Post by Joliette Thorne on May 5, 2008 8:02:51 GMT -5
Tenebrae shouted, ".... And then -she- said, "Over MY dead body" and pointed to the corpse, hahahaha!"
-- Dak’s Tavern--
Many merry ogres are here in this cramp dark tavern brawling and drinking seem to be the major pursuits of the day and several farm animals including several whole cows and a sheep are being roasted on a stone fire in the centre of the room. The smell is not particularly bad but the fact that the ogres do not seem to care if the meat is cooked or not when they dig in with their bare hands could seem a bit distasteful to human or elf onlookers. Behind a monstrously large bar stands a huge overweight two headed ogre on both of his heads and indeed on this chest are numerous battle scars perhaps this ogre was a chief or warlord in his day. Both heads watch carefully around the establishment at the drunken revelry. There is no natural light and only the gigantic fire in the centre provides any illumination so you have no idea how many patrons he has to watch. You could sit on one of the more comfy looking stone piles if you wanted to rest and drink here.
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Tenebrae was sitting on a table, a large tankard in her hand, and surrounded by half a dozen ogres, their massive heads thrown back in a cacophony of laughter that sounded more like the shrieks of battling dragons. Tene sipped her ale and clapped, eyes bright and a white grin: "A song! But first..." She slid off the table, turning back to the rather disappointed-looking ogres. "What...? Even a vampire's gotta go sometime. 'Specially after all that ale." She'd turn then, with a soft hiccup, toward the somewhat rustic conveniences.
Caedan is covered in mud. She is covered in mud and thirsty, and senses a familiar presence. The mud-pit-playing psychic ventures into the ogre-populated tavern and catches sight of the vampiress disappearing into what looks like solid enough a structure to conceal those things that must happen to people, but which are usually not discussed, nor written about for that matter. Yes. Moving on. The teen threads her way though the tables, chairs, and brutish ogres to plop into a seat by the bar, where she will wait, and keep a keen eye on Tenebrae for any sort of instruction, simply because she is used to the company the vampiress keeps in her down-time, and this as sure as hell isn't it; obviously, her being here has a purpose, and Caedan will sit, watch, and wait for her chance to be useful. The two-headed ogre is regarded with some degree of confusion when he approaches her for her order, and she forgets to place it, so immersed is she in reading both minds, and figuring out how they interact so independently of each other.
Armitas sat in the darkest corner of the fire lit pub, immersed not only in natural shadow but unearthly, billowing wisps of darkness that slowly sopped around him like a swarm of long-tailed wasps. A featureless ebony mask, concealed all of his distinguishing features, and a bundle of dark robs hid any hint of skin. Armitas was in disguise, the Sheriff of Larket couldn't be expected to maintain a mercenarial lifestyle and profess to uphold the law at the same time without sounding like a hypocrite. So rather than give up his lucrative business as the world's Assassin Extraordinaire, he passed the torch to another man, that happened to be himself. Pretty convenient?...While a fidgety shadow familiar bounded around the table like a little child after ingesting too much sugar, Armitas, or Kol Hok rather, continued to scan the tavern, accounting for every ogre he saw.
Tenebrae teetered out of the restrooms, her nose wrinkled, the back of one pale hand pressed over it. Peridot eyes scanned the room-- the ogres were still there around the table, waiting for their evening's entertainment to return. Good. She'd been priming the creatures for hours, once the right individuals had been observed to enter for a lunchtime drink and bite to eat. The day was getting on now, and the whole tavern's population - or at least, that she was aware of -- were plied with grog to the point of leglessness. "More ale!!!!" Her hand came away from her nose, her rousing beer-call accompanied by a triumphant fist in the air, which was returned with an equally rousing ogrish ale-chant, which rather sounded like a entire herd of behemoths falling like lemmings from a cliff into the sea and screeching all the way down. As the dual-craniumed keep shifted past, a massive tray of tankards in his arms, Tene would spy the lone, small girl seated at the bar. Ohhh, goody. She could use a little help... Sidling that way, on the pretext of gathering a handful of bar-peanuts (which she wouldn't dream of eating, particularly after seeing the state of the bathroom), the vampiress did not greet Caedan as she might have normally, with a smile or some odd trinket of amusement. Instead, she turned her back, and filled her mind as thickly as she could with pictures of drunken ogres falling about, falling asleep, of a bright key, of a shop full of expensive armours. All of this took a great deal of effort, the images pushed one after another rapidly from her mind and -hopefully- into Caedan's own. It had worked once or twice before, and with a bit of luck would do so in their favour now. Returning to a table replenished with ale and diminished of sobriety, she clapped again and started to sing, "Ale! Ale! Drinkum up good!... Belly full of beer, belly full of food!... Ogre done work hard, day is done!... Ale! Ale! Drinkum up, yum!" Of course, the patrons were delighted, and swilled as though to drink the tavern dry.
Armitas had limitless hatred for ogres that stemmed back to his early childhood spent as a slave not but a quarter mile north of the tavern, in the ogre run mines. In the past decade, he'd hunted down his old masters and killed them, one by one, in horribly inventive ways. They were all dead, but the hatred he felt for the entire race still festered within him. It would have been impossible for Armitas to refuse a job like this, still when solicited, he directed the interested party to a protege of his: Kol Hok, who just so happened be him. With further backstory exposed, Kol Hok sat swaddled in shadows and somber silence, the only one in the tavern, it appeared who wasn't drinking himself unto oblivion. If anything of his eyes could be seen, there'd be a diabolical glimmer, dancing and twisting like the licking flames reflected in them, while he thought of all the ways he could attack the stumbling, lumbering giants. The cold, hard stone he sat upon was a constant reminder of the cold, hard slab he used to sleep on, back when he was a young boy back at the mines, and the more his taut, sinewy buttocks ached from contact with the unyielding rock, the more heated his blood grew.
Tenebrae had noticed the shadowed figure -- after all, shadows were really her thing, weren't they? -- lurking in the tavern's background like a dark blot on a dirty sheet. Who the masked man was, or why he lurked, she couldn't -- and didn't really try to -- guess, assuming him some passing traveller and hoping he'd leave before happy hour had all the ogres safely snoring. One ogre in particular was singled out for her attention... "Magrag! Drinkum up!" Tene drained her own tankard, wincing at the bloat that'd have her back in that bathroom soon enough, to rid her stomach of the ale. Vampire or no, had she actually ingested all that ale she'd have been too drunk to walk, let alone pull a heist. Magrag let out a roar of challenge and gulped her drink in one great swallow. The seeress wouldn’t be seeing very far, in the state Tene’d gotten her in… The rest took up the game, each downing their drinks, one after the other. She didn't dare slide her eyes Caedan's way, but thought very hard about the two-headed keep, the only sober ogre in the place. Someone'd have to take him out fast, and not fatally. Hey-- they may as well do the till over on their way out, no?
Armitas noticed the lively vampiress eyeing him and wondered what part she might play in the events about to unfold. Hired to kill a particular ogre patron, Armitas/Kol Hok wondered if his client had sent a second, or even a third assassin, which often happened when it was a priority to the client that the target be eliminated. If that were the case, he wanted to get to the ogre before she or another assassin did. Finally standing, billowing curtains of darkness draping him, the Shadowiest Assassin moved with floating steps toward the bar, giving him the appearance of some wraithen specter. Armitas had always been a showman, and Kol Hok was the epitome of that. In a raspy Cenrillian drawl, that required Armitas to swig burning hot tea and scream at the top of his lungs for damn near an hour, Kol Hok finally ordered a drink. "Coffee, ya big dumb two-headed ape. And, make'er quick, I ain't got all day." The featureless black visage glared up at Dak, daring him to try anything. He wanted a brawl to start, it'd be the perfect cover to slip a poisoned dagger or two into the kidneys of his target. It was unfortunately at this point that he noticed the psychotic psychic sitting at the bar. By Ciadra's beard!, he thought, What is she doing here?
Tenebrae, in a lull in the uproarious singing in which yet more ale was consumed, would hear the scratchy demand made of Dak, and turn toward the dark-clad stranger. You could almost see the lightbulb go off over her head. A sidelong look to Magrag, swaying in her chair, eyelids drooping half an inch lower than usual, and to the rest of the crowd gathered about her, each drowsier now than the last. Were this man a troublemaker, he could mess things up horribly. If any of Leo's favour with Lady Luck had rubbed off on the vampiress, her next move would yield greater reward than she'd planned. Well, a decent cover story, anyhow. With the excuse of going to the rest room again, Tene made her apologies and staggered in a crooked zigzag toward that facility. On the way, she'd near the bar, and Dak. Leaning her palms on the massive stone counter, she beckoned him over in a slovenly, coy way. "Here, big feller..." An exaggerated wink did the trick. Dak bent one head toward her, the other kept watch on Armitas. "Psssst! That feller in black. I think he's up to no good. Shifty, like.." Behind her came the sound of loud snoring... success! With at least a few of her potential victims, anyhow, the main one certainly right where she wanted her. A high pitched giggle, as though she'd merely told a joke, and Tene jaunted off again, unsteadily, to unload her last round of ale.
Armitas tapped his leather clad fingers upon the bartop, impatiently, while the two-headed ogre lumbered over to the vampiress he was wary of. The way they whispered, Kol Hok was sure she was up to no good, but he couldn't be sure, since she'd made no move toward the one-legged ogre, sprawled across a rock, on the far side of the tavern -- his target. Deciding to play along, he continued to drum his fingers until Dak returned with a mug of goblin's blood, rather then coffee. The irate barkeep aimed one of them uncanny heads down toward Kol and snarled. "We no gots coffee! You drink dis or get out!" Dak had obviously taken the vampiress's warning seriously. Sharply sighing, Kol furiously grabbed the mug and shouted back. "I ain't drinkin' dis here red piss, ya bleedin' pile o' bugbear crap!" And, then the cup's content's splashed across one of Dak's faces. Fluidly, the Shadowiest Assassin spun around and threw the empty mug toward the back of the nearest ogre, then ducked into a crouch, the shadows swirling around him, purposefully encased him in darkness, helping him to blend in seamlessly with the swarthy counter. As soon as the offended ogre turned and saw Dak bellowing curses, he assumed it was Dak who threw the mug and charged the raging two-headed barkeep. Kol lunged through the charging ogre's legs, like a cool breeze and, with that, he was scurrying toward his target...
Tenebrae would emerge from the back room in a hurry, looking a tad paler than even a vampire should, though her body was primed for action -- she'd heard the crash and roar, the shout, and bolted out now to find possibly the only ogre capable of standing on two legs aside from Dak charging the surly keep-- the other one didn't really count, as he had only the one leg anyway, but was a sober witness nonetheless. On a trajectory the one-legged ogre's way came the shadowed man. Tene had been certain he was a rival thief, but now questioned his motive. All well and good, then, a distraction, and potentially the riddance of the witness. With a girly little shriek that rose above even the buzzsaw din of ogre-snores, she shouted, "No! Stop! You're ruining my evening!" One of Dak's sets of eyes swung her way, the distraction enough that the other ogre's club came down hard upon it, causing Dak to let out a bellow that rattled even the stone slab she'd used for a table. In that moment, she took the opportunity to clue Caedan in more directly, on her way back to the main of the patrons. "If Dak goes down, clean the place out. It's miner's payday, gold a-plenty in till and pocket. Try not to kill anyone. Or at least, don’t let anyone see you do it. I'll be back." With that, ignoring whatever gurgles and shrieks might come from behind her, she'd run to Magrag, rifling the rough single pocket on the ogress’ filthy robes for the key she was sure she'd find there. And find it she did, after which she made a real show of it for Dak's benefit. "Murder! Robbery! The Man In Black has struck again! Help us! Oh who will help us?" Even the attacking ogre had to stop and blink at her, which opportunity Dak took to smack him upside the head with a tankard. Tene took up her pack. "I'm going for help!" And with the key to Magrag's shop firmly in palm, the crafty necromancer would bolt for the door, having no doubt that Caeden could well take care of herself. At least, when it came to violence and robbery.
Armitas waded through the forest of wobbly rising ogres, focused on his target and nothingmore. Amongst the berserk bellowing and clattering of fists and clubs, he heard somebody yell out something about a "Man in Black" and knew they meant him. Far from angered by the framing, he rather like the title, and since he was trying to gain a new reputation for Kol Hok, a few extra kills on his record couldn't hurt him. Finally the seething mass of shadow made it up behind Girk, the one-legged ogre and primary target. In a somewhat anticlimactic conclusion to all the waiting, subterfuge and trickery, days of observation and planning, Kol drew a pair of poisoned daggers from the folds of his robes, the rustle alerting Girk to his presence, but too late for the one-legged ogre to do anything except scream out, "Assassin!", when the daggers plunged into his kidneys. With a flick of his wrists, the handles of the daggers were broken off and tossed aside, then the Shadowiest Assassin bolted for the door, hot on the heels of the vampiress.
-- Magrag’s Shop --
As you enter the strange stone construction you feel small the room within is gigantic and standing proudly behind a roughly carved wooden counter is one of the largest ogress's you have ever seen. With a well cut jewel encrusted gold or silver ring on each finger and shoulder length bright white hair flanking a square jaw and beady blue eyes this female is most likely what ogre men folk would consider attractive. A crimson five pointed star tattooed on her pale yellow brow marks this woman as a very rare Ogre Mage and as you look around the stone shelves of this shop you realise she must be a very powerful one as she has created a vast array of magical artefacts. Or possibly sent her men folk to loot them to sell here. The choice is varied and vast from looted staffs and wands to intricate blood red rune stones and unusual glowing orbs. As there are not many people or ogres around the shops owner Magrag watches you like a hawk or vulture you best not try steal anything as she could easily flatten you.
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Tenebrae had little trouble slipping through the streets-- if those rough-hewn and muddy tracks could be called so -- toward Magrag’s armoury. The heavy golden key, a treasure in itself, fit to the huge lock easily, but it took almost all Tene’s strength to turn it. At last the mechanism groaned and clicked, and the vampiress pushed her way inside the massive door. She’d pause on the doorstep, then, to don her soft leather gloves, her instincts keen to any hint of magical security,as such shops often had. But there were none-- none needed, she supposed, in an ogrish mage’s store, the owner and her men -- all still groggily asleep, she hoped, more than intimidating enough. She’d practically had to beg Magrag to accompany to the pub, having spent a week or more grooming the ogress to accept her as a friendly face. Tenebrae almost felt bad, doing her over like this. Almost. No time to waste, she began with the strong-box, the pins Leo’d bought her long ago, now devoid of their poison, serving as adequate picks, just as he’d taught her. The iron lid lifted, after some brief effort, and she stuffed her pack half full with its contents. Jewels, runestones, gold.. It seemed the ogress did not believe in banks, luckily for Tene. When she was done, the pack was nearly too heavy to carry, but still she stripped the shelves of lighter, more expensive items-- magical capes, rune bracelets, armbands, and a goodly handful of wands. Magrag was famed for her stoutly powerful armour, durable and effective if not the very best in the land, Should fetch a pretty penny… Groaning, she loaded all this on her shoulder by the pack’s strained strap, and left as quietly as she’d come, closing and locking the door behind her.
-- Dak’s Tavern --
Tenebrae did not pray often, but was doing so now to whatever deity might have their omnipotent ears open that day. Behind her now charged a swarm of outraged ogres, summoned from the mines on her way back via her cries of murder and robbery. She’d held Caedan in her mind’s eye the whole time, sending pulses of warning for the girl to get the loot and run-- or just run, had their plan failed at the psychic’s end of things. She tried to think of some clever back-up plan to cover them both should the worst have occurred, but the terrible weight of her pack and the effort of making it look effortless as she ran with it toward Dek’s now took its toll on her mind, and all she could think of was that silly prayer. At last she halted on the path outside the tavern, unable to run further on shaking legs. “Please… let Caed be gone…” It was only a thought, Tene not having the breath to voice it. As the miners, heavy picks lofted, rumbled past her and inside, their unanimous roar of outrage shuddered the building’s very stones, Tene paled a little. Her plan had been to return Magrag’s key… make sure Ceadan was alright… but it was too risky to go in there now, she realised, and she had to suffice with pressing her ear against the door. All she could hear was snoring, and deep voices shouting, and angry fists and picks being thumped to timber and stone-- and the words “Man” and “Black”. Relief washed over the vampiress. If Caedan was caught, they’d be talking about her, too, surely? Frowning, she hooked the key from her pocket and threw it on the tavern’s roof before turning back on the path, hurrying as best she could, stopping now and then to catch ragged breath and rest tiring muscles, to the place she often went to tally loot. Caedan would know where to go.. The Eternity held many fond memories, for both women.
-- Dak’s Tavern--
Many merry ogres are here in this cramp dark tavern brawling and drinking seem to be the major pursuits of the day and several farm animals including several whole cows and a sheep are being roasted on a stone fire in the centre of the room. The smell is not particularly bad but the fact that the ogres do not seem to care if the meat is cooked or not when they dig in with their bare hands could seem a bit distasteful to human or elf onlookers. Behind a monstrously large bar stands a huge overweight two headed ogre on both of his heads and indeed on this chest are numerous battle scars perhaps this ogre was a chief or warlord in his day. Both heads watch carefully around the establishment at the drunken revelry. There is no natural light and only the gigantic fire in the centre provides any illumination so you have no idea how many patrons he has to watch. You could sit on one of the more comfy looking stone piles if you wanted to rest and drink here.
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Tenebrae was sitting on a table, a large tankard in her hand, and surrounded by half a dozen ogres, their massive heads thrown back in a cacophony of laughter that sounded more like the shrieks of battling dragons. Tene sipped her ale and clapped, eyes bright and a white grin: "A song! But first..." She slid off the table, turning back to the rather disappointed-looking ogres. "What...? Even a vampire's gotta go sometime. 'Specially after all that ale." She'd turn then, with a soft hiccup, toward the somewhat rustic conveniences.
Caedan is covered in mud. She is covered in mud and thirsty, and senses a familiar presence. The mud-pit-playing psychic ventures into the ogre-populated tavern and catches sight of the vampiress disappearing into what looks like solid enough a structure to conceal those things that must happen to people, but which are usually not discussed, nor written about for that matter. Yes. Moving on. The teen threads her way though the tables, chairs, and brutish ogres to plop into a seat by the bar, where she will wait, and keep a keen eye on Tenebrae for any sort of instruction, simply because she is used to the company the vampiress keeps in her down-time, and this as sure as hell isn't it; obviously, her being here has a purpose, and Caedan will sit, watch, and wait for her chance to be useful. The two-headed ogre is regarded with some degree of confusion when he approaches her for her order, and she forgets to place it, so immersed is she in reading both minds, and figuring out how they interact so independently of each other.
Armitas sat in the darkest corner of the fire lit pub, immersed not only in natural shadow but unearthly, billowing wisps of darkness that slowly sopped around him like a swarm of long-tailed wasps. A featureless ebony mask, concealed all of his distinguishing features, and a bundle of dark robs hid any hint of skin. Armitas was in disguise, the Sheriff of Larket couldn't be expected to maintain a mercenarial lifestyle and profess to uphold the law at the same time without sounding like a hypocrite. So rather than give up his lucrative business as the world's Assassin Extraordinaire, he passed the torch to another man, that happened to be himself. Pretty convenient?...While a fidgety shadow familiar bounded around the table like a little child after ingesting too much sugar, Armitas, or Kol Hok rather, continued to scan the tavern, accounting for every ogre he saw.
Tenebrae teetered out of the restrooms, her nose wrinkled, the back of one pale hand pressed over it. Peridot eyes scanned the room-- the ogres were still there around the table, waiting for their evening's entertainment to return. Good. She'd been priming the creatures for hours, once the right individuals had been observed to enter for a lunchtime drink and bite to eat. The day was getting on now, and the whole tavern's population - or at least, that she was aware of -- were plied with grog to the point of leglessness. "More ale!!!!" Her hand came away from her nose, her rousing beer-call accompanied by a triumphant fist in the air, which was returned with an equally rousing ogrish ale-chant, which rather sounded like a entire herd of behemoths falling like lemmings from a cliff into the sea and screeching all the way down. As the dual-craniumed keep shifted past, a massive tray of tankards in his arms, Tene would spy the lone, small girl seated at the bar. Ohhh, goody. She could use a little help... Sidling that way, on the pretext of gathering a handful of bar-peanuts (which she wouldn't dream of eating, particularly after seeing the state of the bathroom), the vampiress did not greet Caedan as she might have normally, with a smile or some odd trinket of amusement. Instead, she turned her back, and filled her mind as thickly as she could with pictures of drunken ogres falling about, falling asleep, of a bright key, of a shop full of expensive armours. All of this took a great deal of effort, the images pushed one after another rapidly from her mind and -hopefully- into Caedan's own. It had worked once or twice before, and with a bit of luck would do so in their favour now. Returning to a table replenished with ale and diminished of sobriety, she clapped again and started to sing, "Ale! Ale! Drinkum up good!... Belly full of beer, belly full of food!... Ogre done work hard, day is done!... Ale! Ale! Drinkum up, yum!" Of course, the patrons were delighted, and swilled as though to drink the tavern dry.
Armitas had limitless hatred for ogres that stemmed back to his early childhood spent as a slave not but a quarter mile north of the tavern, in the ogre run mines. In the past decade, he'd hunted down his old masters and killed them, one by one, in horribly inventive ways. They were all dead, but the hatred he felt for the entire race still festered within him. It would have been impossible for Armitas to refuse a job like this, still when solicited, he directed the interested party to a protege of his: Kol Hok, who just so happened be him. With further backstory exposed, Kol Hok sat swaddled in shadows and somber silence, the only one in the tavern, it appeared who wasn't drinking himself unto oblivion. If anything of his eyes could be seen, there'd be a diabolical glimmer, dancing and twisting like the licking flames reflected in them, while he thought of all the ways he could attack the stumbling, lumbering giants. The cold, hard stone he sat upon was a constant reminder of the cold, hard slab he used to sleep on, back when he was a young boy back at the mines, and the more his taut, sinewy buttocks ached from contact with the unyielding rock, the more heated his blood grew.
Tenebrae had noticed the shadowed figure -- after all, shadows were really her thing, weren't they? -- lurking in the tavern's background like a dark blot on a dirty sheet. Who the masked man was, or why he lurked, she couldn't -- and didn't really try to -- guess, assuming him some passing traveller and hoping he'd leave before happy hour had all the ogres safely snoring. One ogre in particular was singled out for her attention... "Magrag! Drinkum up!" Tene drained her own tankard, wincing at the bloat that'd have her back in that bathroom soon enough, to rid her stomach of the ale. Vampire or no, had she actually ingested all that ale she'd have been too drunk to walk, let alone pull a heist. Magrag let out a roar of challenge and gulped her drink in one great swallow. The seeress wouldn’t be seeing very far, in the state Tene’d gotten her in… The rest took up the game, each downing their drinks, one after the other. She didn't dare slide her eyes Caedan's way, but thought very hard about the two-headed keep, the only sober ogre in the place. Someone'd have to take him out fast, and not fatally. Hey-- they may as well do the till over on their way out, no?
Armitas noticed the lively vampiress eyeing him and wondered what part she might play in the events about to unfold. Hired to kill a particular ogre patron, Armitas/Kol Hok wondered if his client had sent a second, or even a third assassin, which often happened when it was a priority to the client that the target be eliminated. If that were the case, he wanted to get to the ogre before she or another assassin did. Finally standing, billowing curtains of darkness draping him, the Shadowiest Assassin moved with floating steps toward the bar, giving him the appearance of some wraithen specter. Armitas had always been a showman, and Kol Hok was the epitome of that. In a raspy Cenrillian drawl, that required Armitas to swig burning hot tea and scream at the top of his lungs for damn near an hour, Kol Hok finally ordered a drink. "Coffee, ya big dumb two-headed ape. And, make'er quick, I ain't got all day." The featureless black visage glared up at Dak, daring him to try anything. He wanted a brawl to start, it'd be the perfect cover to slip a poisoned dagger or two into the kidneys of his target. It was unfortunately at this point that he noticed the psychotic psychic sitting at the bar. By Ciadra's beard!, he thought, What is she doing here?
Tenebrae, in a lull in the uproarious singing in which yet more ale was consumed, would hear the scratchy demand made of Dak, and turn toward the dark-clad stranger. You could almost see the lightbulb go off over her head. A sidelong look to Magrag, swaying in her chair, eyelids drooping half an inch lower than usual, and to the rest of the crowd gathered about her, each drowsier now than the last. Were this man a troublemaker, he could mess things up horribly. If any of Leo's favour with Lady Luck had rubbed off on the vampiress, her next move would yield greater reward than she'd planned. Well, a decent cover story, anyhow. With the excuse of going to the rest room again, Tene made her apologies and staggered in a crooked zigzag toward that facility. On the way, she'd near the bar, and Dak. Leaning her palms on the massive stone counter, she beckoned him over in a slovenly, coy way. "Here, big feller..." An exaggerated wink did the trick. Dak bent one head toward her, the other kept watch on Armitas. "Psssst! That feller in black. I think he's up to no good. Shifty, like.." Behind her came the sound of loud snoring... success! With at least a few of her potential victims, anyhow, the main one certainly right where she wanted her. A high pitched giggle, as though she'd merely told a joke, and Tene jaunted off again, unsteadily, to unload her last round of ale.
Armitas tapped his leather clad fingers upon the bartop, impatiently, while the two-headed ogre lumbered over to the vampiress he was wary of. The way they whispered, Kol Hok was sure she was up to no good, but he couldn't be sure, since she'd made no move toward the one-legged ogre, sprawled across a rock, on the far side of the tavern -- his target. Deciding to play along, he continued to drum his fingers until Dak returned with a mug of goblin's blood, rather then coffee. The irate barkeep aimed one of them uncanny heads down toward Kol and snarled. "We no gots coffee! You drink dis or get out!" Dak had obviously taken the vampiress's warning seriously. Sharply sighing, Kol furiously grabbed the mug and shouted back. "I ain't drinkin' dis here red piss, ya bleedin' pile o' bugbear crap!" And, then the cup's content's splashed across one of Dak's faces. Fluidly, the Shadowiest Assassin spun around and threw the empty mug toward the back of the nearest ogre, then ducked into a crouch, the shadows swirling around him, purposefully encased him in darkness, helping him to blend in seamlessly with the swarthy counter. As soon as the offended ogre turned and saw Dak bellowing curses, he assumed it was Dak who threw the mug and charged the raging two-headed barkeep. Kol lunged through the charging ogre's legs, like a cool breeze and, with that, he was scurrying toward his target...
Tenebrae would emerge from the back room in a hurry, looking a tad paler than even a vampire should, though her body was primed for action -- she'd heard the crash and roar, the shout, and bolted out now to find possibly the only ogre capable of standing on two legs aside from Dak charging the surly keep-- the other one didn't really count, as he had only the one leg anyway, but was a sober witness nonetheless. On a trajectory the one-legged ogre's way came the shadowed man. Tene had been certain he was a rival thief, but now questioned his motive. All well and good, then, a distraction, and potentially the riddance of the witness. With a girly little shriek that rose above even the buzzsaw din of ogre-snores, she shouted, "No! Stop! You're ruining my evening!" One of Dak's sets of eyes swung her way, the distraction enough that the other ogre's club came down hard upon it, causing Dak to let out a bellow that rattled even the stone slab she'd used for a table. In that moment, she took the opportunity to clue Caedan in more directly, on her way back to the main of the patrons. "If Dak goes down, clean the place out. It's miner's payday, gold a-plenty in till and pocket. Try not to kill anyone. Or at least, don’t let anyone see you do it. I'll be back." With that, ignoring whatever gurgles and shrieks might come from behind her, she'd run to Magrag, rifling the rough single pocket on the ogress’ filthy robes for the key she was sure she'd find there. And find it she did, after which she made a real show of it for Dak's benefit. "Murder! Robbery! The Man In Black has struck again! Help us! Oh who will help us?" Even the attacking ogre had to stop and blink at her, which opportunity Dak took to smack him upside the head with a tankard. Tene took up her pack. "I'm going for help!" And with the key to Magrag's shop firmly in palm, the crafty necromancer would bolt for the door, having no doubt that Caeden could well take care of herself. At least, when it came to violence and robbery.
Armitas waded through the forest of wobbly rising ogres, focused on his target and nothingmore. Amongst the berserk bellowing and clattering of fists and clubs, he heard somebody yell out something about a "Man in Black" and knew they meant him. Far from angered by the framing, he rather like the title, and since he was trying to gain a new reputation for Kol Hok, a few extra kills on his record couldn't hurt him. Finally the seething mass of shadow made it up behind Girk, the one-legged ogre and primary target. In a somewhat anticlimactic conclusion to all the waiting, subterfuge and trickery, days of observation and planning, Kol drew a pair of poisoned daggers from the folds of his robes, the rustle alerting Girk to his presence, but too late for the one-legged ogre to do anything except scream out, "Assassin!", when the daggers plunged into his kidneys. With a flick of his wrists, the handles of the daggers were broken off and tossed aside, then the Shadowiest Assassin bolted for the door, hot on the heels of the vampiress.
-- Magrag’s Shop --
As you enter the strange stone construction you feel small the room within is gigantic and standing proudly behind a roughly carved wooden counter is one of the largest ogress's you have ever seen. With a well cut jewel encrusted gold or silver ring on each finger and shoulder length bright white hair flanking a square jaw and beady blue eyes this female is most likely what ogre men folk would consider attractive. A crimson five pointed star tattooed on her pale yellow brow marks this woman as a very rare Ogre Mage and as you look around the stone shelves of this shop you realise she must be a very powerful one as she has created a vast array of magical artefacts. Or possibly sent her men folk to loot them to sell here. The choice is varied and vast from looted staffs and wands to intricate blood red rune stones and unusual glowing orbs. As there are not many people or ogres around the shops owner Magrag watches you like a hawk or vulture you best not try steal anything as she could easily flatten you.
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Tenebrae had little trouble slipping through the streets-- if those rough-hewn and muddy tracks could be called so -- toward Magrag’s armoury. The heavy golden key, a treasure in itself, fit to the huge lock easily, but it took almost all Tene’s strength to turn it. At last the mechanism groaned and clicked, and the vampiress pushed her way inside the massive door. She’d pause on the doorstep, then, to don her soft leather gloves, her instincts keen to any hint of magical security,as such shops often had. But there were none-- none needed, she supposed, in an ogrish mage’s store, the owner and her men -- all still groggily asleep, she hoped, more than intimidating enough. She’d practically had to beg Magrag to accompany to the pub, having spent a week or more grooming the ogress to accept her as a friendly face. Tenebrae almost felt bad, doing her over like this. Almost. No time to waste, she began with the strong-box, the pins Leo’d bought her long ago, now devoid of their poison, serving as adequate picks, just as he’d taught her. The iron lid lifted, after some brief effort, and she stuffed her pack half full with its contents. Jewels, runestones, gold.. It seemed the ogress did not believe in banks, luckily for Tene. When she was done, the pack was nearly too heavy to carry, but still she stripped the shelves of lighter, more expensive items-- magical capes, rune bracelets, armbands, and a goodly handful of wands. Magrag was famed for her stoutly powerful armour, durable and effective if not the very best in the land, Should fetch a pretty penny… Groaning, she loaded all this on her shoulder by the pack’s strained strap, and left as quietly as she’d come, closing and locking the door behind her.
-- Dak’s Tavern --
Tenebrae did not pray often, but was doing so now to whatever deity might have their omnipotent ears open that day. Behind her now charged a swarm of outraged ogres, summoned from the mines on her way back via her cries of murder and robbery. She’d held Caedan in her mind’s eye the whole time, sending pulses of warning for the girl to get the loot and run-- or just run, had their plan failed at the psychic’s end of things. She tried to think of some clever back-up plan to cover them both should the worst have occurred, but the terrible weight of her pack and the effort of making it look effortless as she ran with it toward Dek’s now took its toll on her mind, and all she could think of was that silly prayer. At last she halted on the path outside the tavern, unable to run further on shaking legs. “Please… let Caed be gone…” It was only a thought, Tene not having the breath to voice it. As the miners, heavy picks lofted, rumbled past her and inside, their unanimous roar of outrage shuddered the building’s very stones, Tene paled a little. Her plan had been to return Magrag’s key… make sure Ceadan was alright… but it was too risky to go in there now, she realised, and she had to suffice with pressing her ear against the door. All she could hear was snoring, and deep voices shouting, and angry fists and picks being thumped to timber and stone-- and the words “Man” and “Black”. Relief washed over the vampiress. If Caedan was caught, they’d be talking about her, too, surely? Frowning, she hooked the key from her pocket and threw it on the tavern’s roof before turning back on the path, hurrying as best she could, stopping now and then to catch ragged breath and rest tiring muscles, to the place she often went to tally loot. Caedan would know where to go.. The Eternity held many fond memories, for both women.