Eternal Rains (IC) [M] - Closed

[Cogidubnus]

The east wind blew hard against the town of Holiday, hard enough to ripple through the mudded puddles that dotted the formerly and distantly remembered dirt streets, hard enough to make opening doors and walking east difficult. It blew hard enough that hats and hair alike were tossed about by the eastern wind, and it blew hard enough to make every resident in town smell the sweet scent of ozone and sea-salt carried aloft. It was the scent of storms, and a smell certainly not uncommon on the Island, but this one was brought by the East Wind – and old Eurus was blowing hard. It promised a gale.
   But this too was nothing uncommon on the Island of Eternal Rains.
   
   Stone buildings with deep foundations made up the town, foundations and stones dotted with hairline cracks from the muddy ground. Bad weather and bad soil, however, could not make up for the Island's excellent position between the continents, sitting almost equidistant between some of the most powerful lands in all of Furrae – and it was this that made the Island what it was, a port town of unimaginable importance. The greatest weather-mages could not begin to control the Island's storms, but though they always brewed, they were seldom fierce enough to cause damage to modern ships. In this way, Trade was the Island's lifeblood, and Holiday its heart. If there was anything important to be found on the Island, it was in that town. Anything.
   
   Trading companies had founded the town, and eventually it grew beyond being a simple refueling and resupply area, growing into the township that it was today. Through wars and through sieges, the town prospered, for if a ship desired to cross the ocean, stopping at the small Island was almost a given. The Mer themselves had taken an interest in the small town, and indeed, took no small part in its governance. Any ship that tried to sail without stopping there, even if they did not need to, would find itself beset with storms unrivaled by any ocean's natural fury. A great deal of the town's treasury went to making sure that it stayed that way.
   
   Trade was the town's lifeblood and its shield, and it found itself insulated from a great deal of the world's troubles – but it is iron, cold iron, that rules gold and silver. In Furrae, trouble comes to everyone and every place. Some say that it is the troubles of the world that have given the Island it's name, the Island of Eternal Rains. Some say the sorrows of the world congregate there, and that is the source of it's eternal storm. Werther or not it is true, sorrows do come to this place too. No greater example can be found than in the Verdant Cuff, a bar of somewhat nominal repute, situated not far from the town's docks. A great big wooden affair, it sits on another deep stone foundation, courtesy of the trading company that owns the tavern. Dockmen frequent the bar, and it's proximity to the dockyards mean that travelers often stop there as well. Above the door swings a wooden sign depicting a pair of green sleeves laying on a wooden tabletop, creaking above the slightly-misted street.

   The sound of raindrops could be heard from the inside...

[Sunblink]

Great, liquefied dollops of rain pelted and plastered against the fog-shrouded glass of the tavern's windows, painting watery patterns of splatters and splotches along the windows' surface which visibly distorted and warped the monotonous light trickling into the establishment. Murky and overhung with storm clouds as the sky was outside the tavern, most of the illumination within the bar was provided by the lanterns situated throughout the interior, suffusing the rooms in dull orange light.

As far as the dilapidated towns populating Holiday went, the tavern was elevated slightly over the level of mundane. It was surprisingly clean and sturdy in build - that latter was a requirement, considering the tempestuous storms from which Holiday's secondary sobriquet was derived, and how they more than occasionally peppered the island. Under the light issued from the slightly aging and derelict lanterns dangling from their respective niches, the wood reinforcing the building seemed to glow, from the floors to the walls. A pool table rested against the far wall. Tables and booths for future and current occupants furnished the main room of the bar in front of the counter, behind which a wide variety of different alcoholic beverages were stored or kept on display.

Yes, it was a cozy little place. A little old, a little bruised, but cozy.

And currently moderately filled. Bars tended to attract a wide collection of characters, and this one was no different. Most of them were just isolated to their own devices, as far as any of them bothered to note, whether it was simply drinking, playing pool at the table, or sulking for whatever reason. All throughout it, the bartender - a sort of tan-scaled, wiry reptilian fellow whose fingers were festooned in a spongy fringe - alienated himself to his own activities, pretending he actually gave a damn about the lamenting of some of the patrons who were vociferous enough about their problems. Too bad that particular reptile was distributing alcohol, because he would have quite a career in sainthood.

"Hey, you."

Amidst those characters, someone had swaggered up to the counter, resting her hands on its polished surface and leaning expectantly forward. Blinking, the fringe-fingered lizard lifted an eyebrow and evenly leveled his gaze with the chocolaty eyes of the jackal woman who approached him. He nodded, signifying his attention had been provided. The jackal was esoterically colored a combination of saffron and sable, her pretty, angular face crowned off with an aerodynamic, disheveled mane of dirty-blonde hair. Unique as her abstract pelt-patterning was, it was mostly obscured by her concealing attire, which was composed entirely of threadbare black. Particular effort seemed to have been put around hiding her neck beneath her outfit, as well as her arms. She extended a hand.

"Got a marker?" she asked. Her voice was gravelly and rasped, as though she had a horrible cold. Not attractive at all.

The fringe-fingered lizard merely stared at her after this odd request was stated, but he set about to rummaging over his belongings regardless. A moment later, he produced a sizable black sharpie from underneath some papers and notices about future health inspections and dropped it in the jackal's palm. Mumbling her thank-you, she spun around, then edged her way around a giraffe, disappearing from the bartender's immediate sight, and interest.

---

Squeeeeeeeeee-eEK.

Twisting the marker against the cardboard clutched in her opposite hand, the jackal hummed indecisively to herself, dabbing perfunctorily at one of the looping figures she had scrawled. Outside, she could hear the rain alleviate somewhat (it never stopped raining in Holiday - it just let up slightly), the formerly relentless peppering of the rain against the window near her table lapsing into intermittent pauses. That meant there was more of a likelihood of people arriving. Almost anxiously, expectantly, the jackal switched her gaze to the door in-between busily writing away at the cardboard. She and her companion not only had the fortune of obtaining a table next to the window, but near the entrance door as well.

Her aforementioned companion was a melancholy sort. He was a wolf, tall and disarmingly thin beneath his mottled gray fur, which was seemingly drawn taut over his bony joints and contours. His clothing was as threadbare as hers, and his demeanor was oddly introverted despite her belligerence, characterized by the way he disguised his withdrawn and owlish expression under the brim of his hat. He didn't interfere in her work, or make any effort at interacting with her, although he kept fidgeting and twitching erratically. That was because the jackal had taken away his stash. Poor thing must be getting desperate.

The jackal's project was concluded with another squeak as the marker was descended in a perfectly vertical streak, then jabbed once for punctuation beneath that line. She viewed the folded chunk of cardboard critically, as though she was examining a work of art instead of a hastily slapped-together sign, then nodded drearily to herself. The jackal didn't consult the wolf aside from briefly flashing the cardboard in his face as confirmation of its completion, and then settled it into position so that way its marker-splattered hide was facing the window. Just in case, the opposite side of the cardboard sign, which was directed towards the rest of the occupants loitering about the bar, was emblazoned with the same, grandiloquent message:

SKILLED ADVENTURERS WANTED IN EXCHANGE FOR VAST REWARDS!
apply by consulting gray wolf and yellow-and-black jackal beside this message

The jackal, Keaton, smiled grimly to herself, and then to the wolf, folding her hands together and sitting anxiously, her eyes affixed on the scenery outside the window. The remnants of the storm were drooling in thick streams down the glass, the background lurking behind the watery webs of rain blurred in a misty, lugubrious mosaic of grays, browns, and blacks by the descending droplets.

Almost looked like the sky was crying.

~Keaton the Black Jackal

[Lushin]

A rather large reptile walked through the door with a smile on his face. He was dripping wet but it didn't seemed to bother him at all even though he wasn't wearing a shirt. He was a rather rugged looking reptile. Some what resembling a Crocodile and Iguana. He stood taking in the bar with the same goofy smile. It almost looked scary with his teeth sticking out. He looked around the bar nodding to the regulars. He took note of any of the newcomers. He then looked to the bartender and waved. He started walking towards the bar when the bartender looked at him and seemed to shake his head. One of the regulars shouted to him.
"Hey Zilla haven't seen you around for a while, where did you end up?"
Zilla turned and his smiled looked like it got bigger.
"Oh I got stuck guarding some guy and stuff he was charge of. Got stuck getting shipped out"
Zilla kept walking towards the bar as he talked. The same voice spoke up again.
"So big pay off then?"
Zilla raised an eye ridgeline (No eyebrows)
"You honestly think I would say that in a loaded bar? The worst part is it wasn't a big pay off at all. We hit land and I was placed under arrest. He took off with the stuff and most of my paycheck"
Zilla just kept smiling as he spoke. He finally reach the bar and ordered a simple drink. He paid when he got his drink and headed over to the pool table and started practicing his game. While at the table he looked over at the two he didn't recognize by the window. He saw the sign they had up on the cardboard. He seemed to be able to read the sign but stayed at the table shooting pool, he did seemed alittle interested in what the sign said.

[SpottedKitty]

Fal'taq hated being forced by circumstances into visiting a tavern like the Verdant Cuff. The old mole hated to be surrounded by common Beings, all intent on swilling themselves into insensibility as quickly as possible. He needed to hire a new minion, though, and he didn't trust his employer to supply one who wouldn't spy on him. Once more he cursed the previous holder of that position. He was prepared to countenance a small amount of petty theft: done properly, discreetly, and with style, it showed some initiative, and the rudiments of crude intelligence. The stupid woman's plan to sell Fal'taq's entire stock of valuable magical equipment and supplies, to both the Sabanethei and Shimanaka Families at the same time, was merely the mark of an utter cretin.

Ah, well. He'd paid the bartender to direct certain types of people looking for a job in his direction; all he had to do now was wait. Hopefully, not too long.

A squeaky-squeaky noise drew the mole's attention for a moment where he sat at a table in a dim corner of the crowded room. He looked over towards a table by the door, where a jackal — what he could see of her fur apparently a rather dubious dye job — and an unhealthy-looking grey wolf sat beside a roughly scrawled notice on a piece of cardboard. Fal'taq rummaged in a pocket of his long, bright yellow raincoat and pulled out a pair of opera glasses. He peered through them at the sign for a long moment, then looked again at the jackal and wolf. He snorted disdainfully, then after a few seconds began to laugh quietly, a shrill, stacatto noise that drilled into the eardrums of anyone close enough to hear.

Hehehe. Hehe. Hehehehe.

[Aisha deCabre]

The rain wasn't what bothered the dark feline walking across from the direction of the docks.  She walked slowly, steps that carried less deliberation and more contentment.  The jaguar wasn't wearing anything that protected her from the weather...instead letting her face rise toward the sky.  No, she loved the rain, and how it obscured everything in a calm slate color and made fog rise in places.  The weather was also perfect in the fact that it hid and washed strange scents...the only thing she was concerned about.

The feline glanced down to the bladed edge of the weapon in her hand...as the rain hit its silvery surface, fresh crimson-colored water dripped from it, only to hit the ground and fade.  Soon the remains of the assassin's last target were gone from her nostrils and she could walk without suspicion once again in this new place, placing it back on her belt.  There seemed to be few people outside, but plenty of lights from places such as the bar ahead made the surroundings illuminate in a strange ethereal glow.  So there was life, and hopefully, not very hostile life.

Just out of curiosity, the panther wandered slowly across, thinking to herself and ignoring the strange looks she got from a few of the leftovers outside.  I'd rather not mingle with anyone.  But damn it, I'm thirsty.  One thing that she hated was bars.  Too many adventurers telling outlandish stories of how they slew Demons and the like.  The first time she was in such a place, in fact, there was a man who had tried to impress her with stories about his slayings.  To this day she figured they still haven't found his remains.

But there was little choice.  She looked like a Being enough to pass into such places anyway.  Perhaps this time the Demon in disguise could have enough will to ignore anyone who tried to do that again.  The red-eyed feline strolled past, shaking water out of her hair and adjusting her bracers before entering.

More likely than not, she didn't get much attention from whatever patrons were inside.  She looked much like an adventurer...the ornate black bow and quiver were quite the giveaways, as well as the bladed boomerang at her belt and chain wrapping around her waist.  The scars adorning her bare back--the rest of her covered in light studded armor--were clues enough as well.  The only strange thing that could be said about her was the air of...well, nobody could describe it better than "darkness"...she carried.  A young face with solidly-focused eyes and an expression that held behind it a great experience that came from fighting...or, as some would more likely say, killing.  Bounty hunters called her a red-eyed shadow.  She called herself Aisha Risen.

With those eyes, Aisha glanced at those gathered inside.  The place looked rather calm and quiet for the most part, and the people not too strange-looking...except for the two canids near the window, who looked somewhat ragged; if not in appearance then in demeanor.  Something in her keen senses told her that.

She strode without a hint of hesitance to a clear portion of the bar and ordered a drink...while she waited, her gaze only then caught the sign.  And a few of the others had also turned to take a glance-over.

Vast rewards?  Well, well.  At the corner of her lip, a thoughtful smirk formed, awaiting what other reactions it would get before deciding if she'd take it up.  The sign and its owners looked like they had nothing to their names, but Aisha wasn't one to be choosy.  They know how to gather a crowd.

[Tapewolf]

While the political climate and the neighbourhood precluded a friendly wave from his neighbours, even the most volatile crime gangs saw little point in harrasing the harmless and impoverished old wolf as he hobbled back into the squalid and rickettey hut in which he lived.  This was, of course, the whole idea.

Safely inside, his stride became stronger.  Kicking aside the filthy rags on the floor, he reached the wall and a void opened up at his touch.  It closed up as he stepped through it into a gigantic stone chamber, larger than the shanty itself - much less the hut - the years falling away from him as he walked until finally the wings appeared.  In the distance, lit by enchanted candles was a throne.

Cross knelt before the throne, upon which a second incubus sat and glanced up at him from the book he was reading.  The canid reached down and ruffled his hair.

"My Lord," he began, "I hear tell of more disappearances...?" he hesitated, apparently unwilling to ask the question in its entirety, but the other picked up the meaning immediately.

"Indeed.  We had another death... I had to secure replacements.  Fear not, my dear Johan, none saw.  At least, none saw and lived," he added.  The wolf chuckled appreciatively.  "And now... do you have them?"

"Yes, Lord..."

"Show me!  Bring them here!" the fox was almost bouncing with eagerness and only the sheer weight of the stone throne was holding it in place.  Cross reached into his pouch and drew out a pair of orange-furred objects, tinged at the edges with crimson.

"Oh yes... yes... vixen... these are perfect..."

Crooning with delight, he rose from the throne and took the offerings from Jakob's outstretched hand, replacing them with a large crystal of soul-energy which the wolf devoured greedily.

In primary school, children made pictures out of macaroni and glue, but Lord Daryil had gone far beyond this.  The wooden panelling on the wall of his throne-room was covered with an exquisite tapestry from the mainland.  Dotted upon this canvas the severed ears of Beings were nailed, seemingly at random, a grim montage by a demented artist.

* * *

"Johan," Daryil started, his eyes penetrating and cold.  The ears had long since ceased to dribble down the tapestry, and their former owner would probably be waking soon in some ditch mercifully distant from their realm.

"As you know, our little enterprise exists in the face of stiff competition.  I'll be frank.  If things do not improve, we may have to pack it in, a prospect which displeases me immensely."

He paused.  "I do not take this decision lightly, but I would send you on a mission."

"Name it, my Lord,"  Cross whispered, as Daryil stroked his hair like a favourite pet.

"Niall, Izak and Ashley will remain here to cover in your absence, but you... this will require your touch.  You see, I have heard things... in less-shielded minds... rumours of an assassination gone wrong.  To the best of my knowledge, the Family has never slipped like that before.  You are to investigate.  This chink in their armour, properly exploited, may be the one that can put us ahead."

"My Lord," Cross replied, "What is your bidding?"

"Learn what you can.  I do not expect you to return immediately, so you will need a cover.  Try the Verdant Clump, or whatever it's called these days... there are often contracts to be had there.  And Cross..."

Daryil smiled, a hint of longing in his eyes.  "Take care, my dear..."

* * *

Dressed in his favourite trenchcoat, Cross was an imposing figure as he entered the Cuff.  The first thing that attracted his eye was the most amateur-looking wanted sign he had ever seen in his life.  From the chittering laughter of a nearby mole, he was not the only one who found it amusing.

"You must be joking," he chuckled.  "If you can't afford a sign, what makes you think you can afford an adventurer?"

[bill]

In a booth near the side of the bar, Chapman Navarro sighed, flopping a yellow folder onto the bar table.

"This op's bullshit, Mac."

His friend, sitting across the table, made a faint, knowing smile.

"I was wondering what that folder was. Mind if I have a look"?

Navarro sighed, and slid the folder across the table. MacNamara picked it up, and thumbed through it.

"This all seems pretty simple. Office building, unarmed target, roof exit. What's wrong?"

"Read the infosheet", said Navarro.

MacNamara flipped to the front page. His eyes widened.

"Target date, fifty-two days from assignment. You got a fifty-day notice?"

Navarro nodded.

"Yep. Fifty days till I'm supposed to kill the guy. What the hell do they expect me to do with fifty days?"

MacNamara chuckled softly.

"You're pissed, because you have fifty days off?"

Navarro nodded again.

MacNamara rolled his eyes, and took another sip of his drink.

"You know, C.C., in many cultures, having fifty days off- Fifty paid days off is generally considered a good thing."

"In some cultures, Mac, people enjoy their jobs", replied Navarro.

MacNamara chuckled again.

"Yeah, not this one, mate. Want another from the bar?"

Navarro nodded. MacNamara was gone for a few minutes, while Navarro leaned back, and contemplatively stared at the lamp above his booth. MacNamara returned with two fresh bottles.

" 'took you so long, Mac?" asked Navarro.

" d'ya see the sign on the wall?"

"What, the one about adventurers?"

MacNamara nodded.

"Why don't you do that, C.C.?"

Navarro rolled his eyes.

"Did you even look at the two guys the sign's about?"

MacNamara shrugged.

"What's wrong with them?"

Navarro pointed at the two figures in the corner.

"Wolf guy's obviously a druggie. Looks like he just came out of a goddamn free clinic, or something. Jackal looks shifty. Don't trust her. Broad will probably end up shorting me, or something."

"Hey, your loss, C.C..".

"Why don't you do it, if you're so interested in it?" replied Navarro.

"Not all of us have that kind of free time, C.C. Speaking of which, I have to go."

MacNamara left out the door, and walked into the dark rain. Navarro waited at his table for a few minutes, staring blankly at his folder, and dimly smiling.

[e_voyager]

A winged grey fox not so much walked as stumbled into the bar. a glance told any skilled eye that he was ind a world of his own and in to hurry to vacate it. glancing around with half seeing eyes the fox saw the bartender and walked to the bar hand reaching into his vest.
"ale. and what every you consider to be the best dish here" that said he pull out a small drawstring purse  and reached in it for a few coins to cover the ale. these he left on the counter taking the drink the turns and saw the wolf and jackal. he looked at them both a moment and the sign between them before closing his eyes his wings shutter a bit and he forced himself to calm down.

He was not in the mood to fight and he was getting hungry to boot. never a good sign. with a little searching he founds a place to sit in a shadowed corner of the bar. as he awaited his meal he thought back to what had happen. most of his possessions and half of his money were left behind in that hotel. even worse he had no place to spend the night hours all because a jerk of a being and started harassing  him about his wings. It had all began scantly an hour ago.

Epyon returned to the hotel after another dispiriting day of searching and yet another day of failure. Not a single lead. he passes the clerk who simply nodded. He was a being but then that was  and section of town were there were fewer being the creatures. still given the choice he'd found he prefer the company of being like his grandfather had been. He was walking to his room when her heard a shrill call "who let the freak show in?"  The words were slightly slurred and the person aside from being a speaker was also drunk so he tried to ignore it  walking to the stairs to get to his room but the drunk being followed him. "whats the matter wing boy? nothing to say"  when met with silence he went on " oh i get it you're part chicken. you got a nest in there? gonna lay some eggs"  Epyon tensed he was getting angry and being angry tended to be a bad thing.  at his room he fished for his keys and the being  taking his distraction to be cowered graved his wing.  Startled and angered Epyon turns shaking and flaring his wing but as he tried he accidentally elbowed the being who fell clutching his stomach.

"cheep shot" complaint the wined being. " look you sir are drunk and i'm tired form work. lets just go to our own rooms and forget we saw each other?" it was a simpler request. it should have worked but the  being shout calling those that had watched him tease the winged fox. "are we going to let this little chicken demon  take pot shots at us then pretend that he's innocent?"  Epyon was dumb founded. what was he saying? " a few of those that watcher laughed and said it was the beings own drunkenness that did him in " look At those wings!" the being insisted. " i bet he's one of those winged demons that started that damned war" war? here was talk of the war again that wasn't good. the mummer of the crowed changed they weren't laughing anymore. Epyon knew what was going to happen. he'd had nightmares like this before. he tried to wake up but couldn't since he wasn't sleep. " i have done nothing" he protested. " listen to the chicken click" said the drunk being sounder more sober now "i say we have a chicken baroque

the key he thong if only he had the right key he could get into his room and then what? this being would probably lead the other in a charge to break down the door. these other who while not nice to him over that past few days had never been threatening but this guy had some how begun to turn them into a mob. then he felt it. blade from the talking being pierce him from behind exposing his secret as his eyes lit up in anger and the lack of blood was accompanied by the smell of death. they know now there was not help for it any more. Epyon  ran.

Epyon had not wanted to run he'd not wanted to leave behind the image of his family and a good portion of his money along with all the close that he owned aside form the ones he was wearing but the only other option was to find and while he might kill them more would come and then more sooner or later self defense or not he'd soon be overwhelm label a monster and  torture him until the could kill him. far better to run then to kill.  at least in this case. maybe in a day or tow he could slip back into the hotel and get his belongings. the money would be gone of course. ad possibilly many of the clothes and tool but something would be left if only the pictures of his family.

Eypon open his lower eyes again. His ale was gone and his food had arrived without his notice. he began to eat but the food had not taste. or perhaps it was he who had no taste for the food. he was still hungry but it was not a hunger that he would ever want to indulge. again he looked to the two with the sign. perhaps he could use them to help get him find at least a few leads. if nothing else he could used some of those vast rewards.

[Boog]

Ty had owed a friend who worked at the docks a favor, and had just finished. The favor was to stand and glare at a man the friend was buying some cargo off of while they were negotiating. He assumed there was a perfectly good reason for the friend to have required this. Regardless, the job was done and the friend had left before they could go anywhere to relax. A shame, but then again this friend did have such a stressful line of work. He probably had someplace to be. So it was on his way home from the docks that he saw the Verdent Cuff.
He used to spend so much time in such establishments, way back when. Places with the constant creak of wood and stone rather than the silence of other pubs that had shiny counters and a full staff instead. A building that chimed in on conversations with its own groaned observations which, depending on how much you had drank, could be quite enlightening. That sort of bar that was charming simply for its complete and utter lack of charm.
Of course, these days he rarely drank...
Oh, perhaps one...

Ty entered the bar, ducking a little to fit through the door made more with beings in mind. He carefully eased his way into an equally undersized booth and cast his gaze about the pub appreciatively. Rowdy drunks, secretive cliques, odd individuals, a jackal and a wolf over yonder who looked much like vagrants (an image not helped by the cardboard sign)... He smiled slightly and reached for a menu on the table. This place was everything he'd hoped for.

[Snuggles]

A winged bunny stepped closer to the trees hoping not to get wet from the drenching rain but to no avile as usual. Why did i even come to this island again... Oh right my party wanted to kill something here 'it will be fun' they said 'we need a healer' they said 'the rain will be nice.' Ha Shakes off the rain from the coat and wings but soon after the feeling that it was needed to be done again came over him. Damn this rain. i need to get out of it before i cut down a tree just to get out of it.

He continues down through the trees until he found a road. Looked to be a town road because of the use it has seen. This lightened up his mood as he started to skip down the road toward where ever it lead to. As he moved on he passed a couple of people that gave him quizzical looks at him as he continued to skip down the road. He sometimes did a large skip using his wings to go a little further but it was all in good fun as he found himself soon in front of what looked like the tavern. He stopped and looked around and saw the sign outside and came up to it for a good long look at it. The Verdant Cuff... He looks up again at it leaning on his staff a little bit. "well doesn't hurt to go in." He smiled to himself when he thought of the many times when it did hurt to go into such a place but he walked up to the door and proceeded to go in otherwise.

Walking in he found himself in a room filled with people. Lots of beings and non-beings as he looked around at the many faces. His ears moving about getting the feel of the room as he tills them around a little bit then letting them again droop down to their normal positions next to his braided hair. He walked up to the bar and hopped up to the stool there and set his staff down beside him. He called the barkeeper for something to drink and some food. He pointed at the board with the menu on it. "well, then some ale and meat please." The barkeep gave a look then he new all to well but he didn't ask any questions which was good. After a couple of sips from his ale he turned back to the crowd and the sign on the wall caught his eye. Yes, Finally something else to do in this rainy place. He turned back and ate his meal quickly. Grabed a couple of coins from inside his coat to pay for the meal. He then move from his stool, grabbing his staff, and walking up to the jackal that was there, moving passed some of the other people that were also standing in front of him. "Um, sir? is that offer still stand?" Pointing at the sign right next to the guy not really know anything about it.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

The stumpy hedgehog sat towards the end of the bar, grumpily nursing his latest pint. He gazed down at it, then glanced up at the (much bigger) patron next to him.

"What are you lookin' at, yer big git?"

The bear glanced down at him, and muttered "Nothing."

"Nothin'? So I'm nothin', am I?"

The bear raised his hands placatingly. "I'm just drinking." He shrugged.

Witt turned back to his pint, then swung it in a smooth curve over the bar and straight into the face of the bear, shattering beer and glass in all directions, and leaving just the handle in his hand. He followed that with a boot to the groin, then grabbed the bar stool in his off hand, and bent it over the now much lower head.

Unsurprisingly, the bear crumpled into a heap, upon which the stool was tossed with a thump.

"Shrug that off, damn yer." Witt muttered, applying a boot to the ribs, and turned back to the bar. "'Nother pint."

The bartender glanced at the bouncers moving in, albeit unhappily, and shook his head slightly. With evident relief, they settled for dragging the bear's unconscious body - and the bent bar stool - out the door, and left the bartender to it. "Your third tab is quite high, sir."

"What? I haven't drunk that much."

"No, sir, but the three tables, the window, the shelf you knocked down, the various bottles that were on the shelf, the two bouncers you broke the tables over, and fourteen glasses - they all add up. And I'm going to need you to pay for it before I can give you another drink."

"Ah. How much was it?" When the bartender told him, he fished around in his pockets for a while, pouring a rather large pile of coins onto the bar. "That cover it?"

"Just." The bartender fished out two small coins, pushing them back to Wit, and scooped the rest off the bar, dumping it into the usual place, and then supplied Witt with his pint.

Witt sighed, put the two coins back in his pocket, and picked up his drink. His eyes tracked around the bar, and focused on the sign. "Well, that'd make it worthwhile, I guess." He collected his drink from the bar, and ploughed through the crowd to the little group in the corner.

He glared down at the sign, and then at the jackal. "Skilled at what?"

[Cogidubnus]

Underneath the brim of his battered, straw fedora the emaciated grey wolf watched his - no word fit better than mistress, the wolf supposed. She certainly seems to think she's got every damn right in the world... Cogidubnus Mithlome checked his thoughts, and instead winced as the yellow jackal wrote on a piece of trash she had gotten from somewhere, the squeaking sound drilling into his ears like a shovel in graveyard dirt. She flashed it in the wolf's direction, clearly not wanting an opinion so much as simply showing him what it said. The wolf sat unmoving.
Not entirely true. He was shaking, imperceptibly, and sweating in the cool humidity of the Island.

Cogidubnus was certainly not unique in that he had certain unique needs. Certain sweetnesses that let him take him mind off of everything, and finally relax. They tended to interfere with certain....other uniquenesses of his, however. Keaton hadn't liked that. She'd make it very clear that he wasn't to do that anymore.
Cog dutifully ignored the throbbing pain in his side. He didn't have to look beneath his nearly-threadbare black shirt to know that a welt was forming on his entire left side.

He tried to think about something else, and almost succeeded when another sound drilled itself into his eardrums. Eerie, staccato laughter, mocking and infinitely cold. Cog turned to look - a mole dressed in a bright yellow raincoat and staring at them with opera glasses was sniggering to himself. Cog gave the creature a nasty look, fueled by the pain and indignities of the day.
"Hay! You lookin' at something, Robin in the Rain?", he said. Not nearly his best insult, but Cog wasn't feeling his best today. He didn't even care if there were any robins in the room. They'd just have to deal with it.

Another voice greeted him from the opposite direction, and Cog turned to find himself staring at another grey wolf, this one clad in a rather ominous-looking trenchcoat. He was apparently mocking them as well, and Cog narrowed one yellow eye at the lupine.
"I'll have you know, this is the best damn adventurer-wanted sign in all of Holiday." he got out, feeling the subtle pressure in his temples that meant a excruciating headache was not far off, if he did not get the...items, that he needed. He tried to ignore it, instead giving the wolf an up-and-down glance. "Not that it'd matter to you, I think. The Family'd eat you up and spit you out. Note the skilled bit."

The wolf took a quick glance around the room. A red-clad, dark feline was giving them the eye, as was a canine sitting in the booth in a corner, and a rather large...thing was also doing so. Cog glanced at the other wolf.
"The rewards come at the end of an adventure, anyway. And trust me...they will be vast, indeed." Cog said, trying to infuse his voice with a suitable amount of drama. He'd spent some time practicing that bit, and hoped that it carried the sort of bravado and intruige that would attract adventurers.
He coughed.

[Tapewolf]

"Whatever you say," Cross remarked to Cog, and promptly went to the toilets.  A minute or so later he returned with a sheet of white plastic (solid polymer was very quick and easy to create) and a small pot of black paint.

For a moment he was tempted to erect another sign to overshadow theirs...  any recruits he obtained would be handy for the soul-dairy, although that would be kind of cruel and there was always a chance that a skilled adventurer might really be a Creature.  So he went with the original plan and copied theirs out word-for-word.

"This may help," he said, handing the other wolf a far more professional sign.

The way they had mentioned the Family... perhaps they knew of the assassin.  There were only two ways to find out covertly.
One was to open their minds, but the jackal had a mind-shield and the wolf was too far gone to probe beyond the fact that he was a junkie badly in need of a fix.

The other way was to join their group.

"Speaking hypothetically... if I were willing to join your expedition, what would be its aim?" he enquired, a reasonable enough request.

[Aisha deCabre]

When her drink finally came, Aisha had barely noticed.  All of a sudden the quiet bar had suddenly become a hotspot for some interesting individuals, having come in after her.  A rather intimidating--or at least it appeared so--gray wolf, who instantly scoffed at the sign that the two disheveled canines had put up.  There was also at least one winged individual whom the panthress glanced at for a moment with a moderate level of incredulism.  Are they crazy?  Either this place is tolerant or they're looking to get sliced in half.  Regardless, I'm staying hidden.

A noise at the bar, the crash, also caused an ear to perk, but nothing else...she'd heard of violence caused in taverns over the smallest of things; it was nothing new.  Still it caused her to wonder just what kind of people the sign was attracting.  There was fight, there was strength...but so far, who had the sense to back it?

When the strange wolf gave his retort to the one in the trench coat, she listened, intrigued.  The "Family"?  It sounded ominous.  But of course one of them was already on it, the other wolf...asking about what the whole adventure would be about.  It was hard to believe that the two had anything to offer, but looks were deceiving.

She downed her drink and spoke up in agreement.  "Lots of adventurers have been sent off on death missions for promise of more, muchachos," she pointed out.  The panthress had a rather thick accent, smooth in intonation but with quite a hard edge to it.  "It would probably be worth it best to give someone an idea of what to expect on such an endeavor.  Or probably best, nobody should listen at all."

[Sunblink]

Shortly after the sign was settled into place and propped into a position where everyone could gaze upon it, Keaton resigned herself to merely watching the rain and attempting to block out the noise filling the bar, almost counting off each individual raindrop she saw roll down the window. Water glistened like liquefied pearls in the indistinct orange light on the opposite side of the glass, splashing and splattering together as a new droplet collided with the dewdrop-coat thoroughly soaking the window, forming an almost lacy pattern of rivulets constantly warped by the wind and rain. If Keaton was an artist (which she wasn't), she would have marveled at the insignificant phenomenon. But instead, she was merely bored, impatient, indicated by the curt tattoo her fingers were drawing out against the wooden table's surface. Even the kaleidoscopic ripples of the window's water lost its charm as her gaze drifted to the sign again.

On the other end of the table, Keaton could clearly see her partner's actions and how much he was fidgeting and shaking. Her inner sadist found it amusing, but the rest of her was simply infuriated, deriving some strange provocation from Cogidubnus's enduring agony. It wasn't that big a deal, she assumed. He could stop if he wanted to, he's just being stupid because I took away that shit he's been using. Not once did Keaton stop to consider that if he could, he definitely would after she kicked him in the ribs.

At the moment, Cog was currently being goaded by the subtly shrill laughter of a mole clad in an obnoxiously-hued raincoat sitting near the bar, and was retorting. Not a very good retort, particularly, but she hoped it would shut the rat up. His grating laughter was getting on her nerves. Everything in the bar was. So many voices drilled into the air, like thousands of busy hornets. So many. Seething quietly through her teeth, Keaton reached up and clutched at her scalp, centering her gaze back on the harmonious transition occurring with the rain on the window. The charm emanated from the disrupting droplets was somehow chaotically amplified in Keaton's mind, like each bead of rain was impregnated with some sort of vile, infectious acid that only she could see and feel, but nobody else was because--!

Because she was sick. Unstable. By now Keaton should have abdicated herself to that undeniable fact without any animosity, but she just couldn't admit it without hurting. Of course, she hadn't come to the conclusion that she was "sick" on her own. Keaton had seen doctors and psychiatrists and they had all told her the same thing, and she thought they were lying. That is, until her insanity became impossible to ignore, and equally impossible to shunt away. Then Keaton understood that they all couldn't be simultaneously lying to her. No truth they were restricting from her could be worse than what they had already told her. She couldn't have been born that way. She was better, and then it got taken away from her, just like everything.

Outside, she thought she saw people approaching, but her attention was snagged again by the gray, trench coat-wearing wolf regarding them. He did not look impressed by their sign. Keaton scowled, baring her fangs unconsciously as the buzzing in her head flourished to another whirring crescendo, then silenced in-between the trench coat-clad wolf's words. Thank God. It was getting hard to think. Cogidubnus seemed to handle the other wolf's antagonizing well, or at least enough for him to leave for a moment. Keaton sighed, breathing aloud, still agitated and still struggling to curb her increasing anxiety.

"Um, sir?"

Blinking, Keaton glanced over her shoulder at what appeared to be a small, childish figure - a rabbit with wings - standing nearby, his finger pointing to the sign. For a moment, the jackal was taken aback, not by the fact he had apparently mistaken her gender, but by how young he was, and what he was doing in a bar without being evicted. Keaton wasn't sure what the young, winged-thing was doing, but she didn't give brushing off the lapine a second thought, in spite of the fact she was a few minutes short of jabbing her foot against Cog's leg for doing the same thing.

"Eh? Look, kid, this isn't a game," Keaton said. "I don't know what you're doing here, but we're looking for... um, adults only. Sorry."

With that task out of the way, Keaton jerked her head back in Cog's direction, and addressed the hedgehog-like entity. "And to answer your question without my partner's impressing retardation getting in the way, skilled at.. well..." Keaton shrugged. "Fighting. Smashing, slicing, decapitating, take your pick. Oh, but pardon me for a second..."

Beneath the table, Keaton gave a punishing nudge to Cog's shin with the front of her combat boot-clad foot in a way which indicated that he was probably doing something wrong. The terminology of the different ways Keaton could physically abuse the emaciated wolf was probably rather clear to him by now, even if the list of different things which could incite Keaton's rage was ridiculously long. Before she could chew Cog out for scaring off every potential partner which came their way, the trench coat-clad wolf returned, this time carrying some equipment, and a new sign, which he distributed to Cog. He no longer seemed interested in mocking their slipshod attempts at advertisement, that was a bonus, but he did have a rather reasonable question. As did a suspicious-looking, dark-furred felid seated elsewhere.

Keaton raised her eyebrow and cleared her throat - not to create any dramatic suspension, but because it was necessary. After her neck was injured, her voice was unnaturally rough, as though she had exhausted it from spending hours screaming, or because of a cold.

"Alright, fine," she grated, microscopically canting an ear in the felid's direction. She brushed some ragged, dusty-blonde bangs out from her ocher-orb eyes, then stated almost nonchalantly, "You hear about the Sabanethei Family? I bet you have, unless you've been living in a fucking hole for the past few millenniums...

"I" - totally excluding the participation of Cogidubnus, but conveying all the hatred in the world through a single snarl - "want to kill Kytharion Sabanethei."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

[Tapewolf]

Keaton's words struck Cross like a blow.  His hands began to tremble and his face was unnaturally still.  With luck she would think he was terrified, but in reality he was struggling harder than she could imagine to avoid collapsing into a heap of laughter.

She's out of her fucking mind.

There were so many questions he could have asked.  In the end, he uttered a single word.

"Why?"

[bill]

Navarro finally stopped his contemplation of his folder, and looked up. A third person had joined the group at the far side of the bar, and the sign had suddenly changed colors. He stared at this for a while, then went back to the folder.

"Fifty days..." he muttered under his breath. The action at the far corner had gotten more interesting. And interesting is exactly what Navarro wanted.

He stared at his folder until he couldn't take it anymore. He picked it up, stuffed it into his jacket, and walked toward the meeting. He arrived, overhearing the end of the jackal's response.

An assassination. Boring, but it'll pass the time.

He arrived at the group, and spoke in his unnaturally friendly tone.

"Hey, folks. Who we killing?"

[Tapewolf]

As he waited for an answer on why they should want to commit suicide in that particular manner, Cross stared back at the pair thoughtfully.

In a way he had hoped for a reply along these lines, albeit a more restrained one.  "We want to steal a metric shitload of drugs from them" would have been good.  Very good in fact, as it would have disrupted the Family's operations and he could easily have run off with the goods, leaving the other members to take the fall...

But killing a member of the Family itself was sheer lunacy.  As soon as this thought crossed his mind, he realised that the pair of them literally being insane was actually a good working theory.  The strange movements in the jackal's face and head might simply be indicative of a drug problem, but honest-to-gods madness would indeed explain all the phenomena he had observed so far.

Briefly the wolf entertained hopes of commandeering the party himself to lead a strike against the Family, but by the looks of them it was hopeless... they were too far gone.

It would probably be a more constructive use of his time to simply bushwhack the pair of them and extract everything they knew about the Family from their minds.  And Daryil would just love the jackal's ears...

[Cogidubnus]

 Cog coughed again, looking up past the brim of his hat at the other wolf's head. The fact that the very dim light from the stormy skies outside were beginning to burn into his eyeballs was a very bad sign. He'd need to curl up and die in a moment, and the pressure in his temples was increasing steadily. The wolf sucked in a breath, glancing at the jackal beside him and looking back up at the wolf.

"...well, hypothetically now...Keaton here used to work for mister Kytharion personally, and has recently...um, realized, that she didn't like it so much."

He put on a practiced grin, only occasionally wincing. "You see, we've got a ace up the hole. We know everything about Mr. Kytharion. Everything. We know how to..."

Cog paused as a rather friendly voice behind him spoke up, asking rather politely who they wanted dead. Cog turned again, swiveling a bit on his chair to view the canine properly. He peered at him between the patches in the brim of his hat.
"Ah, well...Kytharion Sabanethei. You know, head of the Sabanethei crime family."

The ludicrousness of thier goal was not lost on the wolf, but he'd learned not to mock the objective rather quickly after meeting Keaton.

[llearch n'n'daCorna]

Witt placed his drink on the table, cracked his knuckles, and shrugged. "Can do. Now you get to explain who I should do it for you."

He paused, and waited while she explained the target. And then raised one eyebrow.

The grey wolf queried: "Why?", and Witt followed it with "And how? Do you have a plan, or were you planning on just carving your way towards him, and hoping he doesn't get wind of it before we get there?"

He placed his drink on the table, folded his arms, and glanced over at the twitching druggie. He sniffed. "And I don't think your gobshite partner, here, will be much use, either. Which means you better have a damn good reason why I should stick my hand in that hornets nest. So far, your money isn't talking loud enough."

[Mel Dragonkitty]

A smallish figure in a dark hooded coat tried to enter the bar. She was stopped short because the table nearest the door was causing a bit of a blockage due to a grey wolf, a hedgehog, and a bunny kid speaking to the occupants. She had been told this was the best bar in this neighborhood but it evidently looked the other way as to who it served if it had teenagers hanging about. Pushing her hood back Penny took the opportunity to look around. The place was full, evidently it was the best bar in the neighborhood, or at least the most popular. Working her way around the roadblock with a seemingly boneless agility the dark-furred fisher walked to the bar and ordered. While waiting for her drink she took a second look at the commotion near the door, the bold solicitation of assassination catching her attention. The boss had sent her to a real crazy town this time.

[SpottedKitty]

Fal'taq gave the skinny wolf's retort all the attention it deserved: absolutely none. He glanced at the bartender, wondering if the slow-witted lizard had forgotten he'd been well paid to direct likely minion candidates to this table. Or perhaps none of the usual scum were in tonight.

Raised voices at the far end of the bar drew the mole's attention for a moment. The rather one-sided fight between a diminutive hedgehog and a hulking brute of a bear was briefly amusing, and Fal'taq noted the hedgehog as possibly someone to approach later: such enthusiasm was occasionally useful to his business, if properly controlled and directed.

When he looked back, the table by the door had attracted some more attention. Well now, the mole thought, perhaps I could look into this for a moment. It would at least pass the time. Unobtrusively, he cast a minor spell to enhance his hearing and focussed it on the wolf and jackal's table. He was just in time to hear the ridiculously-dyed jackal mention the Sabanethei. Her next words almost shocked the mole into sitting bolt upright with a look of unholy glee on his face. Physically, he barely twitched, but inside he was seething with eagerness and curiosity. Oh yes, a chance to strike at them. Even if this ridiculous pair's plan was suicidally hopeless — the wolf was obviously a drug-addled moron, and the jackal had a gleam in her eyes that was not entirely sane — they might still be useful. Before Sabanethei, or the mole himself, killed them.

[bill]

"This business, or pleasure?" asked Navarro, in a more serious tone. Unlike the others, he didn't seem very surprised. Someone probably came up with a crackpot idea to take this guy down every day.

"I mean, if you wanna take down someone that big, you better have a good damn reason."

[Paladin Sheppard]

Paige was about to enter the Verdant Cuff, a bar she ad been visiting for the last few days as she looked for a new job. Her hand on the door it opened and a pair of bouncers hauled out a dazed bear. "Excuse me." She said stepping out of the way.

"Evening Miss Paige." Once of the bouncers said as they dumped the bear to the side.

"Hello Mikey." She replied as she slipped inside. It was a bit busier than the night before she noted.

The rusty brown wolf made her way to the bar and sat on a chair, "Garret can I get my usual." She asked when the reptilian barman made his way over.

"Certainly Paige." He grinned as he selected a bottle of good whiskey and poured it into a glass for the wolf.

"Thanks much." She said as he placed it in front of her. She gave him a dazzling smile as she handed over payment and a good sized tip.

[Cogidubnus]

 Cog had considered that adventurers might want a better reason than promises of gold to take down such a figure as Kytharion Sabanethei. He'd told Keaton they'd probably want a good reason, or at least would want to know why.
Keaton's response hadn't thrilled him. He was really beginning to hate those boots. Still - the spiny fellow seemed to be interested, as did this other canine behind him.
Cog suddenly grimaced. There it was - the first pain, like glass sinking into his brain. They'd start coming quickly now. The wolf took off his hat, showing a swept-back mop of silver hair. He set his head in his palms.

"Keaton knows the specifics. But she..." Cog sighed, wishing he had something cool to put on his forehead. "But..." the wolf glanced at the Jackal sitting next to him, hesitant. He seemed to be looking for some sort of sign, and received an imperiously cold glance for his efforts. He still wasn't quite sure how she was going to react, but he supposed that was all the affirmation he could hope for. He sighed, rubbing his temples, and looked up, glancing at those gathered around the table in turn.

"Keaton here was Kytharion's assassin. She knows how to get to him." he said, the phrase seeming almost tired as he said it. It was quite apparent that the wolf had been practicing for this sort of thing for awhile. At the other canine's question, however, the wolf seemed to pause. "So, um...pleasure? I guess?" Cog said, looking at Keaton out of the corner of his eye.

[Boog]

Ty started working very hard at not looking directly at the crowd gathering by the wolf and the jackal. Kytharion Sabanethei... He knew he should be familiar with that name. He often found himself grossly underinformed in terms of the local Pillars of the Community (this wasn't due to a failing in him, as he suspected, but in fact because nobody was going to try to run a protection racket on a deli when the proprietor of it looked as though he could snap their spine with one hand). He'd heard the name muttered, a few times. Regardless, an assassination? As adventurers he knew these individuals probably had the Best Intentions at heart (that is to say, were very certain that they were in the right) and simply wished to see Justice (which he understood as being a few steps removed from revenge; politer, and they're the ones who started it) done. Then again, they didn't really look like adventurers now did they? These questions were answered as he eavesdropped further; save for the grumbling of the regular patrons it made for most of the noise in the pub. Well, that and the short fellow picking fights. Tyrannus kept his gaze on the little man, feigning interest in the fights he was starting. It made sense as a place for his attention to be other than upon the recruiting adventurers.

[Sunblink]

Surprisingly, Cogidubnus wasn't rewarded with a punishing kick to the shin or any form of verbal abuse. Instead, he received an affirmative nod from Keaton, the jackal having leaned back in her chair to get herself more comfortable. Whether or not she had conveyed her approval, she still looked intimidating due to the distasteful snarl plastered onto her features and the tension of her posture, her arms folded beneath her bosom and her shoulders angled together.

"It's true," she supported Cog's statement. "I was an assassin for Lord Kytharion for most of my life." Dryly, Keaton allowed an ocherous orb to drift in Cog's direction, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Bastard took away everything from me, so I'm going to do the same to him by breaking him in every way possible. I'll leave it at that.

"Personally, I don't give a shit about the cash," Keaton noticed that their audience was getting a little more crowded with the addition of the frighteningly tall, monstrous Mythos occupying the bar. He seemed attentive enough, indicating his interest had been grabbed by their presentation. "Which is why, if Kytharion goes down, I'm gonna give you all a fair cut. And there is going to be a lot of money. Bastard's been in the business for over eight hundred years, so of course he's gotten a lot," Keaton reasoned, nodding to herself. Unconsciously, she tucked her finger into the neck of her outfit and fidgeted with it, as though it was constricting her throat in some way. Probably just the physical pressure due to her being unnecessarily talkative and more demanding of her vocal chords than she should be, despite her injured neck. "I know a hell of a lot about Kytharion, I know where he works and how he does it. And yes."

Keaton smirked satisfactorily, looking very pleased. "It's very much for pleasure."

~Keaton the Black Jackal

[Tapewolf]

"So it's true," Cross said, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.  "There was an assassin gone rogue... and you are she.  That would certainly even the odds a little.  It could be enough to make such an expedition feasible..."

[Paladin Sheppard]

Paige slowly siped at her whiskey, soaking up the emotions and keeping her ears open, she not only come here to drink but to seek a decent paying job.

The group over in the corner was giving off an array of emotions and coupled with the sign she spotted piqued her interest.

But it was the lone reptile playing pool that she paid most attention to. She had taken a decent amount of money from players the previous evening and thought about doing so again.

Finishing her drink Paige stood and slowly stalked over her tail held high and a sultry smile on her lips, enjoying the looks some of the patrons were giving her.

"Mind if I join in?" She purred at the lizard.


((OOC: Paige isn't wearing her armor or carrying her weapons at this point, and is wearing a long sleeve shirt and jeans.))

[Lushin]

Zilla answered with taking his eyes from the table.
"Can if you want. I don't play for money you know though. Too many people will try to cheat when playing for money"
Zilla takes the shot then looks sideways at Paige. He still has the goofy smile on his lips while looking at her and then looks over at the table with the growing crowd.
"Popular people tonight. I wonder what's going on over there. Those peole don't look too health"
Zilla walks around the table while talking, thinking about his last shot. He stopped leaned down and took teh shot. It wasn't an impressive shot but it sunk the eight ball. He then started collect the balls and rack them back up and looks at Paige.
"You can break"