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Oljhin Akusao

Grave Robbing in the Dead of Night

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Embers from a pipe lights up the man’s face, sitting alone in a corner of a large tent while a light patter of rain rolls across its faux leather roof. The door opens and a bald man peeks his head through.

“Doc? They’re here.”

The seated man raises his eyes to the window. Across the field, perhaps no more than a kilometer away stood the Mausoleum. A large, gothic styled building swathed in light stood alone in the outskirts of Last Chance, its purpose the complete opposite of its name. The hospital had once been a pioneer in bio-mechanical, bio-organic as well as thaumaturgical research. But since the fall of its native soil, and with high-profile, high paying patients inside at the time, the building’s warp gate activated and shifted the entire facility in its now current place of residence. This would explain the lack of reason behind its seemingly random appearance and placement onto the field like a fish out of water. With much of its technology and staff intact, it’s slowly become a destination for those unfortunately afflicted with severe illness and an overabundance of wealth.

The Doc turns toward the bald man. “Good. Lead them in Greg.”

Nodding, Greg steps outside to escort their visitors to the tent.

He turns his back to the door and looks over the large table set in the center of the tent. A few notes, some inferred details, a perimeter map. All the intelligence gathering a bunch of hired goons and a few junkies could muster up over two weeks of staking the place out. They’ve been camped out at the edge of a thin forest surrounding the Mausoleum, observing the traffic along the only road that leads to it from the city of Last Chance.

They’re very well-funded I’ll give them that. This needs to be precise.

Like a scalpel cutting through only what was necessary to get to the diseased flesh, the mission must be sure and swift, cutting out only the parts that were infected. And he needed to sharpen his blades.

Edited by Oljhin Akusao

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Chad quickly scanned the tent as he waltzed through the entrance, following Greg.  A single man was seated within the tent, who he presumed to be the man who had started this whole charade to begin with, The Doc.  With his long, black trench coat trailing behind him, Chad leaned against the side of tent, peering out the window at the Mausoleum.  He was silent for a few seconds.

 "How exactly do you plan on taking over the entire hospital, Doc?  My skills may be great, but that place probably is big enough to host who knows what kind of security measures."  He took a small dagger out of his pocket and tossed it around in his hand.  "It would be quite ironic to die in a hospital, especially one called The Mausoleum." he snickered.

Edited by Monoxide
fonts, wow!

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Alkha walked in, eyes sweeping around the tent. The Doctor, or the man she assumed to be the doctor, was sitting in the middle of the tent, while Chad leaned against the window, talking to him. Again, she had no idea what she was doing here.

If Chad was any indication, she was assuming this was for people with no honour. Murderers, and thieves and the like. Though, she supposed, she'd given up her honour long ago.

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Vito slowly rode his mount through the forest, the rain had made this an uncomfortable trip and he was looking to drying up. After a couple more minutes he'd finally found the tent, just posted roughly a kilometer away from the Mausoleum. Stood outside the leather tent was a man, Vito dismounted from Floki and greeted him. The guard, now known as Greg, lead him inside. He patted of his jacket, glad to be in the warmth.

'Not to shabby, this ones got his priorities straight.'

He was lead into a room, which seemed to already have guests. The one in charge was pretty obvious, as all eye were on him. Vito knew very little about the one leading the charge, other than he was called Doc. Vito simply nodded towards his new boss, quietly made his way to corner of the room and awaited orders, his mount sat by his feet.

'Not many people, hope he has more people coming or at least a decent plan.'

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Gabriel stood out in the forest, out near the edge that lead into the clearing that held the Mausoleum. He had arrived at this camp hours ago, by foot, after he had received word on what was happening here, and was asked for assistance. He looked at the large, Gothic hospital that was to be the target. It seemed out of place here, in the fertile grasslands, Upon further inspection, one could see that the earth surrounding the building had been torn up. It seemed that the Mausoleum had not always been here, but was somehow inserted into this land. Gabriel made a note of all of this, keeping it stored in a prominent place in his database.

Looking to the sky, Gabriel saw the dark clouds above and felt the drops of rain cover his skin. Using the stormy weather would be beneficial in their efforts to take back this location. It would cover up moderate noises, and makes it hard to notice anything that happens around the exterior of the hospital. Gabriel noted this as well, and began to make his way around the many tents set up among the trees. Eventually Gabriel found his way to the tent that he was supposed to visit, and meet the man known as the Doc, which was most likely a shortened form of the title of Doctor. Curious how a Doctor was unleashing a raid on a hospital, his natural place of work. And what was this Doctor's real name, Gabriel wondered. 

But, the Tori's thought processes were halted when a man, introducing himself as Greg led him into the tent with several others. Gabriel began to look over his allies, and comrades on this raid. There was a talkative trench coat man, who says that his skills are great, indeed a good ally to have. There was a quiet elven woman, who had many scars across her body, the sign of a warrior, Gabriel thought. There was a man with a large lizard-like mount. Gabriel would have to ask what species it is when they had a spare moment. There was Greg, Lastly, there was the Doc. Gabriel knew this because the talkative ally, had addressed him as such.

"How exactly do you plan on taking over the entire hospital, Doc?  My skills may be great, but that place probably is big enough to host who knows what kind of security measures. It would be quite ironic to die in a hospital, especially one called The Mausoleum." The man finished his last statement with what could only be described as a snicker. It must have been a humorous statement of irony, as he said. Gabriel let out a laugh in response to his joke. "Indeed, quite ironic my good sir!" After letting that out, Gabriel stood, awaiting information and instructions from the Doc. Though it was hard to pay attention with the tent being so crowded and damp.

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If a citizen stole from another citizen, that citizen would be charged with theft and imprisoned. If the second now murdered the first in retaliation, that one might find him or herself hanging from the end of a rope, immolated, or neatly processed in some kind of steam-powered monstrosity sourced out of the now defunct Tia, depending on the statutes.

If the state stole from a citizen, if the state murdered a citizen for murdering a citizen, this was just business as usual. The state held exclusive right to use, threaten and authorize physical force against the residents of its territory. The state was accountable only to itself - the state had a monopoly on violence.

So what did that make a soldier, exactly?

# # #

Rhenium Metireal was half splinter cell agent and half spy, and the hybrid vigor resultant from such a fusion was especially strong in this one. One could even take the epigenetic route, as she often did, and argue that she was so damn good at her job because her family had been doing it for centuries; it was in her fucking blood.

What color hair did she have this time? Her outer expression betrayed nothing as her mind rifled through the mental rolodex; dark brown, nearly imperceptible in the shadow of night and blending seamlessly into her similarly toned attire. Dark brown eyes. Thin lips. She had her face out because it signaled trust, though it was a face she had put on just today, and was intrigued to find that at least one of the others thought to wear a mask – the hitters they were going up against were heavy indeed, and Rhen doubted they each had the kind of resources she did for keeping out of their reach.

Gregory led them into the large tent. Once underneath its cover Rhenium closed her umbrella and laid it flat by the single entrance. She staked her claim directly next to the Doc's table, where he had a buffet of gathered intel on full display – she speculated that anything he wanted kept secret wasn't in open view.   

The others asked good questions. Having nothing to add, Rhen simply waited.

Edited by supernal

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So there I was…..

farkis.PNG‘ Why are you doing this?” Her quiver laden whisper barely reaches him.

“Because I love you, you know that.” His voice grows louder with each step he takes toward her. Finishing his sentence, he comes to a stop just a few feet away. His hand, that has been trailing along the edge of a dull metallic table, reaches up as he brushes his fingertips against her exposed shin.

Please stop ---

A finger is pressed into her lips, stopping her mid-sentence. “Shhhhh, don’t ruin the moment.”

Dropping his hand from her lips, he momentarily turns to pick a railroad spike up from the table top. “You know, I’ve never understood who would name an angel, Angel. It’s a really stupid name. I’ve always thought you looked more like a Beatrice or a Genevieve.” Farkis turns to look back at the woman, the tip of the spike pointing toward her.

Even in their tattered and splayed state, her wings still hold an ethereal charm. Of course, the same can’t be said for her partially melted face. Admittedly, he’d never seen skin and bone drip before.

“You remember when I found out I had a sister? We ended up sleeping together. Also, she wasn’t my sister. Sorry I cheated on you. If it is any consolation, I did kill her for lying to me.” The tip of the spike presses into alabaster flesh and parts it, causing a pool of vermillion to sweep out across the torn sundress. “I bet you think I’m disgusting for that, sleeping with her that is. But I was alone and desperate because I thought you were dead. (Huh, I guess you couldn't remember) She took advantage of me. That’s why she had to die.”

The titan suddenly drives the spike completely through and out the other side of the angel’s thigh. “Just like you used me to escape from Adam.” The statement punctuates the puncturing.

Wake up, you’ve been sleeping too long.

Farkis turns, looking through the vast void to find the voice. When he turns back to look at his prey, she is no longer there. Instead he’s greeted by the hustle and bustle of a tavern, people milling about, socializing, drinking, and a bouncer or maybe owner looming over him while tapping his shoulder. “You’ve been sitting there, asleep, for hours. You need to either order something or get out.” 

“So, you know what I did Franky? I stabbed him in the eye.” Farkis’ head rolls back to look up at the night sky, as he leans back into the park bench. “Franky? You paying attention?” Without looking, Farkis smacks the back of Franky’s head. What he is met with isn’t a thud but a loud resonating metallic ringing. Rolling his head across his shoulders, his eyes settle on a bronze statue. “Oooh. I guess it’s for the best. I was planning on eating you anyway.”

Pressing his hands into the bench to stand up, he blinks once and then twice. The cool refreshing midnight park is replaced with the dimly lit stagnant air of the tent. “I’m dreaming?” The question is murmured as his marble visage cracks and contorts with discontentment. The discontentment slowly melts away as a profound truth bubbles up from the depths of his mind. Dreams, reality, it didn’t matter, they’re all the same.

Breaking his gaze from his surroundings to look down at his feet, he has yet another startling realization. “I… thought I was wearing Hawaiian today.” What his eyes found were high gloss black leather loafers with grey and black pinstripe pants. A white dress shirt with platinum cufflinks and a silver-ish tie. “Where’s my jacket?” His brows quizzically furrow at a question of unparalleled importance.

Shaking his head, as if to clear a fog, the titan looks up and once more settles his gaze on the occupants of the tent. “So what’s this now?” From somewhere within the depths of his blue eyes molten gold starts to bleed out, speckling his vision. “Something fun I hope?”

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'Rain. How long as it been since I've been graced to feel your existence? Back home it's just ash and cinders and rubble. Too polluted to have nice and clean rain.' With a sigh, Nikolai puts his combat gloves back on and the mask. This wasn't a night for enjoyment, not for him. As he walked however he saw something in the woods. A tent. 'I guess this is the place.' As he neared the tent, he saw a man guarding the tent and walked towards him. 

Remaining silent, he looked at the tent and saw that he'd have a hard time fitting as he towered over everyone with his seven foot three height. It also seemed that the guard, Greg, saw this and acknowledged this fact by giving him a glance. With a silent look inside, he saw he had enough room, if he bent down low enough and proceeded to enter, sitting closest to the exit. As he sat down the chair under him made a very audible noise which would seem odd to everyone else but for those who know how much his body comprised of metal they'd understand. All he did was listen as the other talked. No need to talk.

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The gaunt structure stood little more than a silhouette to the tent in the distance. Even though it had been a month since the Mausoleum was ripped from its last location to the current, the place was still reeling. The line of traffic in signified at least as much. Mans Reyder was Hospital Administrator of the Mausoleum. For about 10 years he had been the place’s  main representative. On his desk sat a laptop-like structure composed of black glass. Beside it, a sculpture of 5 spheres dancing against the vibration imparted from one to another.

“I- I need a day off, sir. I literally feel like I'm dying.”

Mans’s bagged eyes looked up from the administrative system overloaded with appointments and patient schedulings to the young doctor standing in his doorway, begging for some time off.

“Take it, son. Get yourself a day in the West Wing. Return here at 1800 tomorrow.”

The Mausoleum had been reconfigured since its transportation from Muhir to Last Chance. Now, instead of trying to mask their intransigence to the surrounding area, they were a unique and new facility that would cater to almost the every need that arose of its patients. The West Wing was turned into a wing of entirely break rooms where the nurses and doctors displaced from Muhir now had a place to rest. Exuberant wages, which continued pouring in due to the high class clientele, were the only thing that kept the place staffed even though it was wrought with disastrous conditions.

‘Yes we’ll take Terrans, no we don’t understand Terran insurance programs; we’re working on it and your medical insurance can handle backpays,” said a front desk assistant.

Ricocheting up the Mausoleum’s economic structure were the implications of changes in staff and location. One half of the staff slept for one half of the day, one half the other. Mans slept for about 4 hours a night, his office connected to a studio-like hovel. 

To be frank, nobody quite knew what was what anymore. In the haze of just trying to keep a business running, the Mausoleum had proverbially put its head down and dedicated itself to work. Cash stockpiled with nowhere to go as, since the teleportation, the Mausoleum was unable to get any representatives from its parent company, Catalyst Corp, to come collect funds. 

Presently a fat safe of the Mausoleum’s earnings sat pregnant in the lower reaches of the Mausoleum, near a radiator on one end and near a certain portal on the other.

Mans pinched one silver ball between his left forefinger and thumb, pulling it away from the line of its predecessors and releasing it to enact the chain reaction preceding the chain reaction signifying the Mausoleum’s downfall. The sap was so bedraggled, so thrown off by the Mausoleum’s current state, he had no idea what was coming.

There were 2 others still present, however, who had and for the foreseeable future would keep an eye on the Mausoleum. Each had a black adhesive patch planted on their sides beneath their janitorial outfits. Mopping the floors and scrubbing the beds in different locations within the Mausoleum, they were just as (if not more) prepared as the Mausoleum staff to carry on their missive.

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It was maybe not the best idea for Leon to travel as he did today, but he needed time away from his job. He already had a fair bit of pay from his recent gigs, there was no need to really do much else and he doubts there would be much harm to explore whilst he was here. Honestly he chose the forest mostly to get some time to himself, It was quite hard as of late to come up with ideas, too many things on his mind left his thoughts quite scattered and he couldn’t quite catch an idea on what to write, a good quiet walk through a forest was what he expected. Inspiration can come from anywhere, after all, sometimes you just gotta look for it. At least that's what the earthling musicians seem to say. He wasn't quite sure of it himself, but if it worked for them, it couldn't hurt to give it a shot.

What was not expected, however, was seeing a camp set at the end of the forest and with it the front of what seemed to be a dilapidated building. Gothic in design, it was quite the size and seemed to dwarf over the forest and plains it was clearly seated in. To be frank,  it was rather an odd building he felt to be out of the way of everything; However, he wouldn’t bother to question it. This world was something Leon himself just wasn’t trying to get anymore and decided to just roll with it. It was rather fitting anyway. He focused back onto the tent and with it the camp. It wouldn’t harm him to inquire what was going on after all, and it would probably get some interesting history if he decided to do so. Something more to learn about this place.

 

Anything could be written about after all if given a good hook, and maybe This could be the inspiration he needed.

Edited by Trexasle

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Navarr stood in silence as the gathering before him settled. Seven of them had come, of the messages he’d sent out, only seven were motivated enough. Or foolish enough. He mused to himself as he put out his pipe. He’d appraised them as they walked, in noting the more visually interesting among them. The dragon-kin and an enormous humanoid caught his eye, but as soon as the suited man entered Navarr felt his eyes ache for a brief moment. He glanced at the woman who’d taken a spot closest to him, a twitch of curiosity pulling at his attention, before he began to speak.

“Good evening. No names, only identifiers. You may call me Doctor. I trust you’ve all been told our goal here tonight.” The Doc glances towards the dragoon who’d so openly asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“I’ve been here over the past few days casing the place out. I’ve seen no other traffic into or out of the building aside from the patients. The Mausoleum has… recently relocated here and I’m certain that it’s been self-sufficient since the move.”

The Doc hands around a few handwritten pages. “Here you’ll find what I’ve been able to gather from the outside. Guard locations, most of the access ways, and probable security measures housed inside.”  He sighs softly. “It’s not a lot to go on especially considering that it’s a large structure, but were not really here to lay siege to a castle.” He looks them in the eye individually before continuing. “I sent out this message to select individuals, and you’re all here because your skills allow us to do this in the fastest time with the least amount of damage and risk. We move discreetly until I give the word, and hopefully their security won’t even have time to engage us, let alone know we’re even there.”

He turns back to the table and lifts up a rough sketch of the building from a top-down perspective.

“I’ve sent in a few men before and they believe that the administrative offices are here…” He points towards the center of the complex. “… If we can infiltrate that, find their leader, we’re golden. Quite literally too, since I’ve not seen a transfer of cash, nor a convoy of employees ever leave the place.”

The doctor paused. Awaiting and fielding questions the others may have, before continuing.

“I have two more men awaiting orders to close the road leading into and out of the Mausoleum. Once we’re inside-”

“Doc, sorry for interrupting…” Greg said from the door as he pushed inside another man. “…I found this one snooping outside. He’s clean, what do I do with him?”

Navarr looks at the man, dripping from the rain. Annoyance flaring behind his cold stare. “Looks like he’s coming with us. Thank you, Gregory.”

Greg nods as he walks back out, leaving the man, a bard by the looks of his gear, surrounded by the party. The doctor leaves his place at the table and confronts the newcomer.

“You, bard. Have you been sent a message? Or just stumbling blindly in the forest? As you can see, we’re quite busy and your interruption is costing time I cannot lose. The way I see it, you either join us on you own two feet, or join us inside his stomach.” He motions toward the dragon-kin. Without waiting for a response, as he was sure any resistance by the bard would be overpowered by the others, Navarr walked back to his place and continued.

“As I was saying, once we’re inside, we move as one towards the offices. I need to meet with the director and find out where your money is stored. If we meet resistance stronger than a few armed guards, you, you, you, you and you…” he points at the dragon-kin, the bard, the suited man, the masked humanoid, and the pale, brown-haired man“…You’re to be our fire-team. Whatever they throw at us, you throw right back.”

Big man, you’re with her” He motions to the woman clad in dark garments standing beside his table. “You’re out exit. If we can’t get to the director’s office, you’re making us a door and getting us out. My men have my wagon ready to get you out afterwards.”

Finally, he turns towards the elf. “And you’re with me. If I can’t get the director to cooperate using my knives.” He shifts his gaze to her sword. “You and I are going to have some fun.”

He waits for them to absorb his words as he himself thinks over this plan.

This is it.

“Before you ask, yes, we are waltzing up to the front doors. They’re so hectic in there that I don’t see a problem with us just walking in.”

He reaches for something underneath the table. “Here.” He passed around a few vials of clear liquid. “My own concoction. A healing balm that contains essence of phoenix tear and a few other herbs. It is diluted, mind you, and not as powerful as the pure stuff. But for a cut this deep…”

The doctor demonstrates by slicing his arm with a scalpel hidden in his sleeve. A scarlet line begins to weep down his arm until he pours a few drops from the vial. In a few seconds the bleeding stops, and in a few more there was nothing but a thin line of coagulated blood where before was a half-inch deep cut.

“…it does the job. I wouldn’t rely on this for serious things though. And I'm not sure how it's going to react to you.” He looks at the dragon-kin with a slight apologetic expression.

He wipes at the cut and reseals the vial he used.

“Of course, this is no charity event, and you might be wondering since I’ve left it out of the message but we’re splitting all the money and equipment in half. One half remains with the Mausoleum.” Navarr purposefully avoids saying it would remain with him. In the company of such cutthroats, one can never be to careful. “While the other half you’re free to divide amongst yourselves however you see fit.”

“If there are no more questions, ready up. We move in…” He checks his watch. “… Twelve Minutes.”

He leaves his table, its contents no more valuable than trinkets now that he’s handed out the vials, and walks out the tent. The true prize stood before him, in all its wondrous glory.

Edited by Oljhin Akusao

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Just now, Oljhin Akusao said:

Navarr stood in silence as the gathering before him settled. Seven of them had come, of the messages he’d sent out, only seven were motivated enough. Or foolish enough. He mused to himself as he put out his pipe. He’d appraised them as they walked, in noting the more visually interesting among them. The dragon-kin and an enormous humanoid caught his eye, but as soon as the suited man entered Navarr felt his eyes ache for a brief moment. He glanced at the woman who’d taken a spot closest to him, a twitch of curiosity pulling at his attention, before he began to speak.

“Good evening. No names, only identifiers. You may call me Doctor. I trust you’ve all been told our goal here tonight.” The Doc glances towards the dragoon who’d so openly asked the question on everyone’s mind.

“I’ve been here over the past few days casing the place out. I’ve seen no other traffic into or out of the building aside from the patients. The Mausoleum has… recently relocated here and I’m certain that it’s been self-sufficient since the move.”

The Doc hands around a few handwritten pages. “Here you’ll find what I’ve been able to gather from the outside. Guard locations, most of the access ways, and probable security measures housed inside.”  He sighs softly. “It’s not a lot to go on especially considering that it’s a large structure, but were not really here to lay siege to a castle.” He looks them in the eye individually before continuing. “I sent out this message to select individuals, and you’re all here because your skills allow us to do this in the fastest time with the least amount of damage and risk. We move discreetly until I give the word, and hopefully their security won’t even have time to engage us, let alone know we’re even there.”

He turns back to the table and lifts up a rough sketch of the building from a top-down perspective.

“I’ve sent in a few men before and they believe that the administrative offices are here…” He points towards the center of the complex. “… If we can infiltrate that, find their leader, we’re golden. Quite literally too, since I’ve not seen a transfer of cash, nor a convoy of employees ever leave the place.”

The doctor paused. Awaiting and fielding questions the others may have, before continuing.

“I have two more men awaiting orders to close the road leading into and out of the Mausoleum. Once we’re inside-”

“Doc, sorry for interrupting…” Greg said from the door as he pushed inside another man. “…I found this one snooping outside. He’s clean, what do I do with him?”

Navarr looks at the man, dripping from the rain. Annoyance flaring behind his cold stare. “Looks like he’s coming with us. Thank you, Gregory.”

Greg nods as he walks back out, leaving the man, a bard by the looks of his gear, surrounded by the party. The doctor leaves his place at the table and confronts the newcomer.

“You, bard. Have you been sent a message? Or just stumbling blindly in the forest? As you can see, we’re quite busy and your interruption is costing time I cannot lose. The way I see it, you either join us on you own two feet, or join us inside his stomach.” He motions toward the dragon-kin. Without waiting for a response, as he was sure any resistance by the bard would be overpowered by the others, Navarr walked back to his place and continued.

“As I was saying, once we’re inside, we move as one towards the offices. I need to meet with the director and find out where your money is stored. If we meet resistance stronger than a few armed guards, you, you, you, you and you…” he points at the dragon-kin, the bard, the suited man, the masked humanoid, and the pale, brown-haired man“…You’re to be our fire-team. Whatever they throw at us, you throw right back.”

Big man, you’re with her” He motions to the woman clad in dark garments standing beside his table. “You’re out exit. If we can’t get to the director’s office, you’re making us a door and getting us out. My men have my wagon ready to get you out afterwards.”

Finally, he turns towards the elf. “And you’re with me. If I can’t get the director to cooperate using my knives.” He shifts his gaze to her sword. “You and I are going to have some fun.”

He waits for them to absorb his words as he himself thinks over this plan.

This is it.

“Before you ask, yes, we are waltzing up to the front doors. They’re so hectic in there that I don’t see a problem with us just walking in.”

He reaches for something underneath the table. “Here.” He passed around a few vials of clear liquid. “My own concoction. A healing balm that contains essence of phoenix tear and a few other herbs. It is diluted, mind you, and not as powerful as the pure stuff. But for a cut this deep…”

The doctor demonstrates by slicing his arm with a scalpel hidden in his sleeve. A scarlet line begins to weep down his arm until he pours a few drops from the vial. In a few seconds the bleeding stops, and in a few more there was nothing but a thin line of coagulated blood where before was a half-inch deep cut.

“…it does the job. I wouldn’t rely on this for serious things though. And I'm not sure how it's going to react to you.” He looks at the dragon-kin with a slight apologetic expression.

He wipes at the cut and reseals the vial he used.

“Of course, this is no charity event, and you might be wondering since I’ve left it out of the message but we’re splitting all the money and equipment in half. One half remains with the Mausoleum.” Navarr purposefully avoids saying it would remain with him. In the company of such cutthroats, one can never be to careful. “While the other half you’re free to divide amongst yourselves however you see fit.”

“If there are no more questions, ready up. We move in…” He checks his watch. “… Twelve Minutes.”

He leaves his table, its contents no more valuable than trinkets now that he’s handed out the vials, and walks out the tent. The true prize stood before him, in all its wondrous glory.

Alkha looked quickly down at her sword, and then raised an eyebrow at the Doctor. This would be interesting. And then at the vial. Not too powerful, but enough to keep her alive, or so she hoped.

Twelve minutes.

Once he left, she took a minute to look over everyone. Her prediction had been right, they really didn't seem like an honourable lot. Apart from the bard, of course. He just seemed a bit... Misplaced.

The elf glanced towards the table, checking for anything of value. Just in case. 

She wasn't a thief, but if there was an opportunity, it was her duty to take it.

Edited by Nebula

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All of a sudden Leon found himself being pushed suddenly away from the building. “Hey no need to push feller, I was just having a ganzee around…”   He said in caution, but not panic. he was sure he didn’t break any rules or at least none that he knew of. However once he was shoved into the tent that was when he realized he might’ve been into something he shouldn’t have. He took a look around at the apparent party that seemed to be forming. A Dragon/humanoid hybrid, plain looking brown haired man, some suit in a suit. Some Big Bloke who seemed to be a little too friendly with the jelly donuts, and an elf. It was clear from there that this was a job.


He didn’t need the leaders' words to confirm that.

Nor did he need the bevy of questions.

“You, bard. Have you been sent a message? Or just stumbling blindly in the forest? As you can see, we’re quite busy and your interruption is costing time I cannot lose. The way I see it, you either join us on you own two feet, or join us inside his stomach.”

“What’s with all the threats? I ain’t here for the troubles. I am just taking a little walk and found this little building here, gotta get my inspiring on y’know?” He seemed…out of it, or at least not all there. His speech was broken, a bit of scouse was clear in his dialect, but even that was terribly broken (even more than the Indo-European dialect was, to begin with.) and filled with odd euphemisms and outdated slang. He moved out of the circle the crowd had gathered around him. “However, maybe this little job can get the creative juices flowing, no better tune than one that is of truth.” A wink and a grin greeted them, while not the best approach at getting something to write about, at least it will pass the time.

“I’m in…what’s the plan?”

A slow sliding grin suddenly appeared on his face, it would seem that he already had his bandmates gathered. He wasn’t sure about their abilities just yet, but seeing that they were firing squad it would seem they would have to take point. The plan seemed simple enough if a bit vague, but seeing that he wasn’t here for the initial conversation, that could just be ignorance. Not that it mattered Much, Leon Continued to lean on his guitar bag, which seemed to stand oddly still, very easily for such a mere instrument.

“Twelve minutes until showtime, Eh? Not leaving a lot of room for the band to prepare. Must be dire if yer doing that...”

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“What’s a hospital?” The question rolls off his tongue as naturally as someone asking for directions to the restroom. Before an answer can be given, Farkis closes his eyes and searches through his vast database of discarded memories. In the brief time between closing and opening his eyes, he learns three things: The first is that it is never lupus. The second, he absolutely wants to play House doctor. And the third, Vicodin is delicious.

“So, a few things right quick. I don’t want money. I want to be a doctor.” His hands drop down into his pants pockets as he walks toward the tent exit. “Also, it’s a hospital. We could just go in as patients. Well… you guys could. I’m going to go apply for a job.” He crosses the threshold into the night air, only to pop his head back in a second later. “What I’m saying is that your plan sucks. It’s like you don’t even know how to terrorist.” And with that the titan is gone.

Approximately 10 minutes later.

With a minor gesture of his hand the door to the hospital slides open and Farkis enters. A moment is taken to survey the lobby before he heads to the receptionist’s desk. “Hi, I’m Dr. Marisante…. Oooh that’s so Holmesish sounding. I don’t like it, Jim was terribly dull character…. Sorry, lost in thought. Anyway, any chance this fine facility is hiring? I recently left a small practice in Hell’s Gate and I’m looking for a new start.” If Farkis were to make a wager it would be on the fact that no one in the history of medicine had ever gotten a job by talking to the receptionist. Still, what was the worst that could happen… it’s not like they could tell him no. No one ever told him no.

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Chad was......a bit taken aback.  The Doc had quickly noticed the dragon controlled within him, and had taken note of his obvious strength.

That man has a purpose, and plans to carry out this mission with great efficiency.  I'm going to enjoy getting to bash some skulls together after all this time carrying out such boring assassin work.  

He licked his lips in anticipation, and stuffed the healing balm in his coat pocket.  "I won't end up needing this healing thing he concocted, whatever gets in my way won't even get the chance to hurt me.  Also, if this random mortal that came unannounced-" Chad jabbed his thumb in the direction of the bard.  "-falls out of line or gets in my way, I don't plan on eating him, but there are p l e n t y  of other tortures I can give.  I don't intend on wasting my time and losing my reward just 'cause some imbecile sabotaged the mission."

 He finally took enough care to look at the others in the tent, and found that he still didn't care one bit.  In the end, the one thing all these people wanted was a share of what could have been his, with the exception of that sassy fellow who abandoned the group. If Chad got the chance, he'd swipe a bit more than his fair share.  With the short amount of time remaining, Chad quickly practiced producing his claw blades from his fingernails, cautiously as to keep his wild side at bay.

 As the fire-team began to walk straight through the front doors of The Mausoleum, he smiled gleefully, his teeth sharpening slightly.

 "This is gonna be fun."

 

Edited by Monoxide

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