[Nexus] MURDER II: Actual Levels of Murder May Vary

[The Librarian]

[MURDER Operative's Office]

A mysterious individual appears, manifesting itself seemingly out of nowhere. The person is wearing a black robe with a blood red trim and a hood that completely conceals the individuals identity from anyone.

The individual stands there as if waiting for someone to approach them. Any magic wards/ traps / or mechanisms meant to ward off such intursions will have no effect on this individual

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

The Operative is sitting at the desk, like usual. Any facial features of his are concealed by his gas mask and black clothes. He looks up at the individual. Well, this is less than ideal. "You have breached my security. Are you stupid, or do you have a death wish? I can fulfill that for you." he says.

[The Librarian]

[Operative's Office]

The individual chuckles speaking with seemingly young male voice that rolls "s" frequently.
Heh, your words-ss mean little to a being ss-uch as myself. Regardless-ss, I am not hear to harm you, nor lay wasss-te to your organization known as MURDER. I have approached you directly, recognizing you as the leader of this-ss group. There isss a message for you to relay to comapnions-ss. One of dire importance, ssso please listen to me.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

The Operative grasps at the switchblade in his pocket. "Relay your message. I will determine its importance myself."

[The Librarian]

[Operative's Office]

The individual nods grinning underneath his veil amused by this man.
What you do with thess-se words are of your own actionsss. There isss a storm approaching thiss world you and the people of Nexus-ss hold s-so dear to yourselvesss. The time of this event isss not of relevance now, but ssshould not act...the consssequencesss would be as if I never sssaid a word. Your organization and the othersss whom you sssquable and prod at for your own gainsss must set your differencesss aside and ssstand as one.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

The Operative doesn't seem to place much stock in this apocalyptic message. "If all your message concerns is the end of the world, spare me. You're not the first 'prophet' to predict an apocalypse, and you will not be the last."

[The Librarian]

The being chuckles again which turns into a sort of sadistic laughter as he looks at the being with his face briefly revealed. No eyes would be their to meet the Operative's face, only two red spinning voids of chaos, and insanity.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Yessss! It would ssseem so erroneousss; so absssurd that I approach you baring the criesss of an...oh, what do you incessssant, ignorant humansss call it? "The End of Daysss"? I mussst be the fool.
The man pauses to lower his voice and control his own inner-demons before continuing.
Yesss, it is true your world has time and time again averted the disssasters that would sssurely led waste thisss world. Because your realm is all that mattersss to a Hitman such as-sss yourself. We've watched all the actions of Nexusss, your people alone are frightenly resssilent to these doomsdaysss. Many have sssimply never come to pass, other were prevented by your own unwitting interferencessss. This time though the end that we see isss absolute from what we have obssserved.

He lets out his hand from the his robe, the skin gray with red veins of mana pulsing in a sickly manner. In his hand the hooded being holds a ball crystal with a faint blue glow.
Do you wisssh to see thisss end so that you finally understand of gravity of this sssituation?

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

"Gravity? You're the fifth person I have heard predict the absolute end this week," the former ghost says. "Whatever you have to show me, I am certain it is of little importance compared to when the Stars Were Nearly Right."

[The Librarian]

[Operative's Office]

The man snickers again, finding the Operative's doubt of this prophecy simply palpable.
HA! I figured you would sssay something along those linesss. Regardless-ss, I will lay unto you the doom which you scoff at sss-so arrogantly

With almost no effort the man crushed the black orb in his hand letting loose sphere of blackness that engulfs the room or at least it would appear to. The Operative will likely only see himself and the this hooded figure standing before him suspended in nothing. Then suddenly images will begin playing around him. The being explains the significance of the scenes flying around the Operative as they play.
Allow me to ss-say again my original message: a great ssstorm is brewing on the outer reachesss of your planet's-ss local stellar posssition. This ssstorm will however isss a figurative term, popularized by the half-witted elf who first witness-ssed it. It's true form is-ss that of an ancient entity, likely one of the first beingsss to ever exissst in the Universe. One of the puressst forms of chaosss, destruction, raw evil. Many of Gods you sssentients praise as immortals-ss have fought this creature and died like the worthless-sss welps they were. We call thisss monstrosity The Plague.

When it strikesss your realm of Nexusss, and believe time is ticking away as we ssspeak, your world, its organization and the mortalsss here you believe to be elitesss will be slaughtered like cattle. The Organization known as-ss WATCHTOWER will be first to fall, burned to ashesss and then consssumed by this creature. The Organzation HALO, and some brave Human warped within construct of his own creation will be the only fools that dare sss-ave your ***es-sss. HALO will bring forth the power of its-sss alien allies with their advanced weapons-sss weapons and Organization that make may even rival godsss. It will be a falssse hope, how sssad, as they are all consumed and the fool who dared orches-ssstrate the half-baked attack will forfeit his-ss own life for nothing.

You believe you are sss-safe burrowed down burrow of steel and sss-stone, but no. The Plague will find you like the sss-sitting ducks you are and consume earth, steel, and fles-sssh all the sss-same. The Pacifists and cowardssss from the Organizations GLOG and NO will rally all thossse worth the clothesss on their backsss who didn't get fight, or were sss-smart enough perhaps-sss to know it when to pack it in. They will fight the monssstrosity, united as one, but all too late, and they will fall. YOU!

He points at the Operative with his bony finger. The new image will show up in front of the Operative showing him, surrounded by other desperate survivors being consumed by this "Plague" the being keeps referring to.
You will be one of the sss-smart one-sss, trying to outrun The Plague. Using every sss-skill and trick you have learned, but it will all be nothing in the end, as-sss you die like in your most pathetic sss-state. YOU WILL BE CONSSS-SUMED BY THE PLAGUE! Worsss-se, there will be no Heaven for you to rest your worthless sss-soul, nor a Hell to be damned to eternity for your each and every sss-sin! It will be the end for everything that has ever existed in this Universe. All because YOU didn't want to believe!

[Hattish Thing]

Someone walks into the tavern. He's a man with a long flowing coat. He wears a hood, and claws can be seen out of his coat. He strides over, looking at the man at the tavern door. He looks up, exposing his "face". His face is little more than a skull, with burning green eyes . His teeth are sharp. He rests a clawed skeleton hand on the counter, the long white claws dripping a green goo. This goo begins to melt a bit of the wood. He speaks out, his voice croaky and raspy. Hello...I am Crossbone, I know of this guild, and of it's leader. I would request a meeting with him. I have a letter for him, and I wish to request a possibility of joining such a place, I've found that my past contractors are not as interesting as I wish nor the jobs.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

The Operative doesn't react to any of the images, even the depiction of his own death. "If you are attempting to scare me into cooperation, you are wasting your time. Go find some paranoid fool who believes vague messages and doctored images."

[Hattish Thing]

Front

The rp being hand waved, Crossbone walks into the base. His claws drip green goo to the floor, which might melt it a bit and certainly leave a stain. He'll walk straight to the Operatives office, somehow knowing right where it is...He'll knock and scrape the door with his claws unless stopped. Hello? It is I, I wish to talk with the one known as "The Operaative."

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office - Crossbone]

Jane looks over at Crossbone and the dripping green goo. Great, that looked to be some sort of acid.

Crossbone himself will hear "Enter. And unless you're a dog, stop scratching the door."

((Is Crossbone resistant to mind-reading?))

[Hattish Thing]

Operative's Door

Nope, he is however awfully frightening. He enters, his skeleton face glaring over, green goo dripping out his eyes. Hello....you are the operative? Excellent! I am Crossbone.... His "s" are rather slurred. His long red coat covers his laether armour, his claws dripping to the floor.

[The Librarian]

[Operative's Office]

The being scoffs at the Operative. It was clear to him either this man was to ignorant to see the truth behind his words; or maybe he just truly couldn't give a damn either way. The hooded figure shakes his head snapping his fingers to end the spell that encompassed the room returning the Operative back to his desk.
Sssss-so...I cannot convince you to sss-see the truth of my words. Very well, I can tell when my wordsss are not penetrating the mind of sss-so dense. But, that is-sss your decision to make, and you reap the sss-seeds you sow. However, that doesss not mean you should not a least inform your own allies and kin here. Your decision should not be forced upon your alliesss who may think different. Tell them of this-sss future so that they can choose for themselvessss.

He takes the Black Gemstone and places it on the Operatives desk.
Take this gem from me. It holdsss within it the knowledge of this meeting between us-sss today, and all the known data we sages-sss know about this ancient monssstoristy. Use thissss knowledge wisely and should you choossse seek out an elvish man from the Organization HALO. He will tell you more...

With that the being starts to fade from existence making one last statement before disappearing completely.
Farewell...Operative. Whether you are a genius-sss or a fool, the events the follow thissss meeting today will determine the fate for your organization and your precious-sss world.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office - Crossbone]

The Operative isn't frightened by Crossbone's appearance. "You may call me the Operative, yes. I understand you wish to join our organization. May I ask why?"

[Hattish Thing]

Operatives Office

He stands and looks down at the operative, claws dripping. Well, I am a rather infamous assassin, in my homeland. Now I wish to become familiar with this world. I am a master of silence. I wish to use my skills to best others...I enjoy the feel of my claws, sinking into flesh, my poison spreading, eating away at the body...I have been bored with my various jobs, and have heard things are ery...interesting in the Nexus.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

The Operative consider's Crossbone's words for a second. He never put much stock into those who killed from enjoyment, but he needed more manpower right now. "And what makes you unique, Crossbones? Why should I hire you over any other dime-a-dozen assassin?"

[Hattish Thing]

Operative's Office


His claws move to the Operative's Desk, acidic goop dripping onto it. Why am I unique? Well...because I know secrets of the trade...I was one of the greatest assassins here, many years ago...I was never seen, never heard...Then, one day, I made a mistake, it cost me my life as I knew it. My flesh, my humanity, and the woman I love. I don't make mistakes now...I never will. I am perfect, I make it a point.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

"Prefect? A bold claim, Crossbones. The Nexus will put that to the test." The Operative uses his telekinesis to keep the acid of his desk. "Are you able to follow orders and stick to plans?"

[Hattish Thing]

Operative's Office

Of course. I am loyal to the highest bidder, right now, you're the highest bidder, so I serve you. Not bold, just right.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

That answer seems to get a reaction out of the Operative, who is starting to drum his fingers on a desk. "Before I give a proper test of your abilities, you will need to fill this out," he says as a membership form is brought to his hand, which he places on the desk in front of Crossbones.

[Dark Elf Bard]

The female drow coughs impatiently.

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office]

"It is for the best that I not tell you who I will send after your target. Rest assured, the entirety of our membership is professional, and will kill your target with no collateral damage," the Operative says, with no change in his voice or demeanor.

((repost for Dark Elf Bard))

[Dark Elf Bard]

Can we move on with it, then?

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office - B'xarenef]

"Your contract is accepted. You may leave now, we will contact you when it is completed," the Operative says, considering who to send for this contract.

[Dark Elf Bard]

Will you incompetent fools need my help?

[Devixer]

[Operative's Office - B'xarenef]

"No. And a word of advice, Ms. B'xarenef. Do not bite the hand that feeds you. Or in this case, kills your daughter for you," the Operative says. He doesn't care much about condescending from clients, but he predicts that the insults will lead to a bit of a problem. Nothing that himself or maybe What couldn't take care of.

[Lord Magtok]

Just Outside the Operative's Office

Speaking of What Pumpkin, there he is now! Sitting quietly in a chair in the lobby, he studiously waits in absolute silence. A new visitor means either fresh-faced competition, a decent contract, or some righteous crusader has gotten wind of the little hired gun club here in Riverside's underground. The details don't matter to What, though. Either way, it still means he'll get an opportunity to kill someone, doesn't it?

Ultimately, that's really all it comes down to for the gourd-headed magical construct. Death, and lots of it. Everyone, everywhere, dead. He would've made a fine minion if Calublufiok was still around, and obsessively loyal, too, but without a good apocalypse to piggyback off of, and no leads on the old woman who stole his prized sickle, he's just got to settle for this sort of work. Fresh pumpkins all year round, and clean, immaculately tailored suits don't come cheap, after all.

[Dark Elf Bard]

[Operative's Office - B'xarenef]

"No. And a word of advice, Ms. B'xarenef. Do not bite the hand that feeds you. Or in this case, kills your daughter for you," the Operative says. He doesn't care much about condescending from clients, but he predicts that the insults will lead to a bit of a problem. Nothing that himself or maybe What couldn't take care of.

Bring me the body when you finish. She says this simply, and both teleport away.