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Jun. 5th, 2014 08:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
myriadbeautifulA hooded and robed figure stalks along the streets of southern Varrock. It is mildly unusual. But in among the dilapidated buildings of the southern section of the city, unusual can happen. The Guard hardly ever ventures south of the square and the nobility never do, save for hurried trips in protected carriages out of the City through the southern gate. Unusual happens all the time. Money disappears, valuables and antiques disappear, even people disappear.
Perhaps it is a visiting Zamorakian priest. It is someone from outside of the neighborhood in any case, and for certain people morality depends on geography. Or sometimes, such morality gets replaced with a calculation of the likelyhood of accidentally planting the seeds of the strangling vine of vendetta in one's own home. Zamorakians will fight back, most times viciously, so it is best to end fights with them quickly.
Out of the shadows a second figure pounces on the first.
"Your money or your life!" barks the second at the first. The second embraces the first from behind, holding a dagger just below the first's jaw.
"What prompt customer service!" exclaims a deep resonant voice from inside the robes. The jaw presses back on the dagger's edge several times, daring it to make a cut. "Can you help me find your employers? I am afraid the time I gave them to fulfill a contract is up."
The dagger quivers, unnerved by the bravado of the jaw. This was supposed to be quick. Is the priest mad? He has spoken as if the dagger wasn't there and hadn't made a move to regain his freedom. It can still be quick. The dagger takes the jaw's dare and stabs into the first's neck.
The first tenses up with pain as the dagger retreats from the wound in the neck and prepares to make another wound in the chest. But the dagger falters and falls from the hand of the second, as the second stumbles away from the first and crumples to the ground.
The dagger gets picked up by the first with a calmness that refuses to recognize the potential fatality of the situation. Then the first walks over to the second and crouches next to him. Surprisingly the first can speak.
"Ah, blood magics, so convenient. I was hoping not to have to recoup my losses. You alone will not be able to repay me," the first says to the second, sternly. "I think you might actually be too stupid to understand what I have been saying, so let me simplify for you. Where is Straven Enroy?"
Perhaps it is a visiting Zamorakian priest. It is someone from outside of the neighborhood in any case, and for certain people morality depends on geography. Or sometimes, such morality gets replaced with a calculation of the likelyhood of accidentally planting the seeds of the strangling vine of vendetta in one's own home. Zamorakians will fight back, most times viciously, so it is best to end fights with them quickly.
Out of the shadows a second figure pounces on the first.
"Your money or your life!" barks the second at the first. The second embraces the first from behind, holding a dagger just below the first's jaw.
"What prompt customer service!" exclaims a deep resonant voice from inside the robes. The jaw presses back on the dagger's edge several times, daring it to make a cut. "Can you help me find your employers? I am afraid the time I gave them to fulfill a contract is up."
The dagger quivers, unnerved by the bravado of the jaw. This was supposed to be quick. Is the priest mad? He has spoken as if the dagger wasn't there and hadn't made a move to regain his freedom. It can still be quick. The dagger takes the jaw's dare and stabs into the first's neck.
The first tenses up with pain as the dagger retreats from the wound in the neck and prepares to make another wound in the chest. But the dagger falters and falls from the hand of the second, as the second stumbles away from the first and crumples to the ground.
The dagger gets picked up by the first with a calmness that refuses to recognize the potential fatality of the situation. Then the first walks over to the second and crouches next to him. Surprisingly the first can speak.
"Ah, blood magics, so convenient. I was hoping not to have to recoup my losses. You alone will not be able to repay me," the first says to the second, sternly. "I think you might actually be too stupid to understand what I have been saying, so let me simplify for you. Where is Straven Enroy?"
