~The Blood Crystal Tavern~
Kull opened the still-swinging door of the Red Crystal Den, the sound of creaking iron hinges behind his loping walk. Miners, journalists, Octarchial bureaucrats, professional fighters, storekeepers, merchants and drunkards were leaving the taverns, of which were closing, to find other places for warmth and shelter, most likely their homes or the inn at which they were staying.
His feet caused the floorboards of the upraised entrance platform to creak, causing the bartender, a slender fenki of small cycles to raise her head. She greeted him, a menki she had met before, a month and a half earlier.
Without reply, he ordered a single beer, and followed with a comment, rather, a grumpy mumble, about women. The bartender, probably well-versed in the ways of bitter men in their relationships with women surmised his need for a stronger drink. She asked him if he needed one, and he agreed. She walked to a cask of liquor and began to pour, filling a clean-looking mug with cool liquid.
After paying forty tria, Kull took his drink, and quaffed a fair amount of it. His throat no longer parched, and his body adjusting to the alcohol, he relaxed after a minute. She took her own drink and sat herself down in a chair, opposite Kull, who leaned against the bar. Asking him about his female troubles, he asked if her name was Ayria, if he remembered it correctly, and she nodded. Sighing, Kull began to talk, telling of a girl he loved who was more than trouble. Inquiring further, Ayria attempted to learn more, yet Kull gave little information; not even a name, or what she looked like, though, he happened to remark, rather ruefully, on her great beauty. This going on for some time, both were calm and chatting away, when suddenly…
Kull’s body crumpled to the wooden floor, feeling as if his head had been hit by a heavy hammer. His once-held mug also fell to the floor, breaking apart, and spilling its contents on the ground as well. His vision waned and waxed, leaving him unable to see, but his hearing remained. Faintly he saw the outline of an arrow, with perhaps a blunt head, lying on the ground near him.
The sound of a bow twanging reached his throbbing ears. A voice: a foul-mouthed man, by the sound of it. Ayria fell near Kull, as he tried to raise himself upward, struggling with the pain of the impact. On her knees, the masked Dermorian male, bow in hand, walked closer, and raised his bow. He shot a blunt arrow, striking her square in the forehead. Ayria landed, unconscious, to the ground.
Kull, muttering angrily, recognized the man. Cinade, his Cutthroat subordinate. Eyes only for him, he began to swear, “Bloody ratscum, son of a filthy…you sack of…” Kull nearly fell once more, using the bar as support for his watery arms.
Cinade spoke “Sorry Boss.”
Muttering again, Kull shook his head. “Cover…its fine.” Viewing the tavern, Kull saw opportunity: empty as it was and the bartender out of commission, there were many ways to take it as striking fortune. His mind clearing, Kull formed a plan as he registered his strength.
“Take a cask, bring it to the stage, and cut her arm open, let the blood pool. And rip a chair leg off too, for a brush.”
Cinade rushed to hurry about the orders.
“Get to it.”
Seeing his slowness to act, Kull took his knife and bent to cut open Ayria’s arm, which lay feebly on the floor. After the blood gushed from the wound, he ripped a chair leg off its former attachment, and dipped it in the pooling blood. The stumbling menki, woozy-headed, moved to the stage. Reaching the back of it, Kull started to paint, repeatedly returning to dip his improvised paintbrush in her blood. After several minutes, the back wall of the Den toted the words:
The Dark Lady Comes for Vengeance, Beware the Soul-Reapers Dawn!Satisfied with the message, Kull wrote on the wall behind the bar. It held a message, too.
Dakkru speaks in the Language of Blood – Hear her call you! Kull and Cinade began to throw mugs and casks and shelves of alcohol to the ground, destroying most of the stock.
Finally regaining at least most of his strength, the black-hearted Kull stood over Ayria. “Kill her.”
…
Kull and Cinade walked out of the Den, into the night, masked, their weapons sheathed. Behind them lay a shattered mess of a tavern; the contents destroyed, chairs broken, blood in pools around the tables, the walls covered in written messages of a dead woman's lifeblood.
In his mind, Kull knew, this would only be the start.
Only the beginning…