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+--- Thread: Black Chains, Iron Shackles (/showthread.php?tid=14267)
Black Chains, Iron Shackles - Askier - 11-12-2015
The desert sun shone down hot as the dry wind blew the long strings of sands from the cliff tops. Eagles circled overhead as silence hung like a blanket over the land.
A crack like lightening split the silence and a whizzing tore through the air. A wooden target's knee exploded into splinters and the prone miqo'te smiled as a voice buzzed through the linkpearl in his ear.
"Excellent shot, sir. Right in the knee."Â
The miqo'te pulled his right eye away from the scope of his massive rifle and blinked the blue optic. His left eye opened and it shone a blood red as he reached for another tall bullet encased in brass. His nimble fingers spun the round through them as he used his thumb to open the chamber cover and then slipped the bullet back in. The sniper then pulled the firing pin back with a click and returned his face to the stock of his rifle.
The miqo'te was prone on the edge of the cliff. His target was down below him at a range of half a mile. Two instruments buzzed beside him, spinning as they calculated wind speed and magnetic fields. former Flame Lieutenant A'trus "Loft" M. had always excelled at hunting prey. Even back when he was part of his tribe, he had been one of the best hunters. Now, after ten years in the service of Ul'dah, at age thirty, he was considered one of the best trackers and rifleman to have ever served. An officer who never questioned orders and whose unit always returned with their targets, even if it took longer than expected.
Save for one mission. His unit's last. Used as pawns an manipulated by politics to hunt innocent, fellow Flames, the officer had resigned at the end of his last operation. His unit disbanded and he found himself suddenly making a heck of a living in the private sector of bounty hunting. His gang, many of which where from his old unit, had collected several fat bounties and life was significantly better than during their time in the service. Twice the pay, less hours, and no one objected to A'trus -habits-.
A'trus slowed his breathing as he aimed at the target below. He had earned the nickname "Loft" from his habit of always having the high ground. A character trait some claimed made him to predictable. But with his rifle, it didn't matter.
The brown haired seeker fired. Â His bullet spun thanks to the double rifling cut into the barrel's core. The large pay load then pierced the air and raced across the distance. Several seconds later the wooden target's other knee exploded and the former officer grinned again, flashing white teeth as he opened his mismatched eyes and rose to his feet.
Several pairs of hands were clapping and he turned and blushed at three of his soldiers.
"Don't you all have work to be doing?" A'trus said as he brushed the sand from his shirt and paints before hefting the rifle up into his arms.
"Probably." replied former sergeant Rungee, a dark skinned hyur with a talent for traps. The hyur then walked over and sat by the edge of the cliff beside his former superior officer.
"You ever miss the service?" Rungee asked as he eyed the targets before. A'trus yawned.
"You mean miss getting used for some politician's gain while I had to go to widows and mothers and explained why their loved ones were dead for pointless politics? Oh yeah, miss it so much."
"Look at you, sir. Out of the service less than a cycle and already you're a cynic."Â Rungee chuckled as he looked over at the miqo'te.
"Stop calling me Sir, Rungee." A'trus grunted at his former sergeant. The dark skinned hyur had left the same day A'trus had and been the first to join his -new- Black Chains group.
"Probably not going to happen soon, sir, habits and all." Rungee beamed a white smile before he pulled out a piece of paper and held it to the sniper cat. "Job offer. May not be your favorite though."
A'trus reached over as he lay on his belly and snatched the parchment up. His eyes began reading over it as Rungee went on.
"Job's from slavers. But we aren't snatching a slave. Snatching someone that pissed off the organization while working for them at one point. I know how you feel about slaver coin but I saw that price tag and had to at least consider it. They want to meet you obviously prior."
A'trus licked his lips as he read the document before he began to quietly chew on his lower one. After a moment, he wiggled his nose and sniffed.
"Well, the person being hunted down doesn't sound like a real wonderful human being. And, as you said, slaver coin or not, that price tag is nothing to dismiss. Get with your contact and set up a meeting. Worst case, I get a free meal out of this meeting."
"Aye, sir." Rungee replied with a cheeky grin.
"Stop calling me 'sir!'"
RE: Black Chains, Iron Shackles - Askier - 11-15-2015
They called her: "The Bitch."
And having seen her face, A'trus understood why. She just had this look of a woman that would screw you over first chance she got. The way she spoke, talked, and moved all just made her immediately unpleasant. Granted her words were polite but it was obviously all pleasantries. And A'trus got the feeling that whoever pissed this woman off would suffer before they got sent to the beyond. A'trus almost pitied this -Grimsong-.
"Now then," the Au Ra called the bitch said, her voice a confident, smug purr, like a cat that had discovered how to hunt mice with a canon and enjoyed it more than she should. The Bitch swirled her glass of red wine and took a sip. Her red hair fell about her red flesh as her snow white optics fluttered open to fix A'trus with a steely gaze. She was dressed in cloths that seemed almost a size too large for her, as if she was deliberately hiding her womanly curves.
"As we were discussing before that waiter interrupted," the Bitch sipped her glass of red wine as the sea breeze blew up from the waves below while she and A'trus sat in the Bismark. "The senior members of our organization want this Grimsong alive. We have evidence that you are among the best, so you'll be paid -very- handsomely for his retrieval. Simply apprehend the target and, once he is in your possession, we shall take him off your hands and fill it with coin. Simple, no?"
It was simple. That's why A'trus was apprehensive.
"And the catch is?" A'trus blinked, sipping his glass of water.
"Well," The Bitch mused as she put her glass down. "It's not so much a catch as an irony. I believe you recall the Red Wings."
A'trus raised an eyebrow and The Bitch chuckled before speaking.
"Don't be surprised we know about that little event. Our organization's leading members, combined, run a respectable percentage of the slaving ships, brothels, and drug dens in the Thanalan area. We are appropriately interconnected with the right people who are paid to look the other way. And its -amazing- what military officers will say to impress a lover while they are lusty."
A'trus grunted before he replied.
"Alright, so you know some things, what does this have to do with the Red Wings?"
The Bitch was silent a moment and then:
"Your target is currently residing with a splinter group named 'The Dauntless.' Former soldiers now thugs for hire."
"How ironic." A'trus mused.
"Indeed. And, considering your success with dealing with them last time, we selected you for this mission. You know the area, you've hunted them before, and we know the only reason you didn't collect all of them was because of politics."
"This isn't going to ensnare use back up -in- those politics I hope?" A'trus grunted and shifted.
The Bitch gave a disarming smile. Well it supposed to be. It only earned a raised eyebrow from A'trus.Â
"Not at all. Simply hunt him down and recover him for us."
A'trus turned his attention down to the large pile of papers she had handed him earlier. He simply nodded and then rose to feet.
"Leaving so soon? Our meals aren't even here yet?" The Bitch said, feigning sadness. A'trus flicked his tail.
"You must forgive me, but I would rather be working than sitting here. No offense, but I've never enjoyed politics or idle chatter."
A'trus slowly walked away as The Bitch shrugged and gave a small chuckle as she took another sip of her wine. The female lifted her hand to a small metal ring with a linkpearl that was welded to her horn. He pressed it and spoke.
"They've accepted the job. A'trus is already off to take care of it."
The Bitch nodded and crossed her legs as she listened to the chatter in the pearl.
"Oh, don't worry, this will be handled with my usual discretion."
There was a pause and she smiled at the voice that spoke into her horn.
"Oh yes, -that- type of discretion. I'll keep you and the rest of the council informed. See you soon."
RE: Black Chains, Iron Shackles - Askier - 11-17-2015
The Black Chains base was busy. The "Zulu" had returned not an hour ago and the hangar was busy with mechanics inspecting the craft for its next flight, while several others hand taken the unconscious miqo'te they had captured from Highbridge to a cell.
A'trus had been debriefing the operation with his small team of snipers to go over what had happened. It had been a rough operation. The target had not come alone, though was not a surprise. What had been a surprise was the amount of resistance it had taken, the fight that had occurred, and the number of fingernails they had to pop off Korofi's hand before the Grimsong agreed to climb into the cage. But eventually the Grimsong had climbed into the cage. They had exchanged Korofi to the Dauntless and now the airship, the Black Chains, and the bounty were home.
Things seemed like they were going well.
That changed immediately as the sniper team left and a woman dressed in a long, white robe with dark skin and long, ebony hair entered. Her face was pointed and hawkish but she was disturbingly alluring, though in her eyes was a look of a hunter eager to devour prey.Â
Kresha.
A'trus looked at the tall hyur woman and blinked as the Highlander came over and whispered into his ears. A'trus stiffened.
"Are you sure?!"Â The male exclaimed, his teeth gnashing.
"Without a doubt. The face doesn't resemble the sketch close enough, Similiar yes, but clearly not. Not old enough." Kresha's reply was quiet.
A'trus ran his tongue over his teeth and hissed before speaking.
"Kresha, do be a dear and get this male's name, and Grimsong's location, please."
Kresha gave a soft purr and nodded.
"Oh, I'll give him my -special- hospitality." Kresha turned and exited the room. Meanwhile A'trus held in his frustration as he looked over at the desk and began thinking as he looked over papers.
They had sent a decoy. They were really cruel enough to not send the right male? Now, this decoy would suffer and so would anyone else that prevented A'trus from Grimsong's head.