Damn..Things weren't really going as planned...Never throw an axe again.. The orc thought. Fortunately the man was shocked enough to give Darug enough time to deal with Hart. That frustrating little human managed to dodge his swing with the morningstar and then was bold enough to attack the orc with his sabre.
The human made one mistake however..lunging forward like that with his sabre, made him prone to losing his balance. Instantly Darug let go of his morningstar, not caring where it would fly off to. Moving his body sideways, the orc reached for Hart's wrist with his left hand. He would push the sabre the opposite way, crushing the man's wrist in the process. Once the sabre wasn't aiming straight for the orc's body anymore, He would use the unbalance to pull Hart's body straight towards him, crushing the man's head with his own. Finally he would finish his attack by taking a large bite out of the man's neck. Yes...this party needed some blood.
The Punt Den ~ Chyril 22nd ET/GT
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Darug Sorghat
- Civus
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Tue Jan 17, 2006 10:13 pm
Toni Hidalgo's hands tightened white around the stock of the arcballista. He hadn't expected this. The Director, if he'd noticed at all, should have dived to the floor, or covered his eyes, or run for the door... but instead he was charging forward like some bastardised version of an Alamairre cuirassier, clacking aggressively across the space between them. Hidalgo loosed the bolt before he really realised what he was doing.
Thunkmmmmm!
The sound reverberated around the Den, cutting above the general clamour for a flicker and causing a couple of the Union guards to whirl around in concern. But Hidalgo was no experienced bowyer. The bolt passed too low and too far to the left, whipping across Niccolo's right leg just above the ankle and smashing onto the flagged floor. The gash it opened in his trouser leg and in the flesh beneath was relatively light, but still deep enough for blood to begin welling immediately.
Thunkmmmmm!
The crossbow-wielding guard behind Niccolo fired a flicker later, and, unfortunately for Hidalgo, his aim was far more precise. Equally unfortunate was that the bolt he used was far from sharp - which meant that, instead of penetrating cleanly through the bridge of the bartender's nose upon impact, it caved in his face and split his skull open like a ripe melon. Blood and grey matter spattered the bar.
Hastarl managed to use several chairs to form a makeshift defensive position between the long tables as the two Union men approached. His strategy worked perfectly on the first man. The adhiel flashed forward, and as the guard wheezed and clutched at his groin Hastarl's dagger met his throat and he gurgled and fell.
But he wasn't quite fast enough to evade the second man, who swung a massive round-headed mace forcefully towards him. The weapon struck Hastarl in the chest, just below his ribs. The force of the blow was enough to knock the adhiel off his feet, sending him careening backwards. As he fell, his head struck the edge of a table heavily, and blackness enveloped him.
Puck's blade left Mezatino's shoulder at the same time as Mezatino's blade left Puck's side. The mob lieutenant loomed high over the younger man as he dropped into a crouch. Puck's dagger, flashing down, gouged a long line along Mezatino's arm - which was rising rapidly, a bloodied blade powering towards Puck's throat. With the same preternatural speed he'd shown earlier, the leather-clad man wrenched his head aside to evade... but this time he was a fraction of a flicker too late. Thrusting upwards, Mezatino's dagger sliced into Puck's neck just above the throat-guard of his armour, cutting open the jugular vein and carotid artery. Warm red blood exploded from the man's throat, gushing across Mezatino's face and upper body, and the dead mobster fell limply backwards.
Darug's morningstar soared across the room, causing a ULT guard to leap aside with a curse as it plummeted past. The orc himself was locked in combat with Hart, whose lunge stance was evidently a practised one, as he showed no sign of overbalancing. He hadn't been expecting the grab to his wrist, though. For a flicker, as Darug applied pressure to the mobster's forearm, it felt like bending tempered steel... and then the joint snapped, and the sabre clattered uselessly to the floor.
Hart had another use for his momentum, though. A ten-inch blade slid neatly from the sleeve of his black leather coat into his off hand, and the point of the knife entered Darug's belly an instant before the orc smashed his face into that of his opponent. Hart reeled, but kept on driving the knife in his left hand upward into Darug... and his dazed, distended face still held an arrogant grimace despite the fact that he knew by now that this fight would be his last.
Remmel watched the conflict intently. His only move came when Emiliana pushed upwards to see the action more clearly, and he encircled her with a restraining arm. Once settled around her waist, the muscled arm didn't move further, his hand resting protectively on the curve of her hip.
"A good answer, signorina," he murmured. "Perhaps not quite the answer to the question I asked. But a very sensible answer nonetheless." His grey-blue eyes met Emiliana's. "And I'm not calm... not really. I've just learned to act as if I am." He smiled. "I guess that's half the battle," he finished, returning his attention to the actual battle for a flicker.
The fight was as good as over. A second of Hart's men had dropped his weapons and given himself over, and another was down and bleeding. In the background, the massive Stark was making a break for the front door. Only two men were still fighting on Hart's side: Hart himself, hard pressed by Darug, and an ugly, lanky moustached man guarding his boss's back. Although fighting ferociously like a cornered animal, this man was surrounded and bleeding from a dozen wounds and was unlikely to last long.
Thunkmmmmm!
The sound reverberated around the Den, cutting above the general clamour for a flicker and causing a couple of the Union guards to whirl around in concern. But Hidalgo was no experienced bowyer. The bolt passed too low and too far to the left, whipping across Niccolo's right leg just above the ankle and smashing onto the flagged floor. The gash it opened in his trouser leg and in the flesh beneath was relatively light, but still deep enough for blood to begin welling immediately.
Thunkmmmmm!
The crossbow-wielding guard behind Niccolo fired a flicker later, and, unfortunately for Hidalgo, his aim was far more precise. Equally unfortunate was that the bolt he used was far from sharp - which meant that, instead of penetrating cleanly through the bridge of the bartender's nose upon impact, it caved in his face and split his skull open like a ripe melon. Blood and grey matter spattered the bar.
Hastarl managed to use several chairs to form a makeshift defensive position between the long tables as the two Union men approached. His strategy worked perfectly on the first man. The adhiel flashed forward, and as the guard wheezed and clutched at his groin Hastarl's dagger met his throat and he gurgled and fell.
But he wasn't quite fast enough to evade the second man, who swung a massive round-headed mace forcefully towards him. The weapon struck Hastarl in the chest, just below his ribs. The force of the blow was enough to knock the adhiel off his feet, sending him careening backwards. As he fell, his head struck the edge of a table heavily, and blackness enveloped him.
Puck's blade left Mezatino's shoulder at the same time as Mezatino's blade left Puck's side. The mob lieutenant loomed high over the younger man as he dropped into a crouch. Puck's dagger, flashing down, gouged a long line along Mezatino's arm - which was rising rapidly, a bloodied blade powering towards Puck's throat. With the same preternatural speed he'd shown earlier, the leather-clad man wrenched his head aside to evade... but this time he was a fraction of a flicker too late. Thrusting upwards, Mezatino's dagger sliced into Puck's neck just above the throat-guard of his armour, cutting open the jugular vein and carotid artery. Warm red blood exploded from the man's throat, gushing across Mezatino's face and upper body, and the dead mobster fell limply backwards.
Darug's morningstar soared across the room, causing a ULT guard to leap aside with a curse as it plummeted past. The orc himself was locked in combat with Hart, whose lunge stance was evidently a practised one, as he showed no sign of overbalancing. He hadn't been expecting the grab to his wrist, though. For a flicker, as Darug applied pressure to the mobster's forearm, it felt like bending tempered steel... and then the joint snapped, and the sabre clattered uselessly to the floor.
Hart had another use for his momentum, though. A ten-inch blade slid neatly from the sleeve of his black leather coat into his off hand, and the point of the knife entered Darug's belly an instant before the orc smashed his face into that of his opponent. Hart reeled, but kept on driving the knife in his left hand upward into Darug... and his dazed, distended face still held an arrogant grimace despite the fact that he knew by now that this fight would be his last.
Remmel watched the conflict intently. His only move came when Emiliana pushed upwards to see the action more clearly, and he encircled her with a restraining arm. Once settled around her waist, the muscled arm didn't move further, his hand resting protectively on the curve of her hip.
"A good answer, signorina," he murmured. "Perhaps not quite the answer to the question I asked. But a very sensible answer nonetheless." His grey-blue eyes met Emiliana's. "And I'm not calm... not really. I've just learned to act as if I am." He smiled. "I guess that's half the battle," he finished, returning his attention to the actual battle for a flicker.
The fight was as good as over. A second of Hart's men had dropped his weapons and given himself over, and another was down and bleeding. In the background, the massive Stark was making a break for the front door. Only two men were still fighting on Hart's side: Hart himself, hard pressed by Darug, and an ugly, lanky moustached man guarding his boss's back. Although fighting ferociously like a cornered animal, this man was surrounded and bleeding from a dozen wounds and was unlikely to last long.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Mezatino swayed and staggard back for a second as he wiped Puck's blood from his eyes. He felt...very calm and soothed. Murder was only becoming easier and easier, for him to deal out and deal with. He quickly snatched up his own blade in his off hand. "I call looting rights upon his here corpse!" He shouted out to the ensembeld crowd, staggering even farther back from the other quarrels. He was bleeding quite a bit, though it was pretty hard to tell since we was quite drenched in the other man's blood.
Without realizing it, he had backed away to the prone body of Hastarl, nearly tripping over it. The adhiel had taken quite the blow to his chest and head, he was likely to be out of his wits for good while, but Mezatino wasn't about to take any chances, so he back away a couple more feet.
Mezatino had every right to finish the little shit off, for attacking him from behind. For consenting to a heist, and then trying to literally stab him in the back. "Fucking cazzo!" He shouted at the limp one, following it with a thick glob of spittle to the face. His two hands, each holding sharpened blades, ached to dice the adhiel up. But Mezatino took a second to think about it. The adhiel may one day come to achieve some form of revenge upon him. Or he may one day, give his alliegance to him for sparing his life. Either way he decided to leave the final discission up to the Labors and Teamsters. Mezatino was tiring from the blood loss, and just didn't feel like dealing with the trouble of stooping down just yet. Once more he addressed the prone body. "You are so Dominicus-be-damned lucky that I don't slit your fucking throat! Patti chiari, amicizia lunga. Apparently ours wasn't very clear. Come near me again, and I bloody will fucking kill you!"
Without realizing it, he had backed away to the prone body of Hastarl, nearly tripping over it. The adhiel had taken quite the blow to his chest and head, he was likely to be out of his wits for good while, but Mezatino wasn't about to take any chances, so he back away a couple more feet.
Mezatino had every right to finish the little shit off, for attacking him from behind. For consenting to a heist, and then trying to literally stab him in the back. "Fucking cazzo!" He shouted at the limp one, following it with a thick glob of spittle to the face. His two hands, each holding sharpened blades, ached to dice the adhiel up. But Mezatino took a second to think about it. The adhiel may one day come to achieve some form of revenge upon him. Or he may one day, give his alliegance to him for sparing his life. Either way he decided to leave the final discission up to the Labors and Teamsters. Mezatino was tiring from the blood loss, and just didn't feel like dealing with the trouble of stooping down just yet. Once more he addressed the prone body. "You are so Dominicus-be-damned lucky that I don't slit your fucking throat! Patti chiari, amicizia lunga. Apparently ours wasn't very clear. Come near me again, and I bloody will fucking kill you!"
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
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Guest
"I suppose that is half," she replied, her voice tight with anxiety at the violence that surrounded them. Emi continued to watch, seemingly unable to tear her hazel eyes away from the surrounding scene.
The first bolt that cut through the air, the one that aimed for Nico from the barman, had all of Emiliana's attention as soon as it whirred from the crossbow. It was off. It hit him, but he was still in one piece. Relief. A second cut through the air, and this one was on mark. As it hit the target with deadly accuracy Emiliana's body firmly replanted to the seat, and she visibly paled - her curious wide eyes widening to disgust and fear. "Dominicus!" The single word was an outward gasp as the inner contents of the barkeep's brain sprayed out behind him.
She took in a stuttering breath and buried her face into Remmel's shoulder as the shock washed over her feminine frame of mind. The achadhiel had had very close contact with Tanaquil's body, but she'd not been in the sort of way that Hildago now was. It hadn't been so gruesome. Perhaps it was the way that the graymatter flew with disturbing definitude to land on the surface of the glass bottles - slowly slipping down the exterior of the painted parchment lables.
Were those tears? Emiliana didn't want to be here anymore. Stop crying! She didn't want for her stomach to be tied up in knots as she worried over whether or not Niccolo was going to survive, and she didn't want to watch as Darug snapped bones, no doubt preparing for a feast. Swallow. Hold them in. You're stronger than this. Emi hadn't realized that the orc had been wounded, for he seemed the towering form unable to be hurt. "I can't act," The merchant princess said with a sniffle, but the tears had passed quickly. She could be like that, sometimes she just had to get it out, and now she stared downward through damp lashes, not watching to look up at Remmel following her minor outburst of weakness. Daring an upward glance to see if he was looking at her, she said: "I suppose I should practice if I plan on ever coming back here."
The first bolt that cut through the air, the one that aimed for Nico from the barman, had all of Emiliana's attention as soon as it whirred from the crossbow. It was off. It hit him, but he was still in one piece. Relief. A second cut through the air, and this one was on mark. As it hit the target with deadly accuracy Emiliana's body firmly replanted to the seat, and she visibly paled - her curious wide eyes widening to disgust and fear. "Dominicus!" The single word was an outward gasp as the inner contents of the barkeep's brain sprayed out behind him.
She took in a stuttering breath and buried her face into Remmel's shoulder as the shock washed over her feminine frame of mind. The achadhiel had had very close contact with Tanaquil's body, but she'd not been in the sort of way that Hildago now was. It hadn't been so gruesome. Perhaps it was the way that the graymatter flew with disturbing definitude to land on the surface of the glass bottles - slowly slipping down the exterior of the painted parchment lables.
Were those tears? Emiliana didn't want to be here anymore. Stop crying! She didn't want for her stomach to be tied up in knots as she worried over whether or not Niccolo was going to survive, and she didn't want to watch as Darug snapped bones, no doubt preparing for a feast. Swallow. Hold them in. You're stronger than this. Emi hadn't realized that the orc had been wounded, for he seemed the towering form unable to be hurt. "I can't act," The merchant princess said with a sniffle, but the tears had passed quickly. She could be like that, sometimes she just had to get it out, and now she stared downward through damp lashes, not watching to look up at Remmel following her minor outburst of weakness. Daring an upward glance to see if he was looking at her, she said: "I suppose I should practice if I plan on ever coming back here."
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Guest
Harmony had been somewhat distracted by the fact that Remmel was talking and getting suspiciously cozy with the bitch from the library. She didn't say anything, though, preferring instead to wait for Hart to come in so that she could regale him with her brilliant plan and findings in the library today.
As the violence erupted, Harmony had been rising to speak to Hart-- trying to catch his eye only to find herself lost in the sudden chaos of the moment. Immediately, she'd collapse to the floor and look for a course of departure, but rapidly decided that this was going to be largely impossible. Remmel was practically fondling Emiliana, and far be it from Harm to try to intrude on that particular exchange.
Instead, she looked about on the floor for a weapon, anything to use to defend herself should the need arise. With morningstars and daggers being thrust about hap hazardously, she doubted it would take long to find something which would function as a weapon. She noticed, of course, that Hart's men were down and it wouldn't be terribly long before the man was dead.
No. This was simply unacceptable... Hart was her key to escape. Now this random thug was going to show up and depose the gangster? She shook her head angrily in Niccolo's direction, suddenly even more determined to grab a weapon and defend herself. Who knew but that this stranger was going to completely exorcise all of Hart's agents from the field. Like a lion killing all of the cubs of the preceding dominant male.
Please don't let Hart die. Please. Without him I'm nothing.
As the violence erupted, Harmony had been rising to speak to Hart-- trying to catch his eye only to find herself lost in the sudden chaos of the moment. Immediately, she'd collapse to the floor and look for a course of departure, but rapidly decided that this was going to be largely impossible. Remmel was practically fondling Emiliana, and far be it from Harm to try to intrude on that particular exchange.
Instead, she looked about on the floor for a weapon, anything to use to defend herself should the need arise. With morningstars and daggers being thrust about hap hazardously, she doubted it would take long to find something which would function as a weapon. She noticed, of course, that Hart's men were down and it wouldn't be terribly long before the man was dead.
No. This was simply unacceptable... Hart was her key to escape. Now this random thug was going to show up and depose the gangster? She shook her head angrily in Niccolo's direction, suddenly even more determined to grab a weapon and defend herself. Who knew but that this stranger was going to completely exorcise all of Hart's agents from the field. Like a lion killing all of the cubs of the preceding dominant male.
Please don't let Hart die. Please. Without him I'm nothing.
Sliding to a halt before the bar, Nico let the chair drop the floor and reached up to tilt back his hat a bit. Huh. He knew the man had fired...he had seen the arcballistae launch...but he had apparently missed, given that Nico was still very much alive, and the bartender was now very dead...the grim victim of the supporting crossbow Nico had all but forgotten in his haste to protect himself. Not that charging a readied arcballistae was a very secure thing to do, but it did make a measure of sense. After all, Nico had built an Empire on the practice of estimating, evaluating, and anticipating people. Even thick, dim-witted people that didn't know when they should just stay out of it.
Imbecile!
That was the real rub for Nico...one that only grew. First, Hart had to be foolish enough to actually believe he could resist...and second, his thugs had to be foolish enough to actually fight. The bartender...this man didn't have to do either. He could have stood there, sipping brandy, until the final blow had been struck...and he would have been none the worse for wear. Oh, maybe the 'Den would have a new owner...maybe not. Either way, he would have been set...were it not for his streak of imbecile.
Somewhere off to the side, Starky was making a break. Not exactly brave...but at least it's smart, thought Nico, Right up until he runs into the pickets outside. In a more ideal situation, Nico would have hollared out a warning to help Stark avoid the awaiting reception he'd get outside...but Nico had other concerns, concerns that became clear as he scanned the room once more.
"ENOUGH!" hollared Nico, booming his voice out towards the pair of thugs that, despite all odds, still held as best they might. Turning, he considered the other patrons of the tavern...men and women that hadn't been involved one way or the other. There was Remmel, with Emiliana...and there was, much to Nico's surprise, the Golden Haired Lady that had once debated against the Council a few months ago (and had summarily refused Nico's invitation for cocktails and further debate). Plant. Every Councilor would want some kind of presence in Southbridge...perhaps a pair of eyes or ears to keep him advised. The woman would be a plant, because ladies didn't debate politics in the Council Hall one day and then languish in the Punt Den the next. Not unless they were sold into prostitution, of course.
Finally, there was Signor Sorgat...who was wounded. Niccolo needed to take control of the scene quickly to save the lives of as many people he could, but he had to disarm Hart first. With any luck, Hart would now listen to some type of reason...or at least the man guarding his back would. "It's over! Drop your weapons and sit down, an maybe you'll live to see a new day!" bellowed the Director.
Imbecile!
That was the real rub for Nico...one that only grew. First, Hart had to be foolish enough to actually believe he could resist...and second, his thugs had to be foolish enough to actually fight. The bartender...this man didn't have to do either. He could have stood there, sipping brandy, until the final blow had been struck...and he would have been none the worse for wear. Oh, maybe the 'Den would have a new owner...maybe not. Either way, he would have been set...were it not for his streak of imbecile.
Somewhere off to the side, Starky was making a break. Not exactly brave...but at least it's smart, thought Nico, Right up until he runs into the pickets outside. In a more ideal situation, Nico would have hollared out a warning to help Stark avoid the awaiting reception he'd get outside...but Nico had other concerns, concerns that became clear as he scanned the room once more.
"ENOUGH!" hollared Nico, booming his voice out towards the pair of thugs that, despite all odds, still held as best they might. Turning, he considered the other patrons of the tavern...men and women that hadn't been involved one way or the other. There was Remmel, with Emiliana...and there was, much to Nico's surprise, the Golden Haired Lady that had once debated against the Council a few months ago (and had summarily refused Nico's invitation for cocktails and further debate). Plant. Every Councilor would want some kind of presence in Southbridge...perhaps a pair of eyes or ears to keep him advised. The woman would be a plant, because ladies didn't debate politics in the Council Hall one day and then languish in the Punt Den the next. Not unless they were sold into prostitution, of course.
Finally, there was Signor Sorgat...who was wounded. Niccolo needed to take control of the scene quickly to save the lives of as many people he could, but he had to disarm Hart first. With any luck, Hart would now listen to some type of reason...or at least the man guarding his back would. "It's over! Drop your weapons and sit down, an maybe you'll live to see a new day!" bellowed the Director.
<i>Non me fare domande, e non ti dico menzogne.</i>
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
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Darug Sorghat
- Civus
- Posts: 57
- Joined: Tue Jan 17, 2006 10:13 pm
Just as the orc was about to bite into the neck of the human known as Hart, pain shot through his body as Hart pushed the knife in his gut. For a flicker, Darug was surprised. It was hurtling like hell. That freaking bastard...
It was at that moment that Nico called everyone to a halt. But Darug didn't hear him. There was just the feeling of rage consuming his mind. The wound was pretty serious, but no matter what, this human would die.
Darug grabbed the hand that was holding the sword by the wrist. He crushed this one as he had crushed the other, but this time he continued crushing and tearing until the hand would cut loose from the arm.
As he grabbed Hart by the neck with his left hand, the orc now pulled out the sword from his body. He roared louder than ever before, the rage visible in his eyes. As the sword came free, Darug stabbed it right into Hart's crotch.
But it wasn't enough...before the human would die..before maybe he himself would die..he would have his ultimate revenge. With his right hand the orc reached into the wound he just made in the human's crotch and grabbed the human's balls. Instantly he tore them out and stuffed them in his mouth. He pulled Hart's face closer to his, making sure Hart saw what was in the orc's mouth right before he would die. With a big grin,made sure Hart saw and heard the orc's jaws crush his balls.
It was at that moment that Nico called everyone to a halt. But Darug didn't hear him. There was just the feeling of rage consuming his mind. The wound was pretty serious, but no matter what, this human would die.
Darug grabbed the hand that was holding the sword by the wrist. He crushed this one as he had crushed the other, but this time he continued crushing and tearing until the hand would cut loose from the arm.
As he grabbed Hart by the neck with his left hand, the orc now pulled out the sword from his body. He roared louder than ever before, the rage visible in his eyes. As the sword came free, Darug stabbed it right into Hart's crotch.
But it wasn't enough...before the human would die..before maybe he himself would die..he would have his ultimate revenge. With his right hand the orc reached into the wound he just made in the human's crotch and grabbed the human's balls. Instantly he tore them out and stuffed them in his mouth. He pulled Hart's face closer to his, making sure Hart saw what was in the orc's mouth right before he would die. With a big grin,made sure Hart saw and heard the orc's jaws crush his balls.
avatar by [url=http://www.allavatars.com/avatars/showgallery.php?cat=500&ppuser=77]merry[/url] from allavatars.com
(OOC: For now, this thread is still impassable for all.)
Whatever the men outside had used to jam the door, it wasn't enough to stop the bulk of Stark from slamming through it after a quarter of a flicker's resistance, knocking it off his hinges... but he wasn't destined to get much further. A flicker later he tumbled back through the door, a longsword lodged in his barrel chest and Piedro Hansati at its hilt. Stark crashed to the ground, and the Union guard stood over him, breathing heavily.
Remmel was watching out of the corner of one eye, the rest of his attention on Emiliana, whose head his right hand now moved to cradle, his calloused fingers brushing through her red-hued curls. "If I were you... I just wouldn't plan on coming back here," he responded. "I'm not sure I will myself, after tonight. Things are going to change."
"ENOUGH!"
Niccolo's call came just as the noise of the brawl was dying down. The man with the moustache, surrounded by four Union guards, saw the reason in what was being said. With an expression like the Nether on his face, he slowly dropped his blade and moved to sit... and was rewarded for his surrender by a stinging blow to the side of his head, delivered by one of the ULT men. He crumpled.
As Mezatino railed against the prone form of Hastarl - who showed no signs of waking - he felt a faintness coming over him. Covered in blood, it was difficult for the young man to tell how much of it was his, but, if not the majority, it was at least a significant minority. The wounds in his leg, arm and shoulder were all bleeding freely.
"Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!" came the cry of the man with the mace who had struck Hastarl, addressing Mezatino. "Now!"
A similar call reached the ears of Harmony, who had managed to find a dagger on the floor without much difficulty. "Put that pig-sticker down, signora," a tall man in padded cloth wielding a club warned her, "and you won't get hurt."
The only two people who ignored the Director's proclamation were Darug and Hart himself... and so the onrushing quiet created a captive audience for the orc's next few acts of brutality. Again, Hart's wrist-joint was a tough nut to crack, wiry and solid, but gradually it gave way, piece by piece, until the hand was left dangling from the stump at the end of the forearm by a few tendrils of sinew and skin, and the blade came loose from Darug's gut, bringing with it a rush of dark blood.
Hart's face was strained as the orc held him by the neck, and he was in no position to prevent the reversal of the knife toward his groin. "NNNNGGH!" A growling screech was torn free from the back of his throat as the blade made contact, swiftly followed by Darug's wrenching hand... and now, finally, Hart's expression began to show fear. The fear of a man who had thought himself inured to the horrors of this world. His eyes bulged and his mouth slid open as the orc masticated his testicles gleefully.
They tasted a bit like chicken.
Whatever the men outside had used to jam the door, it wasn't enough to stop the bulk of Stark from slamming through it after a quarter of a flicker's resistance, knocking it off his hinges... but he wasn't destined to get much further. A flicker later he tumbled back through the door, a longsword lodged in his barrel chest and Piedro Hansati at its hilt. Stark crashed to the ground, and the Union guard stood over him, breathing heavily.
Remmel was watching out of the corner of one eye, the rest of his attention on Emiliana, whose head his right hand now moved to cradle, his calloused fingers brushing through her red-hued curls. "If I were you... I just wouldn't plan on coming back here," he responded. "I'm not sure I will myself, after tonight. Things are going to change."
"ENOUGH!"
Niccolo's call came just as the noise of the brawl was dying down. The man with the moustache, surrounded by four Union guards, saw the reason in what was being said. With an expression like the Nether on his face, he slowly dropped his blade and moved to sit... and was rewarded for his surrender by a stinging blow to the side of his head, delivered by one of the ULT men. He crumpled.
As Mezatino railed against the prone form of Hastarl - who showed no signs of waking - he felt a faintness coming over him. Covered in blood, it was difficult for the young man to tell how much of it was his, but, if not the majority, it was at least a significant minority. The wounds in his leg, arm and shoulder were all bleeding freely.
"Drop your weapons and get down on the ground!" came the cry of the man with the mace who had struck Hastarl, addressing Mezatino. "Now!"
A similar call reached the ears of Harmony, who had managed to find a dagger on the floor without much difficulty. "Put that pig-sticker down, signora," a tall man in padded cloth wielding a club warned her, "and you won't get hurt."
The only two people who ignored the Director's proclamation were Darug and Hart himself... and so the onrushing quiet created a captive audience for the orc's next few acts of brutality. Again, Hart's wrist-joint was a tough nut to crack, wiry and solid, but gradually it gave way, piece by piece, until the hand was left dangling from the stump at the end of the forearm by a few tendrils of sinew and skin, and the blade came loose from Darug's gut, bringing with it a rush of dark blood.
Hart's face was strained as the orc held him by the neck, and he was in no position to prevent the reversal of the knife toward his groin. "NNNNGGH!" A growling screech was torn free from the back of his throat as the blade made contact, swiftly followed by Darug's wrenching hand... and now, finally, Hart's expression began to show fear. The fear of a man who had thought himself inured to the horrors of this world. His eyes bulged and his mouth slid open as the orc masticated his testicles gleefully.
They tasted a bit like chicken.
Last edited by Morg on Sat Jul 14, 2007 5:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Mezatino sighed heavily, as he was quite exhausted. He figured he had just enough energy to bolt it right then and maybe even make it half-way down the street, but he wasn't about to risk it. He sheathed his own bloody blade back in its shoulder holster. The he wearily flopped his ass down on the hardwood floor, and tossed the other blade a few feet in front of him. "Son of a bitch," he muttered to himself at first, then he addressed the ULT member. "Come on! I so just took your fucking side. In fact, in my own opinion, I so just took out like...the second most dangerous opposition you had!" He shook his head and sighed again. "Now I'm fucking bleeding all over, and I need a Dominicus-be-damned healer!". He paused and listened and watched and grimaced at the act of Darug, thoroughly enjoying his sadistic little snack. "So could you please get me some help?" With this done, he pulled his pipe out again for about the fourth time since he had come to the Den, the decided to light up and puff away. This time however it was a nifty, tasty, buzzing concoction of both tobacco and hemp. To Mezatino it was...exceptionally delightful.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
Flapping around like a banner, the once-proud lady slumped upon the pole, impaled into her womanhood and paraded before the rioters like some kind of grisly puppet. Below her blood-stained, swinging legs was the massive creature known as Sorgat...Darug Sorghat...followed by the enraged, frenzied men that would call themselves "The Union"...
Blinking twice, Niccolo watched as the King of Southbridge was mutilated and destroyed by the very same Darug Sorghat. Darug was hurt badly...but nothing could save Hart now. It was only a matter of flickers before he fell into shock, and only a matter of burns before he slipped off in death. Darug might not be far behind, his wound horrifying...though Nico was not well-known for giving up or giving in. Darug might have been a thug...but he was not expendable.
"Piedro!" Nico glanced over at the man near the door. Piedro had caught and stuck Starky, just as Nico had expected...and he would need some kind of leadership quickly, or the reality of what he had just done would settle in poorly. "Pass the word outside...our work is done, but we've wounded. No one enters or leaves quite yet. Send a pair of boys to Madam Panicci's, just down the street, and tell her to send Joya. Wait. Tell her to come here, and bring Joya and as many other healers as she has. Go!" Now was as good of a time as any to demonstrate to Panicci that the World Was Upside Down. While Niccolo held vast respect for that great lady, she needed to be introduced to her new protector.
Turning back to the room, Nico motioned with his hand towards the captured thugs and the bystanders...including Remmel, Emiliana, and everyone else. "Drop your weapons, get over to the bar and sit down. There'll be no more killing tonight, so long as you all behave. Remmel, hop behind the bar and fix yourself and your comrades a few drinks." Nico didn't have any problems whatsoever issuing orders to Hart's former poltroon. While he couldn't predict just how the other operators in the building would react, it was a fair bet that any useful task would keep them from doing anything stupid. That...and the mutilated body of the previous bartender, minus his crossbow.
And now he needed to organize the scene. Turning, Nico picked the Laborer with the arcballistae and one other. "You two...reload and watch our guests at the bar. We'll let 'em go once we've worked over this scene." Next, Nico turned to the remainder of the Union men in the room. "Get the wounded on the tables, and get pressure on their wounds. Anyone with a shred of life left in them...get them up so we can help. You guys might need help lifting the orc..." Nico moved towards Hart and Darug, intent to determine just how much life either had left. He had intended to question Hart...but that seemed largely impossible now. There were others as well, people not allied to either Nico or Hart, fallen unconscious or bleeding like stuck pigs. "Get 'em all up on tables, and send the barmaids back for blankets, towels, whatever they can find. Move fast, amigos."
Blinking twice, Niccolo watched as the King of Southbridge was mutilated and destroyed by the very same Darug Sorghat. Darug was hurt badly...but nothing could save Hart now. It was only a matter of flickers before he fell into shock, and only a matter of burns before he slipped off in death. Darug might not be far behind, his wound horrifying...though Nico was not well-known for giving up or giving in. Darug might have been a thug...but he was not expendable.
"Piedro!" Nico glanced over at the man near the door. Piedro had caught and stuck Starky, just as Nico had expected...and he would need some kind of leadership quickly, or the reality of what he had just done would settle in poorly. "Pass the word outside...our work is done, but we've wounded. No one enters or leaves quite yet. Send a pair of boys to Madam Panicci's, just down the street, and tell her to send Joya. Wait. Tell her to come here, and bring Joya and as many other healers as she has. Go!" Now was as good of a time as any to demonstrate to Panicci that the World Was Upside Down. While Niccolo held vast respect for that great lady, she needed to be introduced to her new protector.
Turning back to the room, Nico motioned with his hand towards the captured thugs and the bystanders...including Remmel, Emiliana, and everyone else. "Drop your weapons, get over to the bar and sit down. There'll be no more killing tonight, so long as you all behave. Remmel, hop behind the bar and fix yourself and your comrades a few drinks." Nico didn't have any problems whatsoever issuing orders to Hart's former poltroon. While he couldn't predict just how the other operators in the building would react, it was a fair bet that any useful task would keep them from doing anything stupid. That...and the mutilated body of the previous bartender, minus his crossbow.
And now he needed to organize the scene. Turning, Nico picked the Laborer with the arcballistae and one other. "You two...reload and watch our guests at the bar. We'll let 'em go once we've worked over this scene." Next, Nico turned to the remainder of the Union men in the room. "Get the wounded on the tables, and get pressure on their wounds. Anyone with a shred of life left in them...get them up so we can help. You guys might need help lifting the orc..." Nico moved towards Hart and Darug, intent to determine just how much life either had left. He had intended to question Hart...but that seemed largely impossible now. There were others as well, people not allied to either Nico or Hart, fallen unconscious or bleeding like stuck pigs. "Get 'em all up on tables, and send the barmaids back for blankets, towels, whatever they can find. Move fast, amigos."
<i>Non me fare domande, e non ti dico menzogne.</i>
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
-
Guest
If only he knew that she was supposed to be there. Perhaps his hands wouldn't comfort her. He might hit her and she would've understood if she know that he was Hart's man. The naive achadhiel didn't know, but she didn't plan on asking about his affiliation. At this point, what did it matter? He hadn't stood up to protect Hart. He'd stayed put. He'd kept the girl safe. That was all she needed to know. "Where are we to go to watch people, then?" Her humor was returning. It didn't last. With the scream of Hart her attention was taken from the scarred gentleman.
Emiliana shouldn't have looked away from Remmel. She realized it the moment that she did. Darug's hand's were viscious weapons, and he used them with the ferocity of a monster. He tore into Hart's body like a wolf to a sheep. Earlier she'd acted as if she needed to be sick, and now she truely felt it. The orc filled his mouth with Hart's lower parts and Emi's almond shaped hazel eyes turned to round orbs unable to turn away from the scene. Her small pouty lips were an "O" of surprise. In her imagination much of the rest of those watching looked the same, though she had no way of knowing, her interest being completely consumed by the orc's actions - just as he consumed the ex-King's testicles.
"Remmel..." Her voice came out as a whisper. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes from the violence. Every single sinew and fibre that was torn was logged into her mind with the horrifying detail that writers are often inclined to remember things by. Words expressing the sounds of Hart, both the snapping and breaking of his bones and his vocalizations were first to come to her mind soon followed by the vivid image of his own disturbed face as he watched his masculinity devoured by the beast. One of Emiliana's neatly manicured hands went to her mouth to cover the open void that she couldn't close due to her alarm.
She couldn't remain in silence any longer. Her body rose, this time by her own power. What was often a mellow, husky voice emerged with strength behind it, driven by disgust. "By Dominicus!" She shouted, using the phrase as forward momentum to cut in before the chaos that Nico's orders would create and as she continued her voice fell back to it's more normal pitch, "Put him out of his misery." Her hazel eyes went not to Darug, but to Nico, and pointedly. She looked at Hart then, who was no doubt rapidly bleeding out through the monumental wound to his groin. It would take no longer than five burns, but it was five burns longer than anyone deserved after watching such happen to his own body. "Let him die with some dignity. Foe or otherwise." He had to have been a formidable opponent, otherwise he wouldn't have been taken out. That much Emiliana understood. The achadhiel wouldn't move to the bar until Remmel did. At this point, he was the only thing between her and the sharp end of one of the members of the infamous ULT.
Emiliana shouldn't have looked away from Remmel. She realized it the moment that she did. Darug's hand's were viscious weapons, and he used them with the ferocity of a monster. He tore into Hart's body like a wolf to a sheep. Earlier she'd acted as if she needed to be sick, and now she truely felt it. The orc filled his mouth with Hart's lower parts and Emi's almond shaped hazel eyes turned to round orbs unable to turn away from the scene. Her small pouty lips were an "O" of surprise. In her imagination much of the rest of those watching looked the same, though she had no way of knowing, her interest being completely consumed by the orc's actions - just as he consumed the ex-King's testicles.
"Remmel..." Her voice came out as a whisper. Still, she couldn't tear her eyes from the violence. Every single sinew and fibre that was torn was logged into her mind with the horrifying detail that writers are often inclined to remember things by. Words expressing the sounds of Hart, both the snapping and breaking of his bones and his vocalizations were first to come to her mind soon followed by the vivid image of his own disturbed face as he watched his masculinity devoured by the beast. One of Emiliana's neatly manicured hands went to her mouth to cover the open void that she couldn't close due to her alarm.
She couldn't remain in silence any longer. Her body rose, this time by her own power. What was often a mellow, husky voice emerged with strength behind it, driven by disgust. "By Dominicus!" She shouted, using the phrase as forward momentum to cut in before the chaos that Nico's orders would create and as she continued her voice fell back to it's more normal pitch, "Put him out of his misery." Her hazel eyes went not to Darug, but to Nico, and pointedly. She looked at Hart then, who was no doubt rapidly bleeding out through the monumental wound to his groin. It would take no longer than five burns, but it was five burns longer than anyone deserved after watching such happen to his own body. "Let him die with some dignity. Foe or otherwise." He had to have been a formidable opponent, otherwise he wouldn't have been taken out. That much Emiliana understood. The achadhiel wouldn't move to the bar until Remmel did. At this point, he was the only thing between her and the sharp end of one of the members of the infamous ULT.
Piedro nodded, his jaw setting in resolve, and he pulled his blade free, which was red from tip to hilt. He didn't pause as he left, and his voice outside barking orders could be heard from within, where everything had suddenly fallen quiet.
The moaning of the wounded was the only constant sound now. Chief among these was Hart, who with what strength remained to him had wrenched himself free of Darug's grip. The leather-coated man was now curled up in a foetal ball, whimpering as a pool of his own blood deepened and widened around him.
The orc's wound was a deep one but not a broad one, although Darug had broadened it by forcing the blade loose from Hart's hand. His intestines weren't trying to escape through the gap, but dark blood was seeping out at a worrying rate, and weakness was creeping up on him. For the moment, no one, ULT or otherwise, dared approach the two.
Remmel had no response for Emiliana this time, even his facade of indifference shattered by the brutality of Darug's endgame. He simply stood, disentangling himself from the achadhiel, and hobbled over to the bar, one hand lingering on Emi's arm and encouraging her to follow. As he stepped around Hidalgo's remains, the two of Hart's goons who had surrendered cast hateful glances at him, in between worried glances at the two ULT men employed to watch them, one of whom was loading another horrifically blunt bolt onto the stock of his arcballista.
The club-wielding man watching Harmony did not move, but the other seven Union guards who remained standing began to lift their fallen comrades onto tables. Only two men were left where they were: the man whose throat had been severed by Hastarl's knife, and the man whose guts had been spilled across the floor by Hart's sabre. Both were beyond saving. Louis, too, was in a bad state. Puck's thrown knife had hit him just below his groin, and had penetrated the femoral artery. The simple man had removed his belt and strapped it tightly around his upper thigh to try to stop the flow of blood, but much had already gushed out, and he moaned as he was lifted, his blood-soaked breeches dripping. Another man, the second crossbow-wielder, was carried in through the front door and placed carefully on his side, a knife buried in his back. The man who had been knocked down by a bullet from a sling was getting to his feet, though dazedly, and attempting to help.
The man with the mace slowly laid his weapon down before Mezatino. "Sorry, amico," he apologised. "I saw what you did, and you should talk to the boss later, but we gotta be careful, capisce? Now let's get you up onto that table." As he moved to help the young man up, he caught a whiff of the smoke from his pipe. "You wouldn't happen to have any more of that, would you?"
For the moment, Hastarl's body was left where it was, too. It was mostly unbloodied, although the adhiel would have two bruises the size of footballs the next morning if he survived, one on his chest from the mace and one on his head where the table had caught him.
In the meantime, a pale-faced, plump girl approached Niccolo. Her almost clownish makeup was running down her face and neck and into the cleft between her ample breasts, which were restrained by little more than a leather strap wound round her chest. None of the guards moved to stop her tentative approach. "I... I have some skill in healing... signore..." she stuttered between deep breaths.
The moaning of the wounded was the only constant sound now. Chief among these was Hart, who with what strength remained to him had wrenched himself free of Darug's grip. The leather-coated man was now curled up in a foetal ball, whimpering as a pool of his own blood deepened and widened around him.
The orc's wound was a deep one but not a broad one, although Darug had broadened it by forcing the blade loose from Hart's hand. His intestines weren't trying to escape through the gap, but dark blood was seeping out at a worrying rate, and weakness was creeping up on him. For the moment, no one, ULT or otherwise, dared approach the two.
Remmel had no response for Emiliana this time, even his facade of indifference shattered by the brutality of Darug's endgame. He simply stood, disentangling himself from the achadhiel, and hobbled over to the bar, one hand lingering on Emi's arm and encouraging her to follow. As he stepped around Hidalgo's remains, the two of Hart's goons who had surrendered cast hateful glances at him, in between worried glances at the two ULT men employed to watch them, one of whom was loading another horrifically blunt bolt onto the stock of his arcballista.
The club-wielding man watching Harmony did not move, but the other seven Union guards who remained standing began to lift their fallen comrades onto tables. Only two men were left where they were: the man whose throat had been severed by Hastarl's knife, and the man whose guts had been spilled across the floor by Hart's sabre. Both were beyond saving. Louis, too, was in a bad state. Puck's thrown knife had hit him just below his groin, and had penetrated the femoral artery. The simple man had removed his belt and strapped it tightly around his upper thigh to try to stop the flow of blood, but much had already gushed out, and he moaned as he was lifted, his blood-soaked breeches dripping. Another man, the second crossbow-wielder, was carried in through the front door and placed carefully on his side, a knife buried in his back. The man who had been knocked down by a bullet from a sling was getting to his feet, though dazedly, and attempting to help.
The man with the mace slowly laid his weapon down before Mezatino. "Sorry, amico," he apologised. "I saw what you did, and you should talk to the boss later, but we gotta be careful, capisce? Now let's get you up onto that table." As he moved to help the young man up, he caught a whiff of the smoke from his pipe. "You wouldn't happen to have any more of that, would you?"
For the moment, Hastarl's body was left where it was, too. It was mostly unbloodied, although the adhiel would have two bruises the size of footballs the next morning if he survived, one on his chest from the mace and one on his head where the table had caught him.
In the meantime, a pale-faced, plump girl approached Niccolo. Her almost clownish makeup was running down her face and neck and into the cleft between her ample breasts, which were restrained by little more than a leather strap wound round her chest. None of the guards moved to stop her tentative approach. "I... I have some skill in healing... signore..." she stuttered between deep breaths.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Comfortable that help was on the way...and that the scene had finally come under control...Nico had to move fast to process everyone within before he could withdraw. There were a few independent operators he needed to see...and a few former Hart thugs that needed inspected and then released...before he could rest. Before he could do anything more, his thoughts were interrupted by the plump barmaid and her offer of help.
"Then you must be their Angel, Signorina," replied Nico smoothly, inspecting the barmaid closely as if she, too, could be a planted assassin or spy. It was a silly thought, but Nico's blood was up, and his mind was somewhat scattered. His limbs were only now coming down from the adrenaline rush. "You must begin with the bleeders, and try to save their lives. If you need of anything, we will get it for you. May God smile upon your charity, Angel. Perhaps you should begin with this one..." Nico motioned towards Darug. "He is very important to me, and I will be very grateful to you if he should be saved. I will attend to the other..."
By that, Nico meant Hieronymus Hart. The gentleman was curled up in a way that filled the Merchant Lord with a sense of...pity. Perhaps not so much pity, as embarrassment. This is how the strong should fall? Emi's right. He deserves better. Nico knelt down next to Hart, his sharpened hatchet in hand and his eyes watching the large man's movements carefully, as if the thug might somehow recover and strike all in an instant.
"Hieronymus. Hieronymus..." Nico leaned down close such that his soft words were directed into Hart's ear. "No passes today, mio compadre. No passes. Tell me who sold you out, Hieronymus. Tell me Simalde's real name, and it'll all be over. Can you hear me, Hieronymus? Where is Simalde?" crooned Nico, trying desperately to lure the dying man to speak.
"Then you must be their Angel, Signorina," replied Nico smoothly, inspecting the barmaid closely as if she, too, could be a planted assassin or spy. It was a silly thought, but Nico's blood was up, and his mind was somewhat scattered. His limbs were only now coming down from the adrenaline rush. "You must begin with the bleeders, and try to save their lives. If you need of anything, we will get it for you. May God smile upon your charity, Angel. Perhaps you should begin with this one..." Nico motioned towards Darug. "He is very important to me, and I will be very grateful to you if he should be saved. I will attend to the other..."
By that, Nico meant Hieronymus Hart. The gentleman was curled up in a way that filled the Merchant Lord with a sense of...pity. Perhaps not so much pity, as embarrassment. This is how the strong should fall? Emi's right. He deserves better. Nico knelt down next to Hart, his sharpened hatchet in hand and his eyes watching the large man's movements carefully, as if the thug might somehow recover and strike all in an instant.
"Hieronymus. Hieronymus..." Nico leaned down close such that his soft words were directed into Hart's ear. "No passes today, mio compadre. No passes. Tell me who sold you out, Hieronymus. Tell me Simalde's real name, and it'll all be over. Can you hear me, Hieronymus? Where is Simalde?" crooned Nico, trying desperately to lure the dying man to speak.
<i>Non me fare domande, e non ti dico menzogne.</i>
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
-
Guest
Harmony had been delighted to finally find the weapon and was somehow disappointed when only a few moments later the action stopped. From her position under the table, she couldn't tell much of what had happened to Hart-- had been thankfully spared from actually witnessing the horrible disfigurement of her employer. She knew, of course, and was frozen solid for a moment, her heart dropping... and she rolled from under the table to find a better vantage point. For an instant, looking up at the idiot monstrosity who had killed the keystone of her personal plan for ascension. There was a moment, eyes flashing, where she considered finishing the job Hart had began, stabbing the filthy idiot to death... she could imagine how warm and rewarding the act would feel.
Rage painted her body like a veneer of red, but there was no tempest within her mind... only an astonished and stunning numbness, like she had suddenly fallen out of the world and into a new place completely seperate. It would be so easy to just slice open the man's throat, wounded as he already was.
Instead she dropped the knife and slid it toward the ULT thug, anger written across her brow as if in ink. Not at him, but at that... that... figlio di puttana orc who had with one slash of his blade and gnash of his teeth changed the power dynamics of Southbridge forever. Not only him, but his apparent master-- the man from the Council whom she barely recognized. Maybe he had been a client at some point... it scarcely mattered. She was done, her plot had been foiled by forces completely outside of her control. That numb anger... it suffused everything, giving the entire room a reddish tinge and a silent atmosphere.
She slumped into a chair near where Niccolo had moved her former employer, and stared at Hart, trying to hear the exchange of words between them, and trying desperately to catch his eye. She had never pitied Hart, and she didn't feel pity at him now... only that numbing anger, perhaps tinged with the barest sense of hope that she could find something useful in this moment of loss that might stop her freefall into nothingness and obscurity.
Rage painted her body like a veneer of red, but there was no tempest within her mind... only an astonished and stunning numbness, like she had suddenly fallen out of the world and into a new place completely seperate. It would be so easy to just slice open the man's throat, wounded as he already was.
Instead she dropped the knife and slid it toward the ULT thug, anger written across her brow as if in ink. Not at him, but at that... that... figlio di puttana orc who had with one slash of his blade and gnash of his teeth changed the power dynamics of Southbridge forever. Not only him, but his apparent master-- the man from the Council whom she barely recognized. Maybe he had been a client at some point... it scarcely mattered. She was done, her plot had been foiled by forces completely outside of her control. That numb anger... it suffused everything, giving the entire room a reddish tinge and a silent atmosphere.
She slumped into a chair near where Niccolo had moved her former employer, and stared at Hart, trying to hear the exchange of words between them, and trying desperately to catch his eye. She had never pitied Hart, and she didn't feel pity at him now... only that numbing anger, perhaps tinged with the barest sense of hope that she could find something useful in this moment of loss that might stop her freefall into nothingness and obscurity.
"Ah vaffanculo, mio amico! I understand, volente o nolente, what the boss says goes." sighed Mezatino as he allowed the mace-man to drag him to his feet.
Mezatino stood there, slightly swaying from his wounds. As he took everything in. Several people were dead, and not the simple stab wound dead, but the brutal, messy, and uncalculated dead. Even more were hurt, several on the verge of that messy death. He too looked at Hart, but not with pity or embarrassment. It was something much different, something very akin to...curious satisfaction? Yes, he was very satisfied with the way things were. However on the other hand, he was very curious about it too. Had Simalde and Hart hired him months ago as he had wished, had he been indoctrined to the family, what would have happened? Would he have stood by Puck's side, instead of stabbing it? Would the simple addition of Mezatino with his quick mind and quick blade, have made the difference in this gang war?
Then Mezatino smiled. As curious as he was, he was very satisfied with the way things were now. Sure Hart had been a very powerful man, but he was going no where. The Simalde Family ran things, but did nothing new. They were content with the way things already revolved around them. However, Nico and the ULT were big, and they were going somewhere. Mezatino had no idea where, but they were constantly doing something new and ferocious in the Mouth, and Mezatino saw nothing but a magnificent clockwork of manipulative machinations at work somewhere behind the scenes. And it all tied into Niccolo.
Mezatino was brought out of his short reverie by the urgings of his temporary holder. It was getting hot and stuffy what with all the people in the bar and the excitement. Seeing as a healer would need to see his wound better, also not to mention he didn't mind showing his body off one bit, he took a moment to remove his pin-striped shirt. Underneath he revealed a lean and toned body. Sadly his large spider-web tattoo that covered most of his back and left chest, traveling all down his left arm, was smeared all over with blood. This he could tell was his. Supported by the thug, he hobbled over to the table he had been drinking at earlier and sat himself upon it.
"You know what?" Mezatino addressed the thug who had asked for some of the hemp in his pipe. "I'll make a deal with you. I called looting rights on Puck's corpse before I was forced to surrender to my own side. So if you will go over there and snatch any small weapons, personal items, jewelry, pretty much anything that might be of value, even papers from him, and put them in this here bag. I'll let you smoke as much of this magical herb as you would like."
Mezation grinned broadly and held out his black satchel bag. "Che cosa dite?"
OOC: I'm not fluent in italian, infact I barely know any, but for record since its not in the WM Lexicon list, "Che cosa dite?" is supposed to mean "What do you say?"
Mezatino stood there, slightly swaying from his wounds. As he took everything in. Several people were dead, and not the simple stab wound dead, but the brutal, messy, and uncalculated dead. Even more were hurt, several on the verge of that messy death. He too looked at Hart, but not with pity or embarrassment. It was something much different, something very akin to...curious satisfaction? Yes, he was very satisfied with the way things were. However on the other hand, he was very curious about it too. Had Simalde and Hart hired him months ago as he had wished, had he been indoctrined to the family, what would have happened? Would he have stood by Puck's side, instead of stabbing it? Would the simple addition of Mezatino with his quick mind and quick blade, have made the difference in this gang war?
Then Mezatino smiled. As curious as he was, he was very satisfied with the way things were now. Sure Hart had been a very powerful man, but he was going no where. The Simalde Family ran things, but did nothing new. They were content with the way things already revolved around them. However, Nico and the ULT were big, and they were going somewhere. Mezatino had no idea where, but they were constantly doing something new and ferocious in the Mouth, and Mezatino saw nothing but a magnificent clockwork of manipulative machinations at work somewhere behind the scenes. And it all tied into Niccolo.
Mezatino was brought out of his short reverie by the urgings of his temporary holder. It was getting hot and stuffy what with all the people in the bar and the excitement. Seeing as a healer would need to see his wound better, also not to mention he didn't mind showing his body off one bit, he took a moment to remove his pin-striped shirt. Underneath he revealed a lean and toned body. Sadly his large spider-web tattoo that covered most of his back and left chest, traveling all down his left arm, was smeared all over with blood. This he could tell was his. Supported by the thug, he hobbled over to the table he had been drinking at earlier and sat himself upon it.
"You know what?" Mezatino addressed the thug who had asked for some of the hemp in his pipe. "I'll make a deal with you. I called looting rights on Puck's corpse before I was forced to surrender to my own side. So if you will go over there and snatch any small weapons, personal items, jewelry, pretty much anything that might be of value, even papers from him, and put them in this here bag. I'll let you smoke as much of this magical herb as you would like."
Mezation grinned broadly and held out his black satchel bag. "Che cosa dite?"
OOC: I'm not fluent in italian, infact I barely know any, but for record since its not in the WM Lexicon list, "Che cosa dite?" is supposed to mean "What do you say?"
Last edited by Mezatino on Fri Jul 27, 2007 2:46 am, edited 1 time in total.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
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Guest
Nico moved to Hart, his body leaning in close, and Emiliana followed Remmel. Her little fingers sought his outstretched arm and linked hers with his as he made his way to the bar. She let go as they reached it and those same fingers attached themselves to the counter to pull herself onto a barstool that wouldn't offer her a view of the carnage - atleast as much as she could avoid. "Barkeep, might I get a whiskey?" Her kohled eyes were filled with the need of something to take her mind away from here. What have I done? What have I helped to do?
The power in the Mouth had just changed - dramatically and Emi played the part of pawn like a champion. Stealing a glance over to Nicollo she wondered if he would make a good King in this underworld.
Trying to not be overzealous with the whiskey she only drank half when it was placed infront of her, and then looked at those who'd joined the crew at the bar.
The power in the Mouth had just changed - dramatically and Emi played the part of pawn like a champion. Stealing a glance over to Nicollo she wondered if he would make a good King in this underworld.
Trying to not be overzealous with the whiskey she only drank half when it was placed infront of her, and then looked at those who'd joined the crew at the bar.
Niccolo's inspection of the fleshy "barmaid" revealed nothing untoward. Indeed, her laughably skimpy garment was insufficient to conceal her body, let alone anything else. Of course, that didn't mean that she wasn't a spy; although that, too, could sometimes be judged from the exterior, it was inevitably more difficult. The girl showed no signs of it, which meant that if she was a spy she was a very good one, displaying all the flustered, near-hysterical concern one would expect of her. At the mention of Darug, her agitation increased. Instead of making for the orc, she simply headed for Louis, as if she hadn't heard the last part of what the Director had said, kneeling down and examining the wound to his leg. Meanwhile, the steady flow of blood from Darug's abdomen showed no signs of abating. If not attended to within the next few burns, the injury would be beyond mundane healing.
The man who'd helped Mezatino grinned. "Deal, amico. I'm no healer anyway." He took the proffered bag and made his way over to the blood-soaked corpse of Puck, near where Niccolo knelt over Hart.
The dying King of Southbridge's contorted face had already taken on a pale, ghostly aspect. This man, of a height with the Director when standing, was reduced to a quivering heap, rocking back and forward on the floor. When Niccolo spoke, his eyes, which had been scrunched closed, opened suddenly, bulging outwards. He knew who was addressing him.
"You... know... where he is," he forced out through gritted teeth. Part of his tongue, which he had bitten down on in his pain, was hanging bloodily from his mouth. He tried to spit, but the most he could manage was a derisive dribble. "You'll get... nothing... from me." These last words were barely whispered. His eyes rolled upwards, and for a brief flicker made contact with Harmony's before losing focus. He gave her nothing. The gaze of the dying Hart, usually so confident, was as desperately searching as her own.
There followed a brief lull... during which Remmel served Emiliana a whiskey, and Hastarl returned to painful consciousness. Then Madam Panicci burst into the room. Her light blue gown swirled around her as she strode, and the scent of lilacs that she brought with her was nearly enough to drown out the stench of blood and brains, at least for those in her vicinity.
Her regal stance made it clear that she'd been expecting to come out with something like "Dare I ask what is the meaning of this?" or "I trust you have a good reason for summoning me so abruptly." However, she wasn't prepared for the scene of devastation that awaited her within the Punt Den. For a flicker she lost all of her considerable self-control, and her mouth dropped open. Then that iron regime snapped back into place, and she turned to the girls that had accompanied her. "Sarah, Carmen, Vittoria, see to the others. Joya, look to signore Hart." The blonde-haired, voluptuous achadhiel was the last to arrive through the doorway. Her perfect form, lacking only in a left leg below the knee, was supported on one by a crutch, and she was breathing deeply.
One of the girls, a tall brunette with a toned physique accentuated by the flimsy shift she was wearing, so inappropriate for the gory task ahead of her, moved to Mezatino's side, hesitating as she reached him.
The man who'd helped Mezatino grinned. "Deal, amico. I'm no healer anyway." He took the proffered bag and made his way over to the blood-soaked corpse of Puck, near where Niccolo knelt over Hart.
The dying King of Southbridge's contorted face had already taken on a pale, ghostly aspect. This man, of a height with the Director when standing, was reduced to a quivering heap, rocking back and forward on the floor. When Niccolo spoke, his eyes, which had been scrunched closed, opened suddenly, bulging outwards. He knew who was addressing him.
"You... know... where he is," he forced out through gritted teeth. Part of his tongue, which he had bitten down on in his pain, was hanging bloodily from his mouth. He tried to spit, but the most he could manage was a derisive dribble. "You'll get... nothing... from me." These last words were barely whispered. His eyes rolled upwards, and for a brief flicker made contact with Harmony's before losing focus. He gave her nothing. The gaze of the dying Hart, usually so confident, was as desperately searching as her own.
There followed a brief lull... during which Remmel served Emiliana a whiskey, and Hastarl returned to painful consciousness. Then Madam Panicci burst into the room. Her light blue gown swirled around her as she strode, and the scent of lilacs that she brought with her was nearly enough to drown out the stench of blood and brains, at least for those in her vicinity.
Her regal stance made it clear that she'd been expecting to come out with something like "Dare I ask what is the meaning of this?" or "I trust you have a good reason for summoning me so abruptly." However, she wasn't prepared for the scene of devastation that awaited her within the Punt Den. For a flicker she lost all of her considerable self-control, and her mouth dropped open. Then that iron regime snapped back into place, and she turned to the girls that had accompanied her. "Sarah, Carmen, Vittoria, see to the others. Joya, look to signore Hart." The blonde-haired, voluptuous achadhiel was the last to arrive through the doorway. Her perfect form, lacking only in a left leg below the knee, was supported on one by a crutch, and she was breathing deeply.
One of the girls, a tall brunette with a toned physique accentuated by the flimsy shift she was wearing, so inappropriate for the gory task ahead of her, moved to Mezatino's side, hesitating as she reached him.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Mezatino's grin only grew broader and a hearty chuckle escaped his throat, as the man readily agreed to his proposition. The man waisted no time at all in snatching up the satchel to procure the items that Mezatino wished for.
Mezatino had met a few orcs in his life. And sure they were ugly, smelly at times, and vicious as the Nether; but some of them were pretty descent chaps. So when the pale whore, passed up a dying Darug, Mezatino let a quiet "Brutta! escape his lips.
He didn't hear whatever it was that Niccolo had asked Heironymous, but he heard the sick and wet gurgles that the man made in reply, around his half shorn tongue. It was sad how the man look around pitifully as if searching for that last life line, before he passed on. Mezatino still felt satisfied though.
He missed Madam Panicci and her associates enter, because he had noticed the achadhiel that had attacked him was slowly regaining consciousness. It made him wary, he nearly drew his knife from the holster he had laid out on the table. Then he saw her; and suddenly he had rethought his actions and was in a jovial mood.
He leaned forward, "Mezatino Engoulvente, at your service. May I inquire as to what your name is, mio amore?" reaching to take her hand and kiss its back. However she hesitated and faltered, ruining his charming introduction. Looking down at himself he was very unsure as to why she had stopped just out of reach. Either way he wanted to cut the tension and he knew just how to do it. Tilting his head to the side he smiled at her inquisitively. "You hesitate! Is it this mess of blood and open wounds? Or is it the tattoo on my skin? I promise you the spider in the web isn't real, he won't bite!" He leaned back and had a nice chuckle to himself again. Then he grinned his broad charming grin at her as his eyes lit up with the suave sparkle. "Or am I just that good looking?"
Mezatino had met a few orcs in his life. And sure they were ugly, smelly at times, and vicious as the Nether; but some of them were pretty descent chaps. So when the pale whore, passed up a dying Darug, Mezatino let a quiet "Brutta! escape his lips.
He didn't hear whatever it was that Niccolo had asked Heironymous, but he heard the sick and wet gurgles that the man made in reply, around his half shorn tongue. It was sad how the man look around pitifully as if searching for that last life line, before he passed on. Mezatino still felt satisfied though.
He missed Madam Panicci and her associates enter, because he had noticed the achadhiel that had attacked him was slowly regaining consciousness. It made him wary, he nearly drew his knife from the holster he had laid out on the table. Then he saw her; and suddenly he had rethought his actions and was in a jovial mood.
He leaned forward, "Mezatino Engoulvente, at your service. May I inquire as to what your name is, mio amore?" reaching to take her hand and kiss its back. However she hesitated and faltered, ruining his charming introduction. Looking down at himself he was very unsure as to why she had stopped just out of reach. Either way he wanted to cut the tension and he knew just how to do it. Tilting his head to the side he smiled at her inquisitively. "You hesitate! Is it this mess of blood and open wounds? Or is it the tattoo on my skin? I promise you the spider in the web isn't real, he won't bite!" He leaned back and had a nice chuckle to himself again. Then he grinned his broad charming grin at her as his eyes lit up with the suave sparkle. "Or am I just that good looking?"
Last edited by Mezatino on Mon Jul 30, 2007 1:58 am, edited 2 times in total.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
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Hastarl Ras'diath
- Simaldi hand
- Posts: 100
- Joined: Thu Sep 07, 2006 8:07 pm
- Location: Rogue d'Ancourt
All Hastarl remembered was a horrible pain in his chest after the mace had struck him. Then flying backwards and into the hard surface, striking it with his head. Then nothing. Until now when he slowly became conscious. Why am I on a table? He opened his eyes wide by the thought of the fight but the sight calmed him as he realized the fight was over. He closed his eyes just as sudden. He hadn't a clue, and wasn't able to see just yet, how it had ended. Did we win? He kept thinking again and again. A quiet moaning sound escaped his lips as he once again felt the pain in the back of his head.
For half a burn he just lied there breathing deeply to regain strength to get an overview of what had happened. Slowly opening his eyes to get a look around. Not far from him could he see the young man he had stabbed in the leg. He survived. That wasn't a good sign. He was on the opposite side. But Hastarl had survived too. He wondered a bit about that and wasn't a step closer to what had happened. I guess there won't be a deal after all.
Then his eyes went looking for Hart. If he was victorious there was hope. However, he couldn't see him anywhere. Unfortunately Hastarl was positioned to high to see Hart on the floor and became anxious. What happened to him? Realizing he wouldn't be able to anything else in this position he closed his eyes again, and laid back at the table to regain and think backwards. What could possibly had happened. Anxiety crawled in upon him as he thought about what would happen to him if Hart had fallen. It didn't look good.
For half a burn he just lied there breathing deeply to regain strength to get an overview of what had happened. Slowly opening his eyes to get a look around. Not far from him could he see the young man he had stabbed in the leg. He survived. That wasn't a good sign. He was on the opposite side. But Hastarl had survived too. He wondered a bit about that and wasn't a step closer to what had happened. I guess there won't be a deal after all.
Then his eyes went looking for Hart. If he was victorious there was hope. However, he couldn't see him anywhere. Unfortunately Hastarl was positioned to high to see Hart on the floor and became anxious. What happened to him? Realizing he wouldn't be able to anything else in this position he closed his eyes again, and laid back at the table to regain and think backwards. What could possibly had happened. Anxiety crawled in upon him as he thought about what would happen to him if Hart had fallen. It didn't look good.
[i]"Abandon the Search for Truth... Settle for a Good Fantasy"[/i]
Quote [url=http://www.rpggateway.com]RPGGateway[/url]
Quote [url=http://www.rpggateway.com]RPGGateway[/url]
-
Guest
Harmony's eyes turned sharply upward once she realized that Hieronymous had nothing useful to offer her, privately cursing herself for her dependency on him... and that's what it had been: dependency. The woman had been living a life she didn't want to live for weeks now, desperately seeking an opportunity to rise up to her real potential. Now her ticket up and out of the situation was gone.
What was she to do now? She doubted she could infiltrate the Nashorn on her own, no matter how many books on Magickal Technology or Engineering she read, how versed she became. That was the deathblow in all of this: despite her independent streak, the woman had needed Hart's help. Her intention had been striking out on her own, but now she was left with nothing.
That numb anger settled over her mind, and she stopped paying very much to the attention, alternately looking at Remmel (why was he preoccupied with that woman... and why did the woman look familiar?), and at Hart's body. Her eyes even rested on the apparent leader of the new arrivals, pondering where she had seen him before. Certainly she would remember if it were important, or had been in recent weeks.
As Panicci's women entered, Harmony smiled. Whores as medical assistants... somehow it seemed the perfect end to this evening. The icing on the pastry. She'd look at the woman who was set on attending to Hart, the beginnings of a plan dawned in her mind.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" the woman only had one leg, and Harm ventured a guess that the whore would take all the help she could. Besides, she couldn't simply sit here in impotent fury, could she?
What was she to do now? She doubted she could infiltrate the Nashorn on her own, no matter how many books on Magickal Technology or Engineering she read, how versed she became. That was the deathblow in all of this: despite her independent streak, the woman had needed Hart's help. Her intention had been striking out on her own, but now she was left with nothing.
That numb anger settled over her mind, and she stopped paying very much to the attention, alternately looking at Remmel (why was he preoccupied with that woman... and why did the woman look familiar?), and at Hart's body. Her eyes even rested on the apparent leader of the new arrivals, pondering where she had seen him before. Certainly she would remember if it were important, or had been in recent weeks.
As Panicci's women entered, Harmony smiled. Whores as medical assistants... somehow it seemed the perfect end to this evening. The icing on the pastry. She'd look at the woman who was set on attending to Hart, the beginnings of a plan dawned in her mind.
"Is there anything I can do to help?" the woman only had one leg, and Harm ventured a guess that the whore would take all the help she could. Besides, she couldn't simply sit here in impotent fury, could she?
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Guest
Emiliana was quite content to sit exactly where she was - as an innocent bystander. She didn't feel the need to join in and help the healing whores as they entered, though she did notice that they were here. That in itself was a sign to the power of Nicollo. Luca had warned his daughter of Panicci's and the Madam of the house. You stay away from there. I'll have no whore of a daughter. Come back home. Never go to them. She had listened. She'd gone home during her time of need, but here she was again.
She didn't need a mistress anyway. If she wanted that she could always go back home where her stepmother would happily order her around and sell her off to the first man who'd take her. No, she was much better off here right where she was sitting. From here the view wasn't so bad... it atleast wasn't barred.
It was perhaps that realization that brought some of her humor back - and brought the color into her pretty little face. "Well, I'd say that I picked the right side." She commented to Remmel the next time he drew closer and she gave him a non-challant smile. "If we were betting I'd have won, non?"
She didn't need a mistress anyway. If she wanted that she could always go back home where her stepmother would happily order her around and sell her off to the first man who'd take her. No, she was much better off here right where she was sitting. From here the view wasn't so bad... it atleast wasn't barred.
It was perhaps that realization that brought some of her humor back - and brought the color into her pretty little face. "Well, I'd say that I picked the right side." She commented to Remmel the next time he drew closer and she gave him a non-challant smile. "If we were betting I'd have won, non?"
Arrivederci, amigo.
Reaching out for Hart's cold, lifeless hands, Nico selected a finger...hopefully one upon which a ring might be kept...and he would remove it, stowing it into his coat pocket amid a wrap of his own kerchiefs. A message for Simalde. Second, he would need an ear...which he would cut away and store in another pocket. A message for Finn. The vendetta began with a series of very dangerous messages...and it would end the same. After harvesting these, Nico would sift through the man's pockets for letters or documents, expecting to find his own summons bringing Hart here tonight. It wasn't that important, but the man might be carrying other documents that might be interesting as well.
When complete, Niccolo stood and turned his bemused eyes upon the newly-arrived Madam Panicci. Bemused. I've already met him. There were precious few people Niccolo had met...precious few Hart would know about, anyway...that could be Simalde, save for Nico's most likely suspect. Lo Russo. Thankfully, Niccolo had already sent a spy to guard Simalde's every action already...as well as sending the city's legions to arrest the gentleman. If that didn't work, a few trophies from Hart's cooling corpse would no doubt be adequate. Simalde...Lo Russo...it didn't matter. Tomorrow morningtide, he would wake to find himself nothing.
Blinking as if to awaken from a slumber, Nico cast his eyes about and watched Panicci's healing girls spread out among the wounded. She would need managed, but delicately. "Salute, Signora Panicci. I apologize for my untimely summons, but it became necessary. You will see to it that the orc lives. If he dies, you all will be buried with him," announced the Director, his expression growing dark and impatient as tiny stains of blood soaked their way through his coat pockets to shine in the flickering light. So much for delicacy. She will understand, of course. Madam Panicci is a survivor.
The next step was to determine what to do with the other survivors. Remmel would be a good start, given that he wasn't injured at all and would need no attending. Nico hadn't attended to the patrons overmuch until now...he had his own concerns, of course...and now he would need to inspect and "clean" the corpses, the surviving operators, and then arrange the new owner of the 'Den. I wonder if Emi wants the place? She's too good for it. Maybe Darug? Or Remmel, I suppose. Moving towards the bar, Nico watched Remmel closely. "Thank you, Rems. I'm sorry for the mess, but I'm sure none of this comes as any surprise to you, non?" began Nico with a backward wave, casually disregarding Emiliana to maintain her cover.
Reaching out for Hart's cold, lifeless hands, Nico selected a finger...hopefully one upon which a ring might be kept...and he would remove it, stowing it into his coat pocket amid a wrap of his own kerchiefs. A message for Simalde. Second, he would need an ear...which he would cut away and store in another pocket. A message for Finn. The vendetta began with a series of very dangerous messages...and it would end the same. After harvesting these, Nico would sift through the man's pockets for letters or documents, expecting to find his own summons bringing Hart here tonight. It wasn't that important, but the man might be carrying other documents that might be interesting as well.
When complete, Niccolo stood and turned his bemused eyes upon the newly-arrived Madam Panicci. Bemused. I've already met him. There were precious few people Niccolo had met...precious few Hart would know about, anyway...that could be Simalde, save for Nico's most likely suspect. Lo Russo. Thankfully, Niccolo had already sent a spy to guard Simalde's every action already...as well as sending the city's legions to arrest the gentleman. If that didn't work, a few trophies from Hart's cooling corpse would no doubt be adequate. Simalde...Lo Russo...it didn't matter. Tomorrow morningtide, he would wake to find himself nothing.
Blinking as if to awaken from a slumber, Nico cast his eyes about and watched Panicci's healing girls spread out among the wounded. She would need managed, but delicately. "Salute, Signora Panicci. I apologize for my untimely summons, but it became necessary. You will see to it that the orc lives. If he dies, you all will be buried with him," announced the Director, his expression growing dark and impatient as tiny stains of blood soaked their way through his coat pockets to shine in the flickering light. So much for delicacy. She will understand, of course. Madam Panicci is a survivor.
The next step was to determine what to do with the other survivors. Remmel would be a good start, given that he wasn't injured at all and would need no attending. Nico hadn't attended to the patrons overmuch until now...he had his own concerns, of course...and now he would need to inspect and "clean" the corpses, the surviving operators, and then arrange the new owner of the 'Den. I wonder if Emi wants the place? She's too good for it. Maybe Darug? Or Remmel, I suppose. Moving towards the bar, Nico watched Remmel closely. "Thank you, Rems. I'm sorry for the mess, but I'm sure none of this comes as any surprise to you, non?" began Nico with a backward wave, casually disregarding Emiliana to maintain her cover.
<i>Non me fare domande, e non ti dico menzogne.</i>
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
(OOC: This thread is now passable for Niccolo, Emiliana, Harmony and Mezatino, although it will not necessarily stay that way, depending on your actions.)
In Hart's various pockets were a number of documents, some crumpled and others neatly preserved. One pocket, curiously, held nothing more than an ear, wrapped clumsily in a handkerchief. Given that one severed ear looked much like another, Niccolo may or may not have recognised it as the pale left ear of his one-time associate Finley Ward.
Joya glanced only briefly at the hand hanging by a bloody thread from Hart's arm before shifting her attention to the terrible wound to his groin, which caused her to shudder despite herself. At the sight of his mangled member - one that the beautiful prostitute had endured inside her many times - and his ruined, empty scrotum, Joya knew that Hart would never again be the man he was before, but still she continued her examination. She felt no love for Hart, but he was, or had been, her protector. Nevertheless, it took her only a few flickers to make her assessment. Glancing up at Harmony, she shook her head, and swallowed. "No. He's... beyond our help."
The young woman standing over Mezatino initially looked down at him with an expression halfway between disgust and disbelief. He's lying there bleeding from Dominicus knows how many wounds, and he's trying to chat me up? She couldn't stop a strange smile from flitting onto her face as she considered her response. Swiftly drawing a vial of alcohol from the bag she held, Vittoria dabbed some onto a clean cloth, tore the clothing away from the long, jagged wound on his arm and swabbed it with the cloth, which stung like the Nether. "Let's get that clean," she muttered as she worked.
Another of the whores was attempting to help Darug. Guiding the orc into a supine position upon a table, she withdrew a massive strip of bandage and wrapped it tightly around his broad midriff, keeping a gentle pressure on his stomach. However, blood continued to seep through and stain the outside of the dressing. The girl looked around anxiously. "Joya..."
The call was echoed by Madam Panicci herself. "Joya, attend to the orc."
The blonde achadhiel raised herself painfully from her position over Hart, and her eyes flashed as she beheld the creature who had cost her the use of her limb. A massive beast, roaring as he ripped me asunder, his face split into a gleeful grin... "I will NOT!" she spat. "This is the faccia di stronzo who destroyed my leg. I will not save him. He deserves to die!"
Madam Panicci glanced despairingly from Joya to Niccolo, her eyes pleading, as the beautiful girl repeated herself. "I will not. He can go to the Nether!"
Meanwhile, Remmel replied to Emi's comment, a little heaviness slipping into his normally pleasant tone. "Oh, but I think we were betting, mio divina. All or nothing. And so far we are both winning..." He trailed off as the Director approached him.
"It was a matter of time," he responded neutrally, looking frankly up at the much taller Niccolo. "If not you, then someone else woulda done it eventually. It was a high-risk business we were in." Conscious of his position, he said no more, not wanting to overstep his bounds with the man upon whom his life rested.
In Hart's various pockets were a number of documents, some crumpled and others neatly preserved. One pocket, curiously, held nothing more than an ear, wrapped clumsily in a handkerchief. Given that one severed ear looked much like another, Niccolo may or may not have recognised it as the pale left ear of his one-time associate Finley Ward.
Joya glanced only briefly at the hand hanging by a bloody thread from Hart's arm before shifting her attention to the terrible wound to his groin, which caused her to shudder despite herself. At the sight of his mangled member - one that the beautiful prostitute had endured inside her many times - and his ruined, empty scrotum, Joya knew that Hart would never again be the man he was before, but still she continued her examination. She felt no love for Hart, but he was, or had been, her protector. Nevertheless, it took her only a few flickers to make her assessment. Glancing up at Harmony, she shook her head, and swallowed. "No. He's... beyond our help."
The young woman standing over Mezatino initially looked down at him with an expression halfway between disgust and disbelief. He's lying there bleeding from Dominicus knows how many wounds, and he's trying to chat me up? She couldn't stop a strange smile from flitting onto her face as she considered her response. Swiftly drawing a vial of alcohol from the bag she held, Vittoria dabbed some onto a clean cloth, tore the clothing away from the long, jagged wound on his arm and swabbed it with the cloth, which stung like the Nether. "Let's get that clean," she muttered as she worked.
Another of the whores was attempting to help Darug. Guiding the orc into a supine position upon a table, she withdrew a massive strip of bandage and wrapped it tightly around his broad midriff, keeping a gentle pressure on his stomach. However, blood continued to seep through and stain the outside of the dressing. The girl looked around anxiously. "Joya..."
The call was echoed by Madam Panicci herself. "Joya, attend to the orc."
The blonde achadhiel raised herself painfully from her position over Hart, and her eyes flashed as she beheld the creature who had cost her the use of her limb. A massive beast, roaring as he ripped me asunder, his face split into a gleeful grin... "I will NOT!" she spat. "This is the faccia di stronzo who destroyed my leg. I will not save him. He deserves to die!"
Madam Panicci glanced despairingly from Joya to Niccolo, her eyes pleading, as the beautiful girl repeated herself. "I will not. He can go to the Nether!"
Meanwhile, Remmel replied to Emi's comment, a little heaviness slipping into his normally pleasant tone. "Oh, but I think we were betting, mio divina. All or nothing. And so far we are both winning..." He trailed off as the Director approached him.
"It was a matter of time," he responded neutrally, looking frankly up at the much taller Niccolo. "If not you, then someone else woulda done it eventually. It was a high-risk business we were in." Conscious of his position, he said no more, not wanting to overstep his bounds with the man upon whom his life rested.
[size=84][i]"She told me I had too much to dream last night..."[/i] - [i]Apprentice of the Universe[/i], Pure Reason Revolution
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
Avatar by [url=http://pixieface.deviantart.com]Liz Green[/url][/size]
"Haha, yeah I get it." Mezatino quipped at Vittoria. "You're probably thinking 'Who's this cazzo think he is? Covered in blood and trying to talk his way up my petticoat!' Am I right?" He looked at her with a cocked eyebrow, and a smirk.
However he took on a more somber expression as he continued. "Well, I will have you know that I am not some fucking two lance thug. I know I may not look my best at the moment, but this is war at the moment." He paused to smile and straighten his back proudly. "In fact I am a very classy figure of the illicit world. Perfecting it as I..." Mezatino's words were cut short as the alcohol set his nerves on fire. His teeth clenching up and he was short of breath.
He wanted dearly to forget the stinging. Picking up his drooped head, he stared at the back of the man getting his items as if it would blurt out what the man had found. Damn I hope he finds me some good loot. Then his attention was garnered elsewhere, as Joya flat out refused to assist Darug's injuries. Mezatino had to have a bit of a laugh to himself, and so he did. Looking back at the woman before him, he matched that strange smile that was still held on her face.
However he took on a more somber expression as he continued. "Well, I will have you know that I am not some fucking two lance thug. I know I may not look my best at the moment, but this is war at the moment." He paused to smile and straighten his back proudly. "In fact I am a very classy figure of the illicit world. Perfecting it as I..." Mezatino's words were cut short as the alcohol set his nerves on fire. His teeth clenching up and he was short of breath.
He wanted dearly to forget the stinging. Picking up his drooped head, he stared at the back of the man getting his items as if it would blurt out what the man had found. Damn I hope he finds me some good loot. Then his attention was garnered elsewhere, as Joya flat out refused to assist Darug's injuries. Mezatino had to have a bit of a laugh to himself, and so he did. Looking back at the woman before him, he matched that strange smile that was still held on her face.
Last edited by Mezatino on Sun Aug 05, 2007 1:52 am, edited 1 time in total.
Let me tell you this, the older you do get the more rules they're gonna try to get you to follow. You just gotta keep livin' man, L-I-V-I-N.
DAZED & CONFUSED
DAZED & CONFUSED
"It is," replied Nico amicably, fingering the nameless ear he had found on Hart with some distraction. He was casually aware of the conflict between Panicci and Joya behind him, a conflict born from Joya's very understandable hatred of the orc. Her problem, decided Nico, casting a dark glance towards the Grand Madam to emphasize his unyielding requirement. Of course, Nico had no intentions of actually making good on his threat...but he was nothing if not an accomplished liar.
"The Den must stay open, Remmel...to service the specialists that call upon it." Nico motioned towards some of the more obvious operators in the room, operators such as Mezatino and Hastarl who could be nothing else. "Hart's passing was unavoidable...he became involved in something beyond him, and he had grown too intractable to adapt...but there is little reason we cannot try to establish a new sense of order in Southbridge. I want you to take over management of the place, if you will do so. It will mean a larger share of house incomes, and of course, some security. If you refuse such an arrangement, you are welcome to walk away with your lady and take your chances on your own. I will not pursue the matter further."
Your lady, Nico had added, motioning towards Emiliana. There were precious few ladies in the city that Nico might trust to maintain such a delicate con...and thankfully, Emiliana was top among them. Indeed, Remmel would accept Nico's offer...if for no other reason than to diffuse his own danger for tonight. It might also be possible that he would run immediately to his nearest ally or associate, or potentially organize the broken remnants of Hart's associates into some measure of revenge. With Emiliana close by his side, his efforts would be beyond futile...and it could potentially arm Emiliana to take control of Southbridge herself. Of course, it all depended on just how well the achadhiel could pull off the role.
"The Den must stay open, Remmel...to service the specialists that call upon it." Nico motioned towards some of the more obvious operators in the room, operators such as Mezatino and Hastarl who could be nothing else. "Hart's passing was unavoidable...he became involved in something beyond him, and he had grown too intractable to adapt...but there is little reason we cannot try to establish a new sense of order in Southbridge. I want you to take over management of the place, if you will do so. It will mean a larger share of house incomes, and of course, some security. If you refuse such an arrangement, you are welcome to walk away with your lady and take your chances on your own. I will not pursue the matter further."
Your lady, Nico had added, motioning towards Emiliana. There were precious few ladies in the city that Nico might trust to maintain such a delicate con...and thankfully, Emiliana was top among them. Indeed, Remmel would accept Nico's offer...if for no other reason than to diffuse his own danger for tonight. It might also be possible that he would run immediately to his nearest ally or associate, or potentially organize the broken remnants of Hart's associates into some measure of revenge. With Emiliana close by his side, his efforts would be beyond futile...and it could potentially arm Emiliana to take control of Southbridge herself. Of course, it all depended on just how well the achadhiel could pull off the role.
<i>Non me fare domande, e non ti dico menzogne.</i>
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"
"ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies"