December Flower

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Closed to Rehtul Orlouge

Grenvil Strum had enjoyed better days.

The weather was miserable, again. In fact, the staccato drumbeats of the heavy Radasanthian rain on his room’s window pane had kept him up from about four o’clock in the morning. Eventually, he had given up on sleep and had started with what turned out to be a less than satisfying breakfast of undercooked bacon and overdone eggs. The food’s cost was seriously disproportionate to the quality of what had been served, and after a brief argument with the landlord he had reluctantly paid up and left Radasanth’s very own Silver Cup Inn to attend to the reason for his visit.

A very special reason, for a very special employer. But, his line of work being what it was, this special employer had attracted special attention that even he had failed to notice. Grenvil had walked the street for a paltry five minutes before being knocked clean out by the pommel of a sword, and dragged into a grimy alleyway. From here, his day went from bad to worse.

When the man, whose hairless hulking form closely resembled a shaven gorilla, eventually came around, he found himself in a cage that he could barely kneel in. Grenvil had absolutely no idea when the start of his journey on the back of the rickety cart had taken place, and neither what time or day it was when the wagon drew to a halt. All he knew was that he could taste blood on his lips. His blood. When his cramped crate was simply thrown down to the hard cobbles below, he could tell was surrounded by at least three men. A filthy, linen tarpaulin over the metal bars obscured them all from view.

“W-what’s going on here?!” Grenvil demanded to know, rattling the whole cell with all of his might.

One of his handlers replied to him in a language that the hulking monstrosity didn’t understand. A clever man, or at least an observant man, would have noticed that a few of the emphases and one of the prepositions of this mysterious language didn’t make sense. Grenvil, however, was neither clever nor observant.

"You’re all fucking dead men when I get out of here!" He responded simply.

Only laughter and mockery followed. The hulking brute sank back and took the time to assess the situation in more detail: He was stripped of his clothes, money and contact book, and he was completely disarmed. As he wriggled around some more, Grenvil realised he was also tied up with bindings made out of some sort of metallic fibres, which cut into his skin, and the only things keeping him warm was a thin layer of straw underneath him that wreaked of shit and more besides.

Wait.

Shit. The contact book.

Not being able to feel the familiar weight of the leather bound notebook, the one usually hidden in the inside pocket of his coat, filled him with more dread than the prospect of having the shit kicked out of him. Grenvil could take a beating, after all. But, should Lady Yua find out that he had ceded details of their organisation in Corone to outsiders? It went without saying that a couple of kidnappers with dodgy accents would be the least of his troubles. So, the boneheaded Grenvil lunged forward with a roar, like an enraged bear, attempting to roll the cage over. One of the burlier handlers managed to meet it with the face of a large hammer, forcing the big guy to heel. As the iron rattled with a clang, the tarp partially slipped from the force of the struggle and suddenly everything beyond the cage’s iron bars glowed eerily in the dull twilight. He could make out new buildings, scaffold, and horses through shaky vision. Was this a parade ground?

Some background chatter followed, this time recognisable in the common tongue, as the crate was placed in the centre of a flat, concrete area. It seemed to be patrolled by horse and foot and, one by one, the soldiers closed ranks and filed into two lines. This created a corridor for an approaching man.

“Where am I?!” Grenvil demanded to know at the top of his lungs, snarling like a rabid dog. “What is this?!”

One of the soldiers obliged him by opening the cage door and dragging the brute out, throwing him to the floor violently enough to graze his hands and face. With sharpened spear tips now readied inches away from his jugular, Grenvil had to fight the urge to retaliate. In the end he settled for a manic growl that vented his frustrations in all directions, and that was the only plan he had until a pair of black boots appeared in front of his nose. There was no need for the man to look up at all – as two soldiers held his face down to the stones by pushing his wide neck with all their might, a more slender figure crouched down besides him.

"Hello, Grenvil. You’ve been a busy little bastard, haven’t you?"

The man-beast rolled his bloodshot eyes up as far as they could go, meeting the golden gaze of a oaken haired man.

"Y-you..."

“Yes, Grenvil. Me.” Shinsou Vaan Osiris replied, grinning, “Surprised to see me? I don't know why, if I'm honest. You were stupid enough to dock in Tylmerande, and you’re not exactly mister in-con-fucking-spicuous. Oh, you dropped this, by the way.”

The Telgradian began fanning the little brown notebook in front of Grenvil’s nose. The man grunted as one of the soldiers further restrained him with a knee in the back, “I would have thought the Higanbana would have furnished you with something a bit more stylish, you know, something leather bound and engraved. Don’t worry, we'll keep it safe for you. I have a guy who'll be interested in reading this. Shouldn’t take him long at all, I’d have thought.”

“Fuck you!”

With that, the Telgradian nodded to his armed counterparts, handing one of them the small notebook. "Sing this sack of shit a lullaby, and then give this to Rehtul for me."

With that, the back of Grenvil Strum’s head was met with the blunt end of one of the Brotherhood soldier’s spears and everything faded to black.

[Rehtul Orlouge]

A young woman ran through the darkened alleys of Radasanthia. Her sleeves were tattered and bloodied, her skirts hiked up to make running easier. She had lost her shoes some time back. She slipped into a darkened corner and crouched low, her breathing coming hard an fast. She reached up and covered her mouth, trying to keep her breathing under contol as she strained her ears for any sign of that sound, a lot whistle.

It took a few seconds, but she heard it as the dull thud of workboots on dry pavement echoed through the alleyway. The whistle of a man who thoroughly enjoyed his work echoed through the space between him and her. The woman's heart dropped down into her boots as she huddled even deeper into her dark corner.

"Aw, come on, love. Don'tcha wanna make some men... well, okay a lot of men, very very happy?" the man asked as he approached the side alley she had ducked into. The thud of his boots stopped a few feet short of her hiding spot and he looked around.

"I know you 'aven't gotten too far. Just come out and we'll keep this real civil like."

He took a few more steps and squinted into the darkness as he turned his head to and fro. He stepped past the shadow she was hiding in.

Like a snake, a green kris dagger struck out and grazed the back of his neck. He turned and smiled as he grabbed the woman by the wrist. She struggled in his grip a bit before his smile faded and his hand went limp.

"Wha-wha..." he coughed out, blood dribbling down his chin. He dropped to his knees and gripped his throat with both hands, struggling with all his might to speak, and shortly to even breathe.

"Run out of smart things to say have you?" she asked as she slid the knife across his throat. "Mess with the Rose, get the thorn."

_______

"See, now I know you're embellishing. Rosey would never say something so hammy! Besides, the only people who call that dagger the Rose's Thorn is everyone who isn't Rose," Rehtul said as he took a gulp of whiskey and slammed the shot glass down on the table. The din of noise in the workman's lodging was the best place to have this kind of conversation. With all the drinking, loud talking, and bar fighting you could ask for as cover to remain unheard. The food wasn't half bad either.

"All right, all right, you got me, Frost. I added that last bit just to make sure you were still listening," the other man said just before he knocked back his own mug of ale. "The rest of the story is true, though." He flipped his hood back and let his golden locks fall in front of his bright green eyes as he beheld the ice mage before him.

"She lured the fool into the alley so she wouldn't blow her cover, poisoned him, then slit his throat? Woman's a dyed in the wool professional. Has been as long as I've known her."

"Isn't she the one who initiated you?"

"Aye, after failing to kill me on three separate occasions because I spurned her advances. Guess she thought I would be a better asset than target, especially that last time when I caught one of her damned poison needles in midair with an icicle."

The other man laughed and said, "Ah yeah, that sounds about right."

"Anyway, you were saying?"

"We left them quite the sternly worded letter... on the sewer entrance to their little club, with a dagger, run through the hand of the man Rose killed. We made it extremely clear that if those morons ever decided to mess with one of us again that we'd dismantle their entire operation."

Rehtul frowned and waved a server over for another shot. As it was poured, he furrowed his brow and sank a little bit into his coat.

The golden haired assassin across from him chuckled at the man as he said, "That's your goal now, isn't it?"

"Yes, but not as Black Frost... I'll be doing this job in my public capacity. I just needed to confirm some information."

"I figured as much. Well, far be it from me to get in the way of the illustrious Sir Orlouge. We will leave you to it, so long as you leave us out of it from now on."

"Don't worry, I don't plan on this becoming a Guild thing. I should be able to handle a few ne'er do wells. Farewell for now, Golden Tongue."

"You too, Black Frost. Look out for their leader, Lady Yua, by the way. Word is she's far more formidable than those louts she hires."

The two shared a handshake, nodded, and the golden haired man simply left through the front door. Shortly after, another man came looking for Rehtul. He held out a notebook to him and the young mage popped it open.

"Interesting... Lady Yua, huh? I swear I've heard that name somewhere before. There might have been a contract where she was the client... or maybe she was the target?" the mage rubbed the bridge of his nose as he tried to remember.

"Bah, I can't remember. Still, the information matches up with what Gold told me, so..."

He stood up, dropped a few gold on the table, flipped the book closed and stuffed it deep into his voluminous coat, and began to walk toward where he thought the Telgradian would be. If the information in the book was right, they'd need to be ready shortly.