The inhospitable and frigid winter air was unrelenting and oppressive at this height. It kept Viego wide eyed. Although a boon at this time of night, he vehemently despised its intrusive behavior. He knew this was the worst possible time to take a job, yet he did it anyway. The man residing within his core is so sadistic that even he operates within inscrutable boundaries. Who was that man? And why did he enjoy their collective suffering? Now is not the time for introspection. He was perched on a precipitous ledge of a 45-foot-tall redoubt; one that he has acquainted himself with over the past day. He carved out a nook large enough for a crouching man. He willed it into existence. Still a foreign concept to him, these fickle abilities, but he wasn’t going to argue with the universe and her enigmatic altruism. He was covered shoulder to toe in Vanta black studded leather that was lined with gryphon fur. It was built for flexibility and comfort while maximizing concealment. It was his favorite outfit. Stuffing his goliath skinned cowl into his small pack, along with his ego, he stepped out onto the ledge to gain a vantage over the unsuspecting. Like an owl hunting, perched over a field of mice waiting for the opportune moment. The tower was encircled by a 15-foot-tall tree trunk palisade; iron straights bolstered the already sturdy trunks. A rather shoddily built gate with multiple reinforcing boards marked the only barrier of entry. A small courtyard harboring 4 men and their horses took up most of the space. The men were draped in leathers and furs to defend against the winter night. Huddled around a meek fire and silently gluttonizing on their stew. Unbeknownst to them, steeped in that stew were ascomoid spores. A powdered form of a very powerful mushroom known to seize up muscles and disorient those who consume it. Viego’s lapis blue eyes narrowed as a chilled wind moved in on the scene. He began to count the seconds as they began slurping their demise. A voice familiar to him perked up. Look at you counting their last moments, masked and unseen hiding from your true self, murderer. Viego frowned under his facemask, answering back, “We go through this every time, and each time we never compromise.” Mockingly clucking its tongue and chuckling at Viego, Griefmaker. It echoed as Viego stared into the distant fire.
“Shit”
The men were already on their backs; three of them fortuitously fell back on their stools laying there helpless in the dirt. The fourth was not so lucky. He laid on the fire, his body twitching and his screams muffled by the constricting power of the poison. “It's not murder, it's fair play”. In choreographed fashion he unraveled his grappling hook and lashed it to a notch he molded the day prior. He was near the top of the tower, and just below him there was a barred viewing window. He slowly rappelled down the tower, like a confident spider descending on helpless prey. The window was fogged up as he assumed it’d be. He placed his ear against the glass to catch wind of any noise. Silent as the grave. He reached into his alchemist pouch on his belt and grabbed a vial with clear scintillating liquid. Removing his left glove and rolling up his sleeve, he applied the liquid. There was a numbness, and then a bone chill followed which sent shivers up through his torso. Viego watched as his hands became incorporeal. He quickly reached through the window to unlock the latch. He pushed open the window as surreptitiously as his training allowed while equipping his ebony-stained poisoned blow dart. The room was caliginous like a cavern and smelled of one too. The only thing to catch his gaze was a set of medallion yellow eyes looming over a dead body in the left corner of the room.
“Too slow, Viego,” the voice mocked before dissipating.
“Shit”
The men were already on their backs; three of them fortuitously fell back on their stools laying there helpless in the dirt. The fourth was not so lucky. He laid on the fire, his body twitching and his screams muffled by the constricting power of the poison. “It's not murder, it's fair play”. In choreographed fashion he unraveled his grappling hook and lashed it to a notch he molded the day prior. He was near the top of the tower, and just below him there was a barred viewing window. He slowly rappelled down the tower, like a confident spider descending on helpless prey. The window was fogged up as he assumed it’d be. He placed his ear against the glass to catch wind of any noise. Silent as the grave. He reached into his alchemist pouch on his belt and grabbed a vial with clear scintillating liquid. Removing his left glove and rolling up his sleeve, he applied the liquid. There was a numbness, and then a bone chill followed which sent shivers up through his torso. Viego watched as his hands became incorporeal. He quickly reached through the window to unlock the latch. He pushed open the window as surreptitiously as his training allowed while equipping his ebony-stained poisoned blow dart. The room was caliginous like a cavern and smelled of one too. The only thing to catch his gaze was a set of medallion yellow eyes looming over a dead body in the left corner of the room.
“Too slow, Viego,” the voice mocked before dissipating.
Last edited:
