“So—she’s not dead, or with you?” the shrouded figure distortedly asked, their looming red eyes searing Borgast.
“I’m sorry. She slipped out because one of my men got careless. We will find her again; you can count on it,” his normally stoic voice cracked slightly as the contact’s eyes narrowed, a cold chill running down his spine.
“Don’t worry, Captain, we have it in hand. Be grateful you’re not valued enough to be seen as a loose end,” the voice spoke as the crystal ball went black, a small crack forming along its surface.
Borgast slumped his right hand, moving to pick up the bounty letter and the anonymous message he had received only three days after his capture.
“Well, it's not enough to buy a castle for retirement, but 500,000 Scales is better than nothing and less likely to get me killed before I leave that assassin’s den.” He groaned before standing up to address his men, only to hear screaming outside his wagon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vellora walked down the old staircase. Her body was wreathed in dark clothing. The edge of her leather chest plate stuck out from the low v-cut of the tunic. Her eyes scanned the entry hall as most people there went quiet. She even saw a few of the thieves squirm in their seats.
“Don’t try to rob people that know how to hide, and always listen to advice from someone more skilled than you,” she said, looking over the groups before walking out of the Wander’s Rest. Her eyes caught on a much more composed woman, a small tattoo on her hand depicting a set of fangs in a wry grin.
Well, all good things must come to an end, she thought as she calmly left the building and started towards the center market. Her plans of picking a few pockets and looking for work were on the back burner as she kept her eyes and ears peeled, actually glimpsing that same elven woman following her.
The half-devil took a deep breath as she turned down an alley, attempting to bait a conflict, her hand still casually resting on her shortsword. Before she could hide, she heard a blade being drawn and fast footsteps approaching.
“Damn it.” She growled as she drew her blade and blocked a slash headed for her neck with the three-foot blade in her left hand. Her right moved to try and grab the smaller woman.
Only for two slashes to dig deep across her arm, her opponent darting back, a rather cocky grin on the moon-touched’s lips.
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Vellora shook the blood from her forearm before readying herself, a manic grin forming on her lips. “Was that meant to kill?” She asked in elvish before slashing out again, her swing seeming wild as it slashed the knife ear’s hand, knocking it away as Vallora’s right grabbed the assassin by the wrist.
The elf tried to pull free, only to slash out again at Vellora with a second knife, a look of panic starting to spread across her face. The blade slashed just under the half-devil’s left breast, a black tar-like substance finally coming to Vellora’s attention as the cut felt like it was burning.
“Poison? How cute–” Vellora cooed seductively as she tried to swing the elf into a wall, only for her blood-coated hand to cause her sword grip to slip.
The elf took this chance to jump back and almost out of range, the blade caressing her throat as both performed their dance of death with a killer’s grace.
“You’re good, Vellora, but you’re taking a lot of hits,” the elf chided in her native tongue before darting back in and launching slashes at the taller cutthroat; both strikes nicking Vellora’s hair as she pirouetted around the razors.
“And you keep getting close, so let's make this alley run red,” Vellora growled as static flowed from her arm to the tip of her sword. “AND I’LL MAKE THE STORM BREAK!!” she commanded before slamming into her attacker with a wild rage.
Her fangs glinted slightly as she grinned. Her blade struck the elf’s studded armor, lightning dancing between the studs, burning the leather and melting the brass fittings. Vellora slammed her attacker into the brick wall, causing the stones to shutter, before sinking her blade into the elf’s chest. The blade glided through the leather and bone like a fish swims through water.
The elf tried weakly to stab her one last time, only for Vallora’s free hand to snatch and snap her wrist, causing the blade to clatter to the ground.
The color faded from her face as blood trickled from her mouth, and the gaping hole in her chest bubbled with her shaky breath. “What— the— hells?” she croaked as Vellora pulled her sword free with a slick sucking sound.
“I spent a few years living with a raiding tribe, and I picked up a few things before killing their chief in his sleep. Like tapping into your rage and knowing when a storm is about to roll in,” Vellora said before slashing the woman’s throat, ensuring her silence. “They really should have told you that, oh well.” She said, sheathing her sword and walking out of the alley, doing her best to blend into the crowd.
No one would be any the wiser that they were walking next to a monstrous artist.
A butcher kills for pay, a murderer kills for fun, but she kills to paint the world in blood.