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akatokiyami.proboards.com/thread/6257/journey-seeking-answers-open?page=1&scrollTo=57544

The night was young, and the Descendant of Obscurity was on the move. He had a contract to take care of, and spent the lest few days studying the lay of this land in order to find the perfect opportunity to strike. And, in the eyes of the one born to 'shadow,' nightfall was the perfect opportunity. To him, it provided less casualties, and gave him better chances of survival, for he was used to the embrace of the dark. He peeked out of the mound of hay he took shelter in and soon glanced around the location to make sure none were coming. When he shifted his weight, the hay rustled in the wind and the Mane of Chaos, Blacksword, picked up sound in the distance. Instantly, he froze in his place and awaited the voice to trail off and into the distance. When all was silent again, he rolled forward, which caused the mound of hey to fall and fill the hole he made. Meanwhile, he rolled to his feet and dusted himself off to remove all forms of hay. If it came down to looking for him, he didn't want to give away any clues as to what he was up to. He glanced around a final time, moments before he shifted to pull the black hood over his head; an action that would aid the white-blonde haired man to blend better into the darkness. Once the hood moved to be level with his eyes, his feet pushed him forward, and he was now on the move.

Each step he took in the darkness was calculated to fit the proper sequence. Three long strides carried him to a narrow path where he could press himself against a wall, for  he figured the patrol of the guards in this area, or so he thought. A few seconds after he pressed his back to the wall,  a pair of guards came striding through the area and soon passed him up. But before they could turn around to see if they saw something in the corner of their eyes, he was off again with wide, quick steps. When he counted to three, he rolled his large body in the right direction and then dove along the length of the ground. During this moment, the Descendant of Obscurity remained low - right hand extended and pressed itself against the ground while his blue-green eyes shifted along the lay of the land. "Where are they, " he muttered to himself in an almost inaudible tone. By the time the words left his lips, he could see the two guards who were patrolling this way and knew well he wouldn't be able to hide in this small location. They would see him. Shit. He clenched his jaws together and pulled his left hand down towards the lower sheath of his partner, Mournblade. He'd have to kill them. He narrowed his gaze, and then sucked in a deep breath of air, but when he moved to draw the weapon with his right hand, his muscles froze him in place, and something in the back of his mind told him to wait and think. He knew killing these guards would make matters worse if he ended up captured this night, for the job he was hired for was no easy task. Not to mention, if he wanted to make money from this job, he was not supposed to kill anyone but his intended target.

The Mane of Chaos, Blacksword, waited until the guards about to become leveled with his frame--which had been blocked by two barrels--and then lunged forward. However, because of the angle he was in, he would have to take a sharp turn to the right. Both guards were unsuspecting to anything happening tonight, not to mention the fact it was dark outside and  the mercenary had been clothed in black. By the time they drew their weapons, he was on them with his frame towering high. His massive arms ripped through the air - digits curled straight until he could grasp both men by their head. The guard on his left met his left hand to their right cheek, and the guard on the right met his right hand to their left cheek. Then, the tall man pressed his weight onto the bottom of his right foot, which slid forward, and used the momentum to slam the head of the guards together. This would do nothing but stagger them for the moment. Knowing he had to work quick. the mercenary slid his left leg forward, and raised his knee once his feet were even in stance, then drove the knee into the left guard's stomach, which took the wind from his lips. While this happened, his right arm cocked back, and his torso leaned forward. By the time his left foot met the ground, his right hand had taken the form of a fist, which he lunged into the guard's face. He could hear the sound of the guard groaning in pain. He knew now that this was not the end of them. They were trained to stand against formidable opponents. Before the right guard could fall, the mercenary's hand grabbed at whatever fabric he could get his digits on, and spun his body enough to push the guards into one another while a shift of his own weight would prevent him from falling over.  When the guards connected, he expelled a deep breath of air, and dropped onto the both of them with his knees, so that he could take whatever air they had left in them from their lungs. When he thought them to be knocked out, he pulled them back into the spot he had been hiding. It wasn't a good hiding spot, but that was fine. By the time their bodies were found, he'd already be well on his way to completing his mission.

He took a moment to catch his breath and then stood up tall. Surly someone had heard the commotion, which would suck for them. He was honorable, but he could not risk any more miscalculations on his parts, for it could result in the death of those he had no reason to kill. It could result in the death of those he had no honor in killing. He cast a final glance in the direction of the guards and tsk'd softly to himself and stepped away from the scene with his hands dangling low at his sides. Their position, should anyone get close enough to look upon the male, would give him another advantage, for the rate at which he could draw forth the mighty weapon on his back was unknown. And when in such close range, they may suspect him unable to move quick enough. This thought made him feel at ease, knowing well that he could stand his ground, so long as the numbers were not thin. Two was okay, and he was sure he could take on three without using his weapon; however, four would be too much for him to handle, and if he managed to escape, he was sure he'd leave with a little more than a few deep and possibly life-lasting scars. 

Before he knew it, minutes had passed him in a total of twenty ticks, and he paused to look around the area. For a moment, he seemed lost, but he quickly scoped his surroundings and remembered his setting. He was close to his target, which was good. All that was left to do was for him to get into the castle and find his way to the man he was sent to kill. He reached under his cloak and brushed his armored digits along the end of his grappling hook before he looked for the window he spotted earlier; however, it was too dark for him to see, even if he strained his eyes. He had to get higher. With a cool head and the release of a deep breath, he looked over his surroundings, and simply made his way deeper into the surrounding area while he blended into the surroundings with ease. For a man of his large size, his movements were quick and surprisingly almost silent; however, too sudden of movements gave away his position, but he wasn't too worried, as it was sometimes covered by the brush of wind. Eventually, the mercenary stumbled upon the entrance he was looking for, one that should take him directly to the male's room. He glanced around, and then pulled his black cloak tightly against his frame. Getting this far was easy... perhaps too easy. He began to wander what awaited him on the other side, and perhaps who awaited him beyond the final door. But now was not the time too be getting cold feet. He already made it too far and there was no going back from here. He crouched low and began to pick the lock on the door. The first attempt was a fail, and it made him look around to see if someone heard him, but he was lucky for the moment. Had the wandering guard been a few inches closer, he would have heard the chink, and then the opening and closing of the door when the Descendant of Obscurity made his way into the building.

He was up to the final stretch now, and his heart began to pound against his chest. There was nothing like the thrill of the kill... well, gaining coin, but that was in the future. In the present... in this present... it was about earning more of a name for himself and becoming more than he was currently in order to find out why he was placed in this land. With a large, slow stride, he began to carry himself up the seeming endless stairs while his right hand moved to the leather hilt of Mournblade in preparation of drawing forth the weapon that itched to be used.

The red orange light cast shadows throughout the hall, dancing upon the floors and walls. Wood snapped and cracked, throwing up red ash from the burning hot brazer which swirled around the man's features as he stoked the flames before quickly burning up altogether. The poker stabbed, pushed and pulled at the long burning and new logs all the same as he made sure the flames were well fed on both air and fuel alike before placing the iron tool aside. Sighing, the figure let out a long tired yawn before plopping himself down upon the chair he had drug away from the tables. Aside him rest a second chair, upon it sat his supper, hardly touched.  The cook had overcooked the meat again and the man found the rest of the meal just as inedible. 

"I ate better during the war." He mused softly to himself rubbing his tired features with the palm of his left hand. His eyes of blue fell upon the flames again and he watched them twist, dance and feed upon the lumber in which he had offered to it. He was thankful for the fire, it was cold outside and it's warmth was a welcomed friend. What more, the feeling of wood in hand made him think of home, something he had been missing deeply as of late. 

As a child and young man, he had no real home and often thought as this city as it. However after winning back Levenstead he could not help but feel a longing to it, as if something deep within his very soul called out to him and urged him to go back to where father was born and lived until his exile. But his duties forced him to stay here and he would not complain or raise fuss about the choices he had made, but that didn't make the longings go away, no.. If anything they made them even stronger.

Reaching down, Mallach allowed his hand to rummage throughout the small stockpile of wood he had scooped up until he found something he could use. Happy that he found a rather small piece, one which would do little to help the fire along he scooped it up and set it upon his lap and then withdrew one of the knives upon his belt. Mallach had very few memories of his father before the war, but what he did remember was the man trying teaching his children how to bring out the inner beauty of the wood. The Lord Dirson wasn't terribly good at it, he had to admit but the attempt always made him remember the man fondly and brought a smile and warming feelings to his heart.

So, there he sat in the dining hall of the palace. Before a well lit brazer, a plate of food sitting next to him, a twisted gnarled piece of wood in one hand and a knife in the other which began to peel away at the bark. Memories of yesteryear swimming in his tired, some would say, old eyes.

The Descendant of Obscurity made his way along the length of the stairs with his body held low to the ground. For the moment, he sized up the length of the stairs and the little lighting that was displayed here and there, but what he paid most attention to was the shadows that formed due to the lack of light. This is what he would use to his advantage. He pulled his black cloak tighter around his frame and lunged forward with as light of as step he could get. Time was being wasted when he walked, and he knew he had to have his work completed before daybreak, or else he would find it difficult escaping this place. With little effort, he rolled his way this way and that until he reached the wall. He pressed himself against the shadows and then pushed forward and moved against the next wall with ease.  By the time he heard the voice of two guards, he was already blended into the shadows, but that would mean little if they saw the shift of his person. 

To prevent himself from being noticed, the mercenary lowered himself into the smallest ball he could manage and awaited the voices to pass him. To anyone who suspected anything, they could spot him sure, but these guards didn't know what to look for, and to his knowledge, they did not expect anything to happen on this night either, so that past him by. Of course, he could take them out of things got too fussy, but he doubted that would be the case. Not only that, but if he took them out now, he risked the chance of him being forced to alter his plan. Not only that, but if things went like they did before, when he took out the previous guards, there was a chance he could alert the other guards of his arrival in this place. As he thought before, he could take out a few with his hands and not kill them, but that would jeopardize things. Not only that, but he would have a rather difficult time getting through an army as well as taking out his target. Nevertheless, he did not fear, for if things got to that point, he'd have to rely on a very old tactic of his, one he did not plan bringing to light on, not even in thought. Regardless, he could not think about such things during this moment, as he had too much to worry about already. When the voice of the guards cleared his hearing range, he moved forward and made his way in the direction of a dark corner, where the light did not reach.

He peeked around and spotted the backs of two guards, then curled the corners of his lips into the form of a grin. The words, "Too easy," came from his lips in the form of a mutter, and then he moved in the opposite direction. His stride, as usual, was wide and quick, but he made sure to remain as silent as he could under the conditions he faced. He was here to kill a single man, not an entire army, but he'd make due with what he had. And should the time come... should the alarms be sounded, he hoped it was because he had went through entirely with his mission. As he sank into the narrow hallway, he heard the voices of the guards before him, but had not had the chance to see them yet. This was promising, which meant he had a chance to escape. He looked to his left and noticed the thick wall. Shit. Then he turned and looked in the right direction and spotted another wall. It was clear to him that he could not escape to his left or his right. Two of his exits were already closed off, and the voices grew closer to him. He knew well that he had to act swiftly, for the guards were already closing in on him. With two options left, he snapped his gaze behind himself, thinking a retreat would be better. He measured the distance with his mind and figured that was not the best route to take. If he ran back and pressed against the wall, the sound of his armor was sure to be heard, and he would more-than-likely, be spotted because of the way the light shown onto the area. The moment he reached the turn, the light would hit his armor, and his position would be spotted. This would happen, simply because he wouldn't be able to get there quick enough. Of course, this was not determined until his eyes snapped towards the stride of the two guards who now appeared within range of his sight.

He could faintly see them, but he could see them nonetheless. When his gaze flicked form their legs, he noticed a darkened area to his left and their right. He immediately strode forward, having believed it was a door; however, he son found himself frozen in place. By the speed at which the guards moved, he knew he wouldn't make it in time if the door was locked. If it was unlocked, he would be lucky, but if it was locked, by the time he picked the lock, he would be caught, and there was no way for him to evade. Damnit, what to do? His right arm shot up at an arched angle, which caused his armored knuckles to brush themselves against the stone of the wall. Just then, he got an idea, and both of his arms shot out to measure the distance between each wall. He was lucky he was tall, for he was just the right size, and with the guards right there, he had no other way to go. The mercenary took in a deep breath of air followed by a few steps in retreat. Then, he thrust himself forward and  after his third step, he lunged himself into the air. Before he could begin his descent, his arms shot out to both sides of his person and met the walls. In the next second, he was forcing himself up the length of the wall until he was in the darkest area he could get... that being the highest point he could reach, even as the guards heard the sound of his armor rustling and burst forward.

The guard to the left looked around, just as both of them pulled free their weapons, and said, "Did you hear that, or was it just me?" The other guard looked at the male and said, "Yeah, I heard it, but I don't see anything." The both of them looked up, but could not see anything, and then looked around the area. There was no where for anyone to go. They shook their head and figured they were hearing things, but they would remain suspicious and would eventually stride forward after sheathing their weapons again. When the mercenary was sure he was safe, he lowered himself down, and then dropped into a crouch with a soft thud. He looked over his shoulder and then faced forward. He kept low to the ground until he stumbled on a part of the area that looked down. From his position, he could see the glow of a flame and within a close range was his target. His lips curled into a smirk and he shook his head before he looked around. When he found a way down, he took it; body weaved this way and that in order to help him blend in with the shadows. Then, when he came close enough to be leveled with his target (on the same floor), he drew forth the mighty weapon from his back, Mournblade. The weapon groaned to life and he narrowed his gaze while he focused on the male. Getting here was easy, yes, and getting out would be difficult. But making this a simple kill would prove to be the truest challenge for the Descendant of Obscurity. 

Now not being the time for excuses or cold feet, he sucked in a deep breath and knew just what it was he had to do. With the male distracted, the mercenary made his way through the shadows, rolling here and there while he remained low to the ground. Then he picked up one of the torches from the wall and threw it in the direction of his target. It was a risk, but he had to try to distract the male. Assuming the target would move to check it out, the mercenary took off on the right direction. He stuck to the shadows, but kept himself and the weapon low to the ground. He, at this point in time, was making as large of a circle as he could in order to close in on Dirson, where he would raise himself, and his sword up in the form of a powerful arch which was aimed to take the male in half from the bottom up in the form of a simple, clean movement.

Slowly, carefully he moved the knife into and under the bark and began to peel it away much like the skin of a fruit which he then casually flicked off of it into the flames. He continued this process taking careful ease to continue working around the upper part of the log, peeling away the hard skin which hide the form asking to come out from within. "Be careful not to cut yourself now son." His father's voice, seemingly speaking to him from the beyond trying to guide him. But he knew it only to be a memory. He bent back his thumb wrapped around the piece of wood and smirked. "But I cut myself anyways." He mused as he looked at the faint, small scar. The first of many.

His stomach however stole his attention from his project with a growl. He groaned and knife in hand patted his stomach. Perhaps he would have to buckle down and choke this food down. He really needed to speak with Ulric over the shoddy workmanship their kitchen staff were becoming renowned for. Placing his pet project down, he stabbed the dry meat with the knife and tore off a piece of it with his mouth and began to chew on it. This caused his jaws to pop and then snap. ".. Boot leather." Maybe his girl's wolf would like this.. At least he could try the bread, surely it couldn't be as bad as the meat.

And then a torch rattled off the floor and rolled toward his feet. Mallach, still not truly used to the life of comforts which most Lords and Ladies may be accustomed to, still had the reflexes of a large cat and was on his feet, startled as quickly as his body could move, his sword on his hip also gripped and mid drew from it's leather home. He did not speak, nor make an audible sound, though the food he was trying to eat and knife were forgotten, dropped upon the floor. His eyes did not linger long on the lightsource, no instead they snapped to where it came from. 

Now, Mallach was not an educated man. Yes he knew how to write well enough and how to speak to men and women alike, rally them and so forth, but he was not a man whom had the luxury of a 'sound' education. But he did know one thing, torches didn't just fling themselves about, no someone threw it and had Mallach been half paying attention he should have been able to detect said individual before hand. Careless and stupid.. You've grown to old and soft. He thought to himself as his eyes, now suddenly very awake searched for a shape in the darkness the night offered his unwelcome guest.

"C'mon then.. I don't got all night." He growled through his clenched teeth. A prank, mayhap? His men had done it to him before, though the last time they got a lick'n so good they didn't even think of pulling a fast one on Lord Dirson of Levenstead again. So, either this prankster was new or this threat was very real.

And then he heard him, twisting to face his attacker he saw a giant of black swinging an equally black sword swinging upward in an attempt to make Mallach, well less of a man. Cursing, he dropped his left arm as quickly as possible, twisting it to meet the blade so that the guard upon his arm would connect with it. Instantly, he felt his arm go numb as sword met steel and he was sent staggering backward, his feet fighting to keep him upright as his right arm drew out the sword that gained him the title, The Lightning Lord.

The Mane of Chaos, Blacksword's eyes watched each movement, form the moment he studied the torch to the moment Dirson turned to face the Descendant of Obscurity, and then to the final drop of the male's left arm  which blocked Mournblade. Then, as the male went staggering back, the Mercenary curled the corners of his lips into a grin, moments before his body completed his raising motion. He pressed both of his feet firmly against the ground, and while the target moved back, he regained his composure as well, and bent his knees. In one second, he forced his weight down, followed by the likes of his strength, and soon moved himself into a backwards bond. He did not move high into the air, so the bottoms of his feet met the ground and he slid back. At the same time, his hands pulled Mournblade back until the lower portion of the blade was even with his breast. When the slide was completed, the grin upon his visage shown clearly, even though the hood that covered the defined features of his face, remained up top the Mercenary's head. 

He took in a deep breath now that his heart pounded against his chest in low, but power thumps that he could pick up. Thump...thump...thump...The sound was faint at first, but the more he thought about ending the life of his target, the faster it got. Thump, thump, thump. Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump. Each beat of his heart made him want to end this male's life as quickly as possible; however, the fighter within him knew well of the dangers Dirson possessed. He had no time to stop and formulate a plan; if he was to win this thing, he would have to move in now. Without thinking more, the Mercenary forced the upper portion of his body forward enough to be pulled by the force of gravity. Then he pushed his feet off the ground and allowed them to carry him forward. His wide, powerful strides would aid him in closing the distance, while his right hand, with Mournblade in it, descended to his side, as if he was going to play idle.  But, before he could reach the man, his body began to fake pivots. He faked the left, then the right, while his feet shifted beneath him. Then he drove in close. When he was feet away from the man, his left arm cocked back, as did his leg--for the pull of gravity had been strong--and he seemed to force all of his weight onto his right foot, just as his arm rocked forward and aimed itself towards the center of Dirson's face. 

Another distraction, it was, for the weight placed on his right foot allowed his frame to shift. The tips of his toes, which once faced his target, spun until the faced the direction he did. Then his left leg met the ground--while the Mercenary was back-to-back with Dirson for a second--and he spun on it too, which aided the Mane of Chaos, Blacksword, in the completion of his turn. His right hand raised and the truth of his actions were about to become present. Having, hopefully distracted the man, Mournblade--as soon as the Mercenary's right foot touched down again--came in the form of a horizontal slash aimed at the male's waistline with a burning desire to rip the male in two halves. The blade, during the true attack, was moving from right to left, as the Mercenary now stood towards the right direction of Dirson, should he have been able to get that far.

Nearly losing his footing, he hops from one foot to another backward once, twice and then finally three quick movements before he's surefooted. By this time, his attacker has yet again crouched and was mentally preparing for his next assault. Mallach took the moment to ready himself quickly testing his left hand by clenching it into a fist, numbness but no serious pain to speak of. Good, not broken. Just bruised like your ego old man. Holding Stormbringer before him, he took a deep breath and calmed himself until all he could hear was his breathing.

His opponent was on the move. Breathe.  His movements seemingly random, switching from left to right. Breathe.  Time seemed to slow, the attackers movement blurring. Mallach had put himself into this trance countless times before, each when his life and lives of others were at risk. He'd never given it much thought, it was just something he did something to calm him, keep him focused. It helped him in the dance, the dance of death which every solider upon the field of battle was a part of. 

Breathe, see without seeing.. Know without knowing. React, don't act. You're the weapon, the sword the brush, paint. Breathe..

Within moments his attacker was nearly atop him and Mallach's stance suddenly and quite violently changed. His knees bent, body twisted and he dashed to is left side as the large dark blade flew through the air, slicing through it like a hot knife through cool butter. His own blade sweeping from his left shoulder to his right hip, the flat of the blade aiming to take his attacker in his side(or backside) to knock him away as the black blade swept just over Mallach's ducking head. 

The Mercenary shifted his stand, having not sized up a counter to one of his personal moves, found that he could not fully evade the on-coming attack. However, since he was still in motion, he pushed himself back, which allowed the blade to graze his moving frame. From this, the Mercenary staggered to gain his footing while the attack did as it was intended. When he gained his footing, he raised the large weapon before him -- its black tip faced the ceiling while one of the sharp ends to the blade pointed in the direction of Dirson. The Descendant of Obscurity took in another dark breath and soon began to size up the male with those blue-green orbs unique to his person. He then gave a low smirk and backed away and towards the shadows he emerged from. To those who did not know him, they may think he was retreating; they may think he had been bested. But not this day. The Mane of Chaos, Blacksword, was not one to back down from a battle, nor a contract that involved coin!

When in the shadows, he attempted to mask his frame while he danced himself along the length of darkness until his frame became exposed by the light of another torch. He reached up with his left hand and grasped it from the wall, then lunged forward with the torch in his left hand and Mournblade in his right. His feet were light against the ground, but he didn't care. Nor did he care that the heat of the torch kissed what little bits of flesh that were exposed, and its light revealed a small section of his face. At this point in time, based on the male's actions and reactions, the Descendant of Obscurity came to realize the skill of his opponent, and wandered if the male was simply toying with him, or this was the extent of his skill. This being the extent of Dirson's skill was highly doubted, or else He would have not been hired to kill the man. His frame rose up, and he landed onto the top of the table, which provided him with higher ground. Yet again, he was at an advantage, and he knew well he would have to use it for the better this time. 

He then decided it would be best for him to suddenly switch up his method of attack, so that he would not have the distraction come first. His sword arm dipped, and he moved until he was close to the male's frame. Just then, his right arm dove forward and he aimed to bury the front of his blade into the male's chest. The wound would not be enough to kill him, but it'd be enough to severely slow the man down. Unknown to Absi, he was losing his edge slightly, for he was coming in to kill the man before putting him down enough to do so. Not that it truly mattered for the time being, as he would soon see the light of his ways, which was represented by the torch that he swung in the form of a slant; this being the true distraction, which was he hoped Dirson would buy for the true attack. If he hit or not with the second attack, he would not care. Seeing the man burn would only be a bonus.

Pivoting he watched his attacker slip back into the darkness and he frowned. Mallach was growing tired of this one's tactics, slipping into the darkness and then reappearing, the fake outs. It was tedious and he quite frankly had better things to do with this time. So, as the figure re-emerged with a torch and what more took to table top, Mallach let him have it.

Flipping his blade so that its tip faced the ceiling he twisted the hilt, allowing the hooded figure to see the blunt side of his sword and the full of his cross guard. Mallach's eyes quickly took on a violet hue and the blade erupted in a blinding torrent of electricity which leapt from the Eiphyre surface in a web of purple and blue and struck out at the large man. Mallach watched, his neck craning allowing his head to tilt to one side as his attacker was assaulted with the attack, not the most deadly torrent of his sword's ability, but in this case the most effective. He danced, twitched and shook, unmoving from his current position until Mallach cut off his power from the blade. 

The hooded man would then fall, quite ungracefully face first into the floor as the crack of thunder filled the hall which was followed by several armed men racing into the room to see what the ruckus was about. Mallach, whom began to sheathe his sword just stared at those under his command but enraged and embarrassed. "Really? Now ya'll show up..?"

---

The following Morning

Mallach was sitting upon a stool, one leg lazily resting upon a knee a few feet outside of the cell of his assassin. It was roughly mid morning now and as of yet the slightly burned, but otherwise unharmed man had yet to awaken. The healers had come and gone, tending to the worst of the burns and verified what Mallach believed to be true already, he was very much alive and kicking. Which he could be sure wouldn't be the same for him had the killer gotten his way, no he was sure that he himself would be severed in half, his pants filled with piss and shit, while his organs littered the floor around him in a pool of disgust. 

Cracking a hard boiled egg off his boot, he began to peel it and stared at the nearly naked man whom while shackled, still had free movement along his cell. He had been stripped of all of his clothing aside from his undergarments, one to check for more weapons and two so he could be properly treated.. Three because it was the middle of winter and the dungeons weren't well heated. If the man wanted clothes, well he'd have to answer Mallach's questions. 

And oh boy did he have them.

SPOILER: Click to show

{ooc}I should make note that the auto hit was discussed with Absi early and is all according to plan o.ob

Beauty. Killing him was beauty in its rawest form. To serve this man with a justice that only the Descendant of Obscurity could serve him with. To rid this man of the world in the name of coin. Coin. It was true justice, and nothing could be served better than it. To this man, the man that stood on top the table, truly believed nothing was worth more than that. He, a being of the night, had no true family. In fact, he had nothing to go for, as he had yet to make a name for himself. And, not only that, he had no true friends. So then, why was he here, ready to fight and kill this man? The answer was previously mentioned, and that was coin. It guided his hand and provided him with answers he could not discover himself. Not only that, but it created some form of joy in the man's life. It gave him a reason; coin gave him purpose! He rose on top of the table, feet slamming against the plates and the like to scatter it so that nothing could get in his way while his thoughts focused themselves onto the target before him. His eyes focused on the target that was sure to fall to his superior skill!

And then it was displayed before his very eyes. The tip of Dirson's blade faced the ceiling and then the Mercenary, with a shift of his blue-green orbs, picked up the shift in color of the man's eyes. What was this? Was this the power he was warned about before his approach? Was this the power that had the one who gave him the contract shaking with fear? The Mane of Chaos, Blacksword's lips parted and he unleashed a silent scream into the air. Then he moved in for his attack; the strike with his right hand--the true strike, and the hand that wielded Mournblade--followed by the strike of his left hand, which wielded the torch. However, his efforts would be raised with no light, for his vision was ripped away from him as the crackling display appeared before the mighty eyes of the Mercenary. Not much longer had the light appeared, had the strike to his frame landed and his digits uncurled from around the grip of the torch, which fell onto the table and set flame to whatever had been present during that time. The crimson heat kissed at Absi's flesh, but he was not worried, as his thoughts focused themselves on the feel of the lightning that struck him.

His armor, because of its metal properties, did not help defend him on this eve.. on no, he felt the power in full, and his body reacted to it in the form of a dance. His frame was forced to shift left, then right, then left again and back before he completely twitched. When the power was cut off, the Mercenary's frame was thrown from the table and soon slid along the length of the floor. He, for the moment, was still very conscious and in great pain as well, but he was not going to let the fight end here! With all of the strength he could muster, he shifted to his knees, Mournblade still within the tight grasp of his right hand. His arm rose and then he pushed the point of the weapon down while his knees moved to straighten. However, due to the force of the lightning, he could only make it up enough to lock his uniquely colored orbs onto the single entity to escape his grasp. Then his vision blurred and he fell forward and collapsed hard against the ground. The thump, created from his descent, was soon followed by the clasp and clinging of Mournblade, which fell from his hand and landed beside his person. His last thought and mutter--which more than likely went unheard by Dirson because of the distance between the two--was, "This.. is.. not... over... I'll get... I'll get you... I... pro... prom...promi..." then he trailed off before he could complete his promise, and eventually blacked out do to the stunning power of the lightning, which completely shut his system down for the time being. Blackness was all he would see for the moment.

---

The following Morning


All was silent for the Descendant of Obscurity. In fact, he even felt lighter. Was he dead? He tried to open his eyes, but he could not find the strength to do so. He seemed bare... he seemed empty. He felt his hand shift towards the weapon forged for his hands only, but he could not grasp it, for it was not there. What was there was emptiness... why? Then he realized it, he couldn't really move his hands, and figured it must have been from the blow of the attack, right? He curled his digits against the air and then pressed the padding of his fingers against the palm of his hand. He could feel a faint warmth, which meant he was still alive! But where was he? He needed to open his eyes, but he couldn't find the strength. He shifted his body and the cold stone against his flesh eventually woke him from his 'slumber.' He jolted up from his position and groaned in pain, from the shocking and the cold. Then he reached his hands towards his face and massaged at the features. When he moved to stretch his arms out widely to get the blood flowing, he heard the clanking sound of his shackles and shifted to look down at his arms. Then he looked at his feet too and growled.

Just then, he heard the cracking sound of a hard boiled egg and locked his gaze on that of Dirson. Anger began to swell up in his person. It wasn't for hatred of the man... that was cunning of him, to wait for the perfect opportunity and shock the hell out of the Mercenary. Business was business. He was man before his target escaped his grasp, and he was not good enough to get to him. All of that hard work, too. Just to still end up captured and stripped almost completely bare in this cold place. His jaws clamped themselves together, moments before he began to grind his almost 'perfect' teeth against one another, and muttered something that went unheard. For now, he would do nothing more than stare at the man. And then it hit him; his rage unable to protect him from its bite any longer. The cold slithered its way up his spine, and he shivered, although he fought to not show any signs of weakness. "Well, it looks like you caught me. Good job. Now, where do we go from here?" His voice, even though he had been overtaken by the cold, was surprisingly calm and deep. Absi was calculating the distance between himself and his target, as well as attempting to formulate an escape plan. This was something he did not want to happen, but he knew it was a possibility.

His gloved digits worked as best they could, peeling at the egg. Was difficult though, would've been much easier with bare fingers, however eventually he had success. Smiling at said success, he reached into a satchel and took up a salt shaker and was about to being to sprinkle his egg when not only did he hear movement, but a voice as well. He stared blankly at the man for a moment as he congratulated Mallach for his victory and then asked where they were going to go from here, at that Mallach only smiled his most heart warming smile and responded as he started to give his egg a bit of salt.

"G'morn'n friend." He leaned forward, dropping his raised foot to the floor to balance him. To his left, the satchel, to his right a chest which while closed was not locked. "I hope you slept well. Are you hungry? I'm hungry, breaking one's fast is important so it is. So I'ma do just that." He proceeded to take a bit of the egg, chew and then swallowed in quick succession. Then as if he was forgetting something entirely he reached into the satchel again and produced a canteen and gave it a bit of a shake. "Would yee care for a bit of coffee?" He popped the rest of the egg in his mouth and proceeded to eat it as one would, whilst popping off the canteen's lid to allow a steady stream of steam to escape from it. "T'is good and hot. Well.. Maybe not so good, damned cooks in this joint only know how to make one thing right and that's a damned egg.

"Gods be good the king'll let me bring in some decent fuck'n ones for a change soon. But I guess one of them is a relative's daughter's niece's cousin's best friend." He made a motion with his free hand as if Absi got the point. "Anywho, breakfast. Yes that first, I think I'd like some. Guard!" Footsteps from out of Absi's view could be heard stamping upon the stone floor, and then a scraping sound. "Gods damned it boys, lift with yer legs not yer backs. Ain't cher mum ain't ever teach'ya nuth'n?" 

The Mercenary studied the male for a moment or two, and then scuffed to himself. What was his goal, displaying such kindness to the man that tried to end his life? Was this some form of way to gain the knowledge He had? The Mane of Chaos, Blacksword, shook his head and soon clenched his jaws together. He was tired of games being played with him. He was tired of the cold; however, he could not lie to himself. The egg Dirson devoured before him looked mighty tasty, and it made him all the more hungry. Having spent the last few days scouting out the area and learning the movements of the guards took most of him time, so he had to eat little. Then, he ate even less when he hid himself in the pile of hay for the time being. He soon clenched his jaws... an action followed by the grinding of his teeth, and then he curled his digits against the palm of his hands. For a while, he stood there, angry and hungry, and although he refused his stomach, his stomach did not betray him. Given time, he could very well break and lose it to the cold that wanted to claim him, but not today.

Not only that, but the man would not give out any information on the matter as to why he was scent here to kill the man, nor the person who 'hired' him to  get the job done. This was part of The Descendant of Obscurity's code of honor... a thing that some form of coin could not afford to break. He flared his nostrils and soon sucked in a deep breath of air before he rolled his butt onto the back of his legs and rested with it just before the balls of his feet. His toes eventually shifted themselves beneath his form, and he dug them against the stone pavement while he allowed what little warmth his body produced to circulate more throughout the length of his body. Now he was close, so the heat could keep him warm a little longer, verses standing as tall as he had been with warm air leaving him. His lips parted as his jaws relaxed, and he finally said, "Why is it you show kindness to the man that just tried to end your life?" His head tilted in the right direction, which allowed the Mercenary a better perspective of the male before him. This Dirson was an interesting character indeed. The information he had on the man was not enough to give the Mane of Chaos, Blacksword, a direction to talk his way out of this situation. So, he would have to size up the man before him.

With a shake of his head, the Mercenary's hair would fall before the length of his face and down the length of his shoulders, as well as his ears. When this happened, he dropped his head and soon looked up through parted strands of his white-blonde hair, so that he could focus his stare onto Dirson, even as the sound of feet stomping against the stone pavement grew louder. How many were approaching? Surly more than he could take, especially since he was chained up and his movement was limited. To think.. he'd find himself here, within imprisoned by the likes of his target--who strangely showed him kindness--and unable to escape for the moment. Then the man mentioned food and the drink, and Absi's attention was captured, more so when he heard the sound of his stomach's betrayal. The beast roared and it made him shake his head. Well, that was out of the way... and now that Dirson knew he was hungry, he surly would take some form of leverage, wouldn't he? The Mercenary said, "All right.. I'll play your game, although bribery is beneath you." He chuckled to himself and shook his head a final time.

Mallach scoffed at the comment as the sound of screeching wood on stone continued. "My boy I am not trying to bribe yee, just feed yee." He popped the lid back upon the canteen he was holding and quickly fashioned it shut and then tossed it through the bars at the man. It was made of hardened leather, so it was used to much worse treatment. "Which by the sounds of yer gut you are in desperate need of." Soon a pair of guards carrying a table walked in from behind Mallach and set it over the satchel at his left. Mallach at first complained about this but then shrugged and dismissed the pair. Atop the table sat a simple silver tray with matching lid and with a smile, he removed it. 

Beneath the lid lie two eggs, bacon, sausage a side of ham, blood pudding some fried tomatoes and chopped taters. All of which (tomato aside) were steaming hot. "As for why I'm treating yee so nicely.. Well, I've got yee locked up, stripped down and shackled in a bitch'n cold cell. From the looks of it I still ain't treating ya very nicely, but yer still human. A member of his Majesty's realm and I'm obligated as a member of his court to treat yee as such, regardless of yer attempted murder charges, along with breaking into the palace and assaulting two members of the Imperial Army." He pointed down toward where the two men vanished to. "Those two if I'm honest. Can't say they took their knocking lightly, quite honestly they wanted yee chained up like an animal so they could kick yee ta death.

"But, I've seen enough death and suffering in my time. And would much rather treat like civilized human beings. Now, I've a question for yee. Would yee like this?" He pointed to the platter of food. "Or dem eggs, personally I've no preference myself and I can't eat'eet all."

Would he be a fool to consider the option of accepting the male's helping hand? Perhaps he would be; after all, there was something to gain, always. And why would this man consider himself better than any other? Then he recalled the training he went through when he was a boy, and how the Mac’Aodha family forced him to be the fighter he was. Of course, he went through harsher training than this; he went longer without eating. He was one in mind, body, and spirit, something most people outside of the Mac’Aodha could not be. He sucked in a deep breath of air and leaned forward so that he could stretch the chains until he heard their protest against the wall. Then he moved to stand up, which caused the protesting groan of his muscles. With each motion he made, the detailed muscles of his frame could be seen shifting against his darkly colored flesh. He soon cocked his head back and stared directly at the man before him; the man who stood safely out of his reach. "Very well." As he said, he would play Dirson's game.

In the next moment, he uncurled his digits from a fist and then relaxed them at his side. He then smiled a hidden smile and said, "I am in this cell, and I doubt I can get out from this location. Are these shackles truly needed?" He slightly narrowed his eyes as he asked the question, and then closed them when he drew in a deep breath of air. A shame, really, to be chained to a wall. Although this was not the way he pictured it in his mind, he was still fearful of such; however, he would not allow the fear to be displayed on his person, not would he allow the beating of his heart to be seen against his flesh. This was partially the reason he leaned forward, and allowed the white-blonde strands of his hair to fall before his visage and over his shoulders. His chest was covered, and that's what currently mattered. As the Mercenary began to gain some form of control over himself, his eyes began to wander, and he slowly took in the detail of his surrounding for what it was. Surly he had to get out... perhaps when they delivered him food?

If what Dirson said, and this was no bribe, but an attempt to treat him in a civilized manner, he could slightly relax, or at least give the impression that he was going to relax. After all, he had to rely on tricks and tactics at this point, for there was no where to run.. there was no escape. Perhaps he could work out a deal with this man? Why? He wasn't fearful of prison, or the man that may try and kill him for his failed attempt. He only cared because this lessened his opportunity to make any form of coin. If not that, it only provided another opportunity, one he was sure Dairson would not grasp. Then again... all he had to do was try, no? If he worked his way in close, he could, perhaps, convince the man to give him a shot, despite his failed attempt on the male's life, no? A smile almost took form on his lips, but the Descendant of Obscurity stopped such from happening, and maintained a calm face, one that did not betray his tactful mind. When he settled on this decision, he said, "I am indeed hungry, and I shall accept your offer in thanks." Meanwhile, his gaze flicked in the direction of the table, which sat the food of his choice, then he looked down towards the canteen that was thrown towards him, and picked it up. His shaking hands moved to open the top, and he raised it to his lips to take a quick swig of the hot liquid.

Warmth quickly rushed through his person and gave life to his frame. Then he took another sip, and another before he closed it again and looked towards the man, and then the food once more. "The plate of food," was the murmur that left his lips in answer to Dirson's last question. Then he cleared his throat as the smell of the food finally reached his nose. Oh, how hungry he was... but he could not allow hunger to blind him in such moments. He had a bigger plan, and as for the guards who wanted to beat him to death... they got what they deserved. They should have been stronger.

 

Nodding, he stood with plate in hand and moved to the left side of the cell. "A fine choice, yes a fine one indeed. I made this myself so I did, can't trust d'is here staff to cook nuth'n. No, ya can't."  He knelt next to the small slot in the bottom of the cell and passed the food through carefully. "As for dem shackles, a formality. I can bend the rules a bit for yee in these circumstances, but I can't break them entirely. 

"As such you'll note you'll need ta use your digits there as utensils. I'm sorry bout that, but I was forbidden to give yee so much as a wooden spoon. 'Who knows what a man of his skills could do with'eet.' So they said." He shrugged, moved back to his stool and plopped himself down, retrieving the satchel under the table as he did so.  "So be careful not to burn yerself.

"And once we finish our fast, we can move onto a civil conversation. Yes we can." Taking another egg in hand, he cracked it upon his boot and began to peel it.


(short post is short!)

The Descendant of Obscurity watched as the male moved to the left side of the cell and then complimented his choice of food. When he mentioned making the food himself, and not trusting the cooks here, his (The Mercenary's) eyes locked onto the male in a narrowed position; however, said 'glare' was blocked out by the strands of his white-blonde hair, which obscured a majority of his visage from prying eyes. His lips then parted and he released a deep breath of air, which was followed by the a low growl in the center of his gullet. Just then, he snapped his eyes towards the shackles, once they were mentioned by Dirson, and shook his head ever-so-slightly. A shame, it was, for him to be shackled to a wall. Perhaps, this was not the fullest extension of his fear--but it was close--and it took every ounce of his strength to prevent him from turning into the raging beast he could be when stricken with fear. He moved to mutter something about the the shackles being unnecessary because he was locked away in this dreadful area.

Regardless of his beliefs, that was not the worst thing. To be shackled as he was could be seen as a blessing; at least he still had movement around his 'cell,' and he was able to see outside of it. Things would have been worse if his movement was taken away from him, and he couldn't touch the cold ground. Not only that, but it would have truly disappointed him if his body was restricted in a way worse than a caged animal. Funny... a caged animal almost defined him perfectly. When the man spoke of not being able to use any utensils, the Mercenary lifted his shoulders into a shrug and said, "Disgusting, " but the tone was so low it couldn't be described as a voiced opinion, or even classified as a mutter. The man then stepped forward while the chains of his shackles clung against one another and then dragged themselves against the cold ground. Then, when they spoke of his skills, he gave a smirk blind to the eye because of the length of his mane, and then allowed said smirk to vanish when he pulled the strands of his hair behind his shoulders. He fully closed the distance between himself and the food, and then he took a sip of the steaming liquid within the canteen. After he finished, he placed it down and then reached for the food that was displayed before him.

He studied the food for a moment, and watched as the steam rose into the air. His hands hesitated before he moved his hand towards the fried tomatoes, which was not steaming, and raised them towards his lips, which parted. Once close enough, he began to dig into the fried tomatoes with ease and quickness before he swallowed them and sighed joyfully. It was nice to finally put something in his stomach, although he could not stop at this point in time. He shifted and his left hand moved to grasp the steaming eggs, which  burned against the bare flesh of his cool hand. Then his right hand reached for the chopped taters, and he raised them to his lips and began to much on what was in both of his fist. His actions were far from Nobel... they were barbaric, even, but he did not care at this point. All he knew was the fact that he wanted to devour all that was before him, and at this point in time, nothing would stop him! Once his hands were clear of the remains of eggs and the chipped taters, he dove both of his hands into the blood pudding and gobbled that up with quick, deep bites. If he was supposed to be caged, he would act like it. When all was said and done, all that was left to him was the bacon, sausage, and the side of ham. All of which would fall pray to the might of his powerful jaws which slammed down onto the meat and ripped it to shreds.

Mallach watched his 'guest' eat down his food, hungry? No this man was half starved, which made him feel a bit better about  the current situation. As the nearly naked man continued to devour his meal, Mallach slowly went about eating his own one egg at a time, not rushing things and not once touching his own canteen of coffee. If he drank anymore of it he was sure he'd be awake for the rest of the week.


As the mane of hair reached the end of his meal, Mallach wiped his gloved hands clean, propped a leg back atop his knee and rested his elbows upon it before he rested his chin on the knuckles of his now gripped fists. "Glad ta see yee enjoyed it." He mused with a half smirk, and then almost as quickly as one could snuff out a torch his entire body language changed (without moving from his current sitting position) and when he opened his mouth to speak, the tone and way he spoke would as well, to one far less friendly, no this was his High-Commander face and act now. One which he had become so used to slipping into during the war, that it was almost like wearing a comfy pair of boots. "Now, to business.

"While I do not expect you to hand out the name of your employer without myself or those around the bend making a mess of you, I would like to know who the hell you are. And how you managed to so easily breach this castle."

The Mercenary chuckled and shook his head left and right. Eventually, his gaze raised to stare at the man. Then he said, in a rather low tone, "Although you have been a most gracious host, do you think I am a man to give away such information without the proper amount of coin?" He chuckled as he responded in a deep tone. Then he raised his hands into the air and shook them, which caused the chains of the shackles to cling and clang against one another. He then drew his head back and moved to lick his fingers clean of any goo that might have gotten to them. Afterwards, he parted his lips and sighed before he slid his back down the length of the wall, when he returned to it, and slid down to place his bottom against the ground. His right arm extended forward while his knees rose to the level of his chest, and he said, "If that is too much to ask for in this situation, I am more than willing to make a deal with you. That is, of course, if you come to terms with what I say." He snickered and then locked eyes with the male before him, just before his head leaned forward. Assuming the male would hear him out, the Mercenary would say, "For my freedom and my belongings, I will tell you most of what you'd like to hear."

His eyes sparkled for a moment. So there it was, his weakness.

His fingers fanned out from under his chin before gripping the insides of his knuckles again. "You must realize I cannot guarantee your freedom. You attacked a high standing official of this king's government. However, I'll consider your proposal and counter with one of mine own." His eyes shifted to the chest at his side, lingering there for a moment. He considered opening it, withdrawing one of the items from inside but decided against it and returned his gaze to his assailant again. 

"But first you will answer my first two questions. Your answers will decide your fate."

(short but to the point! XD)

He shook his head. Absi, having been in no  true position to negotiate, played with the remaining pieces of his game. He rubbed the tip of his index finger and thumb together before he moved his shoulders in the form of a shrug. "Ah - my answer determines what happens to me, but my freedom is not promised?" In truth, the Mercenary wasn't exactly worried. His purpose--up until this point in his life--was to gain money, and he had done so for the most part. Besides, what more was there to live for? With his head descending into a downwards cast, he soon found himself staring at the palms of his hands." Answers can only be formed when truths are made. I am uncertain you shall keep your word." This was true. Regardless of the man being kind in the beginning, it was clear to him--based on the way Dirson spoke when the meal was completed--that this man could be a cold individual. Then again, he could play games as well."Fine, fine," he paused and waved his hand through the air. "I go by Mane of Chaos, Blacksword. And I got in, simply by walking through the front door." Believe it or not, his words were true, but that was about as detailed as he'd get. Besides, he had no gain from this. Nothing. His freedom? Wasn't certain. His life? Wasn't certain. What he did have, though, was fleeting moments of time. 
 

His left eyebrow arched upward and then eased itself down as this so called Blacksword answered his query. He sat there in silence for some time, not to long mind you but long enough to leave an uncomfortable, awkward silence between the two and then.. He laughed. Now this wasn't a full blown, belly laugh. No no, if anything it was a laugh that got caught mid throat and seemingly coughed up. Brief, sudden and very loud. Afterward he simply shook his head and regained his composure. 


"Mane of Chaos, Blacksword you say? Tsk." Shifting toward the chest, he dropped his foot to the ground and lifted the lid. "That last part of your 'name' would explain this at least." He mused as he pulled out the sheathed sword belonging to the man currently shackled and behind bars. "I mistook the sword as black, but seeing it in the day light I see it's a dark shade of grey instead." He quickly drew out the weapon and gave it a little spin around his shoulders before flipping it in his hand. "A fine blade, perhaps to fine." He shoved the blade's tip between two stones in the floor violently, enough for the stone on either side to chip and for the sword to seemingly scream. "A weapon such as this does not simply fall into the hands of a common thug, those I have seen.

"Nor does a common thug simply walk into a palace. So you will answer my questions, properly this time. Who are you and how did you enter this palace undetected?"

The Mercenary narrowed his gaze when the male drew forth the weapon and used it with his own hands. He shook his head and said, "I am not a thug, or common for that matter. If you must be aware, I forged that blade with my own hands, and up until this point, I was the only one who's ever wielded such a weapon. Dishonorable, if I do say so myself... swinging around a man's pride as if you've all the right to touch it." He shook his head and clenched his jaws together. Rage was clearly present within his eyes as he stared the man before him down. He cleared his throat and growled lowly to himself before he snorted and rose up to roll his shoulders forward. He said, "Knowing my name will do little, but if you must know the details, I'll tell you that I got the weapon from a Noble family. The Mac’Aodha gifted me the weapon after I aided them once or twice. T'was a final gift, I suppose." He raised his shoulder into a shrug. "The last and only one of its kind. I would appreciate it if you did not draw it again." And that was true. Had the man wished things to return in his favor, he would not lay hand upon Mournblade's hilt.

His eyes flicked from the man to the sword wedged into the floor, the slightest touch and it would tip over and fall. A safety hazard to be sure, he'd have to put it back in it's sheath at some point. However he shrugged. "Names are important to those who keep them." He responded curtly. There was a time that all Mallach was, was his name and he had to build on that. "And you're speaking in circles.

"A gift from clan Mac’Aodha you say?" His gaze shifted back to the dark blade and he rubbed his chin. "Yet you forged the weapon yourself?" He clicked his tongue and turned a sideways look back to him. "I don't believe you, not entirely. And it is my believing you that will determine your fate boy.

"I believe you did indeed wield this sword, no man would feel so attached to a blade not made from the tears of the sky otherwise. This I know all to well from personal experience." His left hand moved to the hilt on his hip and his fingers gently stroked the finish of the pommel. "Stormbringer is more than a weapon to me, but apart of my being, an extension of my arms.  Albeit a very sharp and dangerous part of it. Some see it and see only a weapon, they couldn't be more wrong. But you know that don't you?

"As such I will gracefully accept your terms and shall not touch your sword again, after I remove it from the floor and place it back within it's sheath and then into the chest. After which point you will answer my questions fully and without sass or wit. Agreed?"

The Mercenary shifted his footing against the floor and then slightly dug the bottoms of his toes against the stone beneath him. He sucked in a deep breath of air to contain the anger that built up within his form. A large part of him wanted nothing more than to thrust forward and and rip the throat from the man's frame, but he couldn't bring himself to do so, for the most part. Besides, why was it he played such games? Had it been bad enough he was this captured while he was at the zenith of  his strength? He had no reason to lose that fight. Then again, if it wasn't for that damn lightning, he could have taken the man down. Of course, the battle would have been one to draw most of his strength, if not all, but he was very confident in his own abilities.  Then, as Dirson spoke of putting the weapon away, he sucked in a deep breath of air and then lowered his head into a slow nod. "You do not like sass or half-answered questions?" Just like the Mercenary did not like being chained to a wall. But it seemed the Mercenary would not have his way this day. He'd have to accept his loss, for now. 

"Very well, my target, I shall tell you my story." He chuckled to himself and then tilted his head in the right direction. "However, for that to be done, none other is to be around, or I will have to kill you where you stand." The man sucked in a deep breath of air and then focused his gaze directly onto Dirson's. Another time he would attempt to meet gazes with the man. At this point in time, all of the playfulness--if one would dare to call it such--was gone from his voice, only to have been replaced with a cold, emotionless response. He tore his gaze away and looked about the area, just as the pink muscle--known as his tongue--slipped free of his mouth and brushed itself along the lips of his maw in a slow, wide circle. Afterwards, he pulled his tongue back into his mouth and then looked around the area. The man before him may indeed wander how the Mercenary would kill him, or perhaps he'd even like to consider the Mercenary a bluff, but it was far from it, perhaps.

"Both." He answered with a smirk as he flicked the blade up from the ground, spun it over his forearm and slipped it into it's home with such ease one may mistake the grey blade to belong to Mallach himself. "Guards!" He didn't look in their direction, but knew they snapped to attention as he heard a sudden rustle of steel and leather on stone. "You're dismissed." They began to protest as Mallach placed the sword back into the chest and snapped his vision their way much like an snake striking at it's prey. "Dis---missed.." To Absi's ears the two quickly left the room, to Mallach's eyes they did the same only first they went an ashen grey.

"There you have it, my would-be-assassin." He set himself back upon the stool and once again brought a boot up to a knee, however rather then resting upon it this time he opted to cross his arms over his chest. "Speak." While he didn't say it, he certainly thought more than what he said. 'Before I do to you what most do to bothersome pests, and then forget about you and carry on about my day.' 

The Mercenary shifted his footing beneath himself once more and then altered his position against the wall in the form of a lean. Finally, his arms crossed before his chest, and his eyes followed the movement of the departing guards. He cleared his throat and said, "Very well. But listen up, for this story shall never be repeated from my mouth. And if you tell it--should I live--we will find ourselves in a dance once more." What Absi did not say was how he would find a way to wound the powerful male before him. What he did not say was the fact that he would bring ruin to the male if this story was repeated by someone other than himself. He figured it was understood, and believed the male who stood before him had some form of honor within his older bones. Finally, Absi shifted his foot against the ground and said, "I am of the Mac’Aodha family, yes. Born and raised to the High-Nobles bred for combat and the like. Each member of the family is said to go to the military and serve, but I am not by the likes of them. Of course, I excel in the art of combat myself, among other things the family is gifted and known for, but I do not pride myself in the military, nor do I think it is the likes for me. I tell you this because I am a Mercenary, not a thug, and I honor the coin thrown my way. Purpose has no reason. It is a job, and a way for me to prove something." 

He pushed himself from the wall and soon moved to close the distance between himself and Dirson... or so as much as he could. Then he leaned in close and said, "As for how I got within this castle? The answer stands as it is. I simply walked in through the front door. Believe it or not, but that is all there is to it. Nevertheless, being on the inside was not as easy as I would like. I made my rounds during the day and hid at night." Of course, if Dirson knew him by his other title, Descendant of Obscurity, he'd know why the man was more active during the night. Regardless, it was something that did not need mention, and if he should have mentioned it, that was far too bad. After a while, he sucked in a deep breath of air and then clamped his teeth against one another in the form of a low 'clack.' When the sound ended, he said, "What else is it you'd like to know?"

He listened quietly as Absi told him his tale, hardly blinking or seemingly breathing at that. Once he finished, Mallach's eye lids closed and remained closed for a second or two before slowly opening. "Now that wasn't so difficult now was it, Merc?" A rhetorical question that he dismissed with a quick wave of his hand. "Clan Mac’Aodha, yes that would explain a little bit. But you've still a lot of room to grow. For had I taken you half as seriously as you took me, we'd not be having this conversation now.

"Something your employer either did not inform you of, or simply did not care that he or she was sending you to your death. Quite honestly, I think they just wanted to see if I could be reached. Something you did quite well I might add." He sighed a bit and raked his gloved fingers through his hair. Yes, a little to well for Mallach's liking. 

"Oh, you did fail to mention one thing." His face twisted slightly, just enough to make the tiniest of smirks. "You mentioned your families' name, but not your own. I would call you by your name, not an alias."

The Mercenary chuckled to himself and then shook his head left and right once more. The movement would send the male's mane flowing about like the wild beast he was. When the hair settled, it covered a majority of the male's visage, and he did not bother to remove it either, for the wild mane covered the dark, insane-like smirk that took form on Absi's lips. Did he think that was the full extent of his abilities? It couldn't have been, for Absi was sure--more than he would like to admit--that he had a lot more to offer. After all, he was born to the Mac’Aodha, a clan dedicated strictly to combat and killing. He moved his shoulders into a shrug and decided it would be best for him to not comment on his stance of power. After all, if the man did not take him seriously, he would hold back when the both of them did battle the next time, and then he would find himself in a very dangerous situation... or not. Who knows? But then again, could he say he was truly the stronger one if he did not kill the man when he was at full? It was then, in this moment, that Absi realized he hated the man before him. In fact, this was probably one of the few men Absi would want to kill without the value of coin being introduced into the scenario.

The man before him was strong, yes, but he was sure he would be able to take the man. If now was not the time, then he was sure he would be able to take the man sometime in the future. After all, only time would be able to tell the gap that rested between the two when it came down to power level and skill. Of course, Absi believed in himself and his ability to win and overcome the situation. He was smart, and although he was captured this time around, it simply gave him more reason to hate the male that was before him, safe from the reach of the caged beast. Despite his new-found agenda, Absi turned his smirk into a smile, which was revealed the moment he pulled the strands of his hair from before his face, and brushed them behind his ears, and said, "Absi." And that was all there was to it. Now, Absi did not give anything for free, no matter the cost. But this... this giving of information that he just revealed was not free at all. It was a price that would be collected sometime in the future. Perhaps he could grow closer to this man, and then kill him when the time was right? "If I lack the power, teach it to me where the Mac’Aodha could not. Me, leaving early and all, I did not get to learn everything that I could. What do you say, hm? Make me into a force to be reckoned with." 

"You want me to mentor you? " He scoffed and shook his head slowly, palming his face. "That would be the story of the city would it not? 'Mallach Dirson wasn't satisifed with his assassin's performance so actually taught him to fight.' Ha!" He lowered his hand and stared at the man and couldn't help but shake his head again. The testicles this man must be much larger than what was hidden behind the piece of cloth he was wearing, for he actually appeared quite serious about it. 

"No, not as you are." He stated bluntly. "Right now you are a criminal, caught by he you would have not only assaulted, but slain. You've little right to live, let alone be mentored by one such as myself. No I've another path in mind for you. Another use." He tented his fingers together briefly and starred hard at the man. "But we can discuss that in a bit.

"You mentioned making rounds of the castle during the day, so clearly you studied the layout of the castle and even the location of the guards I would presume." He nodded, the right corners of his mouth twitching a bit as he thought on it some more. "Waited for your memory to be second nature to you, so you'd not have to think simply react and then... Well we know what then now don't we?" He clicked his tongue a bit and realized perhaps he had been far to lax in his security. "Am I right, Absi? That is how you did it, is it not?"

The Descendant of Obscurity tore his gaze away from the male and tsk'd softly to himself. Called him weak, then said he was basically too weak to be trained by the man. This created anger within the man's being and made his blood boil, but he refused to show the rage that moved to take him over. He refused to give into the beast that wanted to rip the man down. Of course, his plan would make motion in the future. Now was not the time. He'd have to be patient. He simply shook his head and narrowed his gaze onto Dirson when he spoke of another use, but did not push to get an answer. Then  the man took them both into the past, where he spoke of how he got into the castle. Absi lifted his shoulders into a slight shrug and lost himself into his thoughts for a moment. When he snapped back to reality, he said, "I guess you could say that." He paused and shrugged again.

After a moment or two, he moved to take a seat once more and soon crossed his legs before himself while his hands moved to mold the shapes of his knees. At this time, the paddings of his hands would dig themselves into the flesh of his exposed knees, and he'd part his lips to flick his tongue along them. He continued with, "Not too hard to follow the likes of movement that goes on, at least not for those like me." Of course, now that he revealed who he was and the name of his family, he didn't have the right to play stupid. If word got back to them that he did not live up to the name of the family, he would surly be killed by the house. Knowing this, he responded, without revealing how smart he had become due to the training of Body, Spirit, and Mind he went through at a young age, "Patterns are easy to follow at times. Not only that, but following the trail of them wasn't too difficult either. Nevertheless, it is basically how you said, more-or-less, without getting too much into detail. But at least I didn't kill them." He bit back a chuckle and a grin, although he should have taken them out. He knew he had a heavy chance to get caught, more-so with his plan of attack, but that didn't bother him at this point. What fun was living if you did not face death?

He nodded some more and ran his tongue across his teeth, but still behind his lips as he pondered on how to proceed from here. Surely, he would need to speak with the King and arrange a new patrol, possibly double if not triple the amount of active guards at night so that no part of important corridors could be walked down without being seen by at least 3 sets of eyes at all times. Overzealous perhaps, but there were still those bitter after the lose of the war. While it was true that the Wolves had formed a tight knit pack, a few Bears working together could rip everything down again. He couldn't live in a world like that again, no he would stop it from happening at all costs.

"Well, that explains that then." His attention snapped back to Absi and with a heavy sigh he slapped his right hand upon his right knee. "The fact you didn't actually kill anyone is why we had this talk in the first place, mind you some of those who council me from time to time did suggest some other methods to get even the slightest answers out of you but I opted for this choice. Mind you, they still insisted upon one detail. One I've failed to mention." He frowned and sighed out a breath even deeper than before as he reached toward a folded pouch of his belt. "Until now.

"You see, they believed you would do little more than spin a tale of lies and spew shit and plead and beg for your life, even offer up the one who hired you in order to be sparred. After seeing your attire however, and what more the small display of skill you demonstrated last evening, I disagreed. However they were adamant and I did not have the time to fully argue, so I went along with their little plan. For which I must apologize for."  He flipped open a pouch on his belt and pulled out a single, small glass vial. He held it between his index finger and thumb and held it out so Absi could see it. Within the vial, was a clear liquid which occupied roughly 1/4 of the contents of the vial.

"Would you like to wager a guess as to what this is?"