Howlers Come at Night

Independent RP for Paolo from Dishonored 2. Read the guidelines first.

[howlered-blog]

wastelandmama:

          “Quincy. Keep playing nice, and I’ll even give you a surname.” Her smile curves; the motion of it crinkling the corners of her eyes and accentuating an almost catlike stare. She wonders how many times the sword at his hip has been whetted with blood. She wonders many things, of the dangers and death and whispers of the dark, dark magic sinking into these streets. 

          Quinn wonders, most of all, if he is the epicenter of that. The reason why Overseers have descended upon this district like a plague. His people paint their emotions clearly on face and voice, but Paolo proves to be carved from sharp, brittle stone. 

          “What I want first and foremost is a little more privacy. Too many wandering eyes and ears is never good for business–I’m sure you of all people can understand that.” A pause. Her wealth hangs from shoulders in thick fabric and polished cuff-links. It is every bit intentional, if only to pull his attention to HER. Dressing as a commoner would hardly draw a second glance, otherwise. The Howlers may disdain the rich, but they will listen regardless. 

          “But first and foremost, I want to discuss an arrangement between your people and mine.”

"That's nothing you have to worry about,” he says. “By the end of the night, you won’t have to.”

Paolo has only met two people with a smile like that. One of them was an old loan shark, a balding man who was all teeth and pleasantries, even when he scrubbed the blood off his knobby fingers with a clean white handkerchief. The other, a young courtesan from Bastillian. She had more skeletons in her closet than his people could count. Both literally and figuratively. 

Now Quinn is the third.

“It all depends, Quincy. I have to wonder what you can’t tell the rest of my Howlers--or what dark secrets you plan to set onto my table,” he says, uncrossing his legs. He must look like trash compared to her with his uneven lapels, his misaligned tie and the half-rusted chain hanging from his vest, but despite all her wealth and his lack of it, there is one thing they have in common: authority. It oozes from her. Just like it does him.

“And what arrangement is that?” He waves his hand for the remainder of his Howlers to back off and picks himself off his seat. “The kind where you hand over double for all that help we’ll be giving you?”

[howlered-blog]

sparrowdaughter:

        Ah, yes — the unwavering stubbornness of KARNACA’S folk. It almost reminds her of how back home in DUNWALL the Privy Council denied and denied her proposals because of their own firm ideals. ( But that was when she was still EMPRESS. ) The confidence that hovered about him was something else ; it wasn’t like FATHER’S where just standing before an enemy would have the adversary quivering in his boots, nor like WYMAN whenever the noble stood before the courts and everyone paid a careful ear. It’s one that brought out fear.

          BYRNE is an honourable man, and so is PAOLO ( to an extent ) , but then again, both have their own faults, and weighing them is hard. She has to choose a side or suffer both their blades ( which is fine ; only it’s difficult in the CITY without allies ) . 

           ❝ Any manners I had I left behind when I was thrown out. And you know, I do have the option of choosing neither of you and trust me — you don’t want me as an enemy. ❞

Anyone else would be bone white right now, body locked in a trembling fit, but not her. She stands her ground looking him straight in the eye like he’s the one who’d better watch his step. Daring or suicidal, it doesn’t really matter.  

She's different. 

“Want to bet on that? You’ve been making a lot of threats since you got here. I’m starting to wonder what you can do to me with that knife,” he dares just as one of his Howlers, then three more, draw out their blades. They wait for his call to strike. He made none. “You’re forgetting who came here in the first place. I bet you’ve been living a soft life, and it’ll take more than an aristocrat with a mouth to get her way in this city.”

The only reason he hasn’t told them all to try and jump yet is because something is telling him to wait. Let her live. You won’t regret it. He feels her fingers fluttering like a spider’s legs against him, and she’s whispering in the back of his head that she knows this girl. He hears her voice clear as day.

A Howler comes forward to try and nudge their sword against Emily’s back. Don’t be stupid, girlie, they whisper. Paolo watches for what she’ll do next. One last chance.

“Why don’t we try that again? Before you and I have a problem.”

[howlered-blog]

wastelandmama:

It is not a long trip to the Empire of the Isles. 

Her ship’s captain, though old and weathered, knows the routes and channels as if it were the streets of the very village he had once grown up in. Placid waters and favorable winds guide them until they cut around the island and settle into Karnaca’s bay. A shipyard belongs to Rudshore Industries, here, nestled along Campo Seta’s dockyards. It’s where they land, and where her workers welcome her with intrigue and wariness painted over unsure smiles. 

She does not linger, and does not stoke their curiosity. 

The destination she seeks is in a wind corridor, taken to storms of dust. Veiled in thick cloth to shield from whipping winds, Quinn makes the long trek with her traveling companion in tow. They make it just as the worst of the storm hits, shutting the door on the coattails of a flurry of dust. Here, the rooms are dark and the floors sandy. The air smells dry, smoky, of soot. Sharp eyes scrape against her, just as sharp as their questions.

She entices with honesty and coin, and they oblige. It is not long before they are ushered in. As Quinn carves a path further into the bowels of the Crone’s Hand, her eyes fix to the leader in question. He’s slight, all sharp angles and severity, but there is a strangeness to him that sinks into the bones of the saloon. She knows it’s him, even before they speak. True leaders are always cut from a different cloth, whether good or ill.

“Just the man I’m looking for–Paolo, is it? Or do you prefer a different name?” Her voice flows like smooth bourbon, contrasting the scratch of sand and dust and silver. The veil is tugged down, face bared and eyes far too hawkish for such a clean face. But she’ll smile, offer a small bow before dusting her clothes off. Her companion stands beside her, stiff and immovable. “I apologize for arriving unannounced, though I’m sure you understand the importance of discretion.” 

“It’s Paolo, and I don’t think I heard your name. Is there a reason for that?” 

He remains seated as the musicians carry on strumming. This woman isn’t from here. He sees it on her clean skin and her pressed, untorn clothes not yet bleached from the silver dust, and her eyes, sharp and hazel, read serious with no tolerance for bullshit. But there is something to her voice, too. It’s not just polite or smooth. It is sinister silence with a smile before she has you floating in a riverbed in the break of dawn.

He turns an eye to her partner, an old man in smart clothes whose eyes are hidden by the glare on his wire-framed glasses. Rich people. The Howlers did not hide their sneers. 

“You could say that, and you wouldn’t be the first... Streets running with Overseers, a witch in power, and an aristocrat finding herself under my roof--these are strange times.” He’s used to people coming to him for help, but not anyone like her. If anything, people with money always kissed up to the Duke and spit the dust from their mouth at the mention of his name. She came here willingly. “What is it you want?”

[howlered-blog]

@wastelandmama

In Batista, a gust of dust blew into the city. It whipped past the shutters and the sleeping cat, now rudely awakened and scrambling for cover. It whipped past the store fronts and the pedestrians long used to the violent winds, squinting against the silver dust and grumbling into their high collars. And in the center of the Crone’s Hand, some of it leaked through, but it did nothing to disturb the couple slow dancing over an old oak table. 

Two musicians continued strumming their instruments as one sang a warble. Paolo sat listening, blowing out a wisp of smoke, when one of his Howlers came in. They stopped beside his seat.

“Boss, got a lady here. Says it’s ‘important.’ Says you can do something about it.”

“Everything’s important, Giovanni,” Paolo said. He tapped the ash from his cigar, watching the two dance. “Bring her in. Let’s see what she wants.”

With a small nod, the Howler left. His holstered sword scratched the wall as he disappeared to retrieve her.

[synthmama]

@howlered sorryaugust2k16

[howlered-blog]

bloodtopology:

    Freedom at last, as brilliant and crisp as a plunge into freezing waters. The beast is alive, more alive than dull little Hypatia could only ever dream about in the worst of her fantasies. So wonderfully, terribly alive–the rest of humanity was walking corpses compared to her. If she tore them apart, they were certainly asking for it. And this one–she likes the way he begs. After all, he did draw first blood.

    Alex dares to let the sword’s edge graze her, and the slice on her shoulder makes a shiver of excitement crawl beneath her belly button. She wants him to fight back, as foolish little creatures are wont to do, and once he’s dead, she’ll drag his body to a corner by the teeth, and tongue at all the little wounds he left behind. Delilah could have her oil paints; as far as Grim Alex, there was no better art than what you could do to flesh.

    ❝This is going to be fun.❞

    The Crown Killer takes a bounding leap skyward, and lands on one of the ceiling beams above the room–a place that only the bats and bloodflies get to see. She, too, is one of the vermin, crawling along the beam on her hands and knees, her breath as deep and ragged as a rattlesnake’s shudder. Her neck gives an involuntary snap to the side.

    So frightened and fleshy. She wants him. She wants him so bad it hurts.

    ❝I think I’ll start with your teeth.❞

    ❝Yank them one by one, and suck the pulp out like pumpkin seeds.❞

Blood rolls down the tip of his sword, and her eyes, large and open, burn yellow as though someone had forced candles inside her skull. She lurches forward, he throws his sword arm back, and in a rapid gust of air--

Gone. Black magic. 

“Dirty witch. So that's how you want to play it.”

Paolo jerks away. His shoes scrape over the cracked, dusted floors and he searches left, right, behind--anywhere. But she’s nowhere. She has to be here, though, looking in at him from the shadows, and awareness rips through the veins of his neck as though he’d been wired to a machine and shocked full of electricity. A rat fumbles in the corner... his hairs stand on the back of his neck... rubble crumbles and blows away into ash...

Something snaps above him. He shoots his head up, and there, on the ceiling’s beams, Hypatia crawls. 

“I’m going to love getting you for that one,” he growls, still livid about the blood. But he can’t get her from here. Paolo fixes a Howling bolt to his wristbow, his eyes glued to her gray-blue face poking through the dark, and with an audible click, he shoots. “See how you like that.”

[howlered-blog]

sparrowdaughter:

          There’s something that makes the leader different… something that makes him intimidating. BYRNE had caught her eye once or twice ( and how could he not, with his metal-masked minions prowling around KARNACA like they own the place ) but there’s an aura of shadow that hovers about the HOWLERS LEADER, and she didn’t like it. Maybe it’s because of the things they said about him on the streets, maybe it’s the wanted posters that hang next to her own, or maybe it’s the way that his men look at her with fierce eyes. At least the WHALERS covered their faces. 

          ❝ I talk big because I can. Don’t think that you’re on superior footing here ; you need me. I mean, I don’t even understand why. Your HOWLERS look like they can take out BYRNE just fine. ❞ A wicked smile hides behind her scarf. ❝ In fact, why don’t I go over to him now, talk to him for a while? It would make a fair fight fun, don’t you think? ❞

“Maybe you have this the wrong way. This is my territory, and I don’t remember inviting you here, stranger.”

It was in their eyes and white knuckles. Howler blood was boiling. They all had an innate hatred for the wealthy, and a rich girl running into their home, mouthing their boss, made their teeth gnash and grind. But she was right. To a point. They could take out Byrne, but if they charged into the Overseer’s outpost, too many would die bleeding on slabs of the street... 

No, that wasn’t something Paolo was willing to risk. He needed someone else, but her attitude didn’t sit with him.

“It would. But you know what I’d like even better than that? If a rich kid took some time to think about where she is before I help her find all those manners she left at home.” Would she really try to bring the Overseers? And fight against every one of his Howlers that’ll try and stop her from leaving? He stayed where he was, arms crossed. “Did you need me for that?”

[howlered-blog]

8 PEOPLE I’D LIKE TO GET TO KNOW BETTER.

repost. do not reblog, please !!

tagged by: @bloodtopology, @heartmommy, @voidbled (Thanks, you guys!) tagging: @wastelandmama, @cleansedhands, @redshiifted, @arielshepard, @arcanebonded @arcaneashworth​, @silversiins, @griftingpandora (if you were already tagged, ignore this haha)

ONE ( NAME / ALIAS ). Hien. American name's August.  TWO ( BIRTHDAY ). April 29  THREE ( ZODIAC SIGN ). Dog/Taurus  FOUR ( HEIGHT ). 5′5″ FIVE ( TIME ). 8:46 pm. SIX ( SLEEP ). 5am-11am or 12pm, usually SEVEN ( FAVOURITE BOOKS ). I don’t read a lot, but Silence of the Lambs was good and Brothers in Battle, Best of Friends made me cry. It was pretty intense. I can reread and Twitch it if you want. GG. EIGHT ( FAVOURITE ARTISTS ). The National, Editors, Nine Inch Nails NINE ( COLLEGE ). Stockton University. I was supposed to graduate in a couple weeks but I declared a minor too late, so I’m stuck. I major in Criminal Justice (the irony...) and minor in Computer Science.  TEN ( DREAM JOB ). Concept artist or programmer, but let me tell you, I suck a lot in programming. Like my professor wants to toss me out into our school lake named Lake Fred and watch me drown because I can’t swim. ELEVEN ( THE MEANING BEHIND YOUR URL ). The Howlers! No creativity here, folks. 

[howlered-blog]

Nightly Visit

Midnight in Batista. A deep, whale-like moan bellowed through the sleeping city like an omen, and the dust blew in. It reached below the creaking floorboards of a nursery; down to the wolfhounds and slumbering Overseers that mumbled in their beds; to the chipped grounds of alleyways that strays and orphans called home.

And up above, on the second floor of the Crone’s Hand Saloon, it reached past the white shutters and into Paolo’s ears, who spun on his couch half-awake from troubled dreams.

A plume of silver dust slipped through the crack of his window. He tasted metal in the back of his throat.

Off you go now, dearie. It has been such a long day, she crooned, her voice echoing in his skull. Close those eyes and Granny will finish that story for you.

Paolo huffed. "Oh, and you weren’t finished? Because I remember you telling me that story last night. And the night before that,” he corrected, desperately closing his bloodshot eyes. “You had your time.”

She clicked her tongue. Then shushed.

There, there. One more word and you won’t like it... No more talking now.

Beside his ear, on the sunken pillow, the hand furled then unfurled. Her cold finger pressed against the scar on the back of his head, then he felt it, the lines she traced, the circles she drew on the nape of his neck, and consumed by exhaustion, he was coaxed into oblivion like a man taken by the tide...

In his dreams, she finished her story. The same one for the third night. 

A man was gurgling through a hole in his cheek. A dim light snuffed from his eyes, and he dissolved into the bubbling stew below.

[howlered-blog]

i can hear your damn howling from my balcony mr. wolf, give it a rest will you?

The gang crowds the mansion. A concert of howls split through the night. Then dogs. Then the Overseer’s wolfhounds. Then the Overseer’s groggy yells and desperate recitation of the strictures. Lights flash on. A mine collapses. The Duke paints a decent self-portrait. Sleep becomes a myth in the Jewel of the South. 

[howlered-blog]

❝there’s a rumor going around about a man who fancies a good game of darts. i was told i’d find him somewhere in the area.❞

An outsider was among them. Fine clothes. Too fine and red, not worn out and faded by years of silver dust. His Howlers twisted their necks and all eyes fell upon her. 

“Things have a way of going around,” he said, snubbing his cigar against a cracked ash tray. He stayed in his seat, studying and curious. “It’s not every day a stranger blows into town, and finds her way onto my doorstep.”

[howlered-blog]

arcanebonded:

Brought out, and the charms broke the air with a cascade of his name in a chorus. A song no one else could hear– not like him. Taking them back in hand, something washed cold over his blood, warming his bones in a blanket of familiarity. A movement to tuck them in to his shirt– in the pockets stitched in to his jacket just for them, and already his mana was singing back to life.

Anyone of the howlers who looked away from him would lose him. Just like that.

But he wasn’t holding still just yet. As promised, he handed over the papers. Letters, correspondences of attacks, plans of infiltration and at least two names of spies that were selling out Howler rotation times.

       ❛  They know they can’t attack you        from here… but it would do you well        not to accept that supply drop in the        dust district. You’ve been compromised. ❜

So this Paolo was a man of his word, at least. There were few men with that trait left in this world….        ❛ It’s been a pleasure. ❜  It wasn’t exactly a pleasure, but the entire event could have gone a million times worse, and for that at least Thomas was thankful. He would cause no more harm to his howlers, and he hoped they would keep their paws to themselves.

He looked over the papers. The supply drop, he would’ve known better, anyway, but the spies--good citizens who’d watched them all day and night, people he thought had their backs. 

Paolo set the list down onto a wooden table. 

“Hear that, Howlers? We’ve got rats in our midst!” He flicked something out. A cutter. "They must be tired--” thunk! ”--of staying up past their bedtime, so why don’t we give them a visit?”

He’d struck the knife down, pinned the list to the table. Like hungry dogs, his Howlers scurried over to it, eating up all the names until their faces scrunched up in disgust. He didn’t need to say anything else. They tore the paper away, shouted, and sprinted for the door in a fit of howls.

Their spies won’t be a problem anymore. Paolo guaranteed it.

“Overseers have been trying to get the jump on me for months,” he said, snatching up a half-empty bottle of Orbon rum off the counter. He waved two of his people down. “They forgot who runs the show. But by tonight, I’ll have them remembering again... Take this guy to the basement.”

On command, his Howlers tossed Hayes over their shoulders. The body swayed and groaned, almost like it’d been disturbed in the middle of a deep sleep, and was taken away, feet dragging over the dirty floors. Paolo gave Thomas one last look.

A killer. Whaler. Warlock. And, at least now, a helper of the Howlers.

He left and followed his men down below. 

“Maybe we’ll catch you around. Could use someone like you,” a voice echoed. 

It was coming from above. 

On a balcony, a woman stood leaning against the rail. Blonde. Tattooed. She took a long drag of her cigar and flashed a lopsided smile before her face disappeared in smoke. “Just saying. Think about it.”

[howlered-blog]

arcanebonded:

A low huff, hands pulling free a few bars of gold pilfered from the stock. Not much, three hundred at most– but notable for just an outpost. Setting them on the counter, he let them clank heavily before pulling out a few papers and envelopes. These, though, stayed in his hand, held up neck to his face.

       ❛  We had a deal. I brought you your man,        and went out of my way to spare information.        I don’t care what he did or how he pissed you off.        I want my payment.  ❜

       ❛ Show me you upheld your end,        and I’ll throw in the information. ❜ If nothing else, no one could ever say Thomas wasn’t thorough in his work. The worry here, though, was that Paolo was going to cheat him– There were far too many men in the room for comfort or combat, but Thomas knew he could escape their sights before anyone so much as waved a stick in his direction.

Ingots clattered onto the table. They shined like full moons in his Howler’s eyes.

“Show me you upheld your end, and I’ll throw in the information,” Thomas demanded, and Paolo’s face betrayed nothing.

Three bone charms, and they weren’t the cheap kind hastily put together by a drooling cultist in an alleyway. They weren’t hard to get. Marcelo only ever visited one black market and the owner, Olivia with the charcoal black hair, always bent to the Howler’s will. She told him a skinny man with a lazy eye snatched the set and limped away. Paolo found him in less than an hour. He cried, fighting for the charms, until they sawed out his eyes and tossed him to squirm in a ditch where he was now collecting silver dust and bloodfly eggs.

Paolo took them from a shelf behind the counter. They sang... warbled... 

The hand was so delighted.

“Here’s what you’ve been after.”

He handed them off to Thomas, and a couple of his Howlers looked offended, like their boss had just been called dishonest. A cheat. “Consider your debt paid, friend,” he said, setting his hands back onto the table. He wondered about those powers, where he got those charms, but okay, fine. He put it off. “Now, about what you found.”

[wallofsparks]

“Paolo. He helped a blind woodcarver cross the street the same day he assassinated a barrister.”

[howlered-blog]

arcanebonded:

       ❛ For what was mine… Bonecharms.       Three of them. They’re nothing like       what you’ll find here. Tripple bound,       heavy with iron. Thick rib bones, carved       five times on each. …. Twisted. Trust me       when I say you’ll know if they’re mine.  ❜

The corruption that croons and warbles off of his most used charm was unnerving to most, but a soft comfort to him after so long. There was a chance Paolo would try to keep the charms to himself, but not knowing their nature and the sickly songs spilling off of them should have been a deterrent even for someone who was already dipping their fingers in to magic.

And with the conclusion of the deal, Thomas pulled at what mana he could scrape up. The world was still willing, and infront of Paolo, Thomas’s body would dissentegrate, the whaler vanishing in to this air. On a hidden rooftop nearby, though, Thomas panted quietly  and tried to control the shaking in his hands. Something about being here was opening that tap on his powers. They were weak… but working. 

He could do this. Overseer at the outpost, by the end of the week. Hayes. He can do this.

He was rusty. No one saw him at the outpost, so perhaps not as rusty as he felt while hauling an unconscious body across the roof tops- almost bigger than he was. But he had taken three days to retrieve the overseer instead of what could have been one and a half if he had his charms. The week wasn’t out for another two days, so he was making good time. He knew he would; you didn’t just stop being a master assassin.

Coming up to the location he was given, no sound was made as he transversed himself in to an upper window. Coming in, the wood creaked under his weight, and then with a resounding THUMP the body of Overseer Hayes hit the bar top, a groan spilling from unconscious lips, Thomas dropping down from the rafters after it to stand behind him with his arms folded.

       ❛ If it’s worth anything, I cleaned        out the outpost safe as well. Got        information on some things about        their locations and operations. ❜

“And so the choffer’s all, ‘Oh, no! That wasn’t a guard, no, sir! That was the barrister’s wife!’”

The square erupted in spitting laughter and Howlers tossed their heads back, their rum splashing out of their glasses and their faces burning beet red. Paolo stayed behind the bar counter, their cheers so loud he never heard it coming. Something thumped behind him and, finally, he turned around.

His Howlers fell dead silent. One rose from her seat. 

“Shit,” she mumbled. “Is that...? Shit, it is.”

Hayes. Early, too.

“Now that’s what I like to see.” Paolo grazed the silver mask. His Howlers gasped, and he realized a new shadow slinging over his shoulder. It was Thomas. “Hayes’ has been nothing but a pain in our necks. One of those zealots, small fry to Byrne, but I’ll give his head back--on a pike--to send a message about how we do things,” he said, slapping the man’s limp arm. He made no move in his unconsciousness.

His Howlers started grouping up. One had a rope of chains in his hand, something they saved just for this moment, and their toothy smiles split wide open. An Overseer and their plans? Money?

“Keep this up and we might give you the grand tour!” one celebrated. “Maybe even a night in Gianna’s bed.”

They all hushed. Paolo looked Thomas hard in the face. “You are a knife in the dark,” he started, “and more of a mystery than I’d expect. What is it you found?”

[howlered-blog]

arcanebonded:

And there it is– the catch. Work first, his bone charms second. There was no trust on either side, a wrench in both their plans. Thomas knew a man of business when he saw one, and the tension in the air told him well enough that this was the best deal he was going to get. Perhaps, if he took this overseer in fast enough, his charms wouldn’t have too terribly far to get before they were retrieved.

The click of his tongue, in defeat. He didn’t have much choice in this, did he? Sure, Thomas could run himself off and be a full enemy of the local back alleys, hunt himself out for his lost charms…. but the effectiveness of that idea was hopeful at the very best, and impending death at the most likely.

Regretfully, surrendering his services was the better option.

       ❛ …. Very well. Thomas, Whaler, at your service. ❜ He said with the bite back of a growling wolfhound on a short leash. At least this isn’t the first grab and bag assignment he’s ever done. There’s a fine art to hijacking overseers and Thomas had a fair share of practice in it.

       ❛  Where do you want him delivered? ❜

Just like that, it was over. The stranger--Thomas--accepted it, bowed, and the howling of the wind stopped.

The hand in his pocket shook at the word ‘Whaler’...

"Good, good. I knew you’d come around. Streets crawling with Overseers, Howlers on every step--it would have been bad news.” He finally put his sword away and his voice, calm, was more casual. Infuriatingly so. Paolo fleetingly looked at the dilapidated houses around them then sized Thomas up. “The Crone’s Hand. Alive. By the end of the week. There’s a lot of people dying to welcome him with open arms--because we know how to treat our guests. Don’t we?”

Nothing good. Paolo put his hands together and decided yes, he won’t forgive Thomas for Marcelo, but he didn’t have to hunt him down, either. A life for a life for five. Make something useful out of this.

All there was to do now was find what was lost. And wait.

[howlered-blog]

arcanebonded:

       ❛  If you knew anything about        real wet work, and not just wanna        be revolutionaries, you might know        what real control over your men was. ❜

He couldn’t just say he helped assassinate the empress before, nor could he outright say he was an assassin– but there was a fundamental difference between Paolo and Daud, and subsequently their men and men’s actions. Daud’s work wasn’t based on some false belief of higher good. Thomas and the Whalers didn’t have the luxury of being loud and unrestrained and boisterous. If you weren’t quiet, you were dead. If you were caught by overseers, you killed yourself to save the shame of being rescued; if you couldn’t get free at least.

Thomas didn’t pretend he was a good person.

       ❛ I can work with a trade, but        my life is hardly fair– I’m worth        nothing you could ask me to do.        …. Your dealers, though. Black        market dealers, where your men sell to.        I need my property back. That is worth,        perhaps, doing a job. ❜

His veins screamed and echoed with scratching wails of the void that caused sharp static in the marrow on his bones and rattled in every breath. He needed his runes back. His charms– their voiden songs and shanties of power, tinged with corruption and miscarving. 

       ❛ I’ve a fair set of skills you could        benefit from, but without my gear        it’ll be far less favorable. ❜

A stranger comes into his town, kills a Howler, takes out two more, and tells him he has no control? Wants him to do a job? After he decided not to stick them with a sword on the spot? He couldn’t believe it.

“Is this that famous Gristolian gratitude I head so much about? Because it sounds a whole lot like a kid running his mouth, and I’d hate to see out of control.”

Most people would be dead by now. He isn’t. Paolo could easily charge at him or call for his Howlers, send them all stampeding in like a horde of hungry wolves and give every one of them the order to sic this stranger alive, but he’s a fair man with plans, so he won’t. 

A gust of wind picked up, and he took a lungful of dust. He’s long used to it.

“By the look of things, I’d say you have it taken care of,” he challenged, angry. He waved his sword to the dead Howler, then to the two crumpled and unconscious on the cold, dusted ground. Paolo didn’t trust anyone outside his family, and if he brought this outsider what they wanted first, he had no guarantee they’d do the job after. No. It had to be this way. “There’s an Overseer down by the outpost, goes by the name of Hayes. Thought he could take down good people behind my back,” he said, a fire in his black eyes. “I’d like to feed some steel through him, to help the High Overseer see how we return favors here. Then we can see about that property you lost.”