Posted upon the wanted bounty boards of Stygia:
Count I
The grand jury charges that on or about the last night of the full moon of Autum, at Khemi, Stygia, Guy De'Leon defendant herein, with the intent to cause death or serious bodily harm, did sever life preserving measures from the person, to wit, Apophis of House Jade Asp, son to Prince Neverlin, by force and violence, causing the death of the first illegitimate son of the House. All in violation of Title 8, Stygian Code, Section 293.
Count II
The grand jury charges that on or about the first day of summer, of last year, at Kemi, Stygia, Guy De'Leon, defendant herein, possessing a weapon, did take from the person or presence of another, to wit, Neverlin of House Jade Asp, by force and violence and intimidation, a slave that had been transported, shipped, or received in interstate commerce, that is, a twenty five year old female called Pax, all in violation of Title 69, Stygian Code, Section 2119.
The defendant should be considered armed and dangerous. Provincial Guard are to take the defendant into custody for trial and sentencing before the High Ecclesiastical Court. Private bounty hunters will be paid up to 5 gold for the delivery of the fugitive defendant. All merchants are ordered to halt all trade with the defendant until sentencing.
"Five gold. INSULTING!" Sir Guy roars as he sways drunkenly " Every dirty-dicked donkey ****er will come out for five gold. Probably get tired dealing with them before some decent fellow comes around making it worth bleeding"
Pax looks around worriedly, healing the shallow knife wound suffered before Guy realized the gutter rats would be scrambling to knife him in the back. "Sometimes, a man just wants to stab the **** out of something because capricious violence makes for wonderful deterrent."
"I understand that." the Cimmerian mercenary says calmly as he looks between the Zingaran and his slave. She looks between the two men, clearly not understanding as a Sir Guy gives a light chuckle that slowly grows into a laugh. "Oh, sometimes I amuse myself far too much"
Last edited by VenaRavenhair; 7th October 2016 at 04:13.
He had walked away without saying where he was going, left the slave standing with the Cimmerian on one of the irregular, dusty streets of Akhet. Maybe when he failed to return she would worry that someone had managed to get a knife deep enough in his ribs to do more than piss him off. Or maybe she would think he had left. What she worried did not matter to him as much as she having no idea where he was. If she did not know, she could not be coerced into revealing that he had not even left the island.
Favors, more than gold, made a man wealthy, and Guy had gone to withdraw some of his vast wealth. First, at the Silver Atrium. Publicly, he was a common trader, bringing in masses of labor slaves, like livestock, on cramped ships smelling of shiit and piiss. But years of being the quiet, unpaid middle man in trades of exotic slaves for the elite members of the Atrium had let him withdraw enough of a favor to get a modest, but unknown suite in Akhet.
The merchant who gave Guy the use of the suite had once used it to house his mistresses and being as the mistress was a secret, so was the hidden entrance the merchant used to visit her. Though empty for a year or more, the place still smelled of the woman’s perfumes. Amber and sandalwood lingered in the cushions and curtains, often drifting through the apartment with the slightest breeze from the bay.
Guy leaned on the balcony rail, watching copper sparks from the setting sun dancing along the bay. A light wind rolled across the water, carrying with it the barest hint of urine and suffering. Soon, one of his ships would be in the bay. Most likely, Captain Procellae. As long as the slave managed to get Procellae the strongbox key Guy had left with her, Guy had confidence Procellae would find the letter in the false bottom and do what it asked.
A movement in the shadows far below drew Guy’s attention. Another favor, filtered down through the many layers of street gangs and smugglers and undesirables, was starting to show up on walls. Graffiti . This particular one claiming, “Neverlin has shiit for hair.”
A grin twisted the corner of Guy's mouth. Yes, he amused himself. Sometimes, far too much.
The guard patrol wasn't really showing much enthusiasm as they barely entered the Serpent Head Inn. The sergeant scanning the bottom floor, but not bothering to go upstairs. Which was good. She could take one or two, but a whole squad would be a bit much. Especially in a crowded tavern. She slips up to the room, all of Sir Guy's equipment that he cared about had already mysteriously vanished. She changes into clothes and covers her hair and face with a cowl before stuffing her few belongings into a sack. Might as well make it harder for them to find her.
...
The smell of the slums had an added sting of desperation and death. A slow but deadly plague creeping across the city, visiting anyone not willing or unable to pay the priests for healing. Oddly, even priests were being infected. At least those that had been less than enthusiastic about the offices of the Inquisition. Pax settles into a corner dressed in dirty rags, for all the world another of societies detritus. She settles into a deep meditation, a low ripple of power slipping outward from her, and at it's edges ... tiny deaths, unnoticed by any but the suddenly vermin free mice and rats and the child whose scalp no longer itched. Perhaps it would slow the plague down, and help those that could not afford the fee to survive for a while longer. Or perhaps it would simply keep fleas from biting her. It was worth a shot.