Passing quickly through the draining streets, Ryuden pays little attention to the symphony of conversations now. He already has the information he needs; a location. Now the rest falls unto his ability. Rounding a corner onto a street clear of buildings, his eyes set on Sea Wolf’s Bay.
The dwindling rays of sunlight slide down a section of the city in disrepair. Occasional piles of rubble that once were proud structures are but victims of neglect. Not a single soul catches Ryuden’s attention. When the last ray of light disappears over the horizon of the limitless span of water stretching far from the bay, darkness floods into the streets Without the moon’s intervention yet, pitch black engulfs whatever torchlight does not.
Passing quickly through the shanty town embracing the bay, Ryuden stops when he spots a large building -- the warehouse. A collection of torches pepper the building, to prevent trespassers -- himself included -- from slipping by unnoticed. Shifting his eyes to the guards patrolling around, Ryuden immediately tries to work out their pattern. The striking resemblance of these guards to the ones at the estate leaves no doubt that this is the place he is looking for.
Ryuden watches the patrols move, slowly gaining an understanding of their patrol routes. A compromise in their security comes to surface. The guards’ timing is imperfect, leaving a small period where their eyes cannot watch the surrounding crates for movement. Waiting for the fault to appear, Ryuden then rushes forth. Leaving the cobble streets for wooden planks built over calm waters, he hides behind a stack of shipping crates. After a few moments of silence to ensure his presence remains unknown, he peers over the barrel.
The passing torches of the patrols briefly illuminate a large door; a way in. Despite the small distance between it and Ryuden, the patrols’ timing makes it impossible to open the door and slip by unseen. A distraction is the only way to progress without bringing every guard to alert.
Ryuden waits for a chance to move unseen again, timing the patrols like clockwork. When the moment of opportunity presents itself once more, he shoves a barrel over the edge and hurries away. Concealing himself behind several crates nearby, Ryuden listens to the disruptive splash break the palpable silence in the night.
“Hey!” a guard barks. “Who’s there? I saw that!” A pair of footsteps against the dock’s planks draw close to Ryuden.
As one guard leans over the edge to search for the barrel, Ryuden slips away from the crates. Dagger in hand, he punctures the other guard’s flesh, just at the top of the spine. Placing a hand over the paralyzed guard’s mouth to muffle any screams, he pushes the limp body into the first guard. Both fall into the water, the helpless guard pulling the other under. Ryuden moves away quickly, hiding behind crates closer to the warehouse as the others guards rush past to investigate the commotion in the waters. With his window open, Ryuden reaches the door and opens it just wide enough for him to slip inside, shutting it quietly.
The inside of the warehouse boasts little lack of space, despite being lined to the ceiling with mountains of crates. Unlike the outside of the warehouse, no guards stand sentry. Workers move about, with a drone-like mindset -- each has their own responsibility, working without need of communication for coordination. Aside from those with tools, they are all unarmed. Vulnerable.
But, before he can move into the shroud of darkness, a worker looks over to Ryuden. And beckons him over. “What’re ye doing?” the worker asks, walking towards Ryuden. “The boss don’t have meetings after dark, yer too late to talk to ‘im. You’re that cap’n, right? Lost a few crates of the important stuffs?”
Ryuden nods, figuring it easier to play along for now. Anything that would make it easier for him to get to his target.
“Hmm…” the worker scratches his beard, and shrugs. “Not in me power t’ shove ye out of here, being a brother pirate.” With a chuckle, the worker rolls up his sleeve to show off a series of black lines running down his arm. “Are ye just a land - lover who loves the sea more, or ye from Siyerrod, too?”
“Beldirr, you gilnik!” a voice barks. “Get back to work. The boss doesn’t pay you to sit around, shove our goods up your nose, and chat with clients.” Coming around another set of boxes, a man -- no, a giant of a man strides towards the two. His hulking figure makes Ryuden takes a few steps back as he approaches. Glaring down at worker Beldirr, he beckons Ryuden closer. “If I don’t have everything ready to move by sunrise, I’ll have your wages cut.”
Without further coercion, Beldirr turns around and returns to his work with haste.
“And you,” the man says, his grayed skin in contrast with the pearly ivory of his tusks, “you’re going to tell me why you are here, and why I should not see you hang from the nearest pole for trespassing.” When Ryuden fails to speak, the orc chuckles. “Relax, I know why you are here. Had I not, I would have called the guards the moment I saw you. The innkeeper sent you to help change the establishment overnight.”
Ryuden can only nod, still puzzled. “If you knew why I am here, then why make the threats?” he asks.
“We have plenty of petty thieves trying to steal from our shipments. It was meant to scare off an armed beggar, should you have been one. Not, let us not keep your quarry waiting.” The orc leads Ryuden through the warehouse, deeper into the building until the sounds of work seem to die down, and light becomes more scarce. Crates stack up into the darkness, lit only by scattered torches resting in their rusty sconces. At the end of the passage lies a door, two figures cast into the light beside it.
Their stillness lacks no discipline, and they give a salute to the orc and Ryuden. These two are not the thugs and simpletons from before. What power would one hold over the city to have the need to hire such guards? They pay no attention to either as the orc and Ryuden stop before the door.
“You have no need to worry about these two,” the orc says. “If they weren’t in my pocket, then you would’ve been killed the moment they saw you.”
“Comforting.” Ryuden gives the pair of guards one last glance before paying attention to his orc acquaintance. “What now?”
“I’m going to go in there, catch him in an argument. He’ll be too worked up to think straight and call for help.” Not waiting for Ryuden’s approval of his plan, the orc swings the door open, and marches on inside.
Shaking his head softly, Ryuden steps through the doorway, shutting it behind himself. His eyes run over the barrels and crates that continue taking space. No torches light the room, just whatever comes through the cracks in the floor above. Along with the light comes two voices -- one most certainly the orc’s -- which gradually elevate from hushed voices to raised ones. Within a few more seconds, the voices soar to new heights, each shouting angrily. Trying to make out the words, Ryuden fails to understand. The two are speaking in a different tongue.
Rather than continuing to make sense of the dialogue, Ryuden creeps up the stairs. He can feel it in his blood -- this is it. Each step seems higher than the last, so much that Ryuden has to climb up rather than walk. When he reaches the top, he grasps the door handle to what lays beyond, and twists.
The door opens to the angered men glaring at each other, the orc leaning over a desk that another man sits behind. Turning his gaze from the orc, the man looks at Ryuden, his anger quickly dissipating as he raises an eyebrow. “Who in the Void are you?” he asks. “Do you know this man, Kresch? Do I have business with him?”
Kresch turns his glare over to Ryuden. Almost instantly, he changes from unbridled fury to an almost smug state. “About time you arrived.”
“So you do know him?” Looking Ryuden over, the man sits back in his chair, with a pondering expression. “What are you looking for? Work? Give me a name.”
“My name is not important,” Ryuden states, the sudden weight in his words carrying more force than a hammer clanging against an anvil. “Anyone could carry out my work.” Drawing his dagger, he approaches the cornered prey, who just starts to realize his disposition.
“W-wait a moment,” the man stutters, “no need to be hasty, I can get you whatever you are doing this for.” When no response is yielded by the approaching Ryuden, he stands up, moving behind the chair to maintain a distance. “Coin? Women? Power?”
“There is no substitute for what I’m looking for.” Walking around the desk, Ryuden stops only several steps from the man.
“K-kresch, do something!” the man implores.
“I’m sorry, bossy,” Kresch says, folding his arms over his chest. “The transition of power has been pre meditated for some time. This just happens to be a means to secure the future of this business and its interests.”
The man glares at Kresch. “You swine! You giant, grey skinned swine! I ought to saw off your tusks and sell them with the rest of the ivory, you muck lurker!” His hands ball into fists, but he does not attempt to lunge past Ryuden. “My death will not go uninvestigated, and the law will rid this city of both of you.”
“Then I’ll see to it that there is nothing to investigate.” Kresch clears his throat as he turns his attention to Ryuden. “To be clear, the innkeeper sent you?”
Ryuden nods, waiting patiently to end a panicking man’s life. Like a cornered animal, the man does not move, knowing that he is truly stuck between a rock and a hard place.
“Then everything is in order.” Kresch turns to face the wall. “Commence.”
Before the man’s pleading can escalate to screams for help, Ryuden grips his throat with his offhand. With enough force, he effectively constricts the man’s windpipe, silencing him. With his dagger in hand, Ryuden plunges the blade into the soft flesh just above the collarbone, burying it deep until the brief struggle for survival ends. With the withdrawal of his dagger, he releases the man’s body, the eyes still drenched in panic.
A period of silence following the thud of the man’s body prompts Kresch to turn around. “Oh, by the gods!” he exclaims with poorly feigned shock, if not excellent sarcasm, “he is dead! I do not see the killer in the act, so I suppose there is nothing more that I can do for him. I suppose I must take charge around here, to preserve his legacy.” He chuckles, stepping beside Ryuden to look over the bloody mess. “You can leave whenever you wish. The guards in front of the office will prove no issue to you.”
“And the ones patrolling the outside of the warehouse?” asks Ryuden.
“Pah, they are not worth the air they breathe, much less what it would cost to keep them all quiet. However, pine boxes are relevantly cheap this time of year.” Kresch sits in the chair behind the desk, not paying any mind to the bloody mess behind him as he starts to organize the paperwork cast upon it.
Moving in front of the desk, Ryuden picks a hand cloth off the surface. “Then I will take my leave.” He wipes the blood off of his dagger, the white cloth spattered with streaks of crimson.
“I see. Do you have a name?”
“That sounds a little intrusive for our business relation, Kresch.”
“I meant a monicker. Think of people like the ‘White Stone Slaughterer,’ or the ‘Night-Monger.’”
Ryuden nods in understanding, however his focus is on Kresch himself. Nobody reacts to the brutality he has just committed like Kresch did. Why was the orc so calm? How many times has he seen this? But, instead of pushing into a conversation that threatens to leave more questions than answers, Ryuden resumes the shallow dialogue. “Those are for people who thrive off their killings.”
“What does that make you, then?”
“I’m just some one-time hitman.”
“A shame. Well, if you ever are looking to make a name for yourself, I’ve plenty of people who would do me more good… decommissioned.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Kresch grins. “Excellent. I do have one more question.”
“Yes?”
“There was word of somebody sneaking into a home and butchering one guard and a couple that just happens to be related to the fool behind me.”
“If you’re asking if I did it--”
“I’m not. I’m asking that -- if you were responsible -- does that not make you one of those who thrives off their killings, as well?”
No comments:
Post a Comment