Adrift

[Sage]

Dystopian Ocean
Between Algeroth Coastline and The Rift

" Is he onboard? "

" Aye. "

" Disengage, then bring us up to two hundred. "

" Aye, sir. And climbing. "

The vessel was an engineering masterpiece. Only recently had the concept of an airship been marketed to private citizens, though they were still highly rare to see. The magic and manpower needed to keep them functioning were almost as expensive as the crafts themselves. There was a negative connotation quickly befalling the name airship because of the target market. Generally the only individuals besides rulers whom could afford them, were criminals...

" Send him to the Grandmaster. "

The man enjoyed a seat of power, in a den of death deep in the bowels of Attrition. A grizzled veteran of deceit and murder for hire, the Grandmaster of the Syndicate was something of a legend in the noble circles of Algeroth. He was by no means a hero, but the service he provided with redistribution of wealth was a valuable one to the common people, especially those who bought directly from well-known fences in Darkwatch. His armor was all-black, a symbol of secrecy and power both, and his bejeweled knuckles plodded against the hilt of a glistening silver blade which dug into the priceless floorboards of his new vessel. A dozen robed men stood along the walls of the room, facing away as their visitor would be lead in.

[Syntaphar]

"Dario Armando Ferrini, the dreaded Prospero, back in action", Dario would have been thinking, had he not been stumbling around with a distinct lack of grace. He had never flown before, and so had a little bit of trouble adjusting to three dimensional movement. It also did not quite help that his current legs were slightly different heights and strengths. As he was brought into the grandmaster (or premiere, or president, or whatever he called himself)'s room, he would regain a little composure and peer around. Looked like a damn cult in here. Dario was clad in all black, as usual, in his limb concealing outfit. On his person, as a show of respect to the grandmaster, was only ONE deadly weapon: the razor wire threaded so carefully throughout his acquired skeleton. And he didn't plan on showing it off either.

When brought before the leader, he would drop to one knee. He was half-considering doing this as a sign of fealty, but his general imbalance on the airship made up his mind for him. With a grin, not quite respectful, not quite insubordinate, he would look his new boss in the eyes and ask in a half-raspy, streetpunkish voice: "I believe ya got a job fer me today, yer highness. And from tha looks of it, ya need me in particular. I'd be happy to do it for ya, if ya got the spondulics to pay my usual fee." Dario kept a careful eye on everyone in the room, pupils flitting side to side. His insubordination was a vital part of his power ploy in these business negotiations, but you could never be too careful in this sort of environment. Ready to defend himself from attack, he would await the grandmaster's response.

[Sage]

" I assure you, there is no need for this to be unpleasant. You may relax, if it suits you. I do not require petty acts of submission of my own men, and I certainly expect none of you. I'd rather you considered me a temporary associate, whom is making a proposal for mutual benefaction. "

The man drug what appeared to be an armored claw down the length of his sword's edge, creating a low-volume, high-pitched screech that signaled two of the men at either side of the assassin. They each turned and marched with purpose toward a low table between Dario and The Grandmaster and place two objects upon it, before reaching toward a series of pulleys and released a gear. As a platform just to Dario's left dropped a slid away, a stone throne almost identical to the old veteran's appeared directly opposite him, across the table.

" Please, have a seat. On your left is a dossier on one Xavier Gottheit. It is all the information we had on him. He was recruited at birth by the Monarchy, and trained up as a soldier. The nature of his specialized skills was similar to ours, though he was a bit less stealthy than we assassins like to consider ourselves.

Xavier was a closely-guarded secret of the crown, one of a secret organization of specialists referred to as the Metsuke. The people where I come from consider them a myth, but they are very real. He had his shining day in the sun, with my valiant efforts resulting in astounding victories for Algeroth and it's army. From behind the scenes he completed more missions than any other Metsuke agent, and on his last known mission collected a series of magical artifacts and relics from our history that the crown has kept secret from it's people.

One year ago, this month, the man known as Xavier Gottheit died. We saw his body with our own eyes, held high above an escort of soldiers who paraded him to his burial site. Three months later, he came to work for us. His reputation was legendary, and I took a calculated risk in bringing him on. I assumed, of course, his death had been faked for some reason or another, but I was suspicious of his desire to freelance for my organization.

I am not a man who often allows such a thing. You are the second, after him. "

The man took a moment to allow Dario to catch up on the details, and poured them each a drink before pushing one sloshing glass toward him, and taking a single sip from his own, ready to continue.

[Syntaphar]

Dario was at once glad to hear he didn't have to kneel and worried that he had to stand and show weakness. Thankfully, a stone throne was offered in the most ostentatious of ways. Barely getting up off the ground, he would dash/lunge into the seat of the throne and gain his balance. He was certain his airlegs would come soon, but they hadn't yet. He would thumb through the dossier, checking the facts the grandmaster fed to him, as well as memorizing the contents. A small tactical error was made though, that might reveal one of Dario's oddities. As he flipped a page of the dossier, a corner of the bottom page would scrape against one of the lengths of razor wire Prospero has strung through his wrists. The string, being sharp to no end, would cut through the paper and leave a paer triangle, one inch to a side, lying on the table. "Hope he didn't see that.", thought Dario.

He was extra cautious about the drink handed to him. He did not trust any drink given to him at first glance, especially if he hadn't asked for it. Not one to be visibly rude, however, he would bring the cup to his lips, almost touching the fluid inside, and make a small slurping sound with his lips. He risked poion on the rim of the cup this way, but it was worth it to not offend the grandmaster. As the information went on, Prospero would become a bit more apprehensive. Usually, in the city, his jobs were simple revenge plots or ruthless business advancement. Last time a truly exceptional mark came along, he lost all of his limbs. Not that he would let anyone know that of course. He listened carefully to the rest of what the master had to say.

[Sage]

As the men returned to their places, facing the wall The Grandmaster sat forward uneasily. He was used to his presence causing his lessers to recoil, but this man should not even have been familiar with him, though he'd already said all he could to create trust in the situation. Though he was not amused with Prospero's squirrely behavior, he simply cleared his throat and continued, ignoring the notion the assassin put forward; to think that if he wanted him dead, he'd bring him aboard his own ship, fly six hundred feet above the ocean, and poison him after seating him mere inches away.


" He has repeated his performance within the Metsuke among my ranks. I had assumed a few impossible tasks in my employ would be enough to finish him off, but he is a hero among the lower ranks now. I cannot allow him to be a martyr by killing him off myself. I brought you here, as it is my understanding you have some sort of...familiarity... " The word rolled off his tongue like acid in his mouth, and he cringed, staring at the gleaming hilt of his sword. " ...with the, supernatural. "

He shifted once more into a comfortable position, back firmly straight against his stone seat, his mouth working as though the thought left a literal bitter taste in it. " He has become something otherworldly. Death stalks the man like a shadow, and not in the way I can respect. Something has gone off balance with his soul, and he should have been gone when he bled out in the desert.

If he were to be found out, and revert back to the public eye, my empire would be undone. And so, I will see an end to him before he realizes he is not as firmly under my thumb as I would lead him to believe. Now, about the more physical aspects... " He seemed more confident as the topic of the conversation shifted, briefing an assassin on the physical characteristics of an adversary was much preferred to telling ghost stories about a dead man. " Xavier has treated his body like an enemy to be conquered. Physical conditioning does not begin to describe his training routine. He's good with strategy, but he's not all that intelligent. He's got instincts in combat, but tricking him is probably the easiest way. "

Eyes narrowed on Prospero as he attempted to impart the gravity of the situation upon the fidgety man's psyche. " Do not engage him in melee combat. He is fast, unnaturally fast, and strong beyond the normal measure of mortals. Magic, logic, stealth, or ranged combat are your best friends against him. He is well-versed in both unarmed combat and swordplay, and he can get some decent distance out of a strike by flinging his custom swords like a very sharp boomerang. Also, it might be of value to know that he can fly. So...if you can finish him inside a building, you might want to consider it. "

[Syntaphar]

Body language made up more than half of the conversation in any business deal, and the Grandmaster's spoke volumes. Not wanting to anger him further, and figuring that he could have been harmed thousands of ways on the way there, he would take a good sized drink from the cup before him. Besides, he kinda needed it to prepare himself for the task ahead. this seemed like some kind of superman, the rare sort that perhaps even a loaded revolver wouldn't take care of. Dario ran the list of his weapons through his mind: muscle relaxants, maybe, though it didn't work so well on that terrible day. Revolver, bringing it along at least. Spool of razor wire, certainly, as this seemed a good time for traps. He'd figure out most of it when he got there.

When the grandmaster mentioned that Prospero had had contact with the supernatural, it took a good deal of self-control not to be violently startled. He had naturally kept his affliction a secret ever since its beginnings, but apparently he hadn't been careful enough. He would wring one razorwired hand beneath the table, causing a small amount of partially coagulated blood to pour out onto the floor. Not his blood. That's one thing he hadn't gotten used to yet. Dario would put on the airs of professional courtesy and speak with an almost wavering grin. "Puttin' aside yer knowledge o' my supernatural encounters which I'll surely inquire to latah, you know I'll gladly take any job where the money's good and the need's great. Consider me a part o' yer scheming, at this stage a' least. Send me to 'im and he'll be outta yer hair before you got the chance ta blink." Despite his confident airs, he was wringing his hands again, dripping a bit more blood. If asked, he would gladly help clean that up.

[Sage]

The elder of the two gentlemen cleared his throat, covering another subtle screech from his nails which resulted in another of the twelve men approaching Prospero. He went directly to a fine ebony chest on the table to the assassin's right, and withdrew a single sheet of what looked like opaque black glass, ignoring several rows of coins behind glass set in the lid of the chest, though they would be plainly visible.

" Inside are a down payment, as I believe is appropriate. There are four panes of refined Algerothian Obsidian. It is valued by crafters around the world for it's remarkable durability and tolerance, even amplification of magic. Also, as is true with all obsidian, it can be sharpened to a finer edge than steel. Beneath the fourth pane will be a note with an approximation of total value, as well as what you would need to pay should you desire to have it worked into something for yourself. It is not much, most master artisans who have knowledge of this substance leap at the chance. "

To prove the object's authenticity, The Grandmaster formed a tiny wisp of flame at his fingertips, and slowly pushed it in the direction of the pane, which the robed man held away from himself. The wisp nearly extinguished just before contacting the glossy black wall before erupting into a cone of fire on it's other side. The man wrapped it back in fabric and placed the pane in the body of the chest, atop the others and shut the chest, issuing a jingling of the many coins inside.

" As for the finer details, we will be near the Syndicate soon. Take the dossier and the chest, go inside. Some of my guard will escort you, and you will be given the opportunity to supply. Weapons, poisons, anything I have is at your disposal. Then you will leave, discretely. Go to Toryn, Algeroth's capital city. During your preparations you will be supplied with a map there, and then to Xavier's...haunts, as well as a means by which you may surpass the city security, one time only. As for the supernatural, I do not know the extent of your experience. I only know that you have been suspected of having an interesting encounter with a certain Disciple of Sentinel. It is entirely possible I am mistaken, though I see no reason for the source in this matter to have lied. People are very honest before they die, you see. " He leaned forward farther than he had the last time, and his face fell into the light of the room, revealing a tapestry of battles; victories, and losses. " When you are ready, head to the deck. You will not see me again, but if you succeed I assure you the reward will be much greater than this meager sum. "

[Syntaphar]

Wow. His new employer sure knew how to inspire someone. to action. With stuff like that, Dario would have no problems bribing his way out of the city he loved and hated. Either someone had misquoted the grandmaster Prospero's usual price, or the grandmaster was simply a man who believed a flat rate didn't apply in this case. Heck, even the ebony of the case would be worth more than the price he quoted people even a year ago. The supposedly grim and professional assassin, however, would keep his childish glee to himself until he was in private. He still had a job to do and a professionalism to keep, after all. He would take the dossier, and put it in the chest for safe keeping.

By now, his internal balance was well acclimated to the airship, but there was no telling how he was going to do back on land. He would stand up, hop a few times to test his new airlegs and take the chest under one arm (the right one and the stronger of the two). He could not resist one more aside before he and the grandmaster parted ways. "Thank you dearly, yer highness. It is too great 'n honor fer a pitiful soul such 's me. Although I got a bit of advice for ya. I'd rename your skyboat here. Namin' it th' Attrition might make yer followers feel more expendable than they already are!"

What would follow was a high-pitched cackle, almost reminiscent of a baying hyena. While this may seem like a jovial measure, or perhaps one of insubordination on principle, it was more a way of gauging the professionalism of the organization before him. He would look carefully to the people lining the walls. Sure, they could be well-trained, but what would really be telling was if they began to fidget uncomfortably at being called expendable. If they did, it was a natural human reaction. If they didn't, it was a testament to their loyalty, bravery and self-dicipline. Either way, he would begin to back away towards the deck door and say "Don't you worry, cap'n! I'll be a credit to my profession and get this done for ya!"

Also, he would reeealy have to be more careful about who he let know about his supernatural encounter. In fact, the only people who could know at all would be Teron himself and anyone he told. Ah well.

[Sage]

The men who were already turned around, facing the wall, would not flinch as expected. However, the man who had opened the chest, and displayed the Obsidian scowled at Prospero, his eyes oddly popping behind his hood and the mask which represented the animal by which he was referred. Luckily, he'd been given the task, and had the right to speak whereas his brothers-in-arms would be forced to ignore any comment made while in the state they were in.

" Grandmaster, I ask to lead Mister Prospero's escort. "

Their leader, already with a sour expression on his face lifted an eyebrow at Prospero in silence and shifted his gaze to the assassin with the crimson bull mask.

" I think that it is an excellent idea. Get ready to disembark, and see that our guest gets in and out of the headquarters without witness. "

The man bowed before his master and stalked Dario out into the hallway, closing the massive door behind him. The sound of the stone throne could be heard retreating into the floor and the scurrying of feet across the floorboards as soon as the door locked closed. The man took a moment to swish off the thick black robe and the crimson mask, his eyes angrily probing Prospero.

" The Grandmaster is generous with his reward, as we do not often see the need to commission from the outside, but it is also in exchange for silence. I would expect you not let pride get the best of you after you deal with Xavier. We do not need to trade one beacon for attention with another, and are expecting you disappear from Algeroth once your work here is done. "

The Grandmaster himself had no love for metaphors, but no one was more direct and to the point than this man. When he spoke of something, people listened, and believed. He was the largest of the twelve men, and his specialty was numbers. The Crimson Bull was the man when you needed fifteen guards taken out, not one sly politician.

The long hallway from The Grandmaster's chambers lead directly out to the deck after running the length of the ship, from it's deepest depth all the way to the hull, where there were stairs leading up to the deck. The sight was an awe-inspiring one. The cataclysm that had befallen the world had not skipped completely over Algeroth. The area they were over now used to be the cliffs that served as the natural border between Algeroth and Xexoria, though there was no longer such a border. Xexoria had become an island, and it's land mass had receded away from the cliffside's sight.

The cliffs themselves were riddled with holes, clearly man-made, and beneath the rock served as the headquarters for The Syndicate. The airship began it's slow descent, the plains and forests of Algeroth quickly disappearing as they pulled the deck down to the level of the many entrances. Bull tucked away his robe and mask into a large pack on his back and rocked his head from side to side, issuing 'pops' and 'cracks' as he worked his stiff neck.

Without warning, he got a small running start and flung himself off the well-maintained deck and landed in one of the hollows in the rock face. He took a moment to steady his feet, then turned and set to work at a crank near one of the curious wooden panels that lined the natural wall, and a half-ladder, half-bridge protruded for Prospero's use.

[Syntaphar]

Prospero's grin would fall from his mouth. not necessarily because his mood worsened, but mostly because angry people don't like their targets to be grinning back at them. He might be able to take this man in a hand-to-hand fight, but this was not the time or the place to risk it. He would need to calm him down, and choose his words carefully for maximum effect. "I do nothing fer any trivial purpose, my large compatriot. Every one o' tha things I said in there was said fer a reason. While it may 'a seemed unprofessional, there're volumes that can be spoken through the lens o' mild irritation. For example, from yer own reaction, I can tell that you are a man o' few, but strong words, fully loyal ta your organization and fiercely protective o' yer boss'es dignity. And I also know that you aren't the sort ta go on personal vendettas. Lectures, maybe, but not vendettas. I apologize fer any offense I may have caused you or yer employer though. I can also assure you that while I was a loud person in there, it is not always so. During my contract, I shall be in all ways dutiful, ruthless, efficient and incognito. I hope we can put this event behind us."

Almost all of what Dario said was true, though he left out the fact that he said what he did for fun too. When he finished, a more cordial and less arrogant grin would appear on his face. He would then look over the rail and chuckle at the expanse before him. He never thought he would get out of the city so much on his quest to get out of the city. When the Crimson Bull lept from the side, he would give an approving chuckle at his prowess. When the ladder bridge came across, Dario would have little difficulty going across it. He had tight-roped across clotheslines once or twice before, and this thing was actually made for traversing. However, once he got to solid ground, he'd stumble a little, making sure to hold on to his precious cargo, the ebony box. Upon his crossing, he would smile courteously to the large man and gesture with his free, gloved hand to lead on, if it was his prerogative. If the man had to rejoin the airship party, Dario would understand as well.

[Sage]

" Our Master does not get easily flustered by the eccentricities of those in his employ. He has been wildly successful in this game since before many of us were born, and he has not gotten to where he is by letting talk anger him to the point of clouding what he really wants. All he cares about our actions, and as long as you're good at your job... "

The Bull busied himself momentarily with a mechanism set into the wall, before the large wooden panel covering their entrance slid away, then a metal panel, then another. Once the path was clear, he spoke quickly with a guard just inside, who set about clearing the floor of all of it's inhabitants. The Bull turned back to Prospero, motioning him in.

" We, his underlings however, have much respect for him. He has provided well for us, as we have served him to our utmost capabilities. And we do not appreciate any questioning of his judgment, such as the naming of a vessel...or misrepresentation of his rank, such as calling him... " The Bull's face contorted with the difficulty of repeating Prospero's statement. " "...a cappin. "

They walked along a few narrow corridors, passing rooms with meals abandoned halfway-eaten, beds with disturbed sheets still warm, and training dummies with daggers and the like still falling out of them.

[Syntaphar]

Dario, following dutifully through the hastily cleared halls, was a bit taken aback by the Bull's disparaging comment on one of the only actually good things Dario had said. "Well, what else would I call 'im? He IS the cap'n. Tha's one a' tha most respectful things ya can call a man, if it's true. Would you want me ta' call 'im the bosun, cause that seems a tad bit more up your alley. No offense a'course. And I understand the respect ya have for 'im, but the fact remains, Attrition is a lousy name for a boat in yer form a' business."

Dario would shut up for a minute and begin to scan the area around him. Obviously, they didn't want him to be able to tell any businessman on sight, so he didn't even bother to ask. The meals, beds and training dummys were pretty self-explanatory too. Of course, it didn't diminish the pride he got from having a whole headquarters floor cleared on his behalf. In fact, they moved fast, now didn't they? Oh, they were good indeed. There was very little warning they had before he came in. Exceptional and worrying. Partially worrying because he could get stabbed or shot at any moment, but mostly worrying because these men seemed not enough to take this Xavier man on. This turned his thoughts back to the mission. "Don'tcha worry either, my large friend. In all my years, there has only been one contract I've failed, And I don't plan ta make it two."

[Sage]

The Bull sighed. Were he not so stubborn he might have considered letting it go, as his master would have.

" Perhaps, in your circles. In trade, and in the military, you might call them Captains, but he would be something like an...Admiral. The man in control of the ship is the shipmaster, or just master. Our leader, however, is The Grandmaster. That is his name, and his only title. Besides...you don't really think he was on that ship with you, do you? "

For the first time, the Bull was able to smile, and he made sure to flash it to Prospero as he opened a door leading to a veritable treasure trove of deadly weapons.

" As for the name of our...nngh, skyboat. We are murderers, thieves, and sinners all. We do not enjoy the necessity of our existence, and would repent if there were a God that would hear us. Thus, Attrition. "

Before them were piles of weapons, vials of questionable substances, powders giving off noxious odors, all manner of impressive utilities for their profession.

" Anything strike your fancy, assassin? "

[Syntaphar]

One could describe Dario as a kid in a candy store when he entered the weapons locker. That one would be entirely wrong. He acted more as a man who had come to the grocery store with a full list in mind, going directly to each shelf for each thing he needed. First, he picked up a healthy-sized bottle of curare, arrow poison. This was a potent muscle relaxant, and could be administered in a number of ways and in a number of dose sizes for a variety of effects. When fighting a tough opponent such as Gottheit, versatility is key. He rolled his eyes a little at the Bull trying to outsmart him with his fancy Algeroth education. Dario could more than keep up with the knowledge he had found through hearsay and personal study. "Well first of all, in nautical law, the captain takes precedence over all positions while on 'is own ship, even if he's outranked. An admiral still listens ta tha captain on tha ship. Nautical law is fascinating, you oughta look it up one day."

He would next reach for a black duffel bag, which clearly had secret pockets in them. This was of course, only obvious because the pockets were open. He took one, placed his signature retractable razor wire garrote and his new poison in the secret pockets, and placed the ebony box in the standard pocket. "And another thing, I think ya may be looking for the word contrition, unless ya mean ta give yerselves a bad image on purpose. Attrition is an imperfect form o' contrition, by definition tha wrong way to go about it. That's some message yer sendin'. 'We practice an intentionally bad form o' repentance. Either that, or we lose a guy every time we kill a guy.' No offense, again, but that ain't a great eponym fer yer business, even still."

Prospero would take a brief detour into the actual weapons, procuring for himself a series of formerly clockwork hinges, springs and cogs, as well as two easily concealable handguns. The former would go in the main pocket, along with some easily convertible scrap metal. The latter would go into another of the hidden pockets. "And on another thing, what sorta businessman would I be if I expected you were the sorta businessmen who'd hire the sorta businessman like me with the sorta businessmen you got and put me, the sorta businessman I am, with the sorta leader you got? 'Course I figured he wasn't the grandmaster. And on that note, why have you been yellin at me fer insultin' yer not-leader? Anyway, I s'pose I'm done here."

Prospero would pull the bag up on his shoulder and prepare to leave. Putting on a pair of dark sunglasses and his usual cordial grin, he'd say: "But no hard feelin's, right?"

[Sage]

Bull smiled as he floated around the room waiting on Prospero. He hefted a large iron maul between his massive paws and used it to completely destroy an armored chestplate that had been abandoned on the floor as the men had run out ahead of them, scattering like cockroaches at his word.

" Maybe you misunderstood me, what I said about our leader. I never said he was a stand-in. No, that was The Grandmaster you were talking to, he just wasn't there, see? " Bull pulled a tiny amulet from around his neck out from behind his blood red tunic and kissed it once, which sent it shimmering as a second Crimson Bull appeared in the room. He, too, wielded a maul and angled it at Prospero. The thing whipped through the air with purpose, though the air was not disturbed in the least.

The massive hammer swung directly through Prospero, and the second Bull fizzled out of existence. " I don't suppose you touched him while you were there? All you really saw him interact with is a bottle and two glasses. Words, however, are very real. Even to apparitions. " The Bull smiled his oblivious smile once more and considered the assassin's second point. " Like I said, if we had a God to repent to, we would. We practice a very selfish form of sorrow, so that we may go out and do what we do again the next day, rather than for salvation. It's fitting, really. Or it would be, if you knew us. "

Bull pulled the amulet from around his neck as he fished in a pocket for an object which turned out to be a luminous feather. " Take this, it has a few more uses in it, it might save your life against Brother Xavier. Also, hold out your wrist, this is how you're going to get past the guards. "