Attempted Murder!

[*Grisome]

"What was my mistake?"
The young woman made no reply, though her hands were shaking from fear. He knew that she knew, and this question made it obvious.
"I wish you would tell me what my mistake was..." He persisted, rising from the chair that sat across from her.
They were alone in a humble home located in the lower ward. He'd entered the house after seeing the sole occupant leave earlier in the day. Upon breaking in, he hadn't yet decided if he'd leave before the owner returned, or if he'd stay and kill him. He'd been leaning towards the latter, as it'd been a few days since the last murder. Now he'd have to think on it again, as he had been presented with a different victim.
The young lady, still quaking in her seat, had waltzed right on in when he'd been making himself at home, enjoying a light meal of what he'd found around the house. He had caught her off guard, but managed to smooth things over, telling her that he and James (apparently, the man who owned the building) were old friends. They'd gotten into talking about boring, inconsequential subjects. Then, all of a sudden, it was clear she had suspected something.
"Well?" A fingerless-gloved hand lowered to the table in front of her as he looked down, expectantly.
"Thomas..." She began, and he tilted his head. That had been the last topic of discussion: James' brother. "He's been dead a year now."
"Ah, I see." He'd made the mistake of speaking as if he'd seen the man just the other day. "That is a mistake."
He was positive she was gravely regretting dropping in on her neighbor to return a few tools. The poor thing was just in the wrong place, at the very wrong time.
He killed her.
For a change of pace, he used fire, instead of a blade this time. Because it was a controlled, magical fire, he was able to resume his meal once losing interested in the charred corpse without worry or burning down the building.
The rest of the day was spent working on his armor... or rather, salvaging what was left of it. Between Dom and Ixia, he'd been fortunate to escape alive, much less with Kalina. Although he didn't want to admit it, he supposed it had been a good thing that an 'accomplice' had come along.
James returned, and had a much more pleasant death on the edge of a bastard sword. With no further predictable distractions, he finished with his armor before departing under the veil of darkness.
He had no intention of returning to his new 'caretaker'. There were more important things to worry about.
Such as who deserved to be taken next.

[*Fell Star]

She stood before the mirror, garbed in a dusty crimson tunic cinched by a thin leather belt. Her face was pretty and pale, and as her bright eyes bore down upon the reflection in the looking glass, they grew estranged.

This skin...was real.

-----

Together, two thin robed shadows marched across the Arch--one of several bridges spanning the treacherous Sigilian Ditch. Below, waters churned, tinted an ugly puce by centuries' worth of pollution and sewage. Shanties and corrugated tin houses rose up on either side, painting the scene in the hues of an urban forest.

The smell of decay grew more pungent as the pair crossed to the side, unnoticed by the slummers lurking about. They were just another couple of conies cluttering the cramped alleys; future grease stains for the cobbles; and eventual fodder for the Dustmen.

There, at the end of the over-road, the duo rounded the walkway baluster and made headway into the shadows of the bridge itself. Darkness swallowed them up, drawing them deep within the aegis of the toxic dump.

Finding their destination, the tallest of the two looked to the other, his expression one of hesitation as he drew out a parchment and a sword.

The other, with eyes set upon him, murmured the only consent needed, and as the sentence fell from her lips, tolling like the death knell of the funeral belfries...

He spoke the incantation. The parchment shriveled in his fingers and blew away as ash; a wave of silence rippled across the mud...

...And no one heard her screams.

[*DarkLeaf]

The devil bloods eyes flittered open. He looked around a moment in panic as he could still feel the knife repeatedly plunging into his chest. His surroundings stated to sink in and he realized that he was on a slab in the mortuary. The dustmen moved about without any concern for the resuscitated Tiefling. LucyanÂ’s eyes narrowed and he slowly went through his belongings to see what was missing. To his surprise not a thing was gone. Not even one of his coins had been taken.

His tail was the first thing to leave the slab and then his feet followed. He moved slow as his chest still hurt from the 50 and some stab wounds. Once his feet hit the floor he instinctively took to the shadows. “Now was the time for Caution.” He thought. “If it was not a robbery then it has to be personal. “ As the tieflings thoughts wondered he placed a small pile of coins on the slab where he once lay.
“Well then“ the balled devil blood muttered. “ I will start by collecting the jink I am owed…” he stated with all traces of his phony accent gone as he silently slipped out of the Mortuary unseen. “ That hardhead will pay I swear it to Loviatar.”

[*Zadara]

Avarice, furtive planning inside the Hall of Records, a motherÂ’s vengeful tears, acute PAIN, contempt, a githyankiÂ’s betrayal, hunger, thought consuming regret, a lonely Collector, unbridled rage, the death of a Hive urchin, green eyes, hope, torture devices in a secret chamber beneath the Mortuary, a lustful moan, stalking a Cornugon in the depths of the realm below the Cage, deception, deception, DECEPTION!

Jach cried out in shock as he released the grip on the scrying device and brought his thoughts to the immediate surroundings. The rusted compass needle spun erratically, paralleling the cacophony of thoughts which echoed inside his head. He crumpled his upper body upon the desk of the dimly lit work station within the Great Foundry. Tools and pages of notes messily parted to make way for him. He was weary, in every sense of the word. After twenty consecutive hours of intense focus, after twenty consecutive hours of applying a lifetimeÂ’s worth of experience in crafting and modifying magical devices, the Artificer was at an impasse.

A lavender set of eyes observed him closely from across the room. Their owner was tense. He was afraid the mercurial man might disregard the magically binding contract and harm then both out of pure grief. It wasnÂ’t too difficult to stomach: only yesterday eve, the Merkhant had destroyed what remained of his own estate in a paroxysm that could only be described asÂ… barmy. He had to choose his next words carefully:

“I shall assist you in any way possible, My Lord.” The tone of his voice was a bit colder than intended. He inhaled sharply and continued: “I consider Lady Kalina a friend.”

Jach raised his head and glanced helplessly towards the dark corner of the room from where the voice was produced. The situation was indeed fascinating: Jach did not doubt for a second that the man wanted to impale his skull on a scimitar- and yet there was something remarkably genuine about the manner in which he uttered KalinaÂ’s name. Jach wanted to believe him. He DID believe him.

The Merkhant’s words emerged within a hoarse whisper: “Then do what you must.”

He returned his head back down to the desk in a gesture of finality. Taking the cue, the other man bowed promptly and exited noiselessly into the bustling corridor.

Jach had sent one killer to find another.

(( IÂ’ve continued on a tangent, somewhat unrelated to this thread here: Moving the Pieces))

[*Spiegel1]

Sondaal lays in her bed, arms crossed behind her head, as she stares up at the ceiling. Her mind endlessly circling over what has happened so far, returning to two pieces of information in particular, over and over again, gnawing on it like rats. Obsessing over it. She contemplates over the meaning of two different people hearing drums and the fact that Roth Zgotar said her nickname "Sahn". She once again circles around to that fact, honestly trying to recall if her nickname was mentioned in front of the unattractive woman. The night moves on and she gets up from her bed; quietly setting out for another day in the Cage.

[*Spiegel1]

She sits at a campfire in Elysium, not an Inn in sight, looking up at the stars contemplating over the darks in the Cage. She knows everybody calls her Sahn, she doesnt really recognize it anymore. She'd respond to either Sondaal or Sahn, even Sahnnie, though that one's used by one person only.

with a shrug she checks the rabbit she caught and killed wondering if the Guardinals would be pissed over this. She spears a piece of rabbit meat onto a fork biting into it.

"Hmm, wonder how much further until I reach where Gryph is. I made a mistake in lettin' her go, I belong by her side." With a slight nudge on the bed roll, straightening a corner. "Perhaps Animus called me Sahn during the surgery. I hardly notice the difference between the names anymore."