childrenofbahamutlogs | what you're given, what you live in

"It only takes one man to send a message. I say we make it a good one if it comes to that," Death offered.

Normally, he could probably solo most of the quests going up. But as he is right now... that's far from the case. The mortal combat skills are still sharp though.

"Besides... I'm sure we could prolong a few lives for information."

You know, he has to admit: he wasn't entirely sold on the 'quest partners' thing originally. While it made sense that one man alone shouldn't tackle a bandit nest on his own, Ardyn wasn't a typical man. Even with his powers lessened, he was fairly confident he could have taken the criminals on by himself. He was actually anticipating he might have to, really, if paired with more morally sound folks.

But he isn't. These two seem like the right kind of company for him, which- That isn't something most people would want to be. It works for what he needs though and that's both handling a problem to help his reputation among the townsfolk and blow off some built-up steam.

"I like the way you think," he agrees, to their combined proposal. "Leave no men alive, except for the ones we want to extract information from. I bet we'll figure out fast enough which ones are most likely to squeal."

This should probably all flag as really a bad idea on some level but it simply.. doesn't. If Sephiroth can accept working alongside a giant bipedal wolfman, then he's absolutely going to be fine with directives that basically line up with his career to begin with.

"That part I'm less skilled with. If you spot a target you want left alive, mark it." In some fashion, verbally or otherwise, else they might just get horribly killed in some fashion. Torture and interrogation were left to the Turks.

And seeing as this is Ardyn's to begin with, Sephiroth has no problem deferring to the behatted and perfectly reasonable man. "Otherwise, by your lead."

He KNOWS there should probably be a lot more planning going on, or at least some further discussion, but they seem to be quite contentedly on the same wavelength of just killing them all and being done with it. Eh, it'll be fine.

"You sound confident about your craft, niño."

Death drummed his fingers on the handles of his folded sickles as he turned to face Ardyn with an easy smile. "Are you sure just running in should be our opening move, quest leader? I could sneak in and rattle our nest of rats a bit... set the mood."

Or hey, they could all take the stealthy approach and watch the wolf's preparation in action. He's not picky.

There probably should be more planning. Yet, for all the ways people seem to believe Ardyn is calculating and cunning, well- He can be. He also just happens to be lucky a lot of the time too.

"While it would be fun, you're right that it might not be what's best. And honestly, you have me intrigued. I'd like to see what you do to see the mood." Ardyn knows what he'd do, of course, but figures Death itself might have his own interesting approach.

"Sephiroth and I will be ready to strike when the moment - or you - call for it, but I leave starting things off in your capable hands."

"It's the only thing I'm for, sir." He's a killer. It is what it is. "There wouldn't be much point in my existence if I can't do my job."

What does 'set the mood' mean in this context? Scare them into a panic? More than one might escape, then. He crosses his arms over his chest with a thoughtful frown, weighing the possibilities. Escape routes he could definitely eliminate.

It'd give him something to do while Death has some fun. He didn't find killing entertaining, but he didn't have to. These bandits couldn't be allowed to keep causing problems; runners would simply have to be caught before they could escape and spread.

First.. what DID Death have in mind? It should be an interesting show.

Death releases a dark and foreboding chuckle. "They won't know they should run before it's too late. Seal the exits, then snuff their lookouts as you see fit."

And while he doesn't have his power to be completely unperceived, the wolf slips inside through the shadows. Candlelight still dies out within his presence and lanterns dim. Periodically the reaper stretches out a hand to lightly rake his claws against wood and stone- not his weapon, too reflective in the light.

Oh sure, there's some scattered shouts to investigate such noises as they occur and there may be growing doubt on the strategy as the wolf shakes the alarm enough that the bandits suspect an intruder picking them off...

There. His noise-making denotes the perfect spot.

For whistling.

"Oh, come now," he says, to Sephiroth. "I'm sure there's plenty else you're good for, my boy. Don't sell yourself so short. Though of all the skills to have, that's one of the best in my humble opinion." His own knowledge to hurt came from an understanding of the body as a healer once upon a time. Ardyn knew exactly how the (mortal) body worked, which meant he knew exactly how to stop it from working.

The dimming light into darkness gives Ardyn an advantage himself. Although he can't warp himself through the shadows like usual, he doesn't need to. He's practiced enough to skulk his way undetected with ease; as Death starts his tune of finality, he's there when a bandit or two runs to try and find escape.

A quick slice of the dagger beneath his sleeve across their throat and hand over their mouth before they can shout to alert anyone else. "Shh," Ardyn whispers. All the noise the victim makes is a muffled, bloody gurgling before the drape of his corpse across the floor. He'll get more vicious as more try to flee but figures a quieter start is better so they won't know what's happening until too late.

He knows he's supposed to leave at least one alive but The Scourge feels alight in his veins as he inflicts pain. He hears Aera whispering in his ear to forget the plan, to drain their blood from their bodies and relish in the warmth of it between his fingers. Somnus, meanwhile, tells him if he does leave one alive he can torture them to extend his enjoyment.

But there's unfamiliar another voice now, nagging at the recesses of his mind. He can't make out what it says like the other phantoms but only that it feels like it's telling him this is wrong. He ignores it.

Sephiroth waits a minute or so, silent. Whether or not others thought he was good for anything else, he knew his purpose. And that ... wasn't finding this entertaining, unlike the other two, apparently. There's blood on the air before the sweet tones of an unfamiliar whistle, and Ardyn's kill is only adding to it.

When the boy finally leaves his chosen spot, it's to bar exits with whatever he can move quickly and quietly, strew hazards on familiar paths, tip bandit weaponry out of easy sight and upend a few barrels of stolen, pungent-smelling oil in a slowly spreading stain across the ground. It wicks gradually into anything wood, anything fabric.

Sooner or later there'll be a spark. Someone will drop a candle, or a torch, or a spell..

One such lookout in a ramshackle watch tower nobody should trust, torch in hand, turns at the sound of the whistle, only to get yanked down and backwards with a muffled shout and scrabble in the darkness, the torch clattering to the rough wood floor of the watchtower. It'll take a few to ignite, but that's inevitable too.

Sephiroth hasn't joined in the killing. He's got a different prize over his shoulder that's bound and gagged with an oil soaked rag, kicking and cursing as best as the bandit can in his situation. It doesn't seem to matter the bandit probably outweighs him by a hundred pounds, it's not slowing him much. The man is gently, carefully set out in the open, where the entire camp is in view, where he worms and tries to scream warnings behind his gag.

The point is sending a message, isn't it? A messenger has been picked.

Death has an appropriately wolfish grin baring all his sharp teeth as he slashes with no mercy spared at the nearest set of bandits who think they have better odds standing against the 'beastman' over escaping. Really he has no qualms about cutting down the lives of those who think they are above consequences.

In some moments there is grace in the movements of his sickles, the way he swings and slices at necks and limbs. Then in other moments, there is a savagery when the points of his blades are driven into the flesh rather than the inside edge.

Blood is everywhere and the stink of fear in the air is thickening by the second, especially those unarmed and desperate to find a weapon. His already unnerving eyes gleam as he lets himself taste it all on his tongue. There. Is. Nothing. BETTER. THAN THIS.

The acrid smell of smoke starts to hit Ardyn as things do ignite in a more literal way than metaphorical. It won't force him out, but he knows mortal lungs can only handle so much before needing to seek cleaner air. His own ache lightly but the pain helps remind him that he's still here. He needs it now and again.

The sickening sound of blades into flesh and sinew also help though. He is here and they're not. A bittersweet sort of thing, really, but he enjoys having the upper hand in this instance. Since trying to face the wolfman isn't working, a pair of bandits run to escape and find Ardyn instead.

Black tar oozes from past his lips, down his waterline, and out of his very pores. A miasma of black and purple coats him and his own eyes are a high-contrast yellow to the darkness on and around him. He grins as that inky substance seeps through his teeth and says only: "Boo." In a flash, one is grabbed by the throat and windpipe crushed with a crack and squelch and the other has a dagger lodged deep into his chest where his heart was beating just a second prior but beats no more.

"I think we've sufficiently made our point," he does say, to his quest partners.

Fire is spreading, with so much to catch on. There's not going to be any escape, not for anyone that isn't deliberately allowed to live. Those that flee Ardyn and Death, find only a different form of death waiting for them, patient and meticulously quick about it. Of the three, only one has no interest in terrorizing, there was no need to be slow about any of it.

But he won't deny them their fun either. It doesn't entertain him to see one of the bandits get too close to spilled oil and recoil with a shriek, fire rippling up stolen clothes, hungry. Where the bandit stumbles, flailing, fire spreads.

The gleam of yellow-orange not-light highlights Ardyn's strange pallor and oozing features, as much of a nightmare as the towering wolf. The bound and gagged bandit in the center of camp's screaming is muffled, kicking ineffective, and Sephiroth .. simply makes certain nobody gets rambunctious about killing all of them.

Nothing at all but ash and cinders will remain soon enough. And one hand-selected survivor, struggling in the dust. "We only need one messenger." Were any others still alive?

Death probably pulls his head out the reaping a bit sooner than Ardyn does, mostly due to noticing the smell of smoke. He peers about at the scatter yet growing fire and lets out huff. Alas, the fun is coming to a close.

"Indeed. And I think it would be unwise to linger much longer."

"Although I doubt they have much loyalty among thieves, probably wise," he agrees. While it could be fun to stay and make more of a statement, that's a bit overkill. Ardyn is wont to get carried away, of course, but having others helps rein him in a bit more easily. When Sephiroth mentions it, he does remember the plan. A messenger, yes, but also one for them to keep to see if they can't find out more.

He crouches down next to the one that remains then, murderous glint still in his eyes and along his dagger both. He could kill him too easily but he won't. No, no- This one will be for play. They'll have fun, he's sure.

"A job well done," he applauds, "and while this was enough of its own reward, the actual one will be fine too." Honestly, he really hadn't even been considering the actual quest reward until just now. The beast within him is sated, for now, and that's all Ardyn needs. It won't be long until it hungers again but- He's found some good company, he thinks, for it it becomes a problem.

"Do you think they have reinforcements, or concerned about fire's contagion?" Flames spread. That's what they did. And like every fire, they're hungry. It's growing brighter, and not necessarily in beneficial-to-bandits way. The ominous silhouettes Death and Ardyn throw are made all that much worse by dancing long black shadows.

The attempts at escape and thrashing and screaming is really getting that bandit absolutely nowhere as Ardyn crouches nearby, Sephiroth knows how to tie a knot and use a gag. After watching their camp being summarily erased off the map, surely he's next!

Surviving might not be the kinder option. "There's a group of bandits that keep attacking the old ladies of Town," the boy murmurs over the growing roar of flames. "One may hope this is the same nest, but if it isn't.."

Well. That might have to be cleaned out too, but perhaps more care spent because of the old ladies. ... That something's changed about Ardyn's appearance is only noted now that he's actually paying attention. Yellow eyes, black ooze, an odd seething shroud of black and red; Death was the same towering sharp-fanged wolf, but Ardyn is subjected to level scrutiny. "You've changed. Your own, or something the bandits did?"

"I am not fireproof at the moment," the beastman reaper answered simply, but also remembering a minor encounter with an undead skull. Otherwise, not very perturbed.

"I think the fire's contagion is probably something we should prevent," he admits begrudgingly. "We won't be lauded as heroic if we let it spread too far and endanger Town any." Ardyn knows how fast fire can grow out of control; it was, for so long, his domain to command with Ifrit and while he loved to watch the flames flicker and grow... There's a time and a place. Right now, right here- But not anywhere else that they can spare for now.

As the pent-up aggression and desire to destroy is bled out of him, that inky miasma does gradually recede. He still has some to wipe away on his face once attention is drawn to it. "Oh, this?" he questions, looking at the substance smeared on his hands before its absorbed back into his skin. "Just an old affliction," he supplies, casually misleading. "Nothing for you to worry about." At least, not here. He'd already tried to infect a person or two to see- All that happened was a regular bought of sickness instead of fatally turning into a monstrosity by Ardyn's hand. Strange, but likely for the best. If he could spread The Scourge like back home, well... Best not to consider that hypothetical.

He picks up the squirming bandit and tosses him over his cloaked shoulder like he weighs nothing at all. While weakened, he's still stronger than the average man. "We can drop this fellow off somewhere inconspicuous for later before turning in our success story to the quest master," he offers. He doubts that they'll be rewarded if it's known they're keeping one to torture for more information. That can just be their little bonus. Ardyn's, mostly, but details!

Are ANY of them fireproof? "Then steer clear of the flames. Fur likely smells as bad burning as hair does."

There's a fair amount of that. If there were living but wounded bandits amongst the slaughter, they wouldn't be for long. There's probably a lot he should be questioning further here. He doesn't, he just nods as if Ardyn's explanation is sufficient.

Curiosity isn't part of his job.

"If we are not all needed for reporting the bandits dealt with, I'll remain here to make certain the camp is unusable again and the fire doesn't spread." He set it, after all, it's only sensible he clean up his mess.

Death is not concerned with the well-being of their hostage, unfortunately for that bandit. The wolf only smiles. "Allow me to make sure we all get our reward," he says. "Separating now will let us wrap our business up faster that way."

And perhaps through feeling fond about a job well done together, he reaches over with an attempt to ruffle Sephiroth's hair. Death won't be too concerned if the boy dodges the attempt, since it could be brushed aside as a playful gesture.

"Excellent work."

Edited 2024-12-01 04:57 (UTC)

"It's appreciated," Ardyn offers, sincere in his own way.

And well- Isn't that sweet? He does think too that Sephiroth did a good job; the boy wasn't lying about being an efficient killer. Meanwhile, Ardyn and Death definitely filled the 'style' quota. It's quite nice to have found unexpected camaraderie in violently clearing out bandits. Since no one seems objecting to his 'souvenir,' he'll gladly handle all that extra nasty business himself.

"And until we meet again! While I'm sure these bandits have learned, who knows what being able to venture to new places may bring." More murder, hopefully! "If nothing else, I know who to call on for dealing with troublesome pests like these."

Sephiroth does not like being touched. Adamantly. Sixteen years of touch always coming shortly later with a needle or scalpel has left certain apprehensions about it. But the lab has also taught him not to react violently on impulse when someone does, and he knows there's no real danger in a hair ruffle. It doesn't prevent him from grumbling as his hair is all ruffled up, or taking a minute to try to reorganize it afterward.

"..Please try to make sure our messenger does eventually get to deliver a message," is the only thing he adds, before turning back to the by now comfortably roaring fire. It'll keep him busy a while, making sure it doesn't spread to the surroundings.

A nice way to stay warm on an autumn evening, all told. A task accomplished, good achieved.

what you're given, what you live in

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cw: murder! also, hallucinating a bit. dw about it.

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CW: More Murder

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