"These runners are a pain in the ass."

Nearly ten minutes had withered away in the grime and piss of a gritty alley while the two men waited. The stocky secretary insisted on coordinating with the other groups he had sent out. While the half-elf could see the sense of it, he suspected the man just wanted more witnesses to dissuade him from sinking any further into the depths of depravity than was necessary. The stars seemed out of place in the city, the noxious clouds of industrious Ettermire still coloring the swordsman's suppositions. The skittering of a snot-nosed lad brought the madman's mind back to the present in relief; the others were finally in position. Short-haired Dulan unclasped a heavy cudgel from his belt, and spoke as the half-elf drew his broad blade with a smile.

"Let's make this quick."

With the nest enclosed, the cats prowled in among all the familiar symptoms of a slum. Rotting boards huddled together as ramshackle huts, real buildings lay abandoned and collapsed, and the whole place scurried with spineless rats in tattered rags. Urchins peered out from dark corners with gaunt faces, gripping the trash they played with; little bastards were better off corpses. Dulan started loudly asking about the girl, and most of the living waste stared in blank confusion. The sounds of struggle echoed from the dingy edges of few scattered fires, and soon the rest of the pack dragged out the runners. The sky-sailors all sported kerchiefs of blue and black tied around the left arm, despite their disparate attire and armament. The suspects were gathered into a line, and the half-elf sheathed his blade in favor of a more personal touch.

"Your lives are worth nothing compared to what she stole. Tell us something useful, and you can keep them."

Their expressions made for a fascinating show, grimy faces taut and brows furrowing as they tried to think of something to offer. Some trembled under that cold gaze, while others nervously sought salvation in shaded alleys. One set of eyes stared with silent hate, and up to them stepped the smiling smuggler. A swift backhand stopped the older man from spitting on his captor, and dropped a few teeth to the grimy cobbles as well. When those stubborn brown eyes rose again with hate to glare, they quivered to find the green tint of a strange dagger hovering sharp and close. The half-elf's face was flat, with icy eyes cutting even deeper, and he calmly spread the man's eyelids with a practiced hand. The pockmarked thug didn't even struggle against the sky-sailor holding him.

"I swear I don-"

The knife dipped in alongside the eyeball, and tilted to the side to pop it out of the socket. The blade pulled upward and sliced the nerve, and the orb dropped into a gloved hand. It was all so quick and clean, the thug didn't start screaming until he saw the grinning smuggler licking his eyeball. One of the pieces of garbage lined up even soiled themselves; weakness was disgusting in all its forms. The half-elf was satisfied that none of Dulan's boys vomited or fainted this time, and was about to order the trash taken out when one of them spoke up. The stuttering young girl had to yell to be heard over old 'blind-spot.'

"Um, I saw a girl r-running! S-She was wearing d-dock-worker's gear!"

Despite his initial skepticism, she seemed too terrified to lie well, so the smuggler asked her about a few extra details, and they added up. At least the things weren't all useless; he allowed her to escort the one-eyed man elsewhere with the rest of them. The lads looked relieved, but the smuggler focused on his snack while Dulan sent the boys off to the next location along the road, and crossed off the ones in other directions.

Teeth pinched the side of the eyeball to peel off the clear membrane covering it, piled slick and sweet into one cheek for later. The orb went in afterward, a swift bite releasing the acrid juices within, but a few chews of the spongy thing mingled in a fatty flavor. The madman savored it as he strolled back out to the road with his stoic secretary. Another lad ran off with message in hand, and the two men stalked down the street. It was only a matter of time until the main course.