Lol im late. THANK YOU FOR REVIEWS ALL YOU DARLINGS LOVE YOU!
Armour: Brimflame (Vanity- Rags)
Weapon: Winter's Fury, Undine's Retribution, Stormfront Razor
Acc(11/11): The Bee, Celestial cuffs, Mana Flower, Sorcerer Emblem, Cryo Wings, Ankh Shield, Deific Amulet, TerraSpark Boots, Grand Gelatin, Permafrost's Concotion, Evasion Scarf. (Unlimited Buffs)
Health: (400/500)
Armour: Molten Armour (Vanity - Familiar clothes)
Weapon: Molten Bow (Ichor Arrows); Arkhalis
Acc(11/12): Charm of Myths, Ankh Shield, Terraspark Boots, Luxor's Gift, Deific Amulet, Counter Scarf, Crown Jewel, MOAB, Harpy Ring, Aero Stone, Skyline Wings, Warrior Emblem
Health: (400/400)
The Merchant's information was good.
Golden, in fact.
Because after an extensive search: in the circles of high society, in the penthouses, in the nightclubs and in the gambling houses - all places where one would expect a pair of infinitely wealthy men to visit, The 22nd Division of The Thieves Guild had finally found their quarry.
The truth was, they were simply less dogged than the other divisions. They were tired; they were hungry, and one of their officer's had a brother who ran a kebab shop. The whole troupe of them were rather demurely trudging down the alleyways - debating whether or not their target was in the north or south of the city, whether his companion really was a missing professor from the magician's academy (his university photo seemed quite similar to the description, but their Division leader was unable to get access to any of the eye-witnesses to confirm) and where to find some cheap beer to polish the night off when:
(No way, is that-)
(Haha! that's ridiculous!)
They found them.
Two innocuous men were sitting at one of those dreadfully sticky linoleum tables, muttering and arguing with each other as they waited for The Officer's brother to cook them kebabs. It was late at night. The moon glowered low and bright in the sky, and the street was deserted - yet even so, there wasn't a guard in sight. No weapons, no guns, no protection... nothing. Did the two men think they had managed to slip under everyone's radar after paying for stardust with golden bullion? That was utter foolishness. The Merchant's guild had eyes and ears everywhere. The shopkeepers talked to one another, and within the hour the news of 'The Fount of Wealth' had spread through the undercurrent of the city's information network like wildfire.
(It's the Magic Professor, I knew it-)
(Hey, If they're so rich, why the hell are they eating kebabs in the middle of the night, huh?)
(You think the story's bullshit? Nobody can make gold out of nothing. Not even Draedon.)
(Hey, Guild Lead believes it.)
And, naturally, The Thieves Guild leapt upon this opportunity with gusto. Their leader - a Pirate Captain who had since retired to terrestrial crime - was always one for myths and superstitions. Some said his brains have been addled from spending too much time at sea, but despite The Captain's eccentricates, he was a smart and steady leader - and under his direction, The Thieves guild flourished as the underworld's prevailing organization.
And the moment The Pirate Captain heard of 'The Fount of Wealth' he sent every division of The Thieves Guild to go 'all hands on deck!' to 'bring me the booty, ya'll scallywags!' with the promise of a tremendous promotion and an exceedingly generous retirement for whichever troupe succeeded. The 22nd had always been a bit underachieving, and for years they had been reprimanded by The Captain for their lacklustre work. They were all eager for riches and recognition, and as such were exceedingly excited to capture their target.
The target who had since been given the moniker: 'The Dead-Eyed Treasure'.
And so, all thirty of them were piled up upon each other to peek about the alleyway's corner, their eyes glowing in greed and their limbs all jittery with excitement. Had they not been armed to the teeth, a passerby may have commented they looked like a group of excited schoolgirls staring at their collective crush. The truth though, was not so far from that.
(Wait, he's doing something...)
(Is he-)
(Holy shit- did you see that? That's fucking Gold!)
Because the rumors were proven before their very eyes. The two men were engaged in tired conversation as they sat in the small roadside shop, ringed in by dingy lighting and greasy glass panes. One of the conservants was the missing university professor, and his profile fit the description exactly: designer clothes, sandy brown hair, a drawn face and a sour expression. He looked like a good hostage, true - but who needed a hostage when there was gold to be had?
Because the real treasure was his companion- that plain, dull man with dead eyes. He was so unassuming he seemed to fade away into the background, but all eyes were fixed when he pulled three gold bars from seemingly nowhere and stacked them up on the table. The sight made The Troupe nigh froth at the mouth in excitement, and had not their more experienced members held them back - they might have charged down their targets wholesale.
(Thirty against two, come on, Division lead- It's like taking candy from a baby)
(Let's get in there and nab them)
(There're literally defenseless.)
But - thankfully - The Division Leader would not let them. He was not an old man, but he had once been a soldier. There was something to be said of Yharim's military when so many of their decorated veterans had turned to a life of crime to make ends meet, but such was a topic which would surely cause heads to roll. Regardless, 'making ends meet' would be the furthest thing from The Division Leader's mind if he managed to pull off this kidnapping. He wanted to make sure there was zero chance The Dead-Eyed Treasure escaped or - heaven forbid - was killed, so he sent his troops to surround the area and observed closely from the shadows.
And yet, the more closely, the more carefully he observed, the more unsettled he became.
Because the man was... odd.
There was something terrible about him, like he was far larger than his frame, like there was a pit inside of him. He looked human, he acted human, but his minute movements were absolutely alien. He was terrifying in the way his eyes moved slowly around his head. The intervals in which he blinked were entirely unnatural, the strain of the tendons of his neck were far too jaunt, the movements of his fingers far too smooth.
"Relax... don't do anything rash. Get the chef out of there and toss in a few gas canisters. Block the exits. You- Contact Guild leader, and have them send an armoured holding van. There should be one in the area."
(Division lead is scared?)
(Tch, I could take them both on my own...)
(Move, go.)
And all the battle hardened members of The 22nd could feel that same odd uneasiness rippling from beneath their skin. Their eagerness was beginning to fade, replaced by a taut soberness. Those that had faced monsters before could swear The Dead-Eyed Treasure must be one. Those that fought battles could smell the telltale scent of violence in the air. Perhaps The Dead Eyed Treasure didn't have bodyguards because he didn't need any... but The 22nd Division had orders. They would not shirk them out of cowardice. Especially because the rest of his crew - those who lived lives of relative peace - were convinced they could simply burst in and kidnap the man, overwhelming him with their sheer numbers. In a few days, they would all thank their Division Leader profusely for saving their lives, but today - they were all chomping at the bit.
*hissss*
The gas was a specialty of The Thieves guild, laced with sleeping powder and paralyzing agents and used often in smuggling and kidnapping operations. Usually it took some time to work, but - luckily for them - it seemed to be extremely effective against Dead-Eyes. They watched the man's figure sag and stutter, his smooth movements becoming jerky and inaccurate as he tried to blink away his fatigue and salivated a pool into the tabletop. There were a group of men surrounding the first exit, another group poised at the second - all knives out and grinning greedy smiles, ready to capture the prey they've been stalking all day.
(Wh-who are you! Let me go! Wh- mmrph!)
It took place quickly.
The Operation was fast and practiced as if they'd done this sort of thing a hundred times before. In an instant, the two targets were taken down. One struggled far more than the other (Dead-Eyes had fallen asleep on his own accord, but managed a bit of flailing that broke somebody's arm), but ultimately their quarries were tied up, knocked out and had bags taped over their heads. An armoured van arrived in the nick of time, and before even a single sleepy festival goer stumbled out of bed to peek out their windows, The 22nd Division and their hostages had disappeared into the night.
She'd lost her mind.
She'd must have been hit in the head to many times while being interrogated by the Thieves' Guild. So hard, in fact, she had travelled back in time and was reliving yesterday.
"Ma'am? This vial of Stardust please?"
Because, the customer now standing in front of her, dressed in a set of rags so rank and miserable he was beginning to attract flies...didn't he look dreadfully similar to Dead-Eyes? The facial features were almost identical - each detail the same, yet when taken as a whole - somehow different. His features were refined, but too symmetrical and so ordinary, they slipped the mind immediately. Of course, he wasn't exactly the same as Dead-Eyes. He was a little bit taller. A little bit thinner. A bit more recognizable. Where Dead-Eyes had dull greyish skin, this man looked flushed and healthy, if not in terrific need of a suntan. Where Dead-Eyes had... dead eyes, this man's burned orange and red like smouldering coals.
"Ma'am?"
Dragon-Eyes lifted a dramatic eyebrow at her gawking and shook the vial of Stardust at her again. He repeated his request, slowly, as if she wouldn't understand him otherwise.
"I would like to buy this."
"No sales. L-leave."
She stuttered at him, not eager to repeat yesterdays experience. After being paid in golden bullion by Dead-Eyes, she had made a dash for the bank vaults... but was accosted and violently interrogated before she even arrived. She was released late that night, beaten dreadfully and extremely upset with the circumstances surrounding those two gold bars. Was Dragon-Eyes going to pull something similar? She didn't want to risk it. She shooed him away with frantic urgency.
"I have the right to refuse service. Hurry and go. I don't want your trouble."
"What? But... But I can't find Stardust anywhere else!"
Dragon-Eyes looked offended. His reptilian pupils dilated, and he immediately went shuffling through the filthy rags he ventured to call clothing. After a moment, he produced a large bag full of coins. He upended it, and spilled a number of them on The Shopkeeper's counter. The coins were in a terrible state, as if they'd been dredged up from the ground after years and years of wear and tear - but despite their bedraggled condition, they were real minted currency. Still, remembering her wounds, The Shopkeeper continued to refuse.
"Go-go! Take it and leave! Shoo-"
"You don't want money?"
"Get out!"
"... okay."
"Oh... that wretched thing was killed?"
She yawned as one of her newly necrotized servants carefully etched rubies into her fingernails. A similar servant did the same to her toes. The remaining of the fifteen girls she'd processed stood rigidly against the walls, silent as death, their stiff faces warped in varying expressions of grief and terror. The Witch didn't mind how terribly they looked. Well, perhaps that wasn't quite accurate. The Witch didn't know what she liked and what she didn't - not anymore at least. Last week, the sobbing and moanings of her handmaidens were music to her ears. Today, Calamitas saw fit to remove their vocal cords. In a couple of days, she might have them all chopped up and disposed of...
"Y-yes, ma'am. Our agent saw the entire battle and collected the corpse afterwards. The Clone was defeated."
"Hm- it concerns me not. Leave."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The servant bowed low and retreated into the darkness between the rich velvet curtains. As soon as he vanished, she pushed him entirely from her mind. Instead, she summoned a scrying glass with a burst of scarlet sparks. It floated above her pinched fingers and cast the crumbled figure into its reflective surface. It was a horrid thing, all chopped up and neutralized with lye. Soon it would burn in a furnace and it's cursed ashes given to the spellcrafters to make ever more wicked weapons and sorceries. It was amusing in a way... well, maybe it wasn't. She didn't know. Her emotions were entirely scrambled ever since grief washed her away in it's thundering current. There was a quiet mad voice which whispered tinny chaos into her ears, and every one of her thoughts was swept up and mixed about in the whirling eddies of her mind.
Somedays, she thought she must be insane. Mana-drunk. Arcane Lunacy...
But usually, the magical whirlpool swept away that sort of introspection immediately. The magic warped her, it twisted in her veins and flowed freely through her and throughout her. Sometimes it threatened to burst her, or transform her form into some monstrosity (as if it wasn't one already!) or sometimes melt her to liquid, or dissolve her into sludge or...
Well.
Such thoughts were vanity.
She was the most powerful. Nothing could destroy her. Not even the forces of magic themselves.
She was The Witch Supreme.
So when she gazed into the crystal ball, her eyes alight with emotions unknown to even her - she chuckled hollowly. The wretched thing... covered in limbs and faces and torsos crying black and red. Twenty faces - her faces -crackling and dissolving, rotting beneath the power of Yharim's curse. Their forms dissolved to nothing, crying souls finally granted the silence of eternal rest.
"Pitiful thing."
She dismissed the orb and scoffed - stoking her incense bier with myrrh and cinnamon. The air warped around her as she, suddenly startled, carefully reached out and patted one of the pillows on her couch. She adjusted the gold-threaded shawl around it and patted it carefully with her half jeweled hands.
"Oh no, not you darling brother... Don't worry I'll create a new body for you soon..."
Faze: If you had to choose between all the money I have right now or Guide #2, which would you choose?
Monster Knight: How much do you have?
Guide#2: W-wait, Knight?
F: 87 Copper
MK: I'll take the money
G#2: Knight!
TMW when you don't proofread and hope everything works out