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Making the Mark
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Making the Mark
by Mael Feu Tue Oct 27, 2009 4:51 pm
(Okay, here’s the deal, I’m not marking this post as closed because the setting is public. But if you choose to play, I go by a “no instant fix rule’ as well as to play is to consent. If you’re the type who never wants anything to happen to your character then this thread isn’t for you.)
"God dammit Charles, what the Hell do you think you're doing?"
"Don't you try to blame this shit on me Lloyd, I told you to f*cking wait for Mael!" Charles shouldered the heavy battle-axe over his left. The torrential rain that had been going on for the past twenty odd minutes or so washed the blood from the blade and filtered it out around their feet and down the cobblestones. No one was about at the moment to catch sight of the two rough faced, weather beaten men standing in a back alley over a now decapitated corpse with lacerations on his chest. "You couldn't do your damn job so I had to do your shit for you."
The job referred to the dead man on the ground. He had been their next target and the alley behind his shop a death zone.
He posed as a baker, had the sweet rolls out on display every morning with the brick oven piping out enticing smells. Pies, muffins, cakes, everything for a pastry sweet tooth lived in that mans store. It was a perfect cover. To bad he was a smuggler and weapons manufacturer; one of the two main men responsible for the black market guns that were vanquishing the undead with a single shot. Vampires, ghouls, Lycans, fiends and more of that lot were turning up over Rhydin and nearby realms in ashen piles. Though this man didn't make the substance that killed the creatures his weapons were the only ones so far that were able to handle it. His weapons went to whoever paid the most money, all transactions done through a one way teleport system. The government knew of the man and the weapons yet they didn't do anything to stop the distribution. Crime was crime and as long as it didn't interfere to much with the money in their pockets it was of little concern. That's when The Morilec syndicate (Mael's 'family') got involved and dispensed their own judgment upon the beings of the land.
But first, they had to get their hands on a weapon.
Time and effort had been put into practice, people had been killed until finally they acquired one. Why didn't they get one like everyone else? Good question.
The weapon, which looked like an ordinary handgun, had been analyzed. Taken apart and stripped to the core there was nothing to suggest that the gun was anything but ordinary. What they needed was the creator.
Alive.
Kidnapping for a member of the syndicate was considered a trivial matter so as such they sent two rookies - Charles and Lloyd - to do the task and secure the area and bring the man to headquarters. If they wanted him alive, then why was he dead?
"Does he look alive to you!" Lloyd shouted to Charles as he punched the needed numbers on his phone to send another text message. "We were suppose to bring his ass back alive, not in a body-"
"Stop being a bitch and get your ass over here to help me move him." Of to the side. Charles had heard what sounded like footsteps at the end of the alley and figured it was a person who was seeking shelter from the storm. Even so, the last thing they needed was for someone coming in and questioning what happened.
"Quietly," Charles cautioned, "Something’s moving out there." Where was Mael? It has been a few minutes since Llyod sent the text and there wasn't any response.
When the text came it happened to be 3 am and Mael was in his room at the Starry Mist. No, he wasn't sleep for he knew what was going down tonight and if anything went wrong he was going to be called. Didn't matter how many times he told them not to bother him they did.
He had been leaning against his wall and cursed when his phone vibrated and flashed in his pocket. A simple job yet whoever they sent to do it had f*cked up. The reason why they didn't get a response right away from him was because he didn't feel like responding. In fact, with the message saying that the man was dead Mael considered stripping down and going to bed. Why should he go out in the rain to clean up the mess?
But he'd go. He didn't feel like sleeping and maybe he'd have a bit of fun. He wore his cavalryman shell jacket ad he left his room, two buttons pushed on his phone before it vanished in his pocket. He didn't bother to look and see if anyone was in the hall, he only started to the steps to go down and out.
----------------------------------------------------------------
"God dammit Charles, what the Hell do you think you're doing?"
"Don't you try to blame this shit on me Lloyd, I told you to f*cking wait for Mael!" Charles shouldered the heavy battle-axe over his left. The torrential rain that had been going on for the past twenty odd minutes or so washed the blood from the blade and filtered it out around their feet and down the cobblestones. No one was about at the moment to catch sight of the two rough faced, weather beaten men standing in a back alley over a now decapitated corpse with lacerations on his chest. "You couldn't do your damn job so I had to do your shit for you."
The job referred to the dead man on the ground. He had been their next target and the alley behind his shop a death zone.
He posed as a baker, had the sweet rolls out on display every morning with the brick oven piping out enticing smells. Pies, muffins, cakes, everything for a pastry sweet tooth lived in that mans store. It was a perfect cover. To bad he was a smuggler and weapons manufacturer; one of the two main men responsible for the black market guns that were vanquishing the undead with a single shot. Vampires, ghouls, Lycans, fiends and more of that lot were turning up over Rhydin and nearby realms in ashen piles. Though this man didn't make the substance that killed the creatures his weapons were the only ones so far that were able to handle it. His weapons went to whoever paid the most money, all transactions done through a one way teleport system. The government knew of the man and the weapons yet they didn't do anything to stop the distribution. Crime was crime and as long as it didn't interfere to much with the money in their pockets it was of little concern. That's when The Morilec syndicate (Mael's 'family') got involved and dispensed their own judgment upon the beings of the land.
But first, they had to get their hands on a weapon.
Time and effort had been put into practice, people had been killed until finally they acquired one. Why didn't they get one like everyone else? Good question.
The weapon, which looked like an ordinary handgun, had been analyzed. Taken apart and stripped to the core there was nothing to suggest that the gun was anything but ordinary. What they needed was the creator.
Alive.
Kidnapping for a member of the syndicate was considered a trivial matter so as such they sent two rookies - Charles and Lloyd - to do the task and secure the area and bring the man to headquarters. If they wanted him alive, then why was he dead?
"Does he look alive to you!" Lloyd shouted to Charles as he punched the needed numbers on his phone to send another text message. "We were suppose to bring his ass back alive, not in a body-"
"Stop being a bitch and get your ass over here to help me move him." Of to the side. Charles had heard what sounded like footsteps at the end of the alley and figured it was a person who was seeking shelter from the storm. Even so, the last thing they needed was for someone coming in and questioning what happened.
"Quietly," Charles cautioned, "Something’s moving out there." Where was Mael? It has been a few minutes since Llyod sent the text and there wasn't any response.
When the text came it happened to be 3 am and Mael was in his room at the Starry Mist. No, he wasn't sleep for he knew what was going down tonight and if anything went wrong he was going to be called. Didn't matter how many times he told them not to bother him they did.
He had been leaning against his wall and cursed when his phone vibrated and flashed in his pocket. A simple job yet whoever they sent to do it had f*cked up. The reason why they didn't get a response right away from him was because he didn't feel like responding. In fact, with the message saying that the man was dead Mael considered stripping down and going to bed. Why should he go out in the rain to clean up the mess?
But he'd go. He didn't feel like sleeping and maybe he'd have a bit of fun. He wore his cavalryman shell jacket ad he left his room, two buttons pushed on his phone before it vanished in his pocket. He didn't bother to look and see if anyone was in the hall, he only started to the steps to go down and out.
Mael Feu- Posts : 39
Join date : 2009-07-22 -
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