Snippet #1526543

located in The Assassins' Guild, a part of Revelation: The Cure, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Assassins' Guild

Tallest building in District Gamma, and a reminder that the Assassins are always present- especially when you can't see them.

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Pandora took the proffered seat in Amon's office. Though it was not her favorite of places, she could not deny that there was something about the deadliest man in the city that made her feel... well, safe wasn't exactly the right word for it, because sometimes, she was certain she was never safe, but, well, reassured. It was interesting, actually, that the only two people who could cause her to feel thus were both more similar to her assailants than she cared to contemplate too closely.

Her world-view was not quite so simplistic as to cast everything in black and white, but the thing was, she trusted easily and often. As soon as she did trust someone, they were quickly thrust into her own personal inner limelight, and she chose to put their faults behind her. Whether it was the healthiest way to look at a person was very, very debatable, but it had served her well enough thus far, and it meant that, when all was said and done, she could continue to grin and bear the weight of everything else that might otherwise have crushed her. She was not a strong person; she could not endure the full force of such blows, but some strange idiosyncracy of her skewed perception allowed her to turn them aside, divert them and send them careening off into empty space. Thus, she weathered those things that by all rights should have broken her.

Rather than answering Amon's businesslike inquiry, Professor Windsor countered with a question of his own, and for a moment Pan was awash with guilt. She felt horrible that she had dragged him into this- all he had wanted was treatment for his sick father and instead he'd been attacked by rouges that seemed to appear ever more frequently out of the woodwork that was her entanglement with certain people far more important than she. She transferred her glance to the Guildmaster, silently entreating him to please explain as best he could, for the information was surely something that the teacher deserved, and it was something she could only give in fragments and incoherent ramblings.

Amon seemed to understand the message, for he nodded solemnly and seemed to accept the implicit level of regard she showed for the stranger. Though he was not so unwise as to put his faith somewhere for the sole reason that she had done the same, he did understand that unless he first provided answers, he was likely to receive only incomplete ones in return. Reciprocity was a system he had played at and with for most of his life; now could hardly be expected to be an exception.

"I expect very much, sir, that you had a blade thrown at you because you were intended to die. As I am sure you have surmised by this point, Miss Elling is on occasion the target of assassination attempts by those working outside of my purview. Mercenaries with stealth training, not assassins," his voice was laced with just a touch of condescension, though that was perhaps understandable. One almost needed to differentiate Amon's people from others with a capital letter these days, much like the one the Guild got. "This is not because of any crime she has committed, but rather, I think, her associations, including with myself. I do not know if you heard much of Marquis Adam Goldwater's death a year ago, but suffice it to say that Miss Elling was in some measure responsible, along with several others, for the truth of that incident coming to light. There are those who did not take this interference in their affairs well."

Amon stopped here, and Pan picked up on her cue to speak, explaining the incident in as few words as possible, rather a feat for her. It was obvious, though, that she'd had practice delivering the essential information, for it was almost by rote. "Two men. They tripped my wards beforehand. I... I left my door unlocked, since Professor Windsor was visiting," she sounded mildly ashamed of this, but quickly moved on. "One had throwing knives, the other was a pugilist, I think. Only the two, though. I activated the long-term wards on my way out, and sent a message to my grandfather. He'll know not to come back for a while."




Zade tilted her head sideways slightly; it was not like her to forget to introduce herself unless she did so intentionally. She supposed the odd circumstances of this particular encounter were to blame. "Scheherazade," she repeated for the second time today. "A pleasure, but I fear I also need to attend to some reading." Dipping her head, she excused herself from the conversation, which was ranging towards medicine now, a topic she had only a cursory knowledge of. A selectively-good one (burn remedies were something of a specialty of hers), but a cursory one all the same.

Perusing her way through the stacks, she eventually found the archivist, a tiny old woman with a wizened face and a deceptively-friendly face. She was an assassin just like the rest of them, but did not and had never ventured into th field, choosing instead to fulfill an almost-parallel role to Amon's- keeper of the guild's extensive records and stored knowledge. Without a word, the wisp of a lady handed her a tome, her assigned reading for the day, as it were. Frankly, Zade was lucky she'd known how to read- many recruits come to the guild not knowing how, but all of them learned. That, at least, had not been necessary where she was concerned, which allowed her to learn the important things that much more quickly.

Hefting the book in question- this one on architecture, with a specific bent on how to take advantage of varying types in infiltration and combat situations- she settled into an armchair in one corner of the area. Whatever else might be true of the place, the Archives had no shortage of two things- books and comfortable seating. She had a feeling that not falling asleep when reading was some kind of sick test they used on the recruits.