Post by Thoven Falconflight on Oct 14, 2013 2:43:47 GMT -5
((A little preface before I get into this. First, I am Victus. Secondly, this is a theme and setting voted on by the community. I plan on doing more of these if this one gets favorable reviews. Thirdly, if you wish to meet Thoven IC....you merely have to ask....preferable Victus. Finally, This will be around....ten chapters....max. AKA I AIN'T DONE YET!))
Chapter One: Blood Eagle
The sound of rain hitting cobblestone streets filled the street. Normally this sound would mean only wet, irritated citizens. However, in Zaun, nothing is that kind. The rain was naturally acidic which kept those who had no urgent reason to be traveling the city to be forced inside, unless they had access to thick leather cloaks which had a tendency to only last a few days in such rain like this. Thus, there was little traffic and those few would not hear my coming.
My blood was pumping. Excitement as I drew closer. Happens every time I go on the hunt or into a fight. Some say it makes me a monster, but someone pays me to do what I do. Who is truly the monster? The blade, or the client?
To be honest, I couldn’t care less if I’m a monster to some. As long as I’m paid, I will do my job and the good thing about my work is that as long as there are two people on this planet, someone will want someone else dead. Like the man walking towards me down the street and the man who hired me.
I began to focus in on the ‘briefing’ I had on the target. What the client chooses to tell me and the truth are sometimes not the same. Actually, happens to be almost complete bullshit most of the time, expect for the Demacians, but I got only one job from them and it was from a noble seeking to kill a bandit lord he had been bribing to stay off his land. That was a good payday, as I was paid for my contract and the bounty. Also, didn’t have to sneak out of town. I guess that’s the perks of working with the law, if you can stand the paperwork and oversight. However, not every mission for ‘justice’ is lawful killing. Take tonight for example.
Target: Gregor Valgroth. A merchant from Noxus who had raped a Noxian rancher’s daughter and escaped the law. The farmer happened to be richer than Valgroth had guessed or it wasn’t rape and the girl was covering her ass when she was found pregnant. In Zaun, the man was safe whatever charges were hurled at him from anyone save a true noble. Politics, laws, and ranking didn’t matter to me. What mattered was there was a contract, I had taken it, and my target was fifty meters from me and closing. He didn’t even know that he was being hunted. Who would follow this one all the way to Zaun? Only if that someone was being paid a few thousand Noxian marks. That would be me.
Weapon: The job had to clearly be murder or the client would assume the man died due to fate and not by my hand. My dirk would suffice for this. No witnesses. Could force him into an alley and cut his throat, if it went smoothly.
I was walking towards the man and, when I was 15 meters away, I measured him yet again. 200 pounds, 5 foot and 11 inches, slightly greying hair. A leather cloak covered the top of his head and shadowed his face as well as protecting his back and body from the rain and my dirk. Not a warrior trait to this arrogant walk of the man. Doubt he had a blade on him. Easy money.
Valgroth got within arms’ reach. I grabbed him by the collar and thrust him into an alley. He tried to spin away, knocking his hood off and actually making me lose my grip, due to the rain soaked leather. He let out a cry of agony as the rain hit his face, but it was cut short by a quick jab of my left fist into his throat. The fat man grabbed his throat and leaned over, gasping for breath. That was when I plunged the dirk into the base of his skull. The body went limp, but I caught it, laid it on its side, and removed my blade with an audible pop.
No one should have heard me make the kill and thus I pressed on with my work. The signature required to prove to the client I had done the job. I laid the body on its back, removed his cloak, and pulled out a cleaver I brought for just this purpose. I checked the edge of the cleaver (consciously knowing the edge was fine, but better safe than sorry) and then proceeded to hack off the ribs from the dead man’s spine. When I finished, I ripped the ribs away, exposing the lungs. The Freljordians call this a ‘Blood Eagle’. I just call it messy and unique enough to be noted. I’ll get my pay next time I venture into Noxus. Hopefully, the client decides not to talk about me to everyone. I was feeling the pressure to join a guild growing. I preferred working solo. More money and less drama.
I rose from my labor, covered in blood and gore. The rain would only do so much, thus I had to return to the inn. Of course, I had to avoid people and could not enter the inn as a law abiding citizen would. However, I had planned this out as well. Everything about this mission was planned out save for the weather. Planning ahead was what kept me out of police hands. Well, that and avoiding doing hits in Piltover. The room over looked a garden. Getting in was simply a matter of sneaking around the building a scaling a couple small walls.
The trick was getting to the inn unnoticed. So, I kept the cleaver openly visible on my waist. Thus, I was now disguised as a butcher to the untrained eye. This allowed me some leeway to walk freely, but should a local be curious I would have to deal with them in a similar manner to Gregor.
The weather aided me here. Everyone was inside, or in a hurry so none pestered me. Even the lovers that had been meeting in the garden had chosen to remain indoors (likely with their own spouses). No one witnessed my entry into the garden or my room. Mission was a success, apparently. I was already making mental plans for a visit to the motherland as I climbed up to the window.
Little did I know, they were awaiting me inside.
Chapter One: Blood Eagle
The sound of rain hitting cobblestone streets filled the street. Normally this sound would mean only wet, irritated citizens. However, in Zaun, nothing is that kind. The rain was naturally acidic which kept those who had no urgent reason to be traveling the city to be forced inside, unless they had access to thick leather cloaks which had a tendency to only last a few days in such rain like this. Thus, there was little traffic and those few would not hear my coming.
My blood was pumping. Excitement as I drew closer. Happens every time I go on the hunt or into a fight. Some say it makes me a monster, but someone pays me to do what I do. Who is truly the monster? The blade, or the client?
To be honest, I couldn’t care less if I’m a monster to some. As long as I’m paid, I will do my job and the good thing about my work is that as long as there are two people on this planet, someone will want someone else dead. Like the man walking towards me down the street and the man who hired me.
I began to focus in on the ‘briefing’ I had on the target. What the client chooses to tell me and the truth are sometimes not the same. Actually, happens to be almost complete bullshit most of the time, expect for the Demacians, but I got only one job from them and it was from a noble seeking to kill a bandit lord he had been bribing to stay off his land. That was a good payday, as I was paid for my contract and the bounty. Also, didn’t have to sneak out of town. I guess that’s the perks of working with the law, if you can stand the paperwork and oversight. However, not every mission for ‘justice’ is lawful killing. Take tonight for example.
Target: Gregor Valgroth. A merchant from Noxus who had raped a Noxian rancher’s daughter and escaped the law. The farmer happened to be richer than Valgroth had guessed or it wasn’t rape and the girl was covering her ass when she was found pregnant. In Zaun, the man was safe whatever charges were hurled at him from anyone save a true noble. Politics, laws, and ranking didn’t matter to me. What mattered was there was a contract, I had taken it, and my target was fifty meters from me and closing. He didn’t even know that he was being hunted. Who would follow this one all the way to Zaun? Only if that someone was being paid a few thousand Noxian marks. That would be me.
Weapon: The job had to clearly be murder or the client would assume the man died due to fate and not by my hand. My dirk would suffice for this. No witnesses. Could force him into an alley and cut his throat, if it went smoothly.
I was walking towards the man and, when I was 15 meters away, I measured him yet again. 200 pounds, 5 foot and 11 inches, slightly greying hair. A leather cloak covered the top of his head and shadowed his face as well as protecting his back and body from the rain and my dirk. Not a warrior trait to this arrogant walk of the man. Doubt he had a blade on him. Easy money.
Valgroth got within arms’ reach. I grabbed him by the collar and thrust him into an alley. He tried to spin away, knocking his hood off and actually making me lose my grip, due to the rain soaked leather. He let out a cry of agony as the rain hit his face, but it was cut short by a quick jab of my left fist into his throat. The fat man grabbed his throat and leaned over, gasping for breath. That was when I plunged the dirk into the base of his skull. The body went limp, but I caught it, laid it on its side, and removed my blade with an audible pop.
No one should have heard me make the kill and thus I pressed on with my work. The signature required to prove to the client I had done the job. I laid the body on its back, removed his cloak, and pulled out a cleaver I brought for just this purpose. I checked the edge of the cleaver (consciously knowing the edge was fine, but better safe than sorry) and then proceeded to hack off the ribs from the dead man’s spine. When I finished, I ripped the ribs away, exposing the lungs. The Freljordians call this a ‘Blood Eagle’. I just call it messy and unique enough to be noted. I’ll get my pay next time I venture into Noxus. Hopefully, the client decides not to talk about me to everyone. I was feeling the pressure to join a guild growing. I preferred working solo. More money and less drama.
I rose from my labor, covered in blood and gore. The rain would only do so much, thus I had to return to the inn. Of course, I had to avoid people and could not enter the inn as a law abiding citizen would. However, I had planned this out as well. Everything about this mission was planned out save for the weather. Planning ahead was what kept me out of police hands. Well, that and avoiding doing hits in Piltover. The room over looked a garden. Getting in was simply a matter of sneaking around the building a scaling a couple small walls.
The trick was getting to the inn unnoticed. So, I kept the cleaver openly visible on my waist. Thus, I was now disguised as a butcher to the untrained eye. This allowed me some leeway to walk freely, but should a local be curious I would have to deal with them in a similar manner to Gregor.
The weather aided me here. Everyone was inside, or in a hurry so none pestered me. Even the lovers that had been meeting in the garden had chosen to remain indoors (likely with their own spouses). No one witnessed my entry into the garden or my room. Mission was a success, apparently. I was already making mental plans for a visit to the motherland as I climbed up to the window.
Little did I know, they were awaiting me inside.