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    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    "Something I can do for you, Imperial?"

    "...Huh? Oh, no friend, I'm just leaving."

    There was the sound of a purposeful footstep, and the voice was closer, more hostile.

    "You realise this is... private property, right?"

    Gattuso lazily opened an eye, slightly clogged up from the sleep that had been left as reaction to the light breeze during his nap. The scraggled fur and dirty thread filling his eyeline told him all he needed to know. Bandits.

    "Ah well, no harm done, eh? Maybe a Septim or two will sooth your mood."

    "You keep talking, Imperial."

    Gattuso sat up slowly, noting the faint shadow of another person falling over his shoulder and onto the grass below, slowly edging closer to his horse. Without turning his head, he took a half-step towards his pack, reaching to his tight hamstring as he did so after adjusting his hood slightly.

    "How about, say, twenty Septims for your... trespass."

    As Gattuso's hand clasped around what he'd been searching for, he span around and in one fluid motion set his feet, nocked the arrow he'd drawn from his pack and released it, bound for the neck of the bandit which had been shuffling towards the horse. The Nord, by the look of his dirty blonde hair, fell to the ground clasping just above his shoulder, with the other bandit frozen in a state of panic.

    "You should have run me through while I was sleeping, you could be halfway back to your hideout with a horse and pack full of stuff by now. Piss off, before I drain you slower and more painfully that your friend over there."

    He jabbed a feigned step toward the bandit, who turned and sprinted into the undergrowth as fast as his little Breton legs could carry him, looking back to his dead accomplice a couple of times as he did so.

    Gattuso clicked his fingers, frustrated at having missed his post-nap stretching and whistled quietly to his horse, who was wide-eyed and unsettled. She calmed down as she watched her master pick up his pack and swing up onto her saddle, as he did so often on their travels.

    An hour or so later, partway into the scattered copses and forests of the Rift, the entrance of the cave came into view. The ground dipped slightly and curved into the larger entrance, enveloped by overhanging shrubbery and concealed by a hollowed out log. Removing the log and pushing through the shrubs, Gattuso led Fjori into the cave entrance which had picked up the calm scent of the chilly early evening. She hated entering the dark space at first, but she had grown used to it with maturity, and learned that she was well tended by Gattuso and the others in there.

    It felt like a long time since the Imperial had used the largest entrance to the "office." Usually he'd slink down the narrow cave passage most often used by the others, or enter through the way he and Jax had shared exclusively since recent events. It had only been a couple of weeks in reality, but so much seemed to have changed recently. He walked through the stable area and into the space most commonly used as the so-called "entrace hall." He retraced the steps Jax had taken hours before, and saw a few of the same faces. He exchanged friendly but formal glances with some, and more familiar greetings with others, but soon reached the place he called home. It was early evening, and Gattuso decided to take half an hour to himself before approaching Jax about the recruitment operations of late. He fingered through his rickety bookcase and flicked open the tome as he sat on his bed.

    A man must take in some culture among all this business.
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    "Oh, Jaaaaaaaax!" Aradriel's singsong voice resonated through the halls of the eerily quiet company headquarters. It was late, and only a few members of the company sat at the long dining table, one buried in a book, the other well in his cups, a third eating a meal. They all looked up, then slowly returned to their solitary tasks. "I've brought you something," he went on, a smirk crossing his face as he strode through the hall, past closed doors and annoyed groans, to Jax's quarters.

    "I know it's unlike me, but I've been feeling particularly chipper lately, and your special surprise is not a poisoned dagger." He twisted the door handle and walked in on a groggy, unamused Imperial. "It's a wedding ring! Even a stone-cold killer like you must be sweet on somebody, right? Now you've got a way to show it!"

    He threw the expensive ring to Jax, who snatched it, but never broke his gaze on Aradriel. "But wait, there's more! Pop the question, but the lass - or lad, your business is your own - rebuffs you? Apply this extra-strength sedative to a clean rag-" the Bosmer produced a small pink vial "and they'll quickly change their tune!" Jax looked on, bewildered. Aradriel set the vial on Jax's desk, then turned back to the head of the company. "I know this is something of a departure from my usually selfish and biting demeanor, but as I said, I've been feeling differently for the past week or so."

    "People are trying to sleep!" someone called from down the hall.

    "I killed five people only a few days ago, do you want to be number six?!" No response. Turning back to Jax, Aradriel went on. "We do have that to discuss, I should add. I think I'd like to expand my horizons, as work goes. But you look tired. We can talk later."
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    "Oh, Jaaaaaaaax!"

    "No. Gods please not him. Anyone but him. I know I'm not a good person, but just this once..." Jax's groggy mumbles were cut off as Aradriel strode forth into his humble chamber. Instantly the bosmer broke out into his characteristic mad ramblings. The elf threw some tarnished trinket his way and the assassin quickly caught the ring with his right hand. Sitting up in his bed he eyed Aradriel silently, flexing the fingers of his left hand, willing away the familiar pain where his fingers had once been. He had noticed of late, that his hand always hurt more when he was conversing with the elf, whether that was due to the increase in his stress levels or something else, Jax was yet to determine.

    The elf placed a small vial of pink liquid on the desk. That caught his attention. He would have to look into that at a later time, perhaps he would have Falere examine the poison and recreate it.

    "We do have that to discuss, I should add. I think I'd like to expand my horizons, as work goes. But you look tired. We can talk later."

    Jax's breathing increased almost imperceptibly. He ceased the flexing of his left hand and flattened it on the straw mattress, his eyes boring into the back of Aradriel's head as the elf walked back out into the main area. The assassin sneered for a moment, before he managed to control the surge of anger he felt at Aradriel's parting comment. Talking a calming breathe Jax slowly rose from his bed and followed the elf into the main area, uncaring that he was currently clothed in nothing but his trousers and a threadbare tunic that hung about his frame. With his hair stuck up at various angles, and his tired red-rimmed eyes he had the look of a mad man, though the veneer of calm suggested anything but insanity.

    "Aradriel. We talk. Now." Clicking his fingers Jax gestured at those around the table to make themselves scarce, the guild leader's voice carrying a dangerous tone. Looking about Jax sighed, glad at least to see that the others had slid away into the shadows. "You will tell me now, without any of your dramatics why you had to kill five people. I sent you out to take care of one simple job. You come back with your hands stained from a f***fing massacre. I want answers, and I need to know if this is going to be a problem."
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    The tired head of the company was roused by Aradriel's offhand mention of his killings, and hurried to clear a table in the main hall. Aradriel sat across from Jax, folding his hands and leaning forward on his elbows. "You will tell me now, without any of your dramatics why you had to kill five people. I sent you out to take care of one simple job. You come back with your hands stained from a f***fing massacre. I want answers, and I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

    "You're a killer by trade, Jax, you must know better than I that there are some people you... just don't like!" Jax's hard stare endured, despite Aradriel's appeal. His forehead wrinkled, and he frowned. "I was at Cedus' dinner party, and I endured an hour and a half with the man and his friends. I held myself, but that fool was asking for it, I tell you. And, again, you must know well that you can't just kill one man. Others will find out. So... Look at it this way: no witnesses! Sellus had no appointments for the next four days, he lived out of the way of civilization, and the take from his place was probably double what it could have been had I just used illusion alone. Now, I concede that maybe I could have been less brash..."

    Jax was not amused, and seemed much less open to the brighter side of the situation than Aradriel was himself. The Boiche didn't suppose Jax was to blame for that, but Aradriel had to do what he had to do, consequences be damned. He took a deep breath, scooting to the right down the bench that ran the length of the table, and grabbing an unopened bottle of ale. He returned to his seat, and uncorked it, taking a drink. "Look, this won't be a problem. From now on I'll just steal when I'm sent to steal, on my honor. But you know I'm at least half mad; I need the release, and a drink doesn't hurt either." The elf flashed his teeth, extending his vampiric fangs - due to being of the Cyrod bloodline, Aradriel was able to hide well his condition. "Plus, you know I know Destruction magic. Let me put it to use."
     

    Delusional

    Connoisseur of Hallucinations
    Golden sunlight poured through the modest glass-paned window into the cozy inn room, waking the Breton priest from his restless sleep with its inviting rays. Squinting to combat the fluorescent sunlight, Tristan deliberately tossed the sheepskin blanket off his body and rose from the bed. If he had counted the days right, the convoy he was to follow would be departing in a few short hours, giving Tristan about enough time to eat a small breakfast and pray for about an hour.

    Having slept in his priesthood robes, the Breton had no other belongings to gather up, so he left the room and descended the stairs of the Bee and Barb inn, withdrawing a few coins to pay for a meager meal.

    "A loaf of bread and a jug of milk, please," Tristan asked the barkeeper politely. The Argonian barkeep nodded in affirmation with a friendly smile as Tristan slid a few septims across the counter.

    Before breaking into his breakfast, Tristan bowed his head and offered up a quick, silent prayer to Sheor. Oh Lord, my God, I pray in your heavenly name that I may consume this meal for you in order to carry out your will this day. Amen.

    The priest ate slowly, deep in thought as he idly chewed at the golden brown loaf of bread. He slept very little the last night, and was very weary. Then again, Tristan rarely slept more than a few hours a night, discovering that the older he got, the less sleep he either needed or got. Either way, he was weary often, and there was little to do to prevent that.

    Once he finished his breakfast, Tristan smiled at the innkeeper a final time before departing. The city outside the inn was bustling. The market was busy, with shopkeepers shouting every few seconds to spew forth the same advertisement everyone had already heard three dozen times before. A man stood at a stall rambling on about some Falmer Blood Elixir, a sales pitch that made Tristan shake his head and chuckle.

    The priest weaved between the throngs of citizens, making his way to the Black-Briar Meadery. Before leaving through the main gate, Tristan wanted to slip out onto the docks to make sure the convoy was indeed loading up and preparing to depart. There wouldn't be any sensible way to get a status update on the convoy had he just left out the main gate, so a short detour to the docks would serve the priest well. The entire prospect of trailing a wagon guarded by several ruthless mercenaries and owned by one of the most notorious businesspeople in Skyrim made Tristan nervous, but he had already figured out a plan to appear inconspicuous and avoid execution at the hands of these mercenaries.

    Tristan slipped through the door, putting the constant rumble of the marketplace crowds behind him, separated by a thick wall. Nodding to the guard who appeared half-asleep posted at the door, Tristan descended the steps onto the docks. Peering around the corner of the outer wall of Riften, the Breton spotted several wagons staked out by the coastline across the water.

    Very good. Tristan's timing couldn't be more impeccable. The Meadery workers were amidst loading the carts up, which would give Tristan plenty of time to snake his way back through the city, leaving just in time to see the convoy pull out in front of him, ready to be followed.

    Satisfied with how the mission was going thus far, Tristan sauntered back through Riften, heading for the front gate. Once he had put the rough wooden gate and its amateur guardsman behind him, Tristan was free to track down the convoy, which couldn't be any further than beyond the next watchtower. The Breton had no doubt the train of wagons would travel slowly, with all its cargo and guards, so there was no need to rush.

    With an autumn breeze singing through the trees, playing with the vibrant orange, yellow and red leaves, Tristan smiled and started down the cobblestone path, putting the dilapidated city of Riften behind him, walking in the path of his lord Sheor.
     

    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    "You will tell me now, without any of your dramatics why you had to kill five people. I sent you out to take care of one simple job. You come back with your hands stained from a f***fing massacre. I want answers, and I need to know if this is going to be a problem."

    Gattuso's ears had pricked up on hearing Jax's raised voice ripple through the partitions and short hallways between the main hall and his room, and he set the book down as he stepped out into the hallway for a better idea of what was going on.

    As he silently paced towards the main hall, he heard Aradriel babble on, making one excuse or another about why turning a simple heist into a mass-murder might be acceptable, especially at a time like this. Gattuso had never much liked the elf, due in part to his strange and unpredictable demeanour, but mostly because he was a mage and a vampire. There were few things that Gattuso disliked more than mages or vampires, and having to work with both wrapped up in an insane little elven package had pushed his commitment with this group to the limit more than once already. He had even considered enlisting with the Dawnguard at one time as a freelance privateer, before hearing on the grapevine that their leader was a tyrannical fanatic obsessed with protecting the people and slaying every vampire in existence by training his recruits day and night; he sounded a little extreme for Gattuso's subtle tastes.

    Gattuso re-clipped the second-to-top buckle on his armour and breathed as he rounded the doorway and leant on a chest of drawers as Aradriel finished speaking about a change in tact for his future contracts. They were sat across from each other and Gattuso could see that Jax was seething, while Aradriel took another swig of ale, eyes glowing. The eyes looked back, and Gattuso gave a small nod.

    "Gents."
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    "Gents."
    Jax clicked his jaw shut. His eyes were burning with exhaustion and his mouth felt like cotton. "Gattuso, I'm glad you could join us."
    He had not reached the position he had without having mastered his own needs, his own psyche. He focused. Letting his mind hone in on a small mole that graced his left hand he inhaled slowly, before exhaling, willing his mind into utter serenity. It was a routine that often left those around him uneasy, surely it was unnatural for a man to be so able in dissolving his own feelings in such a way. To Aradriel and Gattuso, men who had worked beside him for years now, it was not unnerving at all.
    It was a warning.
    The guild leader looked up at both men and smiled easily. Retracting his maimed hand to his stomach, he pulled away a loose thread from the rapidly thinning tunic and hummed in thought. "Gattuso, I know you well enough to assume you heard all of that, or at least the most vital parts. Here is what I suggest. You and I have that little meeting you were supposed to arrive at hours earlier, and we discuss Aradriel's...proposal. As for you Aradriel, perhaps I can offer some advice."
    Stormy grey eyes slid over to the Boiche and the friendly smile faltered. It was a minuscule slip, but it was not one that would go unnoticed by the vampire. "I don't care what you do. You can f***f, steal and kill to your twisted little heart's content, we all do it, we all understand those particular urges. But under no circumstances will I tolerate your whims jeopardising a thrice-damned contract. As far as I'm concerned it's not much to ask, we already let you run on a long leash as it is, and you know I've always looked the other way in the past. But the way the company is in right now? I can't afford mistakes anymore Aradriel. So I will try and find a way to make your work here more suitable to your particular skills and quirks, but you're going to need to start giving back soon. Or we will have a problem."
    At that Jax stood up and pushed away from the table and motioned at Gattuso. "I'd rather continue this conversation privately if you don't mind."
     

    The OP3RaT0R

    Call me Op. Or Smooth.
    Aradriel sat unfazed as Jax explained his feelings on Aradriel's actions; the elf saw his smile twitch just slightly, and it was obvious the assassin was in a state where it would take little to set him off. "As far as I'm concerned it's not much to ask, we already let you run on a long leash as it is, and you know I've always looked the other way in the past. But the way the company is in right now? I can't afford mistakes anymore Aradriel. So I will try and find a way to make your work here more suitable to your particular skills and quirks, but you're going to need to start giving back soon. Or we will have a problem."

    Aradriel nodded slowly, a slight friendly smile gracing his features as he backed away from the table. "There won't be any problems," he said as he sauntered away. "Aye, aye, captain."

    As Jax and Gattuso got on with their own business, Aradriel walked through the halls of the hideout, humming a tune. He found his modest room and entered, laying out on the bed. He looked over at his desk and saw that there was an envelope sitting in the center; he cast telekinesis and pulled the paper into his hands. He tore it open and saw it was a note from Jax.

    "Hm, a contract." Jax liked to avoid the Bosmer as much as possible, and this was his way of doing so. The note said he was to meet one Argir Pine-Fell in Falkreath.
     

    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    "I'd rather continue this conversation privately if you don't mind."
    Gattuso followed Jax through the narrow passageway into the small, private room and took a seat. The air in here was always dank and musty, with traces of moisture leaving patches on the walls. Jax used this room for one to one dealings with the underlings, just as Vitus used to. It was perfect for that purpose for one simple reason; nobody wanted to be in here. Gattuso unconsciously turned his nose up at the smell of the damp as he inhaled.​
    "The old man was good, almost strangely so. I thought he was some old pilgrim when he stumbled into the crevice I had led him to, but he had the note and seemed to know what was going on, so I sent him after that Black-Briar wagon I heard about from Letrush's pal." "
    He paused for a second to allow Jax a chance to speak, but he had decided not to take it. Gattuso continued as he leant sideways slightly and scratched his calf.​
    To be honest, I'd be surprised if he comes up with anything, but if he at least makes it back to the meet without losing any digits I'd be willing to give him a shot. For all his doddery old ways, he had some sort of intensity to him. He was strange, but I know you sometimes have a soft spot for strange."
    The Imperial knew the opposite was true, Jax hated strange. But following his unusually tolerant display with Aradriel, Gattuso sought to poke some banter at the man staring at him from across the table.​
     

    Delusional

    Connoisseur of Hallucinations
    The bright orange glow of the setting sun illuminated the autumn trees that lined the worn path, casting imposing shadows, stretching far back into the heart of the Rift's forests. A gentle breeze rolled through the hills, playfully toying with the vibrant leaves of the birch trees and whistling through the distant rocks and boulders of the mountains.

    Tristan stood beside a tree, atop an overlooking hill, watching the convoy slowly roll along the path, wheels clattering over misplaced and worn cobblestones. He had followed the wagon and its guardians for an entire day, staying hidden and inconspicuous, waiting for the perfect time to strike. He had been observing and studying the convoy all day, making careful notes of the guard behavior, distance traveled between rest stops, and general pace of the journey. Now, it was nearly time to infiltrate and collect whatever useful information is necessary for the completion of the contract.

    Sighing, Tristan bowed his head and sent up a quick prayer to his lord before slowly descending the hill, headed towards the path. He instinctively felt for his hidden daggers, concealed within his sleeves, reassured when he felt the sharp blades poke at his fingers from beneath his robe's heavy cloth.

    He stepped out onto the path as the caravan pulled over to the side of the road and began setting up camp. The guards went about their duties, unloading necessary provisions and preparing the site. Inhaling deeply, his shoes pattering quietly on the cobblestones, Tristan approached the convoy.

    "Brothers, you look weary. Have you traveled far today?"

    The guards stopped unloading and turned to face the old monk, hands instinctively lowering to their sword belts, their expressions guarded and defensive. One mercenary stepped forward towards Tristan.

    "Who are you, old man?" He did not waver or flinch, his hand hovering slightly above the hilt of his steel sword, ready to spring into action.

    "I am but an elderly monk, who wishes to spread cheer and good luck among the travelers who pass through these forests. I know long journeys can wear down your soul, but I am here to rejuvenate and replenish your spirits."

    The mercenaries shot each other curious glances, clearly contemplating the priest's response and offer.

    "We have strict orders to keep any and all outsiders away from the cargo and this wagon. I'm afraid I cannot allow you near this camp." The guard turned back to face Tristan, hand still poised at his hip.

    "My apologies. I understand you must have orders that you must adhere to, and I will not break those. May I still bless you and lead you in healing prayer, in hopes that it may strengthen you for the remainder of your journey? We can convene over here, away from the wagon." Tristan gestured down the path, smiling softly at the mercenary.

    "I... suppose we could allow for one quick prayer... as long as you make it quick. We have jobs to do." The man's hand relaxed, and his companions stood up straight, stances and expressions no longer guarded and defensive.

    Tristan gestured down the path, waiting for them to start walking before following them. Making sure they weren't watching him, the old man stole a quick glance at the cargo in the back of the wagon. It appeared to be two or three heavy, reinforced iron chests strapped down and secured to the wood. Nothing more could be observed, so Tristan turned back to the guards as they stopped and waited for the monk.

    "Here, gather in. Bow your heads and close your eyes. Yes, okay, now I will offer up a prayer for your health and goodwill." Tristan bowed his head, keeping his eyes on the guards as they bowed their heads and closed their eyes.

    "Our gods, please impart your strength, wisdom, health and spirit unto these men as they serve dutifully on this wearisome journey. Give them the strength to carry on each day, the wisdom to make wholesome decisions, the health to keep their bodies strong, and the spirit to reinforce their mind and strengthen their resolve. I ask of this in your names, oh gods, mighty and powerful, omnipotent and all-knowing. Amen."

    The guards looked up and began to return to their wagon, somewhat relaxed and at ease.

    "Brothers, I am glad you decided to join me in prayer. You should continue to meditate throughout tonight in order to be fully revitalized for tomorrow and the journey it brings. Thank you, and good luck. May the gods always watch over you." Tristan bowed graciously to the guards, then started walking into the forest beyond the camp. He needed to get a closer look at the cargo before departing, or perhaps get his hands on a manifesto or some other document that indicated the importance of this particular shipment.

    As he slowly walked past the wagon, he spotted a stack of parchment atop the wagon seat. Glancing at the guards to make sure they were occupied with setting up the camp, Tristan quickly and quietly snatched the collection of documents and continued off into the forest, slipping the stolen parchment deep into his robe. The contract had been fulfilled, and it was now time to join his employer at the remote meeting location at which the contract was administered and present the documents. Tristan walked off into the darkening forest, wind tugging at his billowing robes, smiling slightly as he sent up a thankful prayer to his lord.
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    Jax listened closely to Gattuso's account of the potential recruit he had dealt with. At his second's last words Jax scowled, thought his expression held little malice. If anything one might have said that in that moment Jax looked, playful? No, perhaps "decidedly less murderous" would have provided a better description.

    "Strange" the word rolled about the imperial's mouth and he turned to look sideways at his business partner. "Just how strange would you say? Does his mind resemble Aradriel's? Or perhaps he simply shares the insanity often found within our line of work?" Jax raised his brows and cleared his throat. "Regardless, I trust your judgement Gattuso. If you vouch for him, if he returns, then by all means I say we accept him."

    The guild master turned away then, dragging one of the two lone wooden chairs towards himself, before sitting in his characteristically relaxed manner. Jax was one of a few men who could look completely at ease within an interrogation room. Particularly one that had shackles lining it's damp and moulding walls, various tools and implements kept in a small wooden bucket to the side.

    The scarred corner of his mouth twitched and Jax flexed his hands, scratching idly at the two stumps on his fingers. "Daud is...a difficult one. I doubt he will make it within our ranks. Too much ambition. Too much like those we parted ways with. By the Eight, he could have passed for Frejor's brother. No. He did not sit well with me." Jax paused and gestured at the twin chair in the room.

    "Won't you sit? I do not wish to talk of recruits truly. I thought you'd be interested to know that I tracked down our weak link. Renard, that Breton innkeep. No longer a contact for the company. It was him who ratted our presence at that last job." With the painful memory dredged up Jax could not help but grasp at his thigh. He had suffered a damaging wound in the altercation with their previous associates, and it had only been down to Gattuso's quick thinking and an assortment of healing potions that Jax had made it back in one piece. He had allowed his lust for vengeance to cloud his mind, and he had paid dearly. He would not repeat his mistakes a second time.
     

    AS88

    Well-Known Member
    Staff member
    "I'm due to meet him at the Nightgate near Windhelm in five days, so we'll see what he comes up with. Honestly, we could probably find some use for him if he manages to learn anything and stay alive. He's supposed to be an assassin after all, not an agent. I gave him the task to see how agreeable he is, as much as anything. The last thing we want to invite upon the company is more attitude."

    Gattuso was pleased to hear that Jax had decided not to go any further with this Daud character. Such grand reputations are generally followed by grand bounties and grand infamy; that is if any of it were actually true, the Imperial had never heard of the man. The mere mention of that swine-kin Frejor was enough to clear his mind of Daud, however.

    "Won't you sit? I do not wish to talk of recruits truly. I thought you'd be interested to know that I tracked down our weak link. Renard, that Breton innkeep. No longer a contact for the company. It was him who ratted our presence at that last job."

    The last sentence hung in the air for a few seconds as the pair recounted the night in question. Things had seemed too quiet for Gattuso, too smooth, but Jax had been too filled with lust for revenge to care. Gattuso thought back to his new leader's injuries - Jax had been in a bad way that night, and could have lost a lot more blood than he did, and the scar would serve as a permanent reminder to Jax.

    "I take it you took care of him in style, as usual."

    Renard was always a weasely little bastard at the best of times, Gattuso remembered. It had served him well for a number of years, allowing him to rake in Septims from those he worked for, but it was also his downfall when he took on one too many clients, and evidently met his end by Jax's hand. Jax had a certain way with dispatching old acquaintances, one which Gattuso respected but didn't share. Gattuso was more into an ambush during a midnight walk, or a fake invitation to a sweet maiden's bedchamber down a darkened street, but Jax preferred to work differently. A handshake and a smile, followed by a chance parchment cut and a vial accidentally up-ended onto the wound. A menacing chat followed by a delicate dagger stroke across a hand, leaving little more than a few layers of skin disturbed, until the poison sets in. A toast to a deal gone smoothly, or so the victim thinks. Jax may not have been a mage, but he was a master of a certain type of illusion. Gattuso had his own methods, though, following his life of being a noble first, a thief second, and a soldier third.

    "Was he Ivarstead, or Shor's Stone? I always mix those two inns into one. Remember the women, though. Mostly."
     

    Aerin

    IOK's Token Brit
    "I take it you took care of him in style, as usual."

    A rakish grin spread across Jax's face, his eyes gleaming with malice. Fingering the blade at his hip he unsheathed it, holding the blade between his fingers, playing and twisting it so that the reflection of the dim light cast eerie fractals across the rough-hewn stone. Gattuso knew his style, he was familiar enough with it, though did not share Jax's methods. Perhaps it was the difference in their ego. To the assassin there was little taste sweeter, than that of the knowledge that his victims were not only none the wiser to their impending doom, but that they were so oblivious that they were almost happy, nay, relieved to see his smile and proffered hand. All the while the other hiding behind his back to unstopper the poison that would mean their end. Renard had been particularly satisfying to dispose of. It was likely that the tiny scratch was starting to itch, the skin surrounding the wound red and hot as it began to fester and corrupt the slimy Breton's traitor blood.

    So lost in the image of the coward writhing in agony, Jax almost missed Gattuso's last comment. He mumbled distractedly, "Shor's Stone. Can't say the women there appealed. Miners. Hands were too rough for my liking." Looking up at Gattuso he tilted his head. "Then again, I've always been the one with more...refined tastes, have I not?"

    Sheathing his weapon Jax leant forward and rested his elbows upon his knees, a few strand of hair falling over his eyes as he none too subtly changed topic once again. "Renard may have been quieted, but how long until others start taking the bait? We need to make a move Gattuso, skulking and licking our wounds won't do a gods damned thing. I want to hit them, where it hurts. I've been thinking about this. I want a recon mission set up. One of us, or a more experienced individual. Someone who knows what's at stake. We need information on the bastards. They already know how we work and that's going to work against us." Looking up Jax waited for some kind of approval. He knew that if Gattuso didn't side with him on this then they had more serious problems to deal with. The company wouldn't function properly if the pair of them were going to be stuck in disagreement.
     

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