thusfar but he knew he eventually would have to prove his worth. He mostly hung out in the quarters napping or wandered the ship and didn't stay in the view of anyone with power for too long so he could further escape work. Sometimes he had talked to Kazuo but the ferret never had anything good to say, or rather nothing Kichiro wanted to hear, about this business so he usually avoided the conversation when able. It really didn't matter at the moment whether the advice was sound or not.

~

Kichiro was lying in his hammock. His back felt comfortable lying against the net mesh and was as soft as any bed he had ever slept in. The swaying of the boat added to his comfort by making the hammock sway to the pace the boat was, which was a quite peaceful one. He had set his black wide brimmed hat on his face as to block out any light that might try to disturb him but had left it off enough to breath easily. He had also buttoned up his jet black cloth trench coat so that the cool ocean breeze wouldn't chill him. He hated being chilled, not to be confused with what most called cold. Chilled to him was when your bones seemed to ache as though they were cold even though your body isn't. The creaking of the ship from the ocean's might along with the sound of the waves only heightened the relaxing feeling he was having. Even Kazuo had passed out and was keeping his big mouth shut. The only thing that really disturbed him right now was the sea weed smell that filtered in. It was somewhat assaulting his nostrils but he had lain a cloth over his face so that it would partially block the smell. A small smile was on his face because of his almost tranquil environment.

All was going good and he was peaceful until he heard the bell ring. It seemed as though it was right next to him and the ringing was giving him a headache. He had been dreading the anticipation of hearing the sound for awhile now. It signaled that land was seen and that they would soon be landing at Scara Brae. It also signaled the Kichiro would have to be getting to work soon. Something he dreaded doing but if he wanted taken care of he would have to do it. He started to roll out of the Hammock to get up but it quickly flipped plummeting him face first into the ground. He hit with a board breaking thud. His face exploded in pain and furthered his headache. He felt like he could just sit there and cry from the misery he was being put through. First he had to get to work and now he had just smashed his face. Of all the bad luck to have. He surmised that if it weren't for bad luck, he simply wouldn't have any at all. He was feeling down by all of these bad incidents happening.

After lieing on the floor for a minute gathering his thoughts and trying to muster up the will to get up and do his job. After a few moments, he finally moved his arms and positioned them were he could push himself up with his hands and lift himself off the ground. With a quick shove, he was quickly sitting up now. His head was throbbing and it seemed to him as though he were being pounded in the head with a fist or some other blunt object. That's when he heard yet another discouraging sound from behind him. Kazuo was laughing at him and his mistfortune. Oh man was he going to wring the neck of that oversized rat of a ferret. He was about to do it but then realized that no matter how annoying the ferret was, he still looked out for the best interests of him. He sighed and finally dragged himself to a full upright position and dusted his trench coat off. Finally seeing the ferret he gave him a glare that would make anyone turn over in their grave before retrieving his hat from the ground. He positioned it to his liking and whistled to the ferret so that he would come to him. Kazuo glared back and jumped onto Kichiro and ran up his back to his shoulder where he perched himself.

He opened the door to reveal a bright sun staring him down. It further pained him by making his eyes burn somewhat. He was half blinded by it so he did what any other person would do, he put his hands above his eyes shielding them from the blazing sun above. He could have looked down the whole time to avoid the sun by letting the brim of his hat take care of it but it wouldn't have allowed him to see everything in front of him. Slowly he walked forward now that the glare was wearing off and he could see. The world around him came into focus and he could see the dock. It was quite industrious with workers running to and fro carrying boxes and various other things. He could hear the caw of the seagulls and the sounds of the waves still echoed in his ears. The salty smell of the sea weaseled it's way into his nostrils. It was a step up from the sea weed to say the least. Several other ships were also docked about them. The landside looked quite nice compared to the view of the sea for the past few days. No longer being blinded by just being outside he let his arm down.

He looked around for his 'employer'. He didn't see the man anywhere on board the ship. That's when he noticed that he had already left the ship and was on land walking towards the city with a group of people in tow. He was shocked a little bit and stood paralyzed for a moment wondering whether the young man would get angry at him for not awaiting him on the land when he got off of the ship like the others had. He didn't particularly know or like the man but it was him who would be paying for the food that would be going into his stomach which now growled at the thought of food. He finally shook off the initial shock and bolted down the plank that connected the boat to the land. He kept his footstep as quiet as he could so he could catch up unnoticed and sneak into the group so that he wouldn't be scorned. It didn't take long to catch up with the group that was now marching into town and tried to blend in and not get noticed for being late. He didn't want to be scorned by his leader for the moment.

[Rheawien]

Though Rheawien hadn’t met Baron Richard DuBoue yet, she already had a good preconception of what kind of a man he was from the venue he chose for their first encounter. And already she disliked him. “An entire estate at his disposal, and he chooses a goddamn church,” the half-elf thought, the acrimony a direct result of the lavish surroundings. The small chapel was supposed to represent the house of some sort of a sea god, azure and opaque tones dominating the lush tapestries weaved with gold and intricate frescos that depicted archetype themes like ships stranded in a storm and shielded by the hand of god, whirlpools swallowing an ominous-looking fleet of pirates, the sea calm as a sheet of hammered gold and a single-sail boat floating serenely. Rhea was far from impressed. She was never a bluejacket, but she sailed on enough boats to know that when the clouds send their rage down on the sea, there is never a hand made out of coherent water that stopped the waves from sweeping the deck. So, utterly untouched by the Baron’s chapel, Rheawien sat on the backrest of the front pew, her feet planted on the soft velvety cushion while her eyes inspected her nails.

Her bitchy, rebellious demeanor wasn’t the only thing that didn’t make her fit the regular chapel clientele. Dressed in nothing but a sleeveless black-and-scarlet tank top and a pair of sinfully tight black shorts, the red-haired femme fatale was more prone to enticing transgression in others then to ask penance for her own. Usually, when she walked about, she covered herself with a weather-worn cloak – that gave her the random wanderer outlook – but all the pews in the chapel were vacant and the cloak made her overly warm thanks to her Dram heritage. With her swords strapped to her back, her glaives in their holsters at her hip and her whip tucked inside her belt, Rheawien would’ve undoubtedly turned heads if there were heads to be turned in the proximity.

Her short – almost manly short – chestnut hair, with two long locks falling at the side of her face, was the latest addition to her exterior. The fact of the matter was, Rhea was a wanted felon in Scara Brae. It was an unfortunate shadow that a single misstep cast on her, a plight from which she came out tarnished and hurt in more then one way, and it followed her even today, forcing her to conceal her identity and alter her looks in order to preserve her freedom. Of course, the easy way out was just taking the ferry back to Corone. She had no ill reputation in the Republic, but nobody in the Corone Republic paid as much as Richard DuBoue promised. Then again, the Baron never truly revealed the nature of their agreement.

“Well, hello there, beautiful,” a voice snapped her from the all-important task of tending to her fingernails. Down the length of the isle that cut through the pews and led towards the ornate double doors made of polished wood, a lanky figure made an entrance. Attired in a dainty violet doublet and a pair of dark crimson pantaloons with a stripe of golden yellow descending down each leg, the cosseted Baron advanced down the turquoise carpet. Cleanly shaved, cleanly cut, with powder and a complacent smirk on his face and the strong, almost insulting scent of his musk, Richard DuBoue clarified the prediction that Rheawien’s mind formed even before the quasi-royal man entered the chapel.

“Hello to yourself,” she responded curtly, stepping down from the pew set and positioning herself in the middle of the isle with her hands resting on her leather belt. The Baron either wasn’t intimidated by her or he hid his emotions fairly well behind her visage, because he continued at the same, casual pace, his hands joined behind his back. She could see now the thin moustache beneath his pointy nose, oiled and twirled at the ends, as dark as his cascading black hair. She found it hard to determine his age, but the crinkles around his eyes revealed he was at least with one foot in the middle ages of his life. “You Richard DuBoue?”

“Baron Richard DuBoue, if you please,” he said, his tone failing to reveal whether he was insulted or amused by her disposition. “And I believe you’re my new Shadow Hand.”

“I’m not yours anything yet. I’m here to conduct business. The word is you need some able hands to protect you. I’m as able as they come,” Rheawien said, her icy frown looking at the luxurious man who retrieved his hands from behind only to join them on his front.

“Oh, I’m sure you are. But, you see, I already have able hands. Entire guard force of the barony is at my disposal,” Richard said, motioning himself to a nearby pew while her restless hands tugged at the golden chain that hung on his neck, carrying a small statuette of the same god that the chapel was dedicated to.

“Then what do you want of me?” the redhead asked, motionless and slightly annoyed by the lack of straightforwardness.

“Oh, I could think of several things,” the Baron said, the smug smirk transformed into a rather mischievous one. Rheawien wanted to either wipe it off with her foot or widen it with one of her daggers, but for the sake of the money, she passed over the insinuations. “The most important, however, is...” he coughed a fake cough. “...not so legal, shall we say? You see, my guards are a fine lot, some of them serving the Red Halo while he was still a personal guard of our Queen. But they are constricted by the law and rules and procedure. And if my life is threatened – which I believe could happen in the near future – I don’t want for the evildoers to be apprehended and then cast to our ineffectual justice system.” Richard paused, looking up at the scantly-clad swordswoman, his eyes sparking with an ominous spark for only a fraction of a second. “I want them dead. Preferably in a very painful manner.”

“You want me to be your executioner?” Rhea said, her hands moving from her hips and folding beneath her chest defensively. “I’m not a murderer.”

“That’s not what some up in Scara Brae are saying,” the Baron said, reminding her of the incident in which she and a dark stranger called Malagen slew an entire platoon of Scara Brae guard. With a just cause, of course, but the reasons weren’t mentioned in her dossier. She wanted to choke the pompous bastard for bringing that up, reminding her of Gerth who she loved and who lost his life because of her. “But I’m not asking you to be a murderer. All I’m asking is for you to exact the judgment in a more efficient manner. Disposing of several criminals before they got their day in the court isn’t a crime, is it?” She didn’t respond. “There’s more then just money in this for you. If you do your job, I could help you wash the blood from your name.”

Rheawien didn’t want the blood gone from her name. She killed those guards because they hanged Gerth for something he didn’t do and that blood was a reminder. For her, for the law, for everybody that dared to pry deeper into the matter. No, she needed that blood, she needed it to remember. “The money will suffice,” was the only reply the Baron got, but it was more then enough to draw out a victorious smile on his face. She would be his executioner; bad reputation was better then no reputation at all.

[Fenris]

Fihrinn's icy gaze narrowed.

The shadows cast by the row of columns adjacent to the pews, along with the effects of his song, masked the glare from the other two creatures. He would have to be careful--if the shadowsong wore off before their meeting ended, his chances of being spotted would climb dangerously.

So. The Baron thought he was incompetent. The idiot noble thought he needed a contingency plan in case the furred savage failed to protect him against the Argente threat. And DuBoe clearly doubted more than his ability to dispatch whoever it was the baron's rival sent--he'd barely even tried to conceal the communiqué he'd sent to the girl.

But no matter. Whether the human thought he could do it or not, his compensation would be well-earned. The ship that Argente's party was traveling on was due into port very soon; he was confident the job would be done quickly.

For now, it was a matter of waiting for word of the ship's arrival--and, more recently, dealing with the new development of the murderess.

[Devin Argente]

When carefully listened to, the sound of different footsteps constitutes a rhythmic harmony. If the remaining tonalities are comprised of nothing more than the crashing of waves against a pier’s wooden supports and the occasional batch of gulls racketeering overhead, a change in that mellifluous melody of pattering is easily noticed. Mazek’s heavy slumps halted for a moment, as though he were standing aside for something, and Anzala’s light pads slowed down slighty, before resuming their normal pace. The titillating conclusion of being sneaked up on amassed itself in the back of Devin’s head. In a reflex that could be nothing more than natural, he turned his head around, half expecting one of the ship’s sailors to come and complain – as they always did. What he saw silently trudging amidst his comrades, however, made him stop in his tracks. His example was followed rather imminently, and the Argente could nearly smell the guilt that his three mercenaries emitted. But those three were not Devin’s point of focus.

“What the…” he started out with rasping throat, glaring at the unknown man that had silently slipped into the group. Long, brown hair, a coat similar in colour but greater in length than his own… Devin could not even remotely recognize the individual, a fact that served only to feed his burning paranoia. No self-respecting Argente fancied unknown quantities at any point during their plotting. That one such quantity should present itself at the very beginning of this operation… It would have been perceived as a bad omen by many, but Devin required explanation before he would deem it such. Flames of fury arose within the orbs of dark sienna as they observed the trio of bystanders. Mazek seemed intent on anything but locking eyes. Anzala was unreasonably flushed, even for her doing, looking at the wooden planks of the pier with great interest. Vy at least did an attempt to stand abashed at the newcomer’s sudden arrival, but nonetheless failed miserably. They had known.

“Ehm…” Anzala spoke weakly, stepping next to the man, facing Devin despite her fear of a violent reaction. “This is Kichiro. He – he was sent with us at the very last moment.” Her words stumbled into strained stillness, for it looked as though the Argente son could start to spew fire at any moment. The untamed chestnut strands fell over Devin’s face as he inclined his head towards her, creating an eerie pattern of shade over his contracted brows.

“And none of you…” he replied remarkably calmly, “none of you saw fit to actually inform ME that there was a new associate on board? Have you all lost your bloody MINDS?!“ Anzala stepped to the rear of the group at their leader’s sudden outburst, looking rather worried as several passersby started to notice the clamor coming from one of their marinas. Devin apparently reconciled that secrecy remained top priority, for he abandoned his loud preaching, instead casting a furious glance at his incapable mercenaries. Worry gnawed at his intestines. The plan had been designed for four characters to carry out, himself included. The uneasy chill faded as a new idea formed in his mind. Vy, Anzala, Mazek, and the Argente himself were known mafia collaborators in Corone. What if one of the family’s foes had provided DuBoue with a copy of the quartet’s faces? His guards would certainly be on the lookout. Devin smiled. A last-minute addition to the crew roster would not be similarly handicapped.

He made a single gesture with his hand. His three associates nodded silently and walked off the pier, mixing in innoticeably with the bustle of the busy docks. They knew what to do to make the family's plan work. This newcomer, Kichiro, however, did not – and Devin would not allow the ignorance of a single man to destroy the scheme that had taken more months than days to prepare. He tread closer, observing the new aid as though he were judging his merit merely on appearance. He beckoned and turned around, joining the ranks of endless sailors and townsfolk screaming about in one of the many market squares that lay close to DuBoue’s docks. Kichiro was left no chance but to follow him. Many wooden stalls were strewn about the plaza, offering a variety of different goods – which somehow all pertained to the grayish sea that lay peacefully behind them. The tingling smell of salt water mingled in with innumerable other odors, both of humanoid and culinary origin. Although the racket was nearly unbearable, it proved itself a perfect, natural cloaking device for the words the Argente was about to convey.

“Listen to me, Kichiro,” he spoke rather loudly – yet in the company of dozens of shouting men and women, it seemed nothing more than a whisper. “I don’t trust you, and I don’t doubt that the feeling is mutual. As long as you can trust the gold I pay out, we’re fine. But I warn you: if you betray me, I will personally see you flayed and thrown into the sea’s biting embrace.” He paused for a moment, allowing the words to sink in. This was how mercenaries should be treated: they were only loyal to their purse, and as such very vulnerable to bribery. Fear and intimidation were the only tools the Argente family possessed to keep their associates in line, even when greater coin was offered by the opposing side.

“Now, your next task is simple,” he continued. “There is a renowned tavern near the barony’s main docks. It’s name is the Golden Crabscale Inn. Travellers from around the world converge there to drink and tell their stories. Lots of different cultures. Lots of conflicts. A breeding ground for petty thieves and mindless brawlers.” He breathed deeply and coughed. The screaming was taking a large toll on his voice. However, Devin knew that the entire story must be told. After all, only clarity of purpose could lead to success.

“People here…” Devin proceeded while making a wide gesture with his right arm, encompassing the entire scope of the crowded square, “don’t know you,” and he enunciated the last word with a firm prick of his finger into Kichiro’s chest. “I want you to go to that Inn and stir up a bit of trouble. But you have to make sure that you yourself are not directly involved. Do whatever is needed. Lie, cheat, steal and unjustly accuse. Just make sure that there’s fights breaking out. Not a simple bar brawl. Combat. A war. If people die, so much the better.” The Argente grinned a devilish grin as he finished the story. There was just one more thing Kichiro needed to know.

“Don’t get caught, and if you get involved in battle, stay alive. The family will cover your expenses, but I can assure you that it will be best to find a less famous tavern to stay in than the Golden Crabscale.” He paused again. “I need DuBoue’s gaze away from his great wharf, understand me? Make it so that the Baron has no choice but to focus on the trouble you brewed. He’ll suspect my involvement, but he’ll be looking in the wrong place. Once you have succeeded, I will contact you… and don’t worry. I will not fail those who do not fail me. Family code. Should’ve been in your contract, too.”

With an encouraging pat on Kichiro’s shoulder, Devin paced to the right, leaving the man to his assignment. A twinkle of brilliance beamed through his dark eyes. If Kichiro would succeed, that would make the others’ tasks remarkably easier. If Kichiro failed… well, he was expendable. His grin widened as he paced in the direction of a random nearby inn – the town indeed seemed to swell with these shabby alehouses. This one’s outer paint had bladdered and its proud sign - a fish in a blue circle - hung in shambles, as though the building were derelict, but faint sounds of singing from behind the entrance told otherwise. Devin nearly laughed out loud as he entered the inn. Perfect.

[Ingenious]

Kichiro had managed to slip into the small group unnoticed, or so he thought. After a moment or two with the group, the procession stopped and the leading memeber, the young Argente, spun on the group and gave them all a glare that could put a chill down the spine of the grim reaper himself. The others in the group stood around nervous, acting like nothing had happened but it seemed to him that the young Argente knew better and had realized that Kichiro had snuck into the group. The others seemed nervous now that the young Argente had realized that Kichiro had snuck in and tried to hide the fact but it seemed that both him and the young Argente knew that they were guilty of something.

The young Argente spouted out a harsh and course line quite loudly and it had the other three in the group nearly cowering and Kichiro could only laugh on the inside at them for fearing the single man although he only showed his entertainment through a slight smile. One looked away from the young man, the other tried to act surprise and the last one tried gawking at the planks, all failed miserable even moreso than previously at hiding the guilt. Of course like lowly minions who cowered always did when found out, one of them decided to speak up and try to save themselves the flaying that could possibly come from their wouldbe master. Surprisingly it was the woman who spoke up instead of one of the men. “Ehm…” said the woman meakly, and then continued by saying “This is Kichiro. He – he was sent with us at the very last moment.” the words barely stumbling out of her mouth. Kichiro noticed the fury in the young Argente's eyes and could only assume that the others noticed it as well.

The fury still in his eyes but he managed to sound remarkably calm, well calm compared to his last statement. He verbally lashed out at his minions for not informing him of the arrival of Kichiro at the last moment. The women quickly made her way to the back of the group to try and have the force of the verbal lashing reduced. The young Argente stopped himself after noticing that he had drawn quite a bit of unwanted attention to himself. Kichiro could only smile once more at the idiot mistake the young Argente had made by yelling at the group. He wondered how well put togather this plan could possibly be with such a seemingly brash young man leading it. That's when he noticed he was acting like he was some old and knowledgable man, which only made him smile even more. He then noticed that the young Argente was smiling quite wickedly as he continued his thought process. Kichiro wondered what could be going through the man's mind.

With a wave of his hands the trio walked off obviously going on with some plan that had been plotted that didn't require the young Argente with them. Argente still smiling a little bit but with seriousness instilled in his face. He walked a few steps closer to Kichiro so that he didn't have to talk as loud, which meant that their discussion could be more secretive than if they were further apart. He waved Kichiro for him to follow, which was really his only option. They moved along with the rest of the crowd heading towards the inner workings of the town. Several smells assaulted his nose, some good and some bad but he would have to ignore them so that he could pay attention to the young Argente, that and the barrage of sounds that echoed from every direction which made it difficult to talk but was also quite the cover for their conversation.

The young Argente began his speech to be. He first started talking about how that he didn't trust and how he thought the feeling was mutual, which it was for the most part. He continued by referring to the gold he would be awarded and that as long as he trust the gold that he would recieve, they would get along fine but then turned around and threw out a warning that if he backstabbed him, Kichiro would have a nice nap with the fishes. The threat didn't scare him in the least those, it wasn't that he didn't fear death but rather that he didn't fear the man. The only fear he had was of being on the losing side, that he would be on the winning side and he would point out that after the the young Argente finished his speech. The Argente continued his speech by talking about some famous tavern nearby. He continued by talking about how he wanted Kichiro to stir up trouble, and not just a little bit but trouble of war-like proportions. And then he empasized on him not getting caught and to try and stay alive. He mentioned something about people dying making it all the better but he wasn't too keen on alot of people dying but he would complete his mission as told. He needed the gold and that was all there was too it. The young Argente smiled and patted him on the shoulder before going off to his own comfy inn.

"Great. Wonderful. How exactly am I suppose to do all that?" he commented to Kazuo.

"Leave that to me. Just open the door and I will take care of it." replied Kazuo

"How are you suppose to do anything?"

"Just leave it to me."

~*~*~*~

A few minutes later Kichiro arrived at the designated tavern, or so Kazuo said. He could only believe the ferret's words. What puzzled him was what the ferret could possibly do to stir up trouble but the ferret wouldn't tell him anything. He could hear the racket from the tavern inside and it sounded like an army in there, most of them sounded drunk. He decided that all he could do was trust that the ferret could do it so he opened the door and let the ferret run in to cause his trouble. He stood outside leaning against the building waving at passerbys trying to look like someone just waiting for a friend, which he was. The only difference was his friend was a ferret on a mission of mischeivious intent, a warlike intent.

~

Kazuo leaped off of Kichiro's shoulder and quickly slithered into the tavern. There were several people about, most of which were drunk as he already guessed. Dust covered Kazuo's belly from the dirty floor but he didn't have time to worry about it. The tavern echoed with laughing of drunks, the quiet whispers of business men, and several other sounds rang in Kazuo's ears. Seemingly mammoth legs popped up all about him almost squishing him on several occasions but he always managed to evade the feet. He quickly hid himself under a chair and scanned the building for a way to start his war. Then the idea came to him. He would just simply use ventiloquism to make someone seem to be claiming to be the young Argente here to take over the dock, a fight would erupt and the man would likely be killed. It would be a perfect plan because the enemy would think the young Argente dead and wouldn't expect to have to deal with him again. Now all he had to do was find a unfortunate person to play the role.

A burly man came through the door. He was like some sort of behemoth of a man compared to the others. He wore dirty pants and had no shirt on showing his muscles that seemed to be endless. He had an angry look on his face and his blue eyes seemed to contain endless anger and it wasn't lessened by the brown hair dangling in his eyes. He seemed to be ready to snap at any moment. He felt sort of bad about what he was about to do but it needed to be done. "I am the young Argente and I am here to take over this here dock. All bow before my might." Everyone turned on the man who had just entered and the tavern silenced. The man seemed to only get angrier now that everyone was looking at him. The tension was so thick that it would take a battle axe to cleave through it. Suddenly a chair went sailing through the air towards the man with a call behind it. "No Argente will rule this dock!"

The chair crashed into the man and the burly man seemed to look like the devil himself now that he had finally snapped. He darted across the room knocking everything aside including tables and people alike. He flatlined the man who had thrown the chair in a flash before turning back at the rest of the tavern. Then everyone else started to act, some in favor of stopping the "Argente" and others exlaiming that he wasn't the Argente they sought. Either way it seemed a war in the tavern and no end seemed to be in sight. Chairs and fists were flying ceaselessly. After more tables flipped and chairs flying, Kazuo decided it was time to make his exit. He quickly darted out of the still open door and up Kichiro while yelling "Let's Go!"

~

Having seen the ferret scramble out and yell for them to leave along with the sounds of a war within the tavern, Kichiro didn't question the ferret but instead headed towards the inn that the young Argente was staying in. He would report what happened after Kazuo told him, and see what the Argente wanted to do next. He figured with such destruction going on at the tavern, they should be quite safe and could act without having to look over their shoulders. He hoped that whatever Kazuo had done wouldn't backfire and create more trouble for him. He didn't want anymore trouble and he might bring down the wrath of the Argente family, which he didn't need.

[Rheawien]

There seemed to be no end to the courtesies with which the Baron treated the delectable woman. Immediately after their meeting in the chapel, the overblown bastard led her to the west wing of his manor, rambling all the time about the numerous pieces of art they passed and disregarding the fact that all the praise fell to deaf ears. Her quarters were rather impressive – and directly across the hall from his own, Richard added with a sly smirk – consisted of a pair of lavishly furnished rooms and a bathroom with a vat the size of a small pool. The view from the loge swept over the north part of the estate and the meticulous garden grounds, confirming Rheawien’s doubts that Baron DuBoue had too much money on his hands and too few smart things to spend it on. Shrubs shaped like animals, look-alike trees with look-alike crowns, tiny little paths made of white stone that cut rudely through the grass so thick, the half-elf reckoned it felt more like a carpet, patches of soil in which the flowers stood perfectly aligned like soldiers on a parade, it was just a fraction of what she could see beneath the light of the scattered lamps.

Once the presentation of the premises was concluded, a multi-course dinner followed. Most of the food Rhea could barely stomach, godawful combos of fruit and meat and vegetables that looked flashy and tasted horrible. The wine was good though, but regardless of how much the Baron tried to get her tipsy, the chestnut-haired woman refused to consume more then a single glass. With the dessert out of the way, she went to her chambers, but no sooner then she stripped down her weapons, a pack of servants entered, acquainting themselves as her personal entourage. More and more it became obvious that the sleazy Baron wanted Rheawien for more then just his dirty work. Not that he had a chance of ever getting it. Not only was he not her type; he wasn’t even of the gender she preferred. But she let his live in his delusion as long as it profited her.

The serene idyll didn’t last for long though. No sooner then she threw herself on the velvety sheets and started a rather content nap, Richard DuBoue came barging into her room, succeeding in nothing save reminding her that she ought to lock her doors from now on. Four guards accompanied him, hard witless faces with shoulders as wide as an armoire and cumbersome greatswords. “Argente is here,” the lanky man said, accentuating the name as if it deserved to have a certain grievous weight. “The guards report a major brawl in the Golden Crabscale, and the word on the street is that the young Argente is responsible.”

“Who the hell is Argente?” Rheawien replied, oscitant and uninterested as she pulled herself up to sit at the edge of the bed.

“Argentes are a family that’s been out to get me for a long while now. But that is irrelevant. You have a job to do. I want the treacherous bastard dealt with.” The artificial paleness of the Baron’s visage gave way to a blush of seething fury as he spoke.

“For what? An alleged bar fight? Make your grunts check that out. I’m sure they’ll come back with nothing but rumors and hearsays,” she responded, combing delicately through her twin locks with long strokes of her fingers. “And even if this Argente is responsible for this ruckus, do you really believe that he would wait for us to come and get him?”

“But we have to do something!”

“Aye, that you do. Lock the doors and double the number of your sentries. If nothing happens during the night, I’ll go sniff around the docks a little bit. See if any rats are ready to squeal.” With that said, Rheawien stood up and started gathering her weapons. The stoic, vacant glares of the four guards suddenly came to focus as they glued themselves to her hourglass figure. She dismissed them with a scowl. “Now go away. I need my beauty sleep.”

Only, she had no intention to slumber. Once they vacated her quarters, the brassy half-elf donned her weapon belts and stepped out of her room and onto the loge. From there, she nimbly climbed to the adjacent roof, then followed the slanted surface all the way to the vertex where she squatted and observed the vicinity.

The view to the north she knew already, the vast garden almost completely illuminated by the xanthous flames of the oil lamps, but the presence of light failed to dissuade her suspicion that it might be a point of entry. Light was good, but light gave birth to shadows, and the contrast made you blind to details. To the west the land ended abruptly in a series of jagged cliffs that plummeted down towards the sea. She reckoned only deft climbers and people prone to suicide would approach from there. Towards the south and east was the city of Scara Brae, sprayed with amber jewels that escaped through the windows of the houses in the spacious maze of streets. Out of the two, she suspected the east more then south. Docks were to the south and only a nitwit would come straight off the boat and charge the fence that surrounded the DuBoue estate.

Perched on the apex of the tiled roof, as calm as one of the statues that Richard had in abundance within his gallant manor, Rheawien waited.

[Fenris]

The song wore off, and the shadows faded as Fihrinn stalked through the alleyway, his body reappearing in full. He hated walking back here. The backstreets reeked, especially with his sense of smell. It was rank to the point of distraction--almost. But sadly, it had to be done. He hadn't the motivation to take human form, so the main street was out of the question. Not that a furred, canine creature would cause much of a stir on the main thoroughfare--much more bizarre creatures frequented these parts--but he was different enough to stand out, to be remembered. That was unacceptable. Especially now, with enemies of the Baron soon to be about, and the murderess he had hired. DuBoue of course wouldn't tell her that another informant was already on his payroll--but that was just as well. The less everyone else knew, the better.

It took several minutes of shallow breathing, but at length he arrived at the docks. He could have made it in a fraction of the time, had he been in a hurry. But he had no reason to rush. The Argente's ship wouldn't arrive for a few...

He stopped. A new mast towered over the docks.

Muttering curses, he hurried down to the pier, remorsefully aware of the brief glances and stares directed his way. So much for not being remembered.

Only crewmen manned the ship now, tying down its rigging, scrubbing the deck. They had already taken in the sails--the ship had been here awhile, but not long. He made his way to the end of the ship's gangplank. The sea made things so hard from him...so hard to smell through the salt...

A number of trails came down from the gangway. They stopped for a moment, here on the pier, and two of them branched off in another direction...

He turned to see old Jarlan sweeping the entryway to his rigging shop. He knew the old man--but Jarlan didn't know him. He only knew the tall, darkhaired human that stopped by now and again for gossip. He would never know this gray-furred wolfman was the same creature.

Jarlan looked up, as if he felt someone's gaze upon him, and their stares met. Before the old man could make it inside, Fihrinn had him up against the wall of the shop.

"Whose ship is this?"

"I...I..."

"Quickly, shopkeeper!"

"I don't know! None of the crew have been down yet, I haven't asked!"

"Who has come ashore, then?"

"Ah...a group of folks. Several of them."

"Nobles?"

"No, they weren't...well...one of them might have been. He was dressed all in black, but he carried himself like he was important..."

"And where did he go?"

"Well...I only looked up when I heard them shouting...he stopped his party in front of the gangplank there, and then he walked off with another one of the men..."

Interesting.

"Tell no one of this," Fihrinn growled, releasing his grip and pacing away. He followed the divergent scent trails, now--but slowly. Many people walked through here, and their own scents buried those of this targets. Eventually, though, he stopped completely. The trails split.

He cursed silently. He had no way of knowing which belonged to the Argente...

It was one or the other. He bore to his right, chasing one of the trails toward the busier side of town. The noble would no doubt try to sink away into crowded places where he was less likely to be noticed.

It didn’t take long before he was deep in the international part of the main dock. The trail was barely traceable now…barely. But there. It meandered a bit, as if Argente had been searching for something--or someone--or someplace. Eventually, though, the noble saved him the trouble of follow-the-leader.

“No Argente will rule this dock!” Shouts burst from the door of the Golden Crabscale. Fihrinn had been there before--some valuable informants frequented the place.

Found you.

He made his way through the crowd, toward the doorway, before he stopped. The inn had exploded into an all-out brawl…

And then the man emerged. The scent that wafted from him was unmistakably the one he had been tracking, but…the face was entirely wrong. The Baron had shown him portraits of all the Argentes, and this creature was certainly not one.

He had followed the wrong trail.

Fihrinn kept walking, never letting his gaze meet that of Argente’s accomplice. He wished now that he’d taken the time to shift. Rushing as he had had been foolish. Never again could this man see him in his native form—his was a face not easily forgotten, and men on such missions always noticed when the same creature ran into them twice.

Argente’s trail would almost certainly be cold now. So many people pacing around the dock, the brine…

But perhaps all was not lost. When he was able to do so unnoticed, he turned his head--as if glancing at an outspoken seagull--and caught a glance of the young man hurrying back the way he had come.

That’s right, lead the way…

There was no time for a shadowcry now. Fihrinn would have to trail him the old-fashioned way…

[Devin Argente]

The tattered scarf wrapped tightly around his nose and mouth itched and scoured, turning the pale face behind it flushed with irritation. The ends of the blackened cloth bellowed vividly in the salt-bearing seawind as the Argente slumped over the docks, quite believably simulating the gait of an elderly man. His hair, normally a chaotic facade of auburn strands, now lay smooth in a small ponytail. He'd even created some dark highlights inside it with concentrated blueberry juice. After the discord the mentioning of his family's name had wrought inside the Golden Crabscale yesterday, he had not dared step foot in a barber's shop, afraid that his face had been made known to more than just DuBoue's personal entourage. The blueberry extract was sticky, but at least it didn't smell peculiar.

While morn was passing into afternoon, he finally reached the great square where Kichiro's object of scheme was located. Although he was slightly disgruntled by this sudden need for disguise, Devin was not altogether dissatisfied with the new associate's actions of yestereve. To say the famous Crabscale lay in shambles would be an understatement: he dared not take a closer look at the scene, but judging from the amount of spectators mumbling darkly around what was left of the ground floor, it would take months for it to be up-and-running again. He heard the word "Argente" mentioned several times, but although the hairs on his neck stood upright every single time he heard that name, no suspicious glances were shot his way. A few of DuBoue's sentries stood stationed around the inn, but they looked particularly off-guard, more interested in keeping onlookers at a proper distance than in actually discovering the cause of this disaster.

For a moment, he wondered where Kichiro and his ferret had gone. Probably back to the inn the Argente had stayed in the night before. If so, the only thing he would find there was a letter from the innkeeper - a scrawny, depressed man that was not entirely content with DuBoue's lack of law enforcement around the area his inn was situated in. That letter contained the following information:


To sir Kichiro,

I believe I still owe you some gold. Meet me near the pier where we first hit land, tomorrow, around noon. You might not recognize me, but I will know you when I see you. I cannot yet tread into detail.

Be there.

--Envid

Devin smiled. No important information revealed - not even his first name - should the letter be somehow intercepted or read by those who were not supposed to rest their eyes on it. He looked up at the sky. It was nearly cloudless, and the sun had almost reached the point of noon. Taking one last look at the remains of the Golden Crabscale, he turned around and walked back in the direction of the pier specified in his letter to Kichiro. On the way, he passed several stalls, but most were void of both buyers and sellers. The incident had definitely grabbed the populace's attention. It gave Devin good hope that the Baron himself would keep a close eye on similar establishments around his port town. The pier was empty when he arrived; Kichiro was not yet there. He sat on one of the pier's protruding supports. He had time.


~*~*~*~

The night before, Mazek, Vy, and Anzala were commencing a somewhat more dangerous operation. At that hour, the violence inside the Golden Crabscale had only just subsided. A veil of lead spread softly over the reaches of DuBoue's barony, and it brought a sense of rest to those unaware. All three of them were dressed in black garments, with thin masks that left only eyes, nose and mouth uncovered. Although they were the Argente's subordinates in name and function, all of them had more field experience than brash, young Devin - they were specialists, and they carried out their jobs as such. They approached DuBoue's estate from the northeast. Vy had figured out that guards were thick around the east and north, with several patrols walking from one point to the other every few minutes.

"Hey!" a gruff voice came from afront them. It seemed like they had found their first obstacle. The trio kept walking. The sentry put his hand to his saber.

"Halt! State your business!" It sounded louder now, as though the guard were hoping that others would hear him. Unfortunately for him, the immediate area was deserted - it was ironic that DuBoue's large estate now hampered his sentries in keeping trespassers away. Of course, there had not been many intruders here, over the years. Scara Brae was known as a relatively peaceful island. Except for the Scara Scourge, of course, but that gang wouldn't be as blatant as to directly attack a barony's headquarters.

"I SAID H..." the man's voice stopped in his throat as he grabbed frantically for his throat. A small dart stuck out of his jugular. Paralyzing poison. Vy smiled as he lowered the blowpipe from his lips. Killing was out of the question, but incapacitating guards was not. The threesome eventually reached the thick, iron fence that separated them from DuBoue's garden. The garden that he took so much pride in. Anzala could see why; rare flowers stood perched beautifully in many secluded squares of soil, surrounded by low hedges. It must've cost a fortune.

She grinned malevolently as she grabbed her shortbow.

"Stop smilin' like tha', Anza, ye're givin' me de shakes," Mazek whispered dryly in his unofficial, Fallien-accentuated version of tradespeak. The bow-wielding mercenary only smiled up at her dark-skinned associate. If there was one of them that could be fearsome by appearance alone, it was Mazek, and the Fallien knew that all too well - although he never intimidated people when not on the job. He wasn't built like that. She had to suppress a laugh as the bear-like warrior took out his own bow; it was almost twice as large as hers or Vy's. They all positioned themselves near the fence, grabbed an arrow from their quivers, and nearly synchronically put it on their bowstring.

"Wanna bet I can hit two at a time?" she whispered at her companions.

"Ten gold coins say you won't," Vy met the challenge.

"You're on," Anzala whispered, and with that, she let fly.

The arrow made its way silently, until its deadly grace was shattered by the sound of broken glass. The projectile punctured right through an oil lamp in the center of the yard, whereupon it proceeded to pierce another several yards behind it. Vy cursed as he let his own bowstring loose, shattering only one lamp. Mazek's thick arrows were not as accurate as those from the shortbows, but they hit with so much force that some lamps simply broke from their supports and crashed onto the soil. All three Argente associates fired two more arrows, until more than half of all garden-illuminating, encased flames had been marauded.

But light did not cease to shine upon Baron DuBoue's garden.

The dry grass and hedges slowly caught flame, the oil-fueled inferno spreading wherever a broken lamp touched flammable foliage. Invigorated by the soft breeze that meandered through the expensive umbrage, the fire grew and grew, until several small patches of flame ravaged DuBoue's green investments. Not the entire garden stood ablaze; it wasn't Devin's intention to make the whole estate go up in flames. Subtlety was the key. DuBoue would be furious about the destruction of his prized plants. He might even withdraw more sentries from around the port to protect his personal possessions.

"HALT! IN NAME OF THE LAW!"

Panic struck as the threesome turned around. Guards stormed upon them left and right. They had not expected this. Had DuBoue increased the amount of sentries patrolling his estate? Was he so paranoid that a simple barfight had driven him to fear for his life? Or had there been an informant? Anzala stood aghast before she felt a giant hand grabbing her by the back of the neck. Next to her, Vy was given the same treatment. This was it. They were caught. They had failed. She nearly closed her eyes. Then she heard Mazek's voice from right behind her.

"GO!" She felt herself being propelled forward by the Fallien's force, allowing her to immediately sprint away from the scene. The small, snake-like Vy did the same, accelerating even more as he regained control over his feet. Anzala could not help but look around. Mazek stood like a statue between the enemies and his fleeing associates, five guards encroaching on his position. He did not wear armor, but at least he still had his rods to help fight them. Anzala understood. Mazek's cumbersome frame would've made escape impossible. Now, at least two out of three would get away unidentified, and she knew that the Fallien's loyalty reached so far that he would rather die than betray the family.

Once again the thought penetrated her mind. I'm doing this for the money. He's in this for a cause. She repressed a tear as she caught up with Vy, who seemed far less shaken by Mazek's sacrifice.


~*~*~*~

Mazek roared as he retrieved his great rods from his belt. They were of a longsword's length, but without a sharp edge. The Fallien preferred blunt weapons - those were easier to debilitate an opponent with, and far less likely to accidentally kill the victim in the process. He jumped at the nearest guard ferociously. The man fell before having a chance to unsheathe his saber, knocked unconscious by a severe blow on his helmet. The next was left without breath as Mazek kicked him below the ribcage. The sound of steel being drawn pierced the starry night. Mazek withdrew for a step or two. Three armed opponents. The only way to survive was to attack.

To attack.

Another battlecry, and the Fallien jumped forward as the frontmost sentry heaved his blade. He gave the man a headbutt to the nose, then blocked a swordstrike that came flashing from the left. Steel locked with steel, yet Mazek's grip was only one-handed while the guard's broadsword was reinforced by two. A scorching pain in his leg distracted him, and he wildly swung his free rod downwards - it collided with something hard, and the Fallien heard bones snap. The sneaky sentry that had lodged a dagger below the Fallien's hip desperately clutched his right arm, which made an impossible angle at the elbow. Angered by the numbing shock coursing through his left leg, Mazek put all his force into pushing back the final guard's broadsword - this time with the help of his second weapon. There was no time for relief when the dangerous sword flew from the sentry's grasp; Mazek immediately followed up by hitting the man on the helmet. The guard's eyes rolled up in their sockets and he fell to the floor, unconscious.

Mazek looked up at the nocturnal sky, clenching the dagger that still stuck inside his upper leg. More guards would come. He had to get away, but couldn't. He leaned against the fence, breathing heavily. The steel had ripped through main artery; he knew enough of these wounds to judge that he needed someone to brand the wound as soon as he slipped the dagger out, or he would bleed to death. His gaze passed the roof of DuBoue's estate. It was then that he noticed that someone was sitting there, silent like the building itself, as though she were part of it. She. Definitely 'she', Mazek grimaced as the woman's round contours were made clear by the moon's pale glare.

Angel of Death here to take me? he thought cynically as he held onto the fence in an attempt to stay upright.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another admin and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.