Loki

[CLOSED] Blood Market

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"C'mere... lissin'."

 

The old man leans over the impromptu desk of appropriated bar tables. He knocks the back of his fingers along the tabletop, signaling the importance of paying attention with the rhythmic clack of several old steel rings. He presses his other hand to his ledger, which you have just signed.

 

"No. Money. Unless the deed is done. Six past the high moon, you'll find the parcel wrapped up and ready to go under the Highborne's Arbor. No money, even if one of your crew fucks you over. We don' need you like we need the delivery. Might'eve be in for a bonus if you come back a dirty hand short." He draws back, and strikes his thumb against his index finger to light a flame against his slim cigar. He's been chewing on the end of it this whole time.

 

"If you finish, you'll find me here, n' if you don't, you'll never find me again." He stands, and gives you a drunken hiccup of a bow. One of his long silver hairs falls free, wafts over, and falls in your drink. He laughs, and leaves you there to cope with it.

 

 

 

The sun was threatening the horizon, but it seemed they were steady at an uneasy truce. The night sky was nipped at the side by delicate pink, and a hum of light illuminated everything in the Forest of Enchanted Trees. the tree known as the Highborne's Arbor was not known because it was the largest of the trees in the forest, or the most distinctive. In fact, there were many like it, with the swirled, twisted-trunk coniferous trees being almost uniform until the pine forests of the east. The Highborne's Arbor was an old tree, and it had curled over to drape its branches in a shroud over a round patch of earth. The ground below the boughs was laid with cobblestones, and rumor had it that many a secret decision which drove the fate of all the high elves had been made there.

 

Those who didn't subscribe to the conspiracies, of course, just expected the stones had been laid down to stop the young from copulating in the forest.

 

Tonight a small cart was parked there, a light canvas tent held up over its contents in an arch. It had a harness for a horse packed in with the cargo, but looked like it could be dragged as easily by hand. The most notable thing inside was a small androgynous boy, clothed in feminine purple robes embroidered with silver lilies. His black hair was held back by the thick wrap of black fabric that gagged his mouth and tied behind his head. His limbs, it seemed, had a similar restraint applied, and his whole body was tied by the waist to the cart he was sitting in.

 

Those delivering him would not have been the first to find him there. Tragically ill-willed teenagers who stumbled upon the boy and found it hilariously erotic that he was tied up. Not that Eyr couldn't struggle against his restraints, but a few older hands to hold him down meant that he now had a penis ejaculating on his cheek drawn in charcoal across his face, and a crudely written sign propped against his chest reading:

 

"Free fucks! I want it bad!"

 

On the bright side, it didn't look like anyone had come along since.

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As the hour closed in, Mirova set down his quill and shuffled his fine vellum into place with his elegant hands. He was going to be gone awhile, so he had gotten some pressing affairs into order throughout the day. He was the son of an aristocratic Elven family, and while the lower classes assumed that meant men like him reclined on chaises while hand-fed grapes, he had lots of tedious affairs to attend to. Paperwork was dull no matter who you were or where you came from.

 

His bags had been packed, and all that was left now was to change into his traveling clothes, all black as suited to his tastes. He threw on a lightweight cloak and clasped it shut with a brushed steel pin that vaguely resembled an overlapping moon and sun. High leather boots and gloves slipped on, and he was out the door without any verbal notice. Everyone knew he was going away on a so-called business trip, anyway. His family wasn't one for sentimental goodbyes. Rather than the usual servant waiting for him with his ride, Mirova was a warlock who summoned his own.

 

Literally summoned, as he swept his leather-clad hand from the ground up. Pebbles scattered on the road, and black smoke seeped up from between the cobbled stones, thickening until they took the shape of a sleek black stallion. Its hooves and mane were shrouded in brilliant violet flames, and its eyes too glowed with that demonic purple. Mirova swung himself up and into the saddle, spurring his demonic steed off into the dark of the night. The forest greeted him soon enough, and unlike many who were afraid to enter the wood after dark, Mirova charged right in. Not only did he have a job to do in there, but it was far from the first time he'd frolicked in the woods past moonrise. Warlocks weren't strangers to arcane rituals under the shade of the darkened canopies, closer to nature and farther away from conflicting energies that could interfere with summons or spells.

 

The Highborne's Arbor was a familiar landmark, then, though Mirova personally shied away from it—it was far too popular a spot for stupid youths who liked to fool around with silly magic or even just each other. Mirova halted his horse and jumped down, cautiously approaching the willowesque boughs that swept downwards like a veil. He kept one hand at his hip, where a dagger settled comfortably, and his other hand raised in the air before his face. A sudden shock of light flared into existence within his long fingers, and though it was an unnatural shade of blue, the fire was light enough to see by.

 

He pushed past the leafy branches and entered the Arbor's shade. There was the cart, as expected, and inside it, a sight that made Mirova sigh. Good Darkness, did he hate teenagers. He walked to the cart, looking over the parcel. A young girl—no, a boy—with crude drawings on his face and an equally unamusing sign on his chest. By the boy's clothes and lack of blemishes or tan, Mirova could tell he was from a rich family, begging the question of what he was doing in this cart. That wasn't really his job to know, however; he was just here to do as he was told.

 

The parcel was lucky Mirova had gotten here first. He reached out for the sign and snapped it away, tearing it in half and tossing it onto the stones. Hesitating just a moment to gauge the boy's reaction, he then used his glove to wipe the charcoal off his cheek, smudging it pretty terribly but at least getting rid of the picture. That done, he turned away and checked the time. He was a bit early, so he leaned back against the side of the cart and waited for the others.

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The grand city of Quel'duvir didn't seem nearly as magical once Saya realized it ran by the same hard truths as everywhere else. Namely: if you didn't have money, you couldn't do shit. 

 

She wasn't sure now what had made her think it was a good idea to trek all the way to Quel'duvir with no coin. Well, she had some, but obviously not enough to get anyone to teach her magic, let alone enroll at the infamous Sunstriker's Academy. She had earned some gold along the way by doing small favors, and a meal or two with a bit of charm, but the coin she brought from home had hardly lasted her three weeks. Additionally, most of the high elves Saya came across seemed much less inclined to pay for a bit of help from a human - or give them a free meal - so once she crossed the border, it had been even harder going. Her pockets were nigh empty, and her spirits low. 

 

And then she overheard a strange conversation in a bar. 

 

She was drunk, she'd admit it. It had been only a few hours since her humiliating meeting with one of the Academy administrators, and she had slumped practically straight to a bar to drown her crushed hopes with what two coins she had to rub together. She had noticed the tattered old man speaking with several people with a shifty look on his face, wondering what his deal might be, before finally she caught a string or two of his conversation. Well, really, a word: payment. Some more intelligent part of Saya's brain might have persuaded her from investigating, had she been sober, but the potential promise of tuition money pushed her from her stool at the bar and over to the man's little corner. 

 

The rest was hazy to her the next day - she was lucky to reassemble the important details after an hour or two of bleary, hung-over misery. Six past the high moon, she remembered that part. A parcel - a live one - would be waiting under the Highborne's Arbor, which thankfully she had already heard of, and their destination was Shau'ku Moto. 

 

Since she didn't have much to prepare over the day - or, rather, didn't have the means to prepare herself very well if she wanted to - Saya spent the following day and night growing increasingly apprehensive about the job she'd drunkenly signed up for. A live parcel? What in nine hells could it be? Some strange or dangerous beast, illegally captured? An infamous murderer being taken to trial, maybe? She supposed she could just not show up, but then what? She had spent a few hours sniffing around some for other jobs, but not a one of them paid like this one. She could look around for a place to work that would give her room and board... But who knew how long it would take her to save up? This was quick - quick as a hundred-mile journey to and from could be, anyway - and it paid all at once. 

 

So at the appointed time, with an uneasy feeling in her gut, Saya found herself entering the Forest of Enchanted Trees. She had at least managed to get some fruit to put her satchel, which hung depressingly light at her hip. A dusty brown cloak hung over her shoulders to fend off the chill, and underneath was a belted tunic of faded red over simple, tight-fitting trousers and a rapier at her hip. A bow hung on her back as well, but it was the rapier she kept her hand on as she shifted through the dimly glowing trees toward the Highborne's Arbor. 

 

What she found beyond the sweeping curtain of branches was not what she expected, in any sense. Well, there was a cart - that much she had anticipated. But inside was no beast or murderer - it was a girl. A young one, with pretty black hair and a tiny little waist. The shade prevented Saya from seeing the details of her face, except for the huge black smudge on her cheek. But the presence of someone else prevented her from reacting too strongly - again where she had expected to find something cruel and dusty, she found someone well-dressed and refined, presumably a high elf from Quel'duvir. She eyed the intimidating mystical horse beside him, again having to forcefully tone down her outward reaction, lingering over the purple flames at its hooves before looking at the tall, dark elf again. 

 

"Uh. G'd evening." She tried for a casual nod, not sure how much courtesy she should show in such an unusual situation. Her hand retreated slowly from her hilt. "You, ah, took this job too, huh? You don't look like you need the coin very much," she went on plainly, trying not to sound bitter. She could probably pay a month's tuition for the price of his boots. There was a pause as she stepped further inside the shaded circle. "You can call me Saya." 

 

Considering what the old man said, she didn't want to show some obscure sign of weakness by looking too critically over "the parcel", so Saya resisted looking her way again, even as her mind raced. What had she gotten herself into? She didn't want this kind of job! But could she really walk away now? She considered her options as she pushed through the small talk. 

 

"So... how long are we supposed to wait? Are there others?" 

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There was a rustle beyond the leaves, perking both Mirova's head as well as his horse's. Once again, Mirova's hand went to the hilt of his dagger, prepared to take action if the intruder was someone who wasn't supposed to be here. But when the veil of leaves parted to reveal a rather harmless looking young woman—not even an elf!—Mirova relaxed considerably. He didn't hesitate in looking her up and down, gauging his level of response by her chance of being a threat. He knew there were others here to take the parcel to Shau'ku Moto, but this girl was not exactly what he expected. Was it possible she was here to fool around in the woods at night?

 

Something told him that wasn't the case. She was too on time. Not to mention a human was a rare thing to see in this part of the world. If a human had gotten lost while wandering about the forest, it wouldn't be here, not this close to the city. Mirova wasn't that fond of humans, truthfully, but as he couldn't choose his companions for this job, he decided it was best to get over his distaste now so that he could make the most of the journey.

"Uh. G'd evening. You can call me Saya."

Mirova blinked once then shifted from his leaning position, draping down into a shallow but elegant bow. His dark hair slipped over his shoulders in the process, and though he kept his head tilted towards the ground, his striking pale eyes flitted up to stare at Saya. His gaze was unwavering, a veritable spotlight in its intensity even in the dim of night.

 

"Mirova Darkstalker." His voice was a rich, velvet baritone with the practiced lilt that only a nobleman possessed. "Good even. Are you here for the delivery as well?"

 

He finally straightened back up to his full height, and shrugged his eyes back towards the young boy in the cart, squirming about like a miserable little maggot. For a clearly noble-born boy, his demeanor seemed more suited for the lower-classes. Of course, Mirova was being unfair, as the poor parcel wasn't exactly in his best shape at the moment. Curiously, Mirova looked within the cart for any identification, perhaps papers tucked away or even a piece of jewelry with the elf's name etched into the metal. Who was this kid, anyway, and why was he being sent away? There were tons of unsavory reasons, but Mirova wasn't in the mood for mysteries. He was a relatively straightforward elf, despite his immersion in the enigmatic dark arts.

 

"No identification," Mirova remarked aloud. "And I'm not inclined to unbind his mouth just to find out." Something about the sour young elf's eyes suggested to Mirova that he better keep his mouth under wraps, if only for as long as they were in civilized territory. Screaming was something they could do without.

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Eyr didn't have the luxury of knowing how long he would be tied up in this position. He knew... sort of who had taken him, in that he'd sort of seen their face, which meant he was actually shit out of luck for knowing who it really was. Even more tragic than that, he didn't know what he was stuck here for, more than he could ascertain from being in a cart. He was going somewhere. It definitely wasn't home.

 

Elf trafficking was one of the best kept secrets-- to the high elves, at least. People disappeared for all sorts of creative reasons, but the blood market was a captor of many lovely dames. And it was almost exclusively women who were bought and sold with no compensation; at the other end of the trail was a long line of low elves who fancied themselves a high elf to bear their young. They were so pretty and small, after all, and who didn't want to put one of them in their place-- and in the subconscious below it all, the poison thinking that maybe their kin were better of being part highborne, instead of all troll.

 

Though the market was almost freely advertised to the wealthy low elves of Shau'ku Moto and surrounding villages, it would be hard to say a high elf would approve of such thievery.

 

So not even Eyr got to know.

 

"Mm..." The young boy stiffened up at the rustle in the branches. He'd seen the sign on his chest, though he wasn't free to move far enough to knock it off. And it was such a tall, strong looking man. He was dark and elegant, just like a high elf ought to be, but striding next to that ethereal creature he oozed and aura of dark intent with little remorse. Eyr judged his bindings again just to be sure that his hopelessness was well-founded, and it was.

 

On the bright side, though he was right, it wasn't for such lecherous reasons.

 

"Mnn..." Eyr had nothing but throat noises to go on, and honestly, he was so thirsty those weren't even much to speak of. The cloth gag really robbed him of liquid, and in the half a day he'd been sitting here, no one had given him any drink, either. It culminated in the weakest, most pathetic whine as he let his body rest, realizing that Mirova would only be rubbing the crude marks off his face. He let him do it, scrunching up his nose the more he rubbed around, then wriggled to make him back off. Hah, as if he could keep him away forever. Surely if somebody were driving this cart, it would be a strong guy like that.

 

...Or a pathetic human girl?

 

Eyr's eyes went a little wide to see her show up. Wow, some rag-tag team this was. And they didn't even know each other? Well, who would have guessed. The tall one was obviously wealthy before he even said his name, and this human girl... no.

 

Eyr thrashed more as Mirova came near again, with each motion tiring out his hungry, weary body. He couldn't sleep out here, obviously, so he was ready to collapse. Good thing he was tied to this cart.

 

"Mmmm!" Eyr kicked his feet as much as he could. Come on! Mirova was smart, but and asshole. Maybe the soft human woman would take pity on him and let him go. It seemed plausible. He tilted his eyebrows back and let out the saddest whimper he could muster, and tugged weakly at his restraints. He had the big, glossy silver eyes of a kitten who needed some love.

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This Mirova was a little unnerving. Saya returned his bow vaguely, knowing by the look on his face that he hardly thought she was worth the effort - as had been common for her in the past few weeks - but she took the thin courtesy for what it was worth. 

 

"Yeah... I am. Seemed like a hell of a deal at the time. I think I'd have appreciated a little more information, though..." 

 

She was relieved when the tall elf directed their attention toward their captive, allowing her to look a little more. The girl's face was still obscured from her, but Saya watched her kick and squirm weakly as Mirova rummaged her person. Who knew what she had been through already? How long had she been out here, alone and tied to a cart? She fought a rush of anger as Mirova concluded she had no identification. 

 

"...wait - his?" 

 

She gave the elf a look that questioned his eyesight, or maybe just his intelligence, gesturing toward the cart. "That's a girl. I mean... just look at her." 

 

Stepping over slowly, she looked the little elf over again, taking pity on her sad, round eyes. Who would do this to some innocent girl..? Saya reached over and tugged the gag from her mouth, pulling it down to hang in front of her chin. With the rest of her face revealed, she hardly looked any more like a boy, but she felt a wriggling doubt as she squinted over the young one's face. 

 

"What's your name?" She resisted calling her sweetheart, even though it almost jumped out anyway. Such a sweet young face... But Saya couldn't risk seeming too sympathetic, especially not right away. Belatedly she realized it would be trouble if the girl started screaming where they were now, but she waited to shove the gag back in place, at least wanting an answer to her question. 

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Eyr blinked, his mouth hanging open as the girl freed him from his gag. Now was his chance to scream-- if he were stupid. It didn't take a very long look at Mirova to know he could use the weapons on his person, and maybe a little something besides. Eyr had no reason to think he was going somewhere in one piece, and he didn't have a good reason to want Mirova chopping him up sooner than necessary.

 

Logic told him to appeal to the woman, but honestly. What was she going to do if Mirova decided differently? Come to think of it, if he did scream, he probably wouldn't be the only person Mirova hurt for it. Just because she was sympathetic didn't make her any less squishy in the face of a tall, elegant beast like Mirova.

 

"I'm not a girl." Eyr's first words were dusty and popped like an old phonograph. They weren't any less aggressive, though. It seemed defending himself was really the only resistance he could put up at this point. He looked between the two, searching through too many words for the ones to say. He was half delirious from thirst, and of all the things he wanted to say: 'help!' 'let me go!' 'you'll regret this!', not one of them didn't carry a burden of hopeless despair. They'd already mentioned being on a delivery. It wasn't a hard guess at who the package was.

 

"I'm Eyr Songweaver. And I'm not..." Eyr looked down. He could hardly hang his head properly, and there he was, just reiterating he was a boy. What else was there?

 

"I'm so thirsty..." The way his voice sounded; frail, even a little crisped; it was lucky he wasn't tearing up his throat trying to talk. It was mostly his dry tongue taking the beating, sore every time it met his dehydrated pink lips.

 

"I don't want to die."

 

That was a little morbid for a young teen, wasn't it? Was there any other way to feel? If he'd been left like this, he very well would have died, and if they didn't give him a thing to drink, it would be much the same way. Taunting him was the way his robe felt damp where it was bound most tightly to his body, reminding him of the sweat he'd worked up as the day faded away and he was still fresh with energy for the fight. Now that he was spent, he regretted ever trying. Even now, with tears licking the rim of his lower eyelid, he could only sink lower knowing it was just more water lost. He was withering, like a fragile flower left outside in the winter.

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The Sun was steadily being conquered by the horizon by the time Cirith left the city limits. He had taken most of the day to tie up loose ends in preparation for the job. Before leaving the city he paid a visit to old captain Rohal at his tavern to say his goodbyes to his friends of the Duellist Circle and to pick up the letter from his 'Uncle Latvoc' containing his latest orders for the mission.

 

As he left the city walls behind him Cirith read through the letter and picked up the phrases and code which formed the usual orders: 'Meet up with the others at the rendezvous and observe the situation, send in report at allied city. No action unless a direct threat to the House'. He had done dozens of these odd jobs over the last few years just to gather more intelligence on the other factions at work in the underworld of Quel'duvir. For this job however it did not quite fit... The lack of almost any information was not special but the destination and the significant payment were, and it attracted a good amount of attention from the wrong people. Cirith had noticed at least three possible agents of other factions in the bar as well as one of his own that night. Also present were a good amount of shady figures looking to get rich quick with this job, Cirith wondered how many would have tried to follow the old man afterwards, hoping to get a chance at early some payment.

 

"This should prove to be an interesting journey..."

 

As Cirith reached the Highborne's Arbor he saw that two other people had already arrived. He actually had expected more to have shown up for such a well paying job but apparently their employer had been more selective in the applications than Cirith had guessed. Now at the edge of the clearing he could better see the two figures standing at the cart. One was a human woman who seemed preoccupied with the contents of the cart, no doubt trying to find out more about the cargo they would be guarding. The other was a high elf dressed in fine dark clothes. Judging by his choice of wardrobe and his demonic mount Cirith suspected him to be a practitioner of the darker forms of magic.

 

“A fine night for a mystery, wouldn’t you say?â€

His voice was clear and calm and emanated a carefree confidence as he now approached the cart. He stopped at a short distance from the two and waited for their response, his rapier visible and his right hand close enough to react appropriately if the situation went south.

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"I'm not a girl.

 

Saya blinked, her head rearing back a little in surprise. It wasn't a girl. For a moment she felt embarrassed at the mistake, but then she looked over the... boy's robes once more. Really, it was no wonder she'd thought that, with how he was dressed and the length of his shimmery hair. He looked feminine overall, really... How had Mirova recognized him for a boy? 

 

Her heart sank as Eyr continued to speak. The poor thing didn't seem to know what to say. She sat wrestling with her conscience, and the danger they were likely both in at this point, until Eyr gave a soft admission that he didn't want to die. That was enough to jog her into action, reaching for the canteen in her satchel. 

 

"Well, we can't have you dying here," she said quietly, sure to add the last bit. "Drink." Saya held the canteen up to his mouth, dribbling a little on his parched lips before letting him drink. It was barely a few moments later that another stranger appeared, startling Saya into spilling some of her water on Eyr's face and chest as she whipped around to see who had arrived. 

 

"A fine night for a mystery, wouldn't you say?" 

 

It was another elf, a tall and armored male. She couldn't make out the details of him, but she noted the look in his eye and the hand near his hilt, standing up straight once more. 

 

"A fine opening line. Are you here for the job, or what?" Her tone came out a tad harsh, but her increasingly sticky situation was pinching her nerves, damn it. If it had just been her and the dark elf, it might have been easier to try and turn things around later. Unless, by some miracle, this elf ended up being a bit more sympathetic than Mirova seemed to be. Somehow she didn't think that was likely. 

 

But with the way he entered and his ambiguous opening statement, it was always possible he wasn't here for the job, and the mystery was what they were doing here with a young boy tied to a cart at the Highborne's Arbor. So her fingers hovered near her own belt to mirror his, waiting impatiently for him to clear it up with a sharp look in her eye. 

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The moment the boy blurted out the correction to Saya's mistake, Mirova could only look at her with a dry expression: Told you so. Saya surely had to wonder how Mirova knew, but he was a high elf. He had seen his share of teenaged boys who looked like young girls, because that was just normal for their kind. Mirova couldn't exactly be mistaken for a woman among his own kind, not with his broad shoulders, cinched waist, and slimly masculine hips, but perhaps to a human he was extremely feminine. There were other, less innocent reasons that Mirova was assured of what the boy had beneath his girly robes, but those were secrets a nobleman kept under the cover of darkness and silk sheets....

 

The moment the parcel started whining like a child separated from his mother, Mirova already found his patience waning, and his eyes rolled over to some vague point in the tree trunk. Manipulative little bastard. He clearly knew well enough not to waste his pleas on Mirova, aiming them instead at Saya and her feminine nurturing instincts. And unsurprisingly, Saya did just as the boy wanted her to, giving him some water. Too predictable. Boys from noble families, like Eyr most certainly was, were practically trained to manipulate others. It was how one got ahead in life. Mirova didn't trust the boy one bit.

 

A second later, someone else joined them. Another elf, which was better than another damned human, but was he trustworthy? At least Saya had the sense not to trust him right off the bat, even if she withered easily underneath Eyr's spell. Eyes narrowed, Mirova took a step away from the cart. Unlike the other two, however, he kept his hands free. It wasn't as if he needed a sword to fight, anyway, not when he had dark magic on his side.

 

"You're late. Who the hell are you?" Blunt, but Mirova wasn't much for social etiquette at the moment. Not that he cared much for niceties even when he was in society.

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Eyr withdrew-- at least, as much as he could against the ropes that bound him. Just rope, no chain for a little kip who was so delicate and femme that even his captors hadn't known he was male. Or, that's what Eyr worried, anyway. Imagine the world of terrible things he could be subject to if he were intended as a female; it was a veritable hell compared to what could more likely happen to a boy. That, of course, all assumed he was intended to be alive at the other end of this travel.

 

His front was suddenly extra uncomfortable as that sweet, life-giving water was slopped down his front. What the hell, did she have more!? Eyr blushed furiously, incensed not only that he'd been spilled upon, but that he'd never before been so upset that water had been wasted. He was still thirsty... but he'd managed to drink so much his stomach ached from it.

 

"Hey... where are you taking me?" Eyr could grasp that much. He was stuck here in a cart to go places. He was even confident enough by this point that he was supposed to live, since there was no point wasting all this energy to keep him living otherwise. Why not slit his throat and sling his body on a cart? Of course, that never really guaranteed his destination. What if he was being sold off to some wealthy pervert who wanted to watch what happened as he cut Eyr into pieces? What if there were people like that... who liked to watch others slowly die? What if it wasn't even clean...? (Was death ever that fall-asleep-dead peaceful?)

 

"What are you even talking about..." Eyr nibbled his bottom lip. There was some mission they all kept talking about... but none of them even seemed to know each other. What was going on?

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The woman had turned to face Cirith a bit startled when he announced his arrival.

"A fine opening line. Are you here for the job, or what?" she managed to reply with a slightly harsh tone.

 

He ignored the tone and responded a bit casually.

 

"Indeed I came here for the job, it's certainly paying well enough. Is it just the two of you here? I had expected more to have shown up by now..."

 

As Cirith said this the other elf took a step away from the cart and Cirith could detect the slightest change in the air as the elf turned his attention towards Cirith "There is power behind this man, a mage... great" Cirith would have preferred not to deal with any magicians if he could help it, it always complicated things in his line of work.

 

"You're late. Who the hell are you?"

 

The elf made it clear in his tone of voice he didn't have the patience for long stories or pointless banter. And Cirith responded appropriately.

 

"Well, you can call me Cirith. what about you two?"

 

Cirith didn't think he was that late, but maybe this really was all who would show up. Now That he could have a closer look it appeared the cart wasn't that big, certainly not like the caravans usually found on the road south. maybe their employer didn't want to attract attention with a larger group of guards.

 

"Hey... where are you taking me? What are you even talking about..."

 

A weak voice came from the cart and Cirith was surprised to hear that it's owner knew as little about the situation as he did. "What in the blazes is going on here..."

"And that must be the cargo." Cirith walked over to the cart and put his bag down on the ground before taking a look inside. Within the cart he found a small elf boy bound and dressed in his sister's robes or something. Not what Cirith had been expecting, that's for sure.

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