[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den XIII

[Earl of Purple]

The man puts a cardboard bookmark in the book and sets it aside. "I am not that cliched, I assure you. Or, at least, I wouldn't be if it weren't true. You are a bounty hunter, rented killer or lawman for hire, yes? If not, then do you know somebody who could be described as such? For there is a man whom I wish dead. And not just me; a whole lot of people want him dead. Not all from this plane, either. He came here fleeing a writ of execution on his homeworld, and has been picked up by slavers. As a slave, fortunately, but that won't last long if they start to listen to him. Does any of this trouble you so far?" The reader glances at the heads, before looking back at the imposing figure sat opposite him.

[Hattish Thing]

The man puts a cardboard bookmark in the book and sets it aside. "I am not that cliched, I assure you. Or, at least, I wouldn't be if it weren't true. You are a bounty hunter, rented killer or lawman for hire, yes? If not, then do you know somebody who could be described as such? For there is a man whom I wish dead. And not just me; a whole lot of people want him dead. Not all from this plane, either. He came here fleeing a writ of execution on his homeworld, and has been picked up by slavers. As a slave, fortunately, but that won't last long if they start to listen to him. Does any of this trouble you so far?" The reader glances at the heads, before looking back at the imposing figure sat opposite him.

The enormous man laughs enthusiastically at this point, the jovial sound echoing throughout the tavern. The noise, unimaginably loud as it is, startles awake several of the sentient heads suspended by chains at his belt, which begin to grumble and whisper in strange languages to one another, clearly disturbed by the sound. "Ah, but it's a classic! Hah!~"

"But naw, soundin' good so far."

--

He licks his lips from beneath his bandanna before leaning forward, responding somewhat more quietly, all business. "Before we move too much further along, I'll need a few things from you, first. Target's name, location, preferred time of death, known associates, preference on collateral damage."

"Oh, and, of course..."

"Price."

[Earl of Purple]

"The name is Bryce Masterssen, although he also uses the pseudonyms Samuel Hunter, Roberto Mussoman, and variations thereof. I've got a photograph of him, ten years old but he hasn't changed. He's not there yet, but by sundown tomorrow he will be located at the Statue of the Angelic Reaver in Outside. Kill him whenever you wish. He's in a slave caravan as merchandise, so he has associations there, but otherwise none we know of in this universe. It... Would be preferred if the slaves weren't killed, though we don't care about the slavers. So long as you bring back his head, not attached to your belt if possible, you shall be paid. The price is [great deal of money]. He's a blood-mage, though we believe he is hiding his abilities. Right now, as a slave, he feels relatively safe. He's on his way to be sold, yes, but right now he knows he's a wanted man, and he's surrounded by about fifteen slavers who don't want him dead because he's an investment. He's also a serial killer. Those two facts are why he's a wanted man." The reader hands over a photograph, depicting a tall, thin man with black hair and green eyes, apparently in his mid-thirties. It's clear enough that the bounty hunter should be able to recognise him.

[Hattish Thing]

The enormous man's blazing eyes narrow as he retrieves a piece of parchment from within a tome at the side of his belt, setting it down upon the table as gently as possible. He leans forward at this point, listening intently as the illusory figure describes the situation in greater detail, taking as many notes as he deems necessary.

Once the figure finishes, Arbrim offers his enormous cybernetic hand.

"We've a deal, then."

[Earl of Purple]

"If you succeed, come back here. Somebody will be sent to you. Bring Bryce's head, or some other evidence that he is truly dead." The reader will shake Arbrim's hand, and then go back to his book- regardless of if Arbrim's left yet or not.

[Artemis97]

Another day in the Den...

A woman enters the bar, short with medium length red hair and grey eyes. She's dressed in leathers of dark brother and grey, with a cloak of soft green. She finds a table and sits down, ordering something to drink. In front of her she places a flyer she tore down, advertising a bounty hunter. Now, would he show?

[Hattish Thing]

After several moments, a particularly imposing individual steps into the battered tavern.

The stranger stares ahead from beneath a tall, wide-brimmed leather hat, his sunken eyes of burning coals shielded by a pair of black spectacles as he looks over the occupants of the den. The barest hint of the stranger's scarred and weathered face can be seen from certain angles, despite the fact that a majority of the man's maimed and half-melted face remains hidden behind a dusty, black bandanna and a tall, blood-spattered leather collar. His skin is flaky and burnt, dotted with liver spots inflicted by dozens of years spent laboring under the hot sun. Scars of all shapes and sizes race across his leathery flesh, the wounds never fully having healed due to poor self-stitching, giving him a rather imposing appearance. Many of the scars appear as deep lines in the flesh, which split and spread into smaller branches of painful scar tissue, the result of seemingly supernatural injuries.

The nearly seven-foot-tall stranger is clad in a long, threadbare leather greatcoat lined with accents of faded silver, worn over a thick breastplate inscribed with silver runes. The stranger wears a dented, well-worn starmetal gauntlet on his left hand, decorated with bones and runes similar to his armor, while the other appears to be a particularly bulky cybernetic limb, each industrial-sized metal finger as thick as a lesser being’s wrist, pipes and pistons visible beneath heavy, spiked plating meant to crush, and grind, and utterly pulverize with brutal efficiency. Dozens of blood-stained bandages cover the prosthesis, and bones taken as trophies from successful ventures now decorate the arm, giving it a frightening, claw-like look. A cracked metal lantern decorated with flecks of gold and silver hangs from his belt alongside a trio of sentient severed heads attached to blackened chains, while a sharp, angular collar rests upon the man's broad shoulders, wrapping about his neck, where it attaches to an enormous black cloak.

The man walks confidently towards the individual at the table before sitting down as comfortably as possible, the chair creaking beneath his enormous frame. After several seconds, he chuckles darkly to himself before snapping his fingers, ordering himself a particularly wretched drink.

"Pleased to meet ye, in the flesh as it were."

---

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[Artemis97]

The woman looks him up and down, frowning slightly at the severed heads. Macabre trophies or something more?Still, it likely meant this fellow would be effective.

"Well met." The little red-head replies. "I'm in the market for having someone done in, and this" she taps the flyer "says you're good at it." She pulls a crystal from her bag and sets it on the table. With a tap and a word of power, the air around them becomes somewhat blurry, obscuring sound from the surrounding bar. Presumably it hid their conversation as well. "What do you know about drow?"

[Hattish Thing]

The masked figure leans back, smiling warmly beneath his tattered bandanna as his drink arrives, absentmindedly ramming a bendy-straw deep into the multicolored drink. The enormous man lifts the glass container up, pinching the base between two of his remarkably thick metallic fingers.

He sips confidently at the straw through a hole in his bandanna before responding.

"Are you, now? Pretty little thing like you? Intriguing."

"Blue elves, right?"

[Artemis97]

"The ones I'm after are blue, yeah." The woman confirms. She doesn't seem amused by his 'pretty' comment, but lets it slide. "I'd do it myself, but they know to look for me."

She pulls an envelope from inside her cloak and offers it to the bounty hunter. Inside there's a sketch of a drowses in armor an electrified whip at her side. "That's your target. Hirriel Xar'Cha. High priestess of Lolth, second in line for the throne of House Xar'Cha. I have reason to believe she's orchestrating kidnappings, and sacrifices, in the Nexus. She's done worse before. I want her dead, and any of her associates you can take with her."

[CosmicHobbit]

A man enters the Den and heads directly toward the bar. He is of average height and is a little overweight. He wears a green and blue striped sweater and jeans, and has hair as black as night. Sitting at the bar, he orders wine before setting up a small sign reading:

NEED SOMETHING STOLEN?
I WILL DO IT!*
Oliver Slyfield, Professional Thief, Licensee of MERC
Rates Will Vary By Security Level, Loot, Etc.
*I reserve the right to deny any thieving opportunity

[Hattish Thing]

The man chuckles darkly, sipping once more at his drink before setting it down delicately. "Mm, my favorite kind." He purses his scarred lips together before leaning forward, causing the chair to creak noisily beneath him, an aggravating sound which results in a grimace to form across the faces of each of the severed heads at his belt.

He looks over the sketch, eyes narrowed as he does so.

--

When he's finished, he leans back, crossing his bulky arms over his enormous chest.

"Location and price per head?"

[Recaiden]

A figure fades out of invisibility just behind Oliver and passes over a post-it note.

Do you capture animals? Animals that might be considered to 'belong' to someone?

The person who offered the note is in a hooded brown robe a few sizes too large, nothing visible except that they have four arms and two glowing orange eyes.

[Artemis97]

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