Eberron: Requiem of Death

[dave_o]

As Dormiano speaks, Nix lets his face slack to its normal, unremarkable and decidedly disturbing expression. All Changelings have white eyes, but never so empty. Hands simply piled into his lap with a complete lack of ticks, of tells, of personality, Nix almost watches the words come out of the Pugio's mouth rather than anything as involved as listening to them.

Midway through his prospective employer's introduction, a near simulacrum of Dormiano's features unobtrusively forms on Nix's face. The changeling pulls faces -- frowning, working eyebrows up, down, together, clenching the jaw, as if he were trying on a new suit. Nix tries different shades of hair, white fading into blond, into black. Content, the Changeling simply looks on for the rest of the Pugio's explanation, a dark mirror.

As the identification papers slide in front of Nix, a relieved smile crosses his face. An anchor, sweet printed pattern of self... The Changeling drifts his fingers to the packet almost reverently, giving a shiver as skin meets pulp. He gives it a quick read, slipping the papers into his jacket, over his heart.

At Avram's query, Nix turns to the performer, his face and features drooping into a terrible, funhouse deformity of Dormiano's own before snapping back into those of a young, fresh-faced man with a shoulder-length tumble of brown ringlets. He fetches a pair of looking-glasses from his jacket, setting them with care on the bridge of his nose.

The new youth's voice is soft, breathless, as if his mind is always elsewhere, figuring. "A bonafide, as you've put it," the youth speaks with the ubiquitous arrogance of the educated, "is truly as simple as providing what is desired, which is in this case fine liquor and..." Nix produces two coins, slips them into a pocket, rubbing them together, and returns his hand with three. "A passion and ability for this."

 

[Paranoia833]

As they are ushered in, Melchior's cannot quite conceal his disappointment at being unable to get a reaction out of his 'comrades'. Another time perhaps.

He listens to Dormiano's speech intently, smiling slightly as he drones on. His conclusions are much the same as Avram's. A brutish bully... dangerous to be sure, House Tarkanan was no dragonmarked dynasty led by pampered scions, to get to the top he must have earned with sweat and (presumably other peoples) blood. Judging from the tasteless decor and what little he knew of House Tarkanan's history, Melchior would guess that Dormiano was a low-born thug who killed and cheated his way up the totem pole and now has pretensions of aristocracy. It must gall him that he had more money and influence than many of the pure marked and yet they would never, ever consider him their equal. He would be fun to torment... but not yet. Not till Melchior had proved himself valuable enough that he could not be replaced.

As he takes the identification, a trivial issue considering his own 'history' had been non-existent for the best part of a decade. A small question crops up in his mind. He already knows the answer, but it's simply too fun not to ask.

"If it I may ask sir... I don't suppose the fact that, beyond a vague preference for Dhakaani red, I know nothing whatsoever about wine will make me particularly exceptional among Aundairan Wine barons?"

 

[Hanuman47]

As they are ushered in, Melchior's cannot quite conceal his disappointment at being unable to get a reaction out of his 'comrades'.

Actually, Avram did respond to Melchior.

 

[DralonXitz]

The Pugio smiles a bit, looking downward as he hears Jale's question, succeeded by Jale's similar inquiry. With a look on his face as if the afformentioned questions were pre-inscribed into his expectation of remarks from the mercenaries, he gently looks up at the two men and answers.

"Ah, I truly do love assassins at times. Your art is so complex, so dangerous, sanguine and precise, yet who retain the most base and primitive of desires, one which no matter the class and disposition of the killer, remains synonymous. At the mere mention of any kind of physical activity, the autonomous reply is instantly, "Capital"." Pulling a long dreamlilly-dusted cigarette, similar to the kind smoked by Avram in the former chamber, he lights it up with a spark from his fingers, and slowly dragging on it, exudes the perfumed intoxication into the faces of the killers. Closing his eyes for a moment, he contemplates for a few silent seconds, before without visually addressing his subordinates, he replies, "For your efforts, should he be disposed of in said desire, I shall pay 5,000 gold pieces to each of you...", puffing on his cigarette again, he opens his eyes and glaring at Jale, he concludes, "higher a price than I have ever paid for a head."

Turning to the disturbed Changeling, he slowly eyes Nix, his eyes yielding a sense of suspicion, intrigue, and a dash of fear within them, a pathology rarely showed by a man of Dormiano's stature. A bit taken back by his prolific changing of disposition, he shakes it off and smiles at the killer's conclusion.

"My friend, you do indeed understand the operations of cosmopolitan Dwarves. These men, while brilliant in the arts of financing, are truly primitive in their desires. Gold and Wine are all that matter to a Kundarkan nobleman, and the combination of both create a truly potent concoction of seductive attraction. Explot their base desires, and you shall exploit their souls."

Finally turning to the shady Melchior, he is a bit amused at his question,

"If it I may ask sir... I don't suppose the fact that, beyond a vague preference for Dhakaani red, I know nothing whatsoever about wine will make me particularly exceptional among Aundairan Wine barons?"

and replies with the same cynical venom, "I do not suppose the fact that, beyond a minor adeptness for murder and violence, your lack of knowledge of anything whatsoever has stopped you in the past from accomplishing your tasks. For the price I am paying, I am sure even a man such as yourself should be able to figure something out my friend."

 

[Paranoia833]

Oddly enough it was not the deliberate insult that particularly galled Melchior, he had expecting as much the moment he opened his mouth, but rather the idea that his holy work was motivated by base profit. Still given the role he was playing Melchior guessed it came with the territory.

'Some day...' He thought. '...When this job is over, I am going to kill that man.' He suspected the feeling was mutual.

Trying to conceal his irritation, the changeling gives a short nod of feigned respect. "Truly sir, the Traveler has gifted you with a fine wit." He smiles again... and *changes*. The transformation is quicker and more definite than Nix's, Melchior knows well enough what he wants to look like: he grows in height, his build filling out slightly to that of an athletic human. The scars, pockmarks and other imperfections on his body disappear as his skin becomes as smooth and cared for as any nobles. A few thin wisps of blond hair grow from his chin and within seconds grow into a goatee, and his long, matted hair shortens and straitens itself to follow suit, shifting to a rich gold in the process. All in all he is the very picture of a young, aspiring merchant-prince.

"In any case..." Melchior begins with a flawless Aundaran accent, his voice rich and loud, if not particularly deep. "You need not worry. What I lack in knowledge of the finer things in life I more than make up for in pure avarice. I give you my word as a killer I shall find a way to fulfil your contract, or else I will be dead before you can make your displeasure known."

 

[Autumn]

The Pugio smiles a bit, looking downward as he hears Jale's question, succeeded by Jale's similar inquiry. With a look on his face as if the afformentioned questions were pre-inscribed into his expectation of remarks from the mercenaries, he gently looks up at the two men and answers.

"Ah, I truly do love assassins at times. Your art is so complex, so dangerous, sanguine and precise, yet who retain the most base and primitive of desires, one which no matter the class and disposition of the killer, remains synonymous. At the mere mention of any kind of physical activity, the autonomous reply is instantly, "Capital"." Pulling a long dreamlilly-dusted cigarette, similar to the kind smoked by Avram in the former chamber, he lights it up with a spark from his fingers, and slowly dragging on it, exudes the perfumed intoxication into the faces of the killers. Closing his eyes for a moment, he contemplates for a few silent seconds, before without visually addressing his subordinates, he replies, "For your efforts, should he be disposed of in said desire, I shall pay 5,000 gold pieces to each of you...", puffing on his cigarette again, he opens his eyes and glaring at Jale, he concludes, "higher a price than I have ever paid for a head."

Jale's other eyebrow rises to match the first at the mention of the sum. Both are quickly lowered.

"Indeed, that will do quite nicely," Jale replies smoothly.

Dormiano's waffling musings on the cupidity of assassins does little except bore him. Certainly, he can't be offended by such a rambling and hypocritical observation. The elf silently wonders whether it was that same philosophical bent that won the Pugio his position, his wealth, his power and his women - or whether perhaps they were accomplished by precisely the same ruthless mercenary instinct that he is now proselytizing so tediously about.

He says nothing, of course. It's not in his interests to deflate this windbag just yet, and he's reconciled to the idea that perhaps it never will be. It would certainly be endlessly entertaining to put his pomposity on the rack and see how far it could stretch... but such pleasures are only permissible so long as they don't interfere with business.

One smooth hand reaches out and takes the identity papers prepared, scanning over them before tucking them away in a jacket pocket.

Out of the corner of one eye he is watching the shifts in Nix's form. He's either insane, or else simply making a point of being unsettling tonight. Either way, it raises some concerns. Still, the final disguise he settles on seems convincing enough. So long as he can work around his insanity or perversity - or whatever it is - long enough to function efficiently when it is called for, that will have to be enough. Five thousand gold is a big enough payout to make Jale overlook any reservations he might have concerning his colleagues, as well as his employer. In any case, so far it's been worth putting up with the unbalanced changeling just for the brief contortion of fear he managed to produce on Dormiano's face.

 

[Hanuman47]

Avram Soloman

Avram grins broadly and strides over to the Pugio's desk. With a deft flick, he plucks Dormiano's cigarette from his mouth and uses it to light another of his own. Avram casually gestures and the Pugio's cigarette floats back to its owner (using mage hand). He seats himself on one corner of the desk and blows smoke contentedly into the air. Out of Dormiano's sight, he winks at Jale.

When Avram speaks again, he positively drawls his words. "We-ell, it's been a time since I did charity work, which the price you're offering makes it sound like. But all the same, this might turn out to be a jolly little caper." The accent drops out of his voice and his tone turns colder. "Certainly, thugs like ourselves can rely upon our base cunning to do the job. But professionals generally consider it polite to consult with one's employer to see if introductions have already been arranged. Now, about these accommodations - I trust they are somewhere discrete that will not be connected with your organization?"

 

[dave_o]

Nix raises an unimpressed brow at Avram's chicanery, peering down his nose at the man. "Charity work? Beginning, as it were, in such an easily influential position," the prodigal accountant reaches up, adjusting his spectacles, "veritably atop the largest vice in perhaps the largest financial sector in all of Sharn, if one does not emerge a dynamo, the fault lies within."

This persona stands, brushing at his clothing with a thin, uncalloused hand. "Tch, these will surely have to go," he inhales with exasperation, regarding Dormiano through spectacle lenses, "if we are quite finished, I am certain there are some books I must needs attend to, for it would appear Aundairans will leave the care of their coin to anyone who can rudely cipher."

It would appear that Nix is all but gone, submerged under this new personality.

 

[DralonXitz]

The Pugio inquisitively takes in and calculates the actions and reactions of his would-be assassins, observing their quirks, habits, and mannerisms. Discerning some unique eccentricities from within them, he thinks to himself, "There is truly something unique about this group, particularly of the changeling...", softly eying Nix's schizophrenic patterns.

Puffing again on his cigarette, he coldly glares at Avram's act of rebellious defiance, and using the same arcane talent as the bold assassin, he flicks the cigarette from the man's mouth, and crumples it in the air, sprinkling the ashes over the man's clothes. Smiling, he mockingly remarks, "You are not the only one to possess simple magical talents my base blackguard".

Turning to Melchior, he is somewhat pleased with his transformation, instantly reflecting his reputed talent for assuming new identities. Still aware of the fractious sentiment shared by the two, he softly nods to him and says, "Impressive my friend. Let us hope that your optimism finds itself equally effective in the cosmopolitan halls of Kundarak, lest you should find your amorphous body missing it's abstract head."

Turning back to Avram, he receives his jesting inquisition with all the stinging venom coated in by it's owner, and internally remarks, "This man truly does bear the biting rhetoric of a Pugio. It is too bad he wouldn't live long enough to enjoy the fruits of a career within House Tarkanan." Maintaining an air of dignity, he replies, "Charity work you say my dear Soloman? I can certainly see where a man of such a truly opulent and esteemed acting career as yourself bares, enjoying such a most infamous reputation as your parody of the cloth has brought upon such personage as I am forced to suffer at the present, most untold of caches of wealth and coinage as to employ one's self in the tranquil occupation of sloth for an eternity. Yet my dear friend, for some reason, I do find you here before me now, which may indicate a certain need for resource of some sort, be it simple pleasure or the material kind. Should you find me an employer that pays better, present such to me, and I shall be sure to dispose of said manager swiftly, saving you a warm companion in the after-abyss. However, for the time being, I suppose I shall suffer no such revelation or amusement, and because of such, I believe the pay will suffice."

"As for your other question, one while most certainly reflects your novice attributes as a blade to be sure, I have procured for you a small apartment in Upper Central, about 15 minutes from the financial sector, and only a few moments ride from the manors of the dwarven lords, so you shall find yourselves based in the heart of the action, so to speak. I am sending one of my aides, Yelon, to accompany you as well. He shall not venture out, however, shall maintain your residence, and is a former Aundairan bookkeeper, and is rather familiar with your new employment.

While the majority of this occupation shall be devised by you four, I have, for some unknown reason, a small sense of pity for the unfortunate, and have managed to arrange a small beginning for your operation. Tomorrow at midday, on 136 Jalon Ave., about 30 minutes from your new abode, a local wine-celler is holding a small convention within their galleries for importers to display their wares. A number of well-off Dwarves shall be in attendance, and may provide you some leads, should you utilize them effectively."

Finishing his smoke, he crushes it in his hand and pours the corpse upon the wooden table, the ashes softly dissolving into the air. Dusting himself off, he concludes, "Unless there is more you need, I most certainly hope this meeting is resolved. I would suggest you procure some new attire as well, for I have never seen respectable men garbed in such...primitive and foolhardy wardrobe. With that, adieu."

As the Pugio finishes, he waves his hand, and the attendant walks in, opening the door to the outside lobby. From the open hallway, you also hear the soft sounds of a coach outside, and the halting of horses.

 

[Hanuman47]

Avram Soloman

Once out of the Pugio's office, Avram throws his head back and laughs long and loud. "Oh, 'House' Tarkanan must be in desperate straights indeed if they let that man assume a position of leadership." He wipes away tears of mirth as he holds open the carriage door for his companions. "Of course, it's just barely possible that he is not quite the fool he appears. In either case, we would do well not to underestimate how dangerous he can be."

Settling into his seat, Avram continues his monologue. "So, we are representatives of a Wine Consortium. How best to divide the labor? It seems our prim friend here," he indicates Nix and his new form, "is the very embodiment of the fussy accountant. I daresay I know a thing or two about wine, or at least enough to impress our dwarven 'clients.' I'll take the role of the master vintner, misunderstood and moody genius. Jale, Melchior, any claims you wish to stake?" Throughout his speech, Avram exudes cheerful bonhomie.