Private Tales Blood, Sweat, and Booze

[Desmond Creed]

In a small corner of the city, a dark and desperate building sat in its stink of misery. Dim lighting, and out of the way. If you weren't looking for it, you'd never knew it was there. Here, bets would exchange hands. The stench of blood and sweat clung to every board, every wall. Stains covered the floors, differing in color and size, but unmistakable. This is where on would find and incredibly bored Desmond, binding his hands as he waited for something, anything interesting to happen.

Careful eyes studied the two currently grappling for dominance as bets were shouted, drinks were slammed, and curses rang out. Desmond wasn't here to bet, he was here for a challenge. He hadn't seen one yet, and it was incredibly disappointing. Occasionally a beast would be brought in, a bear or a lion, in hopes to stir the crowd up. Even they were more of a challenge then the men that had filled the roster today.

With a sigh, he downed his mug of ale before slamming it down. He'd just take on the next challenger, be it who it may. He was ready to bust someone's face open at this point. He rose as the winner was called, rolling his shoulders as the losing opponent was dragged from the makeshift ring. The next challenger stepped in, and Desmond felt himself grinning, despite the fact that he knew he was going to break him with ease.

His opponent was shorter, but his reaction time was slow. He made wild swings without barely a thought behind them. Easy to outwit, easy to dodge. Blue eyes bore down as Desmond flexed. The bell was wrung, and his opponent rushed him. Clumsy. A massive hand reached out, covering the man's face, an eye visible between his fingers. His other hand had already formed a fist, and sped right into the gut of his unfortunate challenger. He kept hold of his face, squeezing as he lifted him from the ground. He used his free hand to grab his opponent's shirt, picking him all the way up now and slamming him into the ground. Desmond's eyes were wild, a grin spread across his face as he watched the man beneath him gasping to regain his lost breath. He'd let him stand, and then he would end him.

 

[Praetor Boesarius Terral]

Today the Right Ordering would be firmly asserted.

Though Boesarius preferred to hunt the Curite, the jin, and especially the Fae, he did not neglect his duty as Regulator to police even Gild itself. One's fellow citizen remained fallible. Sometimes it deserved the cell. Sometimes it deserved the lash. Sometimes it deserved the axe.

Boesarius strode through the streets of Gild with a troop of some twenty Regulators. All of them were clad in mail, openly armed with axe or sword or crossbow. With them were two ogres and a team of dwarves as well. Gildans looked and wondered and made way for their approach, for they all walked with undeniable purpose. Their target was what the Sanctum had taken to calling "the Hovel". A fair amount of time had gone into surveilling the activities of the Hovel, and more importantly, who was in charge of it, and now at last had come the time to act.

To Boesarius's left was his apprentice, his Regulator-in-training, Leah Kadashal.

"When we enter," he said, "you may see a tall man. Brown hair, blue eyes. Do not shoot him. He's our asset."

"Will he attack us?" she asked.

"He may. He might need to keep up a pretense. It depends on how we're received."

Leah considered that. How we're received. And she asked, "And the others? Do we expect that they will be hostile?"

Boesarius smirked. His preferred targets were of the more monstrous and blasphemous kind, but he was also a hunter of men when needed, and this brought him a satisfaction all its own. "They're criminals, Leah. Like a festering, purulent wound on the body of the Jemaat, they must be cured. But disease abhors remedy. If they attack, do not hesitate. Execute them. Do not tolerate any challenge to your authority."

Desmond Creed

 

[Praetor Leah Kadashal]

Regel had shown Leah his will. Her first assignments had been fated to failure, but this was merely to prove her resolve, for even though all things were determined, all was destined, still the proving was necessary, for it brought to firm reality that which before lay only in nebulous potential. In a play all moved from act to act, the course set, the actors awaiting to say their lines and play their part; in life it was truly no different.

And here, in this raid on the Hovel, was her chance at redeeming her poor performance. Regel was with her.

She carried her light crossbow at the ready, and Boesarius had his axe in hand. She had asked about the men of the Hovel and gotten her answer. But the truth was simple: some of those men were already dead. They were merely waiting for their final part in the play.

Close to the Hovel, Boesarius lifted his hand into the air and twirled it. The team of dwarves, each as armed as soldiers, broke off from the main body of the Regulator force. They were to go around and guard the back of the Hovel, cutting off escape.

The Regulator force approached then the front of the Hovel, as inconspicuous as it was. The two ogres with them grew excited, growling and laughing with anticipation, and they each headbutted one another and beat fists on their chests. They assured Boesarius that "No one's gettin' past us!" And that was exactly their part: to guard the front of the Hovel, if in the unlikely but not impossible case that someone managed to slip out.

"After me," said Boesarius to Leah.

"Evet."

And he wasted no time once close. Boesarius kicked the door open, and the Regulators flooded in to the Hovel. Leah's nose wrinkled from the smell, the first of her senses to be assaulted. But she kept her crossbow level and high now, primed to shoot. All eyes had turned to them. In the second or two of quiet as the opposing groups of the Regulator force and the Hovel denizens regarded one another and tension like a flash freeze brought all to stillness and apprehension, Leah with a darting eye searched for the tall man, the asset. She thought she saw him in the ring.

Boesarius called, "By the authority of the Church of Jura, King Andreas Gildal, and Regel himself, all you who dwell here are to be taken into custody." He surveyed the men, and said, "Defiance will be punished."

Desmond Creed