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Message: <blockquote data-quote="DralonXitz" data-source="post: 3521092" data-attributes="member: 20083">With the stagnant odor of forced toleration and boredom permeating the quaint chamber, the rich door finally opens, releasing into the room what feels like an evanescent revolution of activity, releasing them from this enslaved state of cooperative respect.  Gently brushing her raven hair out from her azure eyes and with a stare that seems to consume and imprison lesser men, she seems to seductively tease each of the men with a hint of sensuality, mockery, and some unknown emotion behind as she, in her gentle octave beckons, "Come inside, Lord Dormiano awaits you."As the vixen steps aside, she beckons the heroes inside to a very small, midnight-black chamber, adorned with glowing blue crystal lines and facets across the walls.  The furniture is evidently grotesquely expensive, emblazoned with magical glowing runes of House Tarkanan, pulsating a soft shade of sky.  Behind an obsidian desk, sitting in a deep black leather chair is a truly imposing figure, over six feet in height, clad in long, flowing black robes, the glowing crest of Tarkanan emblazoned red on the center of his torso.  Long, silver hair flows from his shoulders behind his back, his left eye shining an opulent crimson, almost to a surreal degree.  A long, black gash, stretching from his left eye downward towards his mouth compliments his noxious disposition, as he slowly rubs his long, white fingers across one another, looking straight at the entering heroes.  With a mixture of annoyance, anger, and in some small sense, relief, he takes account of each assassin, mentally ascribing their appearances into his vast array of knowledge.Slowly waving his left hand to four chairs in front of him, the receptionist closes the door behind them, and the small amount of light escaping from the lobby retreats to the black abyss of the Pugio's chamber.  As the heroes take their seats, he brushes his hair back and slowly begins to speak."Greetings...welcome...whatever customary greeting you all feel entitled to, within my house."  Slightly smiling, he coldly glares at Avram, fully aware of the youth's arrogant demeanor, and utters, "While for some of you, such an austere reception must surely be very bovine and simple, I would trust that my House has been able to provide some sense of amenities and welcome to our potential...assistants".  Filled with a sense of personal victory, as if his words had just smote the brash assassin's attitude to mere particles, he continued."I must thank you for making the trip all the way out here to Middle Central.  I realize you all may have had truly pressing matters at hand, however, I can assure you, your reputations proceeded you, and should you accomplish what I desire, the reward shall be indeed worth it."  Sliding his right appendage to the side of his table, he slowly grasps a small portrait with his fingers and slides it in front of the blades, as he says, "Enough trivialities.  This is the man, Tyrax Dekoron, the epitome of despicable capitalistic righteousness and hypocracy.  A truly abominatable individual who is capable of reproving all entities of so called "organized crime", and debasing my associates to the likes of mere blackguards and sneak-thieves, while at the same time, extorting millions out of Sharn's residents in taxes, interest, and other legal "fees."  Glaring at the portrait with a sickening stare, he spits at it and coldly utters, "In my opinion, they are the most organized crime in our land.""Yet, personal vindiction aside, the man must die.  However, he is by far too high ranking of an individual to simply be dispatched by your likes, such a blatant attack upon Kundarak would result in the King coming down upon our House, which is something I cannot allow.  It is for this reason you were hired."Pulling out a small envelope, he unsheathes four sets of Identification Papers, sliding one to each assassin as he explains, "You shall all undertake new identities, as aristocratic financial associates of Kundarak in Upper Central to partake in the hedonistic lifestyle of the Dwarves.  Your names are your own, as to these men, you are unknown, mere shadows within the abyss.  However, you must remember, your past histories are no more.""The four of you are the chairs of a corporation in Aundair, a wine conglomerate based in Fairhaven.  While bankers by day, the dwarves are vigorous consumers of spirits at night, and know the personal gain to be made through wise investing, better than anyone perhaps.      You will court their nobles, associate, mingle, and become intertwined with them, weaving your web of deception and despair into the hearts of the greedy.  And finally..." he says, taking a sigh of relief in, "when all is ready, you shall strike, hard, pure, and fierce.  You shall ensure his death in a way as to incriminate his own House, and cause the greatest catastrophe for their House in ages.  Aside from a residence and some minor aid I can provide, I leave the rest to you."  Reclining back after his long monologue, he simply asks, "Questions?"</blockquote>

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