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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 3, 2023 3:04:12 GMT -5
Vonoros walked towards the entrance of a racing competition called, “Only the Fastest Shall Rule” with several documents and papers in hand. He handed them over to the staff who ran admissions and the racers of the game. The documents dated how one of the racers, Hadri Unabelto was no longer able to participate due to a bad foot accident that cause him to need important bedrest for the next couple of days. What the guards didn’t know was the it was Vonoros himself that cracked his legs into submission after receiving his true goal, “Find and Kill Sir. Ohjef Jiwas to stop him from passing an annoying land rule on Charon stating certain areas were banned from as much of the environment to only eating what he had in front him.
He was let inside and given control of a spare random horse from the stables, “Woah, looks like this will be a an easy job, just get rid of noble pretty boy and win this race”.
He thought about that again and adding, “Nevermind I don’t wanna win this race anymore that seems like too much work and I’m allergic to fight.
He and the rest of the racers were called all to begin lining up on the respective number that was on there entrance ticket. He sat on his horses back with a lazy and bland attitude as he saw what he thought was kind of a familiar figure.
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Oct 3, 2023 7:46:27 GMT -5
In the days leading up to the attack of Vulcadreus…
Cyran was, predictably, not much for horse racing. He was far too old to find a sport that involved little more than reaching the finish line as quick as was humanly possible entertaining; it was, in some ways, the pinnacle of human dogma. The idea that everything had to be faster, grander, with more stakes than the last event. The elven assassin had been around long enough to understand that, at the risk of quoting an overused cliche, sometimes it was slow and steady that won the race. He was a patient man, because that was what he could afford to be, and that was what his experiences had instilled in him. But not everyone else was.
The point being that Cyran was not particularly a fan of horse racing events. Normally, he would not even bother with the Dvoryanin events of King’s Valley… but this was far from a normal event.
This was a contract.
He was not here in his capacity as himself - man of middling centuries and unimpressive presence, but as an assassin. Not under a name most racers here would recognize, or even care to. But the mask slipped over his face and the hood of his cloak pinned atop his head, ensuring that no one would recognize or pinpoint his features, was the mark that a deadly shadow had been cast over this race. The Specter was out to haunt.
A political contract was hardly something new to him, but in this case, there was good reason behind it. Ohjef Jiwas had made a lot of enemies, some of whom were willing to pay top dollar to see him gone. Some of whom were willing to make a deal with the ever-living Shade to get the job done. Unfortunately, the client had a particular caveat to this request. A public murder. A public humiliation. So he’d signed up under the fake name he made use of when handling business in the Valley - Sayah Arden - and slipped into the race that Jiwas was present.
He patted his companion for this particular event - a horse that looked like it had come straight from a dark dream rather than a regular stable. It almost appeared to be living shadow come to life. A loyal steed… time would tell if she would be fast enough for the day’s race.
“It won’t be very long, Nightmare.” He murmured, gently running his hands along her flank, the shadows responding. Nightmare inclined her head in response. They were both as ready as they would ever be for the race. Quest Name: Wacky Races 2 Participants: Two or more Location: King's Valley Post Requirements: 5 post per person, 200 words per post Reward: +1 Renown Description: One of the valley's favorite past times is racing, specifically on horse back, but any animal will do as long as it is exciting. If you want to make a name for yourself in the plains, winning a race is the best way to do that, but it is one of the hardest things to do, locals do not play fair. The quest is simple, get into a race with either a mount or a land vehicle. You don't have to win, but try your hardest, and keep an eye out, anything goes in these races. (If you do not own a mount, a donkey will be provided for you.)
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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 3, 2023 18:41:11 GMT -5
Vonoros glanced at the familiar figure to his side and squinted trying to match the fellow’s features to his memory. It took him a couple of seconds before he realized and thought, “Woah that’s the specter, haven't seen him in a while".
“Looks like that’ll be a fun time, instead of the same lame horse riding show at least for them, it would be a contest of speed and assassination”, he thought, slightly excited at the prospect of having to compete to kill his target.
“Looks like that employer hired more guys than just me, here I was thinking I was special”, he chuckled to himself amused at the situation, “Whatever this dude did the employer wants to make sure this guy will stay dead it seems”.
Vonoros looked around seeing Jiwas in the very corner of the starting line not even seemingly worried that he had a bounty on his head. The man was a dark elf draped in colorful and bright clothing and steel armor riding on top of a brown steed with armor.
“That’s not gonna protect you from me, I can promise you that”, the triton thought to himself looking down at Ohjef before looking down to take a better look at his horse. It was a plain-looking white steed with large blue excited eyes, he then looked straight ahead. Soon the announcer heard, “Welcome one and all to the ‘Only the Fast Shall Rule’ competition where the winner of this race will be crowned ' ‘the Speed Monarch’. Alright, enough babbling we know why you’re here folks let’s get ready riders get in position, 3--2--1--GO”.
Vonoros barely was able to let out a “go-oo”, before his horse galloped forth quickly making it ahead of the competition.
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Oct 8, 2023 12:40:49 GMT -5
The assassin was not so blind as to miss the sensation of eyes at the back of his neck, assessing him, curious. His shoulders stiffened, for a brief moment - scrutiny was unwelcome when he was trying not to be noticed. But as the Specter angled his head just a touch, he caught sight of a tall figure, one that stood out from the crowd for a multitude of reasons. The first being that he was tall, not enough to tower above the people surrounding him, but about Cyran’s height. The second being the colorful nature of his appearance, and the third being that his lineage was most definitely of the sea when they were all surrounded by people of the earth.
And to his surprise, Cyran recognized the young man.
I was unaware Riptide had resurfaced, he thought to himself before turning back to his work and making sure that Nightmare was properly saddled. It had been some time since he’d seen or worked with the young man, one of those assassins who carried himself with the need for perfection. Cyran so rarely worked with others in the field, though he knew that sometimes, needs must - and Riptide was an especially peculiar case, because in the days they’d worked together, Cyran was almost certain that the kid was barely more than eighteen winters.
The thought, back then, had set his blood boiling, and still did now, time having little effect on the elven man’s indignant anger on behalf of the young man who’d been forced to take up such a life at a young age. He’d always hoped that Riptide might quit, hang up the mantle. And it seemed that those wishes had only gone unanswered by the cruel corpses of gods who’d never cared about humanity even in the days they were alive.
Oh, dear… which meant, Cyran realized, that Riptide was here for the same mark he was.
This was hardly the first race at which Cyran had been hired to carry out a kill, nor was it the first time he’d been unwittingly pitted against another assassin like this. There were always unseen machinations being carried out by politicians and nobles for the sake of results. And Cyran had not been in any particular rush to carry those out… until now. He knew it was a silly sentiment from a man far too foolish for his own good, but Cyran couldn’t bear to allow Riptide to claim the kill here. He was so young… too young to have that blood on his hands. Cyran could not spare him from this life, but if there was anything he could do, it was to give him a break.
He sighed. This mission had just become all the more complicated.
With the weariness of all of his centuries, Cyran climbed atop his horse, scanning the other contestants. And there Jiwas was, on the other end of the line. Determined, the Specter grabbed hold of his reins, and the race began in earnest.
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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 9, 2023 3:36:28 GMT -5
Vonoros grabbed onto his energetic steed as tightly as he could as the race began in full earnest, thanks to his partner he was currently in first although that’s not what he was aiming for. He wanted to stay in the back following up with Jiwe so he could inconspicuously take him out by surprise. He slowed down his pace not enough to arouse too much suspicion but enough to make it seem like the people who were passing him accomplished so just by being equally as good.
Vonoros saw The Specter as his dark figure loomed over the competition, “Huh, Specter’s giving this his all isn’t he”, he thought as he observed the man from across the track being now ahead of him but behind Jiwe who had made his way to first place currently.
The triton’s eyes focused as he observed the other competition; this wasn’t meant to be some sort of ordinary race. The main gimmick was that you could try to sabotage your opponent, try to drive them off their place, name calling, punching and hitting was allowed but no grievous harm to the competitors themselves like injuries from a weapon which was going to be a problem to deal with in it of itself.
The triton once again focused his attention on Jiwe, he was a good race, a great one even so it was no surprise he was doing very well for himself here. Although that gave him more work of trying to catch up to him with his energetic horse steed.
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Oct 11, 2023 21:10:28 GMT -5
Nightmare was hardly the fastest horse, but what she lacked in sprinting speed, she made up in determination. Horror poured out of her very essence, the shadows clinging to her as they moved swiftly and silently through the throngs of racers just setting out. She feared no horse, no other mortal horror. She was the essence of the night, and atop her, the rider that promised death to one unlucky contestant within this race.
The Specter scanned the crowd, the myriad of colorful racers speeding off from the starting line like crossbow bolts determined to nail a target. Most zooming past Nightmare and himself with little thought for the waifish contestant clad in black. And Cyran paid little attention to them in turn, only focused on his mark. He cared little for winning. Only the kill.
And there Jiwe was; regretfully, at the front of the pack. He rode a speckled gelding, a racehorse bred for speed in short sprints, which was exactly what this competition was about. Thankfully, this competition was no stranger to cheating as well. Cyran pat Nightmare on the side, murmuring a prayer in silent elvish.
“Shadows be with you.”[1]
Magic flared around the horse’s hooves. Nightmare let out a snort, energized by the assassin’s spell. With a burst of almost superhuman speed, she started slipping past the other competitors, drawing the Specter ever-closer to his mark. This would be a quick endeavor. A well-timed knife cut to the side of the saddle, a tumble into the throng of horses, and that would be the end of Jiwe. Chalked up to an unfortunate accident, or sabotage, at worst. And the Specter, barely a blip in the memories of those spectating the event.
At least, that was the plan.
But the Specter was not the only one after this prize.
He could not afford to give thought to Riptide’s presence, right now. Cyran had made a promise to himself to secure the kill first, such a silly little thing - though he’d spoken it to existence and would do anything in his power to achieve it. He held out his palm, summoning a shimmering, near-invisible blade to his hand.[2] Nothing, the invisible dagger, slipped up his sleeve in a smooth movement. Subtle, quick, efficient.
This was not the first man the Specter had killed on horseback, and it would not be the last.
He snapped Nightmare's reins once more, bringing her ever-closer to their quarry. 1. Quicken 2. Summon: Possession - Nothing, Dagger with Pale Ice Enchantment
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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 12, 2023 3:26:14 GMT -5
Vonoro glared at the specter as he made his way to part of the front both still not too far from Jiwe who was still in first place with an overconfident look of superitoy on his face.
“This dude wants to get this win, I’m not gonna let him just count me out”, the triton thought to himself. During the two past work together Vonoros made it a habit to show up to the older elven man even beating him to the punch in some assassinations emboldening his ego greatly at the time.
He releases one of his hands from the horse’s reins to gather water magic into his palm, shaping it into a small but annoying water bubble (1). He slowed down slightly, gaining line of sight of the back of Cyran’s head. He then threw the bubble at him, the water sphere zooming right at him hitting him then bouncing off to hit another competitor before finally hitting Jiwi himself causing him to slow down slightly.
He took this moment to take out a small red-colored bladed fan to use as his killing weapon, his horse keeping a steady pace being one of the only ones in the front that was close enough to catch up to Jiwe.
1. Bouncing Bubble
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Oct 15, 2023 14:38:01 GMT -5
Movement flashed behind him - the Specter was vaguely aware of the triton behind him, his eyes on the same kill. A competition of their own, a private sport that only the two assassins were privy to. It was entirely likely that Riptide saw this as competition. Cyran grit his teeth under the mask. The youth, always looking to prove themselves through trials and kills and glory. He raised his hand, magic gathering in his palm. Cyran tensed, glancing towards Jiwe - a momentary lapse. Jiwe hadn’t been his true target.
The water splashed against the back of Cyran’s head. The blow itself wasn’t very strong, but the sudden force was nearly enough to knock him off his horse - he dug his heeled boots into the stirrups, keeping himself aboard Nightmare.[1] A small positive, but his jerking on the reins veered Nightmare off course, away from his target. Allowing Riptide to inch closer, placing himself between Cyran and Jiwe.
The assassin swore under his breath in elvish, readjusting himself at the same time the bubble hit the back of Jiwe’s head, knocking him off balance. His gelding faltered. Ahead, Cyran could see the first turn, rapidly approaching. It was steep, the exact kind of hurdle meant to test the stability of horses.
Cyran raised his hand, fist closed. The shadows coalesced in his palm, shifting and morphing until they took the form of ash-rose petals. Ink black and sharp as the night - and as he leaned into the turn, Cyran brought his hand to his mouth, extending his palm outward and blowing outwards, aiming them right at Riptide and Jiwe. The petals whipped in the wind, not too damaging, but with any luck, it would block their vision and cut at their face, causing enough of a distraction for the assassin to start rounding the curve. If Riptide was going to prevent him from getting close, Cyran would just have to get ahead, and ambush him from around the bend. 1. Cat’s Grace 2. Petal Storm
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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 16, 2023 3:04:38 GMT -5
The triton had a huge grin on his face as he sped ahead of the specter looking back at him tauntingly whispering under his breath, “Eat bubble Specter, this one's all mine. I ain’t gonna let you take it from under me”.
He looked ahead the turn only seconds away and braced himself placing his killing weapon into his mouth as he now held the horse's reins with both hands focused on landing the turn successfully. He managed to successfully make the turn without losing speed keeping his eyes on an overconfident Jiwe up ahead, it was only a matter of time until he caught up, which meant only a matter of time before the man would be dead. He looked forward to not worrying about Cyran at this point, sweet sweet victory was in his hands.
Suddenly he felt slight pain in his back causing him to pull the reins slowing down feeling slight blood against his back and looked behind noticing shadowy petals.
“Dammit Specter, you tricky old dog”, he whispered enough for Cyran to hear as he hit the reins returning to his regular pace now right alongside the other assassin.
Both of them were now only slightly behind Jiwe e as he slowed down to check on the shadowy petals on his raiding outfit before returning as well.
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Oct 19, 2023 14:49:39 GMT -5
It was hardly the first time Cyran had been called an Old Dog. Fortunately, he still had more than a few tricks up his sleeve. His gambit had given him a little bit more room, buffeting both Jiwe and Riptide and forcing them to slow. Nightmare took the turn smoothly, Cyran coming out on the other side still atop his mount. Other racers were not as lucky. Around them raged a battle of their saboteurs and sprinters, all vying for their chance at the Dvory racing crown. Some took the sharp turn too fast, falling off their horses and getting disqualified from the race. Unfortunately, that did not include Jiwe or Riptide. No, because of course that would have been too easy.
Now the Specter and Riptide were neck and neck, both assassins on even ground. And Jiwe lay ahead of them.
Cyran spared Riptide a passing glance, gaze inscrutable under the mask. It would be so easy for him to merely knock the young man off his horse - just a flick of his hand and the saddle would come undone, and he would spare the young man the misfortune of having to bloody his hands just this once. But Cyran didn’t want to risk hurting him, so he refrained. Instead, the assassin coolly turned his attention back to the man in front of him.
He needed to end this, quick.
The Specter tugged on his reins, snapping Nightmare forward - close enough to brush a hand against the flank of Jiwe’s horse. Just a feather-light touch, a brush of his fingers that barely lasted a second. Jiwe jerked backwards at the sudden closeness of the strange mare and the mask-clad, cloaked rider atop it. “Wait, what are you-“
But the damage was already done. His spell had already taken hold, shadows from the ground bursting forth and wrapping themselves around Jiwe’s horse, enough to cement it in place.[1] The gelding bucked and whinnied, but was stuck still as if its hooves had been stuck in a glue trap, allowing the Specter to breeze past them -
And for Jiwe to be flung off his horse from the sudden momentum carrying him forward.
He landed on the ground, prone, at least a few bones in his arm and torso broken from the fall. Cyran pulled Nightmare to a stop a few paces away, prowling his prey. Atop the mount he resembled less a person and more a grim figure of death. Jiwe groaned, injured.
The Specter held out his hand and summoned a knife clad in black leather to his awaiting palm.[2] Time to finish the job. 1. Hold Person 2. Summon: Possession - Wraithsbane
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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 20, 2023 2:58:13 GMT -5
Vonoros matched The Specter’s passing glance with one of his own, one filled with both respect and true ambition to crush the other man in this killing race of theirs.
He slammed the reins wanting this energetic steed he’d been given to speed up as fast as he could after all they were in the endgame. He had to just take advantage of the elf fellow’s tricky maneuvers, after all, he’d been setting him up for a clean victory this whole time. Vonoros just had to go for it and go for it as he sped up now only a foot to the right side of Jiwe, “Perfect”, he thought, taking out his hidden fan ready to strike.
Suddenly the target’s horse was held by the shadows, “Damn it, has to be the old man”, he thinks angrily.
As the rich fellow almost flew off his horse Vonoros stood up on his tapped his feet together and jumped forward, his distance reaching three times the normal jump (1). He grabbed the fellow in midair and placed his hands on his shoulders using his body as a surfboard and landed on top of him as he fell to the ground moaning.
As he took out his bladed fan (2) and swiped it at the man’s neck he heard the sound of metal entering the target’s body at the exact moment his fan’s blade entered.
1. Long Stride 2. Bladed Fan
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Oct 21, 2023 12:09:29 GMT -5
Riptide was quick to the draw, leaping off his horse as this triage of death came to a stuttering halt. He leapt off his horse, unperturbed by this end to their own personal race. Cyran winced at the ferocity and purpose with which the young man moved. He remembered days spent on rooftops with that young kid, the shine still in his eyes and the ache in his heart at the realization that this was a child someone had forced to hold a spear and take the lives of others. He’d always hoped for something better, but his own efforts to help had been stymied by the machinations of the cruel bastards that wanted to use this child as a weapon.
To his dismay, they’d been successful.
There was no flinch or hesitation in his eyes as he raised his beaded fan, the faint imprint of hidden blades concealed within.
Under his mask the Specter grimaced. He’d failed this poor child once before; he refused to do so again.
He raised Wraithsbane, and broke into a dead sprint. Shadows licking at his heels, spurning him on in his desire to protect.[1] A blur in his own personal darkness - he heard nothing but the roar of the wind in his ears and the distant scream of spectators who were witness to this public murder. Riptide was already atop Jiwe, blocking most vulnerable spots from the Specter's blades. But it took more than that to block his killing blow from the target. He was a whisper of a shadow, an inevitability in darkened corners as the sun set on a person’s life.
So he dropped and skidded, sliding across the ground now at an even level with the prone man. He readjusted the grip on his dagger to something that more resembled a swordsman’s grip - the momentum of his dive and the speed from his spell generated enough force to drive his blade right through a weak point of Jiwe’s skull, fragmenting bone and piercing brain in a single forceful blow.[2]
And the audience erupted in screams.
Panicked wails echoed in his ears as the Specter stood, sparing a moment to clean his fiancé’s gift against his black cloak before sheathing it at his belt. To his dismay, Riptide managed to get a blow against the corpse’s neck. A perfect time. He supposed it was too much to believe that he could actually manage to help someone he’d failed before for once.
He could focus on that later. The racers had scattered, but there were tribesmen riders all around approaching them - guardians who’d been keeping the peace at this race, which the interlopers so forcefully shattered. He held a hand to Riptide, the fatigue evident in his voice.
“Come on.” His voice was barely a murmur. “We need to get out of here.” 1. Quicken 2. Gerhart’s Final Strike
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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 22, 2023 3:17:40 GMT -5
Vonoros’s eyes went sharp as he held his bladed fan in the man’s neck for a second feeling the life drain out of his body and look into his eyes, a job well done.
“But not well enough, not perfect”, he whispered under his breath as he looked over to Cyran who also managed to kill Jiwe in the same second.
He ripped out his fan from the man’s neck and splattered the blood away from his fan onto the tribesmen riders with a grin. He then glanced around at the crowd as they erupted in screams of horror at the sudden murder in broad daylight the pair had committed.
“Dammit, I wish there was another way to get this kill, it would sure make this less annoying”, the triton thought as he got to his feet.
He then glanced at The Specter as his fatigued voice echoed his same thought, “Yes, lets”, he then sprinted as fast as he could away from the chasing supposed peacekeepers. Activating his long jump (1) ability the two neared a fenced gate hopping over and landing on the other side sticking his tongue out as the riders tried climbing the fence. The triton then booked it once more determined to at least get a good distance before counting himself free.
After running through the street dashing away from guards and finally jumping once more into an abandoned house’s roof he stood overlooking the frenzied town with a shit-eating grin on his face as he turned to the shadow assassin he knew far too well, “So what’d you think the results of our race, Specter?”.
1. Long Stride
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Post by Cyran Fenastra-Asiliari on Oct 27, 2023 20:42:35 GMT -5
Cyran thought he heard Riptide whisper something, the barest hint of a lament in the wind - if he focused he could just make out the muttered words. The elven man paused, as if to say something… but the approaching horsemen forced him to clamp down on that thought, nearly biting his tongue with the force of it. It was not wise to initiate some sort of heart to heart here. Survival first. Dealing with the fallout second.
Riptide ignored his extended hand, which the Specter did not take to heart. He watched as the triton made the first move, nearly leaping through the air as gracefully as if he’d been swimming through water, to the edge of the ground and off to safety. Depending on his natural athleticism, rather than magic or misdirection.
Cyran could help with that.
In broad daylight, it was a bit touchy for the Specter to call upon the dark to his aid when there were hardly any natural shadows or hiding places to speak of. In the King’s Valley flatlands, the Specter was visible from all angles; any misdirection on his part would have to be pulled off delicately. It was a good thing Cyran could make his own shadow.
He waved a hand overhead, creating a dome of pure shadow around himself and his steed - underneath his mask, the shadows crawled into his eyes, adjusting to the pure void that surrounded him.[1,2] Outside, the guards pressed on, undeterred by the sphere of pure, malevolent black he’d called forth at his fingertips. Courage in spades, the people of the valley had. Cyran would just have to act quick.
In the shadow, he manifested a perfect copy of himself, down to the minute details of his mask, all in a complete mirror. A trifle, but he doubted his pursuers would notice.[3]
“Move.” He commanded in quiet elvish, his mother tongue, to the double. The manifestation nodded, once, before turning and sprinting to Nightmare, climbing atop her. Cyran extended his hands outwards, as if gripping the edges of the dome like a piece of rippling fabric, and with a harsh yank, he crossed his arms over his chest. The dome collapsed in on itself, providing ample shadow over him, a comfortable bedsheet… and Cyran disappeared.[4]
All the horsemen saw was a wave of darkness, and as it dissipated, the figure who was seemingly their quarry dashing off on a dark steed - they immediately pivoted, heading after the creature, while Cyran dashed in the opposite direction, after Riptide.
… A few minutes later, he found himself on an innocuous rooftop away from the danger, while the distant screams of the guard and the sound of bleating horns rippled through the village. They might have a touch of trouble getting out, but with any luck, this would all die down in a few minutes. Cyran straightened, sparing a glance for Riptide while he spoke. It had been some years since Cyran had seen the young man; a relatively short span by elven standards, but nearly an entire adolescence for those with shorter years. Riptide was a full-grown man now, standing at the exact same height as him.
The effect was jarring, and his heart ached to think about it.
So Cyran compartmentalized - didn’t linger in old regrets. He couldn’t afford to when Riptide was staring at him so earnestly, still so painfully young, looking for… guidance, reassurance, something.
Cyran cracked a smile, invisible under the mask.
“You handled yourself very well. You’re quite talented.” He almost sounded a bit mournful at that. Wishing that Riptide did not have to be a prodigy at killing. At his age he should have been traveling the world and enjoying the sights, not… this.
He paused, tilting his head to the side at the sound of screams getting closer. Riptide would be harder to conceal, but he should at least make an effort to don civilian clothes. He pulled down his hood and removed his mask with tired, trembling fingers - he so rarely showed his face to strangers these days, but it was Riptide. He figured there was no harm in it… and if there was, he’d have no problems simply plucking the memory of it from the young man’s mind.
The mask and cloak went into a pouch, replaced with a dark, plain tunic and a long, dark coat pinned together by a woodflower pin - a gift from his fiance. Without his disguise, he just resembled a normal, elven man… tanned skin and tired eyes that betrayed centuries of impossible age, right eye an ink-black void. Without the looming darkness and the stature and the confidence, Cyran just looked an ordinary person. Not the deadly assassin that legends of the Specter had painted him out to be. He turned to Riptide with a tired smile.
“Did you have any plans where to go after this? I’ve a hotel room, but I can blend in. If you need help, I can get you out of the city…” 1. Zone of Shadows 2. Ebon Eyes 3. Shadow Clone (Shadow Dancer IV) 4. Dark Form (Shadow Dancer III)
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Post by Vonoros Jedath on Oct 30, 2023 2:18:32 GMT -5
The triton shrugged at the compliment slightly feeling a faint emotion he hadn’t felt in a couple of years, pride at another's words.
He smirked, “You weren’t too bad out there yourself old man”, he chuckles, “You even managed to match the kill at the same moment, you damned thief”, he says jokingly.
He was taken aback as he saw The Specter de-robe and slip into much less attention-grabbing garb, "This was who he’d looked up to? So random old regular-looking elf dude, huh?”, he thought.
He shook his head and said, “Eh, not really, to be honest. I came straight here from my spot on the beach once I got the job. Didn’t think ahead just knew I had to come hear kill the guy leave or law low here for a bit. We could hang out in your hotel room, gods knows I ain’t got a plan in the world. As for blending in, don't worry about that, blending into an environment was something I had to learn at age 4 and master so I got it".
He reached into his pocket and grabbed a hair tie tying his hair into a large ponytail and taking a deep breath shifting his body and posture almost feeling and looking like a different person. After waiting for the Specter’s response he followed the man to his hotel room, skillfully blending into the crowd as if he was just another triton in the city, not a big bad assassin guy and followed Cyran back into his room.
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