"I don't know how I feel about all of this."

It is a rare thing to hear Oleaae Bleier's voice waver-- she is a headstrong woman, one who has seen many years of life and many years of death, each scar that mars her weathered skin earned through bloody commission after bloody commission, her title pried from the jaws of threatened defeat. Nervousness is not a word in her vernacular. It is not an emotion Askr has ever thought her capable of, and it is not what seeps into her words now, but something close to it threads its way through the syllables, a tension pulling the needle back until it all hangs tight.

She does not sit as she usually does, with her feet kicked up upon the nearest surface, cradling wine loosely in one hand-- no, now she sits tensely, knees apart, spine angled forward with a glass of whiskey hanging from her calloused fingers, her brow furrowed. There is... something indiscernible in those silver eyes of hers as she angles the glass, honey colored liquid sloshing with it.

"It is what the commissioner requested," Askr says simply, because it is true, dragging a cloth over the blade of his sword for the fourth time. The man who had given them this bounty had specifically asked for the swordsman who wielded his blade like an extension of himself, like a dance partner-- fair of face and cruel of hand. "Glass Prince," they call him now, apparently-- for all his beauty, all the signs of delicateness, there is a danger to be found. It is a strange name. He is not sure what to make of it, still.

"Doesn't mean I like it, kid," Oleaae sighs, leaning back just so, her arm following with her as she lifts her glass to her lips. The whiskey disappears in one gulp, and she sets the glass aside like the taste hardly fazes her-- it likely does not. Such things rarely do. "You're good and all, but... a mark like this is above your pay grade."

Askr tilts his head at that, his expression blank save for a flicker of confusion dimly burning in his eyes. "They said it was suited to my capabilities."

"You've only been with us for a couple of months. I don't care what kind of fancy epithets they're giving you, I still think an assassination is a bit much for you."

She speaks simply, matter-of-factly, no bite behind her words, but there's a finality there, as though she expects there to be no further argument, as if this is all up to her, in the end. It is not, ultimately-- this is a contract, and it is not as though she can undo it all with a few words of concern. Her agreement is already set in stone.

It had all started with a stranger, as it always does: a man dressed in finer clothing, the kind Askr has quickly learned you purchase through blood instead of mere gold, one with an easy smile and blank eyes. He spoke in a light and airy cadence, sickly sweet and cloying, lavishing flattery upon Captain Oleeae until she flatly told him to stop and get to the point-- and that smile had warped, amber eyes brightening as he slapped a piece of parchment down into her hands, one with a name and a few sparse bits of information: Zarius Rha'Oriyn.

"I need him gone," he'd said simply, that sweet tone never faltering. "I don't care how it's done-- fast, slow, brutal or kind, I just want it done, and I'd like the one they call the Glass Prince to do it."

And that had been that, however much doubt had welled up in Oleaae's eyes.

Now it overflows.

"It is a contract, Captain," Askr says quietly, simply, lifting his sword to observe it one more time before returning it to its sheathe. He rises to his feet with ease, giving her one last blank look. "It is merely what I must do."

He hears her sigh as he turns around, the sound heavy with what must be annoyance, though the air feels... different as silence lingers between them. He does not think much of it, merely heading toward the door, ensuring that everything is in place as it should be, but his hand only makes it to the handle before Oleaae speaks for a final time.

"Just... be careful, okay, kid? Make sure you come back."

❃⚜❃

He had not expected this bounty to take him out to the Deadwood.

The bits and pieces of information Askr had managed to glean about Zarius Rha'Oriyn revealed little, but he knew the following: he owns a bar in Darkveil City, he is a man of great renown, and he is the center of a web of multiple connections, the tether holding it all together. He had envisioned planning an attack from the shadows of rafters, having to contemplate where to slip in from between alleys, how to avoid the gaze of passersby as he slips by with a bloodstained sword.

The Deadwood is devoid of people, devoid of much of anything beyond burnt trees and ash-- it is a haven of life in a shell of death, charred foliage serving as his only shield. He walks in the shadow of skeletons, sword drawn, eyes dark as he focuses on the figure ahead of him: a tiefling with skin like charcoal, one who... currently seems unaware of his presence.

This is not something he can take for granted, of course. It would do little good to underestimate a mark.

Askr keeps his steps slow, clinging to the shadows of the trees, counting on the night and the shroud of ash above for additional coverage. He is no stranger to taking a life, no stranger to the weight of a weapon in his hands, but standing out here alone feels different, somehow-- if anything goes even slightly wrong, his life falls into the hands of Zarius Rha'Oriyn, and that will simply be that.

So for now, he will observe. For now, he will linger back and figure out what is necessary to know, what patterns he must predict before he steps in for a kill. He will follow in the shadow of the night and the smoke and the trees, and he will be silent, and he will just have to hope that nothing will go wrong.

He did not make a promise to Oleeae Bleier tonight, but he hopes not to disappoint her all the same.

It wasn't often that Zarius went out to the Deadwood. There was little of interest to him out amongst the charred trees and deep dunes of ash that covered the land shadowed by Mount Drakolt. He had told those at the Rookery that he was headed out to the forest in search of rare plants for Kvasir, the fox-eared botanist who worked out of the Oasis in the Zeinav Desert and was becoming a reliable ally. While he certainly would keep an eye out for anything that managed to grow in the harsh conditions, that wasn't really why he was out in the desolate area by himself. 

His sister, Eameia, had tipped him off to some troubling news. Apparently someone had it out for him. That wasn't all that surprising, he had made plenty of enemies in addition to allies over the past few months. Gaining renown across Charon painted a target on his back, mostly by rival crime families who would be happy to see his family's legacy come to a swift and silent close.

Their intel suggested that an individual had gone to some gang of mercenaries for hire and put a hit out on him. It was almost flattering, but the last thing he wanted was to bring trouble to the Rookery. The place had quickly become a haven for his allies and he would rather keep it that way. Even if that meant risking his own life and taking on a gang by himself out in the middle of nowhere. 

He wasn't cocky, but he was confident that if things took a turn for the worse he would be able to escape. He had numerous tricks up his sleeve and was plenty good at disappearing from sight. The problem would be if this gang had anyone with a lot of magic at their disposal. While the tiefling has spent plenty of time figuring out numerous ways to counter spellcasters, he still was limited in his range of effectiveness. There was little he could do against a flying mage raining lightning bolts down from the sky. 

His plan was pretty simple. Give his allies a false story in case word got out that he was on the move and to also hopefully keep them from interfering, buy a few supplies in town to sell the whole gathering flowers alibi further, head out into a remote location without any guards, allow his pursuers to get in close and confront him, then collect as much information on them without actually getting assassinated.

If he was able to take them out himself, great, if not, then at least he would have identities to hand off to his allies like Eirynor, Snow, Cyran or Caedes who could track and kill efficiently. Whoever hired the mercenaries likely did not care if they died or not, and the mercenaries were probably more than aware of that themselves. Depending on who showed up and how they acted, negotiation wasn't completely out of the question. 

Trekking through the soot and ash of the Deadwood forest, he makes sure to leave an easy trail for anyone following him. This was a trap after all. He makes a point to look around his surroundings, crouch down and sift through the ash, and pick at the charred bark of some of the trees as he goes. All the while he keeps an ear out for anyone tailing him. 

After a while, he gets the feeling that he has been followed. Though it is dark out, he has no problem seeing and his golden eyes gleam through the forest's gloom.^[1]

While the tiefling appears unarmed, he does have a few notable items on his person that Askr can make out including some pouches that clink quietly with a few bottles inside them and a dark cloak hanging off one shoulder. He does not wear any armor or travel with any pets. What Askr doesn't see is the concealed knuckle knives in the pockets of his jacket or the folded three-section staff that is holstered to his back under the cloak. Even then, Zarius hardly needed these weapons to defend himself.

Glancing about, Zarius expects that anyone following him would probably wait for him to be preoccupied with something else. He spots an area up against a rocky outcropping that seems like the perfect place to get ambushed by. It cuts off any chance of escape and has some springs of plant life growing out from the side. Perfect. 

He walks over to the outcropping and takes his time brushing the ash off of the leaves of the plant and then rummages through his bag for a notebook and a jar to put a specimen in. Looking completely distracted and with his hands full, he waits for whoever was following him to make their next move. 

---

[1] Dark Vision

There are advantages and disadvantages to traveling with one weapon and one weapon alone.

A longsword feels natural in Askr's hands; he can wield it with ease, like an extension of himself, as though the fire-forged metal and leather straps woven around the hilt meld easily into hands that bloomed from ash and chalk and sand. The weight of a blade in his hand is a feeling he has only known for a few months, from the day Oleaae took him in as one of her own, but it has always felt right, as though the weapon in his hands was merely a sigil clicking into place in some lost, ancient puzzle. There is a reason he has not considered another ever since he first lifted this blade. Why would he need to, when this one simply feels right?

However, the difficulty comes from the fact that it is not the most... covert of weapons. It is not something one can easily sneak between the ribs of another, not something that can slit a throat or steal the breath from a person's lungs in one clean swipe; it is messy, it is grand, and it is unsubtle. No matter what way Askr plans this approach, no matter the angle he envisions, no matter how carefully he thinks it through, Zarius Rha'Oriyn will have at least a few seconds to react.

That is the problem. Even a few seconds can spell a death sentence-- a few seconds is enough to mark a final breath.

Askr alternates his focus between the earth and the man before him, minding any traces of ash or branches, anything that may prematurely alert Zarius to his presence-- the last thing he wants is for the environment to spell his doom. His steps are careful, each one taken with care, only meant to keep up with his mark as he moves ahead through the Deadwood. He does not linger too close, but he is careful to keep the charcoal-skinned tiefling within his sight, taking careful note of what potential weaponry he has on his person, contemplating the reactions he may be capable of taking; he is unarmored, bears no visible weapons, but there are pouches tied to his belt. Would he have time, then, to pull the strings and produce the contents before Askr's blade struck true?

It is... uncertain. For all the bits and pieces of information Askr had been able to gather, details about what Zarius could do without a visible weapon in hand or about what items he kept on his person were not necessarily easy to find. He was effectively going in blind, and it would be quite the dangerous gamble.

So he must watch and wait for the proper opportunity-- for something to shift in his favor.

Mercifully, such a thing does not take long.

Askr stays silent as he watches Zarius kneel down before a cluster of rocks, leaning in to observe some plants, idly sifting through his belongings-- has he truly come out all this way merely to obtain some wildlife specimens...? How... quaint. It is not the expected behavioral pattern from a man like Zarius, but nothing had gone according to whatever formulaic structure Askr had assembled. It is not as though he can afford to let his plans crumble over miscalculations, either. He would hardly be worthy of calling himself a mercenary, that way.

He gives it a minute, perhaps two, the motion quick and careful as he takes his sword in both hands, each step slow and steady and as undetectable as he can manage, his focus as keen as the blade in his hands, gold eyes burning with muted determination as he finally accelerates his pace, speeding forward in the last second when he's certain it will be too late for Zarius Rha'Oriyn to react--

Askr brings his sword down without a second thought, his expression blank as it falls forward, not knowing it will never draw blood.

Just as he anticipated, the mercenary took the bait. 

Zarius picks up on the sound of his assailant's approach as they abandon stealth in favor of a swift and devastating strike with their sword.^[1] Waiting until the last second when the man has committed to cleaving the tiefling in half, he spins on one knee to face him and raises a hand just in time to catch the descending blade with his open palm.^[2]

Whether or not this shocked the mercenary, the tiefling moves quickly to halt any attempt at retreat. With his free fist, he strikes the side of the man’s nearest knee with a sharp jab. The hit sends spikes of pain through the leg and causes the muscles to seize up completely, rendering the limb useless to run on temporarily.^[3]

With the assailant’s movement hampered, Zarius slips behind them while releasing the blade and drawing his own staff out from its holster. Flipping the staff over one of the mercenary's shoulders and across their neck, he locks each end of one section of the staff in the crooks of his arms from behind. Then he places his hands on the back of the man's head, pushing their throat against the hot surface of the blackened staff.^[4]

There was still the issue of the mercenary being armed, so lastly the tiefling hops up and locks his legs around their arms and torso. Throwing his weight backwards, he lets his own body weight pull the man’s balance off and drags them down to the ash-covered ground. Having the would-be assassin locked up in the hold and now lying prone, Zarius leans in over their shoulder and hisses into their ear while tightening his grip on the back of their head.^[5]

“I will give you one chance to start talking before I choke you out and tie you to a tree. There are plenty of hungry jackals out here looking for an easy snack.”

While he has the mercenary subdued, he quickly glances about for any other assailants. His eyes narrow a bit when he doesn't pick out anyone else in the immediate area. He had half expected a half dozen to jump out from behind the trees with crossbows armed and ready. Had these mercenaries really only sent one lone swordsman? That was almost more of an insult than the attacker's poor attempt to get the jump on him. 

"Seems you and your group underestimated your mark. They must not value your life very much."

He pushes on the back of the man's head more, the pressure and heat across their neck from the staff starting to crush their windpipe and burn their flesh. 

"Talk."

---

[1] Fighter’s Sense
[2] Steel Catch
[3] Stunning Blows
[4] Ignis Staff
[5] Iron Grip

Askr has not lived an especially lengthy life.

He had what might have been a year with Vithar. He still remembers the darkness in those olive eyes, the way her gaze would not linger upon him for too long, the way disappointment hardened her expression whenever she thought he was not looking back at her. He remembers that she did not give him a name until the day that she left him with nothing more than a few words that she had to go out into the world above, and a promise that she would return.

He does not know how many years passed down there in the depths of that cavern somewhere in the Ash Lands, waiting for his creator's return-- he only knows it was long enough for wildlife to spring to life around him, foliage curling around his shoulders, his arms, clinging to the sand-colored strands of his hair, all as though he was a long-forgotten statue in someone's festering overgrown garden. The years had been long, and they had been lonely, each day illuminated by the sun of a promise that would never see its fulfillment.

He has traveled with Oleaae and her men for approximately three months. The days have not been long, each one measured out by the cosmic dance of sun and moon, light beckoning forth a day of work and dark bringing in mercenary's celebrations for another day of survival, another day of life they've pried from the maw of the merciless circumstances that closed its jaws around them from the day they all were born.

Those three months are the closest thing Askr has had to a real life. He believes most might call such a thing sad.

Most would call it sadder that those three months will be ending so abruptly.

Askr knows he has lost this battle the second Zarius Rha'Oriyn catches the blade of his sword in his hand, steel catching against skin as though it's merely iron. He blinks, lips parting just slightly, but his expression barely shifts-- at least, not until there's a sharp pain against his knee, his muscles spasming with the impact, and a quiet, pained gasp punches out of him, muted surprise flashing across his face.

From that point onward, he has no chance; he never had a chance. This was never a fight he could win, and it was never going to be-- was it ever meant to be? Did the man who sent him this way overestimate his capabilities, truly believing he could strike down a man like this with a sword alone, or has he been sent to his death?

He does not know. He does not understand. Furthermore, it does not matter.

Askr does not struggle, does not bother fighting back, but he does let out a quiet whimper of pain at the way a searing heat licks at his neck, the staff being pressed against his throat comparable to a solid flame. The instinct to lean away from it lingers, but he knows he cannot fight it. There is no point.

"...yes, sir," he manages, voice strained from the effort of speaking, the words shaped around a pained hiss. Even the one syllable burns to speak. "Th-- I... underestimated you."

He falters at Zarius's insistence that he talks-- he does not know what about. Askr presumes he wants information about who sent him this way, or something to that effect, but the broadness of the topic leaves too many open avenues, and he is uncertain about where to start, mind foggy with the current ordeal of contemplating how to spare Oleeae's name from this. It would be a terrible way to repay her, he thinks. So he just blinks, confusion dark in those sulfur-gold eyes as he tries to glance back at the man above him, hoping he does not misinterpret his inquiry for anything sardonic in nature.

"Talk? M..May I ask what, specifically...?"

There were many reactions to this situation that Zarius would not have been at all surprised by.

He expected the man to struggle and try to free himself from the hold. He expected them to shout and curse and spit all kinds of vitriol at him. He expected begging, tears, and attempts to negotiate for one's life.

Quiet surrender was not what he expected.

It was pretty clear that the mercenary was not expecting such swift retaliation from his target based on his look of surprise. What else Zarius had noticed in those quick few moments was that, beyond the sword, this mercenary didn't seem to have much gear and appeared quite young. That perplexed him.

The intel he had gotten suggested that he should have been expecting a group of well trained and fully equipped hunters. Was this not a member of that group and it was just sheer coincidence they showed up to make an attempt on his life? It wasn't out of the realm of possibility, but still seemed rather unlikely. 

Even in the few words the mercenary had said so far, Zarius could come to a few reasonable conclusions.

This young man admits to having underestimated their target, which suggested they hadn't done much research before hand and had idea who they were actually going up against. Zarius had enough public successes under his belt across Charon that someone with a decent awareness of the world would reasonably at least have heard rumors of him. This means the young man has likely just begun working as a sword for hire and is still earning their place in their own circle.

Perhaps the mercenary group he was expecting had sent the young man as a scout and he got ahead of himself. Or perhaps this was a more a cruel hazing situation. Or maybe they assumed that the tiefling wouldn't kill someone who was just barely appeared to be of adult age. That would be some awfully optimistic and naïve thinking. 

He loosens his grip on the staff a little bit so the young man can better explain himself. The heat from the staff ebbs, though it is still uncomfortable. 

"Start with the basics. Who are you? Are you alone? Who sent you? Oh, and drop your sword."

As soon as the blistering heat emanating from the staff rescinds just so, the pressure easing as Zarius loosens his hold on it, Askr lets out a soft gasp, the sound hued by relief. In the midst of muddled focus, it had been... difficult to notice just how laborious the mere act of breathing had become, even despite the chokehold clearly not having been intended to do anything more than apply the line of searing heat and likely serve as a threat. Perhaps breath was just one thing that had fallen to the wayside in the coalescent mess of things he'd suddenly been made to focus on.

Once he's instructed to drop his sword, Askr does as ordered without a moment's hesitation, letting it fall to the earth beneath them, out of his reach where it will no longer be a threat. He does not expect mercy from Zarius Rha'Oriyn, but he knows whatever hell the tiefling decides to rain down upon him is not something he will be able to combat anyway-- flesh and blood and bone that ignores the weight of steel will always win against flaking chalk and sand.

So he will give his answers, do as Zarius instructs, and will await what fate is delivered unto him. Askr does hope it is not the jackals, though. They would likely have little taste for ash and sand, and then he would be left in the Deadwood alone, an echo of indistinguishable years before, just unable to walk away.

"My name is Askr," he begins, voice clear, not wishing to give Zarius any reason to believe he may be lying. "I have no family, and no real family name beyond one I use for the sake of having something to tack on at the end of a signature. So I am just Askr, and I am a mercenary, I am alone, no one will be coming for me, and I was sent here to murder you, sir."

He speaks simply, the words delivered as easily and flatly as if this is mere small talk, a discussion of weather or long days or some other idle thing. All the while, his expression does not change.

"The person who gave the commission provided very little information about himself. He merely requested your death, and he requested that I be the one to deliver it. That is the extent of my knowledge, sir."

The tiefling's tail lashes around the hilt of Askr's sword before it throws the weapon aside into a drift of ash. You could never be too careful with people who lived in the Ash Lands. Even if this mercenary sounds sincere and is being cooperative doesn't mean he wouldn't try something later. 

He keeps his hold while Askr explains who he is and provides a few details on who it was who made the kill request. Seems that Askr was one who was either too loyal to question anything, or too stupid to think to question such a sketchy deal. Possibly both. A dangerous combination that meant that Askr would likely be a victim of manipulation and other's ambitions. 

Considering the options here, Zarius decides that there was no advantage to keeping Askr restrained during this conversation. They wouldn't be retrieving their weapon easily nor be able to escape Zarius in these conditions. Not only could the tiefling see fine in the dark, but the ash made it easy to track anyone through the woods. 

"Alright, Askr, I am willing to let you up. But take one step towards you sword without my say so and I will strike you down."

Zarius slowly unhooks his legs then rolls them both over so he is not pinned under the young man anymore. He releases his grip on Askr's head and gets to his feet while flipping the ends of the sectioned staff together and stowing the weapon back in its holster. He dusts himself off and fixes the collar of his shirt before offering a hand down to help the young man to his feet.

Getting a better look at him, he can't be much older than Iryla and he appears human…ish. There was certainly something off about the young man, but Zarius couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly. He had met a good number of strange people during his travels. A self-proclaimed angel, a knight who could swallow food whole, a different knight who could turn into a werewolf, and many more that were more obviously not human at all, much like himself.

While his curiosity was piqued, there was more important information to gather at this moment. While he had Askr's cooperation, he needed to get as many details about the situation as possible so that he could decide if there would be need to dispose of a body this day or not. 

"Can you tell me more about this person you received the assassination request from? Their name, any notable features, mannerisms and the such? Do you have any idea as why they would send you specifically?"

It seemed strange that someone who wanted him dead would send a single swordsman against him. Zarius was a known member of the Fighter's Guild which meant that he was skilled in martial combat. It would have made more sense to send someone with spellcasting after him or at least a whole group of sellswords or someone like Caedes.

"What exactly do you get out of this job anyway?"

If this was just a matter of coin, he could easily sway the situation in his favor by offering more than whatever this mystery client offered them. If this was more a personal matter, then that would require some more tactful negotiation.

It is subtle, as all shifts in expressions with Askr are, but the faintest signs of surprise flash across Askr's face as Zarius says he is willing to let him off of the ground; this... is not at all what he anticipated upon giving his answer. He expected to have his weapon cast aside, expected a further litany of questions; he did not expect to be given the chance to be let back onto his feet. It is not unwelcome. His skin still burns from where that strange staff had lingered, pain still lingering in persistent blossoms like the foliage of months past against different patches of his skin, and the chance to ease away from any pressure placed upon those sore spots is welcome.

Still, when Zarius offers him his hand, he falters, blinking uselessly as he stares up at him, lips parted just slightly, as if there is something he wishes to say but cannot formulate the willpower to say it. He hesitates for a mere moment before placing a hand in Zarius's, hissing quietly at the way his legs shake over finding stable ground once more, still stinging just slightly from the blow one of them had taken from the tiefling just a short while before.

"Thank you, sir," he says quietly, because it is polite, and he will not set aside such a notion solely because this man threatened his life mere moments ago. Threats are only fair. Askr was sent here to kill him, after all.

He stands eerily still as instructed once he's stable on his own feet again, arms at his side, body betraying not even an indication of a desire to move. No, he merely listens, standing at attention like he's a soldier waiting for command instead of a failed mercenary standing before his mark. He will continue to stand like this, still as ice and alert as a bird of prey, until Zarius has gathered all the information he deems necessary and decides to finish him off. He still does not expect mercy. Of all possible options, the least plausible one is mercy.

"I can," he nods, quick to acquiesce with any request for information Zarius gives. "He was a man. Orange eyes, the clothes of a nobleman, likely bought through blood. He did not speak clearly. It took him several minutes to provide actual information because he was too busy with flattery and small talk. I do not know his name. I do not know if he delivered the request for himself or for someone else, and I do not know why he asked me, specifically."

For all the speed Askr has in responding to Zarius's questions, the one to bring him pause is clearly the inquiry about what he gets out of it-- his eyes widen just slightly, lips parting once more to speak, but he cannot think of what to say. This is not about him. It never was. He is merely one sword in a weapon rack, sent out when it is asked of him, and the rewards are for the rest to handle.

He tilts his head.

"What... do I get out of this?" he repeats, as if uncertain he's heard correctly. "...I do not know. I... I was asked to do it."

After helping Askr to his feet, he steps back a bit and folds his arms as he listens to Askr's answers. 

The description wasn't terribly specific. Any member of a crime family in Darkveil could fit that description aside form the orange eyes. He couldn't recall anyone he knew with orange eyes who wasn't a tiefling. Even if orange eyes were pretty distinct, many in Darkveil made use of magic or other techniques to disguise themselves. There was no telling if the person Askr described was someone of note, though it was certainly suspicious that they specifically asked this young man to go after his head. It was almost like it was all a set up. 

Askr's hesitation to answer his last question gives Zarius pause. He narrows his eyes at the young man, discerning if this was some sort of act or not. There was no deception, Askr was being completely genuine. 

"You came out here, alone, with the intention of taking the life of another you have never met, risking your own life in the process, simply because you were asked to do it?"

The young man, for all intents and purposes, acted like a soldier. It was if following orders was all he had ever known.

That was concerning. Were there more like him who were willing to do any job without question? Who commanded them? What were they after?

Not having the answers to these questions didn't sit well with the tiefling. If there was someone building a military force out of naive young folk like Askr, he needed to know about it. Indoctrinating the next generation was not something to take lightly. Many gangs were quick to scoop up young folk and get them to be dependent on and unquestioningly loyal to their superiors.

It was a very militaristic approach to building forces, one that often easily devolved into abuse, cruelty, and could attract the attention of bigger authorities and vigilantes. Neither of which were the types of people Zarius would ever want knocking at his own door. 

He looks Askr up and down again. His eyes and tone soften a bit. 

"How old are you, Askr? And how long have you been in this line of work?"

If Askr was part of such an operation, he would have to be very careful with how he handled the situation. It seemed like someone was out to get the kid killed or in trouble with the crime families, yet whoever was actually in charge of Askr didn't bother to stop him from coming out here. Some things were just not adding up yet.

All Askr can think to do in response to Zarius's first question is nod.

It sounds like a far stranger decision when spoken aloud by another person. There is an edge to Zarius's voice as he speaks, the sharpness of that tone that Askr has come to know as incredulity clinging to his every word as he outlines the oddness of the situation, but it does not seem like anger. There is no yelling, no harsh words, no wildfire lighting in those amber eyes-- no, Zarius maintains his composure eerily well, beyond the way his eyes narrow. Even that merely seems contemplative, even so.

Askr cannot claim to have any skill with reading people. He knows the basic meaning of the ways people's lips curve, the basic meaning of where tension flows, the light of drunken joy and the dimness of disappointment. Faces are a mass of contradictions, a mosaic of the same motions with a million different meanings, and parsing them all is just one more grand impossibility. But he thinks it is safe to assume that Zarius is not angry with him.

He falters once more at the way the tension leaves Zarius's face, the way the contemplative look in his eyes leaves, the way the edge in his voice slowly melts away, a sword returned to its sheathe, softening into something that Askr believes some might even call gentle. He hesitates further at the question about his age, his gaze falling toward the ground-- that... remains the one thing he still cannot figure out, no matter how hard he thinks on it, no matter how hard he tries to piece together how many times the sun and moon may have cycled by while he was alone down there, plants springing to life around him and clinging like he was some statue in a forgotten glade. It was years, he knows that, but he does not know how many, and the one person who would know is...

...is... not around. Not for him, at least.

"...I do not know, sir," Askr practically whispers. He remains still, eyes fixated on the earth beneath his feet, staring at the ash and dust all around him. "I... have no idea how old I am. I have been a mercenary for three months. I am sorry I cannot give you a more solid answer."

"Three months, huh?"

Zarius sighs and rubs the back of his head.

This was not at all what he was expected and was more complicated than he would like. Some ruthless sell swords out for glory and money were one thing. A kid who was clearly being used was another. It was none of his business what mess Askr had gotten himself into, except that it was since someone had the bright idea to get him involved by sending the poor kid after him for some reason. 

Now he had to piece this weird puzzle together in order to understand just what exactly was going on. He didn't want this to happen again, so he had to figure out who was responsible. Either he'd have to deal with the mercenary band, or he'd have to deal with their client. Or both. Likely both in some capacity.

Either way he would need some additional assistance. So far the young man has cooperated, but there was no guarantee he would continue to be docile should he receive further orders. He thinks for a moment then comes up with a quick plan. 

"Alright. This is how this is going to work." He walks over to where he threw the sword and retrieves it from the ash drift. "You are going to follow me back to Darkveil. We are going to make one quick stop and then you are going to formally introduce me to who your boss."

He wipes off the blade using his sleeve then walks back over to Asker and offers the hilt to him. "You can have this back. Do not stab me."

Letting Askr take the sword, he looks the young man up and down one more time. The tiefling unclasps his cloak from his shoulders and offers it to the kid. 

"Wear this. We probably should not be seen together in case your client was hoping for a certain outcome from our encounter. If we are attacked on the way back, use this to escape and I will find you when it is safe."

The cloak is pitch black and is made out of a fine fabric that sheds off the ash that snows down from the sky. It has a hood that could easily hide someone's face from passing glances.^[1]

"That said, do not think about using it to run from me. I will catch you and drag you back if I have to."

He starts off back through the Deadwood towards Darkveil City, checking over his shoulder to see if Askr is following or not. 

---

[1]  Smoldering Cape

Another look of muted confusion settles in Askr's face as soon as Zarius marches over to the ash drift he'd cast his sword aside to, only blossoming further as soon as he hands it back to him; he stares up at him like he expects a trap, like he anticipates the situation to turn back against him as soon as his hand curls back around the hilt, but it... does not seem as though things will go that way. He hesitates only for a moment before taking his sword back, quickly returning it to its sheathe at his side, within reach but out of hand.

It is... strange for Zarius to place so much trust within him so quickly. Askr has no intention of resuming the mission he had been sent here on-- such a thing feels foolish, a swift way to beg for death--, but it is odd for a man to place a weapon back into the hands of a man who had been sent here on the order to kill him. Perhaps it merely comes from confidence; Zarius certainly has the skill to turn any battle's tide in his favor in no time at all, his raw strength overpowering, his technique and speed and reflexes all enviable in their cleanness, and Askr... Askr has nothing more than the blade at his side and the knowledge he has gained over three months of travel and missions.

"...I know better than to make an attempt like that, sir," he says simply, but carefully, not wishing to offend, how ever bluntly he says it. "You are stronger than me. Any attempt I could make to fight you would fall through, had I any desire to make one. And... you have shown mercy."

An edge of uncertainty cuts into his voice as he speaks the last few words, like he expects Zarius to change his mind merely because Askr pointed it out. There is still time, after all-- there is still the potential that Zarius has the intention to kill him, just not here. Perhaps he intends to wait until later, until he has all of the information he could need. Such a thing would make sense.

Morbid thoughts aside, as soon as Zarius offers him his cloak, Askr is quick to take it, clasping it over his own garb and pulling it into place. He gives a nod of acknowledgement, fingertips tracing over the edge of the hood as he debates whether to pull it up just yet.

"Thank you," he murmurs, some more of that unease creeping into his tone at the plan Zarius lays before him. He does not mind wherever Zarius intends to lead him, does not mind wherever this plan has dragged him, but... the thought of Oleaae getting tossed into the center of all of this, as woven in as she already is, gives him a bit of a sinking feeling. He would hate for any harm to come to her or her men, solely because of the foolish little mercenary she'd picked up off the streets a few months past. "I... as you ask, sir. I only ask that you save any aggression you may still keep for me alone."

It is with that thought, one of worry for his Captain's wellbeing, that adds a nervousness to his gait as he follows behind Zarius, golden gaze swirling with muted unease. He is quick, dutiful, not wanting Zarius to think he is dawdling for a moment or thinking of escape, but his thoughts are burdened all the same.

He will be coming back, but he does not know if it is in the way Oleeae imagined.

"Credit where credit is due, for what you were armed with both physically and mentally, you did quite well. Had I not been trying to lure you in from the get go you might have actually at least injured me."

Askr's approach hadn't been sloppy. In fact, he had done the best he could have possibly done given his lack of ranged and more subtle weaponry. The problem was that Zarius had been ready for him and had more experience. If Askr had been up against a regular civilian or even a common thug, he would have easily dispatched his target. 

Zarius notes the hint of uncertainty in the young man's voice. It was pretty clear that Askr hadn't expected things to turn out this way either and was clearly processing the whole situation. Strange how calm he remained, most would not keep their composure as well as he did. Three months of mercenary work seemed like hardly enough to harden someone into an emotionless soldier. What exactly was this kid doing before he got swept up in someone else's ambitions, he wonders.

"My father taught me that only the strong have the luxury of choosing to show mercy. I am confident I can deal with the consequences should that decision be a mistake. It is a gamble that I am willing to make because the rewards could outweigh the risks. Though only time will tell if that is true or not."

He watches the young man closely as he speaks to see if there is any tell, any reaction to his words at all beyond the confused puppy face. It was almost unnerving how little his expressions gave away to his inner thoughts, if there were any to begin with. The more cynical part of Zarius was convinced this kid was just too oblivious or passive to react to such a bizarre situation. 

The expressing of concern does catch the tiefling's attention. 

"I cannot make you any promises. You were just doing as you were asked after all. Whoever asked you to come out here holds some responsibility for the outcome of this situation. All I can promise you is that I will ensure my final decision on this matter is an educated one."

Zarius didn't like making rash, knee-jerk decisions. While an attempt on his life was fairly serious, it was not particularly new or unexpected. He knew when he started traveling that anonymity was going to be sacrificed for notoriety. He'd painted numerous targets on his back and would continue to do so. Anything to draw those eyes away from his family and maybe, just maybe give them the chance at a normal, full life where living to retirement was actually possible. 

With all that said, Zarius sets a reasonable pace and even lets Askr walk along side him. It was easier to keep an eye on him that way. After a few hours trekking back to the city of Darkveil in silence, Zarius slows his approach once the first set of buildings are in view. 

"I will give you directions on where to go. Do not stop to talk to anyone and keep your hood up."

The tiefling then disappears before Askr's vision, completely vanishing from sight and there isn't even any sound from his footsteps as he circles around behind Askr.^[1,2] 

"Walk forward."

With only the occasional direction given, Zarius has Askr lead the way through the streets of the city to a very specific location. The building comes into view after passing through a few streets, and it is clearly the intended destination since there are no other remarkable buildings surrounding it.

An old clocktower peaks up over the roofs with a number of mismatched additions built onto it over the ages. Soft lantern light glows through the windows and there is a little bit of music that can be heard through the doors to what appears to be a small tavern. The only other notable thing is there is a small black cat sitting inside one of the windows, staring out with big round eyes. 

---

[1] Invisibility
[2] Silent Step

Zarius's words give Askr quite a bit to think about on the walk back to Darkveil City.

In the moment, there is not much to say, so he says nothing; he nods where it is appropriate to ensure Zarius knows that he finds his words agreeable, he does not break eye contact so Zarius knows that he is listening, and when the tiefling says he can make no promises, he... he falters, swallowing nervously. Unease settles like tea dregs in the gold of his eyes, a dark swirl of emotion, fragmented and cloying; he does not like the thought of things potentially turning dark for Captain Bleier when they step foot into her quarters. He despises the thought of the wrath of a man like Zarius being turned against Oleaae Bleier-- no matter how strong and how capable she is, she... she is an ordinary, mundane woman.

She is thunder and lightning, a storm in human form, but she yields to arrow and steel like any other flesh and blood being. It is why Askr does not mind being handed dangerous missions like this; human bodies are fragile, with bones like ashen branches and flesh like rain-kissed earth, ready to return to the dust they were shaped from in just a few hits. His own wretched form is easily fixed, despite how chalk and sand and ash can chip away, despite how his body is merely a cradle around a hollow trinket made of glass.

He can be fixed. He can always be fixed. Vithar had whispered such a thing like a prayer, back when she still called him Embla-- a body spun from the earth can always be fixed with its gifts. That is how you combat Death. That is all she ever wanted.

He is but a shell of her final vision, but that fact remains.

Askr remains dutifully silent on the entire walk back to Darkveil City, walking beside Zarius without speaking another word; he merely holds the cloak tightly around himself and continues moving along, waiting until the trees of the Deadwood are scarcely visible behind them, waiting until the familiar buildings of the city finally become more than just some distant shape on the horizon before he even thinks of speaking. Even then, it is only in answer to Zarius, acquiescing to the orders he's been given.

He pulls at the hood of the cloak, pulling it over his head enough that it hides his more distinct features-- the color of his hair, the citrine gold of his eyes, everything that may indicate his identity. He moves forward, following the cues he is given for the entirety of the walk through Darkveil, careful not to let his focus linger on anything or anyone else; he does not pause to look at others, does not cast a glance over at the building where he knows Oleeae and her men are, does not do anything but stare forward and walk.

And then they stop before a clocktower, and Askr merely tilts his head, scanning over the building curiously, searching for further indicators-- it is only then that he notices the signage, notices what lies beyond the window, and understands this is a tavern. It looks higher-quality than the ones mercs usually favor. It is a strange place to stop, too, but he does not think Zarius is here for a drink.

At least, he does not assume so. Perhaps he is wrong. Zarius is an enigma.

"...here?" he whispers, standing close to the window, eyes firmly fixed on the little cat staring back out. "...do I go in?"