Snippet #1664308

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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When the group all seemed to indicate that it was their preference to continue, Loki merely inclined her head. She did not give pretty speeches, nor would she reassure them that what they were doing was for the greater good of the city. They knew that, and in some cases such information hardly factored into the equation anyway. Some of them were doing it because they were obligated, and others because their personal ethics compelled them. In all likelihood, Danterus was doing it because he hated mages, which was somewhat interesting with a healer in the room. She was not going to split hairs over motives, not at this juncture.

Everyone went their separate ways after that, and she herself spent a few more hours in discussion with Amon before heading back home herself. She was expected to make an appearance at a function of some sort tomorrow, and it was at times like these that she was reminded that her title carried more with it than an obligation to do what she could against people like Gilgamesh.

The question of why she felt so obligated was one she had never really considered. Loki was the introspective sort only insofar as the practice yielded useful information, and questioning the validity of familial loyalty was probably not going to do that. The rest of the time, she did not overthink the whys of her own actions- it was the cause of movement from others that became her primary concern, and the concern of her office. She had heard once, that knowing oneself was even more valuable than knowing the enemy, but frankly if all she knew of herself was that she was capable of making a rational decision, that was fine with her.

A shame she was not more introspective, else she may have noticed the sentimentality chipping away slowly at the ability to think in terms of logic alone.

Two days later, the Gilgamesh Estate

Seth Gilgamesh received his steward with a nod, accepting the creamy parchment missive without a second though. Such communiqués were common enough for him to encounter, though this one bore a seal he did not ordinarily receive, and the scent recalled someone he was fairly certain he wouldn’t really want to meet again if at all possible. Breaking the wax insignia, he scanned over the document quickly, then again with greater care, the ruddy coloration he’d inherited from his father slowly fading until his face rather resembled his stepmother’s white draperies.

Swallowing hard, he shook his head slightly and tossed the parchment into the fire, burning away the evidence, and hastily penning a reply.

Three days before the attack, the Royal Palace

Loki tossed the letter onto the desk, along with the other that had come attached with it. The message was clear even if the language was vague- she had made her point. She wasn’t certain Caelin had understood why she wanted the original letter threatening Chander’s boy, and frankly she hadn’t been all that sure it would work, but maybe, just maybe, the coward would pull though. Inhaling deeply, she had just let her eyes drift shut when there was a light knock on the door. Straightening wearily, she called for whomever was present to enter.

As it turned out, her caller was Elizabeth, which meant that her actual caller had requested something from the kitchens and was someone else entirely. Preempting the inevitable question, Loki gestured against the formality and spoke. “Chocolate, please.” Not normally a favorite, but when she was this buried in things to do, the best medicine. Well, the best medicine that wouldn’t put her off her head, anyway. Rising from the desk, she cracked several vertebrae into place and grimaced at the sound. She’d never liked that particular noise, for whatever reason. Casting one last glance at the letters splayed on the surface of the lacquered oaken desk, she allowed herself the smallest of smiles.

Her ice cream (and Eos, of course) were waiting when she arrived, and she crossed the room without preamble, though she did make a point to raise an eyebrow at the sight of the briefcase. “I wasn’t aware I was yet so corrupt as to take bribes,” she deadpanned. “Really, I thought Amon would have known as much, unless the idea was solely yours.”

The Assassins’ Guild

It wasn’t often that Amon bothered seeking people within his own guild building; the most profitable thing about being in charge was that people generally came to you. However, as the matter was of a very sensitive nature and he wasn’t planning on fully disclosing the details of the assignment to his people until after it was done, it was probably best if he did not make official this particular visit.

As expected, he found Scheherazade in the practice rooms, apparently studiously studying some wicking and chemical solutions, which lay in large, shallow containers on the floor. The Guild contained precious little laboratory space, so he’d given her this ill-used location to do whatever it was she needed to in order that she might prepare for the days to come. It smelled wholly unpleasant, though in a way different from the sewer system. This was the acrid stench of sulfur and flammable liquids.

He had consciously made noise in his approach, not wanting to startle someone at such potentially caustic work, and so he doubted she was surprised by his arrival. “Miss Scheherazade, while I do not question the effectiveness of what you are doing here, might I suggest you find Miss Steins and conduct yourselves to Lord Taylor’s factory? I understand that the workers there know quite a bit about explosives, and I do believe Mr. Vernazza as headed there today as well. It would perhaps behoove you both to study there, if indeed you plan on learning what is necessary to diffuse any incendiaries you may find.”

Without another word, the Guildmaster left the room. One of the skills he’d managed to pick up with time was the ability to give orders as suggestions without much room for actually mistaking them for something other than orders. It was a peculiar talent, but then, he’d accumulated a number of those.