The Beginning
Hoyt had spent two hours cooped up in what used to be a merchant’s flyut, sandwiched between a norn that wouldn’t stop biting her nails and a charr that had no concept of bathing. Those two continuous hours had been some of the longest he could recall in his many years of life.
But they paid off.
A throat cleared from behind the counter in front of him, and Hoyt had nearly somersaulted forward when his name was called, prefixed though it was with “mister.” It put a burr in his beard to be called by anything remotely official, but, he wasn’t about to reprimand the chocolate-skinned asura that stared up at him from her seat and ushered him into the door that he had seen so many people go in through but so few people leave. If he did, he might have to go to the back of the line-- worse, he might get booted out.
With heavy step he pushed his way through the old green door, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright glow of the great asuran holoprojector that dominated the center of the room beyond. It was detailed in gold and exquisitely carved from black stone that seemed to drink up as much of the glittering green light as it could. But it didn’t drink up enough; Hoyt could still make out the finely dressed, flat features of the room’s only other occupant, a Krytan man with thinning hair and an expensive monocle.
“Please state your name for the record,” the man sniffed, lifting up a violently pink feather and dipping it in red ink.
“Hoyt Retson,” said Hoyt.
“What is your purpose for contacting us?” asked the monocled fellow as he scribbled in Hoyt’s name.
“Posting a bounty,” Hoyt said, sticking a thumb in his belt as his other hand dug into a pocket.
The man scribbled nothing, probably because that was what almost everyone did when they came into the room. “Do you represent a law agency under the authority of a sovereign state?”
Hoyt shook his head. “Nope.”
An ‘X’ was scribbled. “Is your target a ranking member of any military, criminal, scholarly or educational organization?”
“They’re a cutthroat and a murderer that sometimes kills for pay.” Hoyt jutted his bearded chin out as his hand found what it was looking for.
“Yet,” asked the man, raising a finger, “not affiliated with any mercenary company or warband?”
“Not anymore,” said Hoyt.
"Are you looking to hire a specific individual?” asked the Krytan, scribbling away. Hoyt grimaced and shook his head; he couldn’t trust that just one son of a bitch with fancy magic and a knife could do the job, no. He was paying good money, mildly honest money, and he wanted results.
“The bounty’s open to any bastard that can take it,” said Hoyt, pulling a fistful of gems and Elonan jewelry from his pocket, enough to make the man with the quill adjust his monocle and lean forward in obvious interest. “I don’t care who, or how, just that he’s dead.”
“I see... at this point, I would normally ask for the bounty payment plus the handling fee, but I see you can provide both and then some.” The fellow re-inked his quill and continued to write as he spoke. “All guilds, companies and freelancers will be notified, as will any other individuals and organizations we see fit. We will contact you, of course, once the contract is settled... all I need is a name, and, if applicable, a relation to the target on the part of the poster. You know-- to stir up interest.”
“A relation,” sneered Hoyt, thumbing his nose as he walked forward and set the riches down onto the projector, where little metal arms sprung forth and began to snatch it all away, “Oh, he’s a relation alright. The mark’s name is James Retson, my good-for-nothin’ nephew, and I want his fuckin’ head on a spit.”
((Enough is enough and the long-awaited day is at hand. Contact me on discord @313_Revenant#0984 to get in on a bloody, brutal and hopefully satisfying Discord (I can’t do in-game, my shit’s broken) scene in which James Retson is cornered and killed. If nothing happens by next Friday, you will see what becomes of him. I’m dead ass serious this time. If tagged let your boy know if you’re down or not and hit up relevant people that aren’t cunts, you know who.
@thefreelanceangel @tolyrn @reedingrams @zaaraskaldvarg))