((The events before this post takes place here.))
"Now I'm going to ask for the last time as my patience is about to reach it's end. Where is the Sergeant by the name of Osric?"
"I-I told you! I do-"
The sword was drawn out quickly as it had entered. The Flame Private Third Class; a promising and young Lalafell, swung slightly in the air as if a large animal had just ceased him by the neck.
Holding the butchered soldier by his hair was a masked Elezen.
Kalgeant.
Alarvaux's second in command.
Sent to finish the job.
In one quick motion, Kalgeant tossed the lifeless body against the wall in front of him. Blood splattered slovenly as the corpse crumbled against brick and fell back down onto the stone tiled floor. The man simply watched while underneath his mask was a frown of vast dissatisfaction. The soldiers and guards had barely put up a fight.
Most assassins sent to Ul'dah have been inexperienced or plain decoys. Kalgeant; however, was the spearhead of the "Faces of Mercy." In the past hour, the Elezen had murdered three Flames; now four, in what he considered to be a fashionable display of skill and awe.
A Flame Corporal; female Midlander, impaled by her own sword and had been left to rot outside the Gate of Nald.
A Flame Sergeant Second Class; male Highlander, sat with his back behind a few crates near The Rudius with his eyes torn out from their sockets.
A Flame Private First Class; a young male Midlander, laid in a pool of his own blood as veins in his neck squirted continuously despite his lobbed head near the Gate of Thal.
"Weak... all of them."
In reality, the corpses were meant to lure the Sergeant to his demise and though he wasn't an Exile, he had already known too much. Like all predators of the night, Kalgeant quietly faded into the darkness. It was during that late evening in the alleyways of Pearl Lane that he waited.
Like everyone else, he had a part to play.
Amongst the crowd of civilians walking through the Gate of Thal, stepped a man in a hooded black coat. The scent in the air spelled danger as well as fresh spilled blood. Looking up into the darkening orange sky was a pair of steel colored eyes...
"Now I'm going to ask for the last time as my patience is about to reach it's end. Where is the Sergeant by the name of Osric?"
"I-I told you! I do-"
The sword was drawn out quickly as it had entered. The Flame Private Third Class; a promising and young Lalafell, swung slightly in the air as if a large animal had just ceased him by the neck.
Holding the butchered soldier by his hair was a masked Elezen.
Kalgeant.
Alarvaux's second in command.
Sent to finish the job.
In one quick motion, Kalgeant tossed the lifeless body against the wall in front of him. Blood splattered slovenly as the corpse crumbled against brick and fell back down onto the stone tiled floor. The man simply watched while underneath his mask was a frown of vast dissatisfaction. The soldiers and guards had barely put up a fight.
Most assassins sent to Ul'dah have been inexperienced or plain decoys. Kalgeant; however, was the spearhead of the "Faces of Mercy." In the past hour, the Elezen had murdered three Flames; now four, in what he considered to be a fashionable display of skill and awe.
A Flame Corporal; female Midlander, impaled by her own sword and had been left to rot outside the Gate of Nald.
A Flame Sergeant Second Class; male Highlander, sat with his back behind a few crates near The Rudius with his eyes torn out from their sockets.
A Flame Private First Class; a young male Midlander, laid in a pool of his own blood as veins in his neck squirted continuously despite his lobbed head near the Gate of Thal.
"Weak... all of them."
In reality, the corpses were meant to lure the Sergeant to his demise and though he wasn't an Exile, he had already known too much. Like all predators of the night, Kalgeant quietly faded into the darkness. It was during that late evening in the alleyways of Pearl Lane that he waited.
________________________________________________________________
Like everyone else, he had a part to play.
Amongst the crowd of civilians walking through the Gate of Thal, stepped a man in a hooded black coat. The scent in the air spelled danger as well as fresh spilled blood. Looking up into the darkening orange sky was a pair of steel colored eyes...
