The Jackal’s Price: LoF Session XLIII
Rage. It overcame the crowds of people. It spread forth like flame amid brush and infected all thought and energy, The blackened, torturous will of anger blossomed in rioting. Knuckles to bone, claws to flesh, calamity to calamity, the people were rent like lambs to a slaughter… without remorse, without conscience. Faharid had felt the anguish of such a state of a people in the bowels and desecrated throne room in the House of the Beast.
The riots drew first blood at the colosseum; fanning toward the east. After the riot as a whole had died and those who lost themselves regained wits and tact, the denizens of Ling were found questioning bystanders and rioters alike with impunity. A group of the oddlings was seen cornering a fish stall merchant. A single one was staring intently at the merchant, whose pallor fell three shades to grey and held an expression which felt as though his thoughts were being bored from him.
Under Ce-tan’s call, the denizens of Ling relayed they would be gone from the city soon enough. Although masked and seemingly unphased, Ce-tan’s presence has disturbed them from their devices. Leaving without incident, the fish seller regained his feet, unaware of the transgression.
Heading back to Rayhan’s after such an exhausting day, the group felt sleep was a necessity for the political battles soon to take place. Alerted to the avarice of the city, a watch and patrol was proposed for the interior of Rayhan’s. Four hours passed into the deadness of night…
The fly’s wings beat ferociously, a faint muffled cry lasted instantaneously on the air as loud as the padded stalking of the Katepeshi leopards. To those whose ears were untrained to the stillness and emptiness of silence – sound was unrecognizable. To his…
Khatovar felt it resonate like a crack of golden thunder. From the great room he crested the large couch with a fluid vault and with the force of a lion’s pounce broke the door with a haleness of a mountain, shattering the wood and metal, blowing the door to the side.
Dark and leveled, Khatovar’s eyes adjusted instantaneously and gazed upon Rayhan, slumped in unconsciousness – bound like a Sargavan hog to the slaughter, being carried out his chamber window. Raising an alarm to the sleeping inhabitants, “ARMS!” with a voice as graveled and clear. From the scene and the call, tiny star knives flew like as disks from materializing enemies as they ran from the stair wells and walls with supernatural defiance to gravity.
A milky-eyed man with a scar turned back to watch as the incited warrior stood in stylized combat against his minions. The face was stern, unyielding, and credited to the dark clothed assassin who sat with Maysam Fajir in her entourage. Smirking with satisfaction, his face was quickly obscured as smoke filled the room in a rush choking the light.
Breathing the lightning from the depths of his lungs, Khatovar roared a brilliant concussive force belted with the lightning of dragon’s from his mouth engulfing those who would do the researcher harm.
Between his call against the night raiders and his guttural roar, Faharid woke to the commotion and startled the deep-sleeping Zhakmed awake. Ce-tan removed himself from his silken bed rubbing the lamp set idly on the night stand, pulling the genie Zahir from his slumber and confines.
Faharid stalked forward ready to engage his opponent. The cobbled floor of stone shifted. The stone quaked and trembled in a tremulous pitch, bubbling forth a cobbled stone elemental. The stone golem rose at the swordsman’s heels swinging dispassionately and violently. Slashing, Faharid dodged the lumbering hulks advance and cut deeply into the shrouded smoke-filled cloud and feeling a draw of flesh and bone. Stepping into the center of the smoke, Khatovar unleashed a flurry of attacks that don’t find the agile foe lurking.
His axe raised to strike and dagger out to defend, the milky-eyed man feints his attacks and lands crippling blows on the unarmored warrior. Stepped out of his room and peered at the curling smoke, Ce-tan brings a wand out and mutters incantations, burning the raiders and the stone giant as Faharid follows with is own hurricane of death and steel.
The milky-eyed man and his minions leaped through the window. The speed of the raiders were outmatched even with the body of the unconscious. Khatovar though fast was unable to keep pace to stop their escape. The milky-eyed man knew disappointment as Khatovar stepped back – who took a heavy toll, retreated to the fold. The assassin’s only satisfaction – their kidnapping of Rayhan was successful.
As the clang of metal against stone echoed its final ring; desperate, complaining, and uncomfortable – Tamir Sans jumps out of the window surprised he was left behind upstairs. His exit was short lived as both the warrior and swordsman broke into direct concert, immobilizing and subjugating the Halfling to the arms of blacked Morpheus.
A crack and moaning creaked and emanated from above. The wooden beams of the floor began to bow and heat and darken as if it was on fire. Haleen and Zhakmed quickly dove out of the window as an elemental of flame had reached a growth and intensity of destruction. Of unknown volition, it crashed through the crumbling floor with apathy intent to burn the building to dust.
As the sparks fell softly to the ground and the elemental of flame spewed forth its venom, the house and library razed in the mid-night din. No help came to quench the fire. None could abate its wrath or ire. The lasting sounds were that of Tamir, thrown into a shed and interrogated mercilessly through mental and physical manipulation to his end.
Kazim led the exhausted party to the large and ornate room. Its grandeur offset by the smokey clinging ash and dinge of the battle worn group. The Packbroker sat back, idly tapping lithe and sharp fingers on the wooden desk. The word of Rayhan and the compromise of its Zephyr Guard, its oddly disharmonious voice filled the ear, perturbed.
Maysam had over stepped her bounds one too many times and had broken her unwritten pact. As an agent of great calamity to the city, her influence must be disposed. Flippant, the Packbroker shared for 2 years Maysam had been fulfilling contracts with private parties and with the Packmasters. Having an agent of the Zephyr Guard in her service, stationed as a spy, their character and the integrity of the Guard has been disrupted and corrupted by vice. Kill the spy, return a precious amulet, and dispose of the despot Maysam – the undercurrent of power welled and lingered… usurp her.