As the drunken man pounds on the door of the assassins' private chamber of the Stock Pot Inn, an angry mumbling can be heard from the interior. It is muffled and sounds as if the people speaking are too tired to raise their voices.

Larson, take him out. Put the cloak on first; our identities are important.

The soft thumping of a man approaching the door gets closer and closer to the door, until a strong man shoves the aperture outwards and into the drunk's intoxicated face, knocking him backwards into the hallway. He is slammed into the wall instantly as the cloaked man grabs him by the shirt and presses him violently against the wall. Laughter can be heard from the assassins' chamber as their comrade beats the drunk. The stranger's voice sounds tired, as if he would rather be in bed than beating on some hapless alcoholic.

I suggest you leave... Now! What's your name, boy?

"heh, heh, heh..."his chuckle quiets down a bit, only interrupting at every other interval as he mumbles to himself, the blood from his mouth playing a bit of a problem with his speech, that and the fact that he has to face the dizzying ecstacy of being on one to many drinks... or two... or three...or more, you really can't tell what he's saying or who he's saying it to, the brute or the little man in his head. Stumbling over his feet he runs into the walls and smiles, his teeth coated in the vibrant red of his blood, the odor even more malicious as it mixes with the alcohol in his flooded system.

"Name's Reg, Reg Nocturne*hick up* of Timely Tavern come out to steal a *hickup* drink or two, heh, heh, *hick up*, heh." With the liquor tainted words escaping the drunkard's mouth as he introduces the ill form of tonight, the weary blood shot eyes having an odd piercing feel as he stares absent minded at the depths of the hood.

"And who might you be kind sir?"He rocks back and forth and then in an almost mocking gesture to the assassin who has beat him to a near bloody pulp he bows down and extends his hand like a true gentleman of his stature, too bad he's "smashed" in both senses of the word. "Please kind sir, heh, heh, heh..." he asks, the sloshing of his drink in hand as he attempts to persuade an answer seems to be begging for another beating....

"Forget it you lil bugger heh, heh, heh" He says, turning his heel and running into a few weary wakers watching the scene, the blood on his hands staining one of the girl's night gowns and resulting in a few grimaces. "I'd probably forget by tomorra!!!" he bellows as he departs on his merry way, the soft chanting of a drunkards song following lazily behind as do a few slurs in accompaniment.

Larson shakes his head in amazement, wondering what had driven the man to become so intoxicated beyond belief. The assassin is far removed from being classified as a "heavy drinker," but never in his life has he seen someone so drunk. He doubts Reg could even feel the violence enacted in this hallway in his state of dizziness.

Poor fool.

Larson closes the chamber door behind him as he reenters the room where hsi fellow mercenaries have all fallen asleep again, and slumps down in his bed, trying to fall back to sleep but unable to. He finally lets his fatigue overtake him and drifts off, forgettign abotu Reg and focusing only on this Blank person that he would have to kill off.

As dawn approaches, the assassins awaken and shift from their beds, dressing themselves in their formal dress suits and sunglasses. The six men and single woman stand about, yawning and stretching. Finally, Daemon, the leader, speaks up, his voice filled with unusual excitement.[/i]

I've been stuck in this room for days now. We're going out to the woods to get away from this shoddy inn. It'll be a nice way to relax before the mail gets here. We may be given a new objective, so Barlum, you'd better prepare yourself.

There are no objections from the assassins, who follow their leader out of the Inn and into the woods. The seven well dressed individuals are not seen for the rest of the day, but they return at dusk. Entering the Inn, Daemon stops by at the main desk and retrieves the mail. One parcel has the Killtactic Assassination insignia printed on it, and the mercenary knows what it is instantly. He turns around to walk towards the stairs.

Having stayed at the Stock Pot the previous night, Victor had just gathered his things and left his room, ready for adventure after a good night's sleep. He had the room keys in hand and was already heading down the stairs when he saw the man heading towards him. He was a stranger to the Bard, and everybody knew that, whenever he saw someone he didn't know, Victor made every effort to add them to his list of friends.

Stopping on the top step and waiting for the man to reach the top, Victor thrusted his right hand towards him and smiled his biggest, warmest smile.

"Hey there! I haven't seen you around these parts before. My name's Victor; I'm a Bard. Who are you?"

OOC: This shouldn't've taken me thirty minutes to write. DAMN YOU WHO'S LINE IS IT ANYWAYS!!! Damn Canadians... Canadian comedians, that is.

Daemon disregards Victor entirely, pushing the bard out of his way as he ascends the stairs, and knocking the unfortunate Hylian into the wall as he walks. As he does so, the parcel falls from his hand and lands by Victor's feet. In bold ink, the words "Victor Vir" stare up at him. Daemon quickly snatches the package up off the floor and continues to his room, closing the door behind him.

As he was cruelly slammed into the wall by the man, Victor's smile faded away. A confused look appeared on his face as he wondered why the man had been so rude, but then his eyes suddenly grew wide; the package on the floor had his name on it. The Bard was jsut about to reach for the mysterious parcel when the man picked it up, and the soft "Hey" had only begun to form in his throat by the time the man had dissappeared behind the door of the Inn room. More curious than ever, Victor snuck up to the door and pushed his pointy ear against it, hoping that his special Hylian hearing would finally pay off...

OOC: Doing things the old fashioned way.

OOC: Is there any other way?
IC:

From the inside of the room, Victor can not hear much but the back-and-forth waves of conversation. No one in the Inn chamber moving around, it is as if they simply choose to stand in place and discuss whatever it is that could possibly be going on. One man speaks a far greater deal than the rest; only three unique voices are heard for the duration of Victor's eavesdropping. It is quite easy to overhear everything mentioned.

Well, at long last we have our final target. We can finally leave this stink-hole inn, and soon we'll be on our way back to Calatia. I've had just about enough of this country. The sooner we get rid of these people, the sooner the Boss's plans can be executed. Alright. I've opened the parcel, and our final targets in. Reg Nocturne is to be taken out. Barlum, here's the information package on him. There isn't much.

Er... Thanks, I guess... Isn't he the drunk who Larson sent off last night?

I believe he is. All the more easy for you to wipe out, I would say. As for my target; Victor Vir. Hylian, bard, and overall friendly character. I'll enjoy ending his annoying song for good. When he least expects it... out of the Shadowmeld I will come.

Our targets have been set. As stated in each parcel, there is to be no failure. We will restore Killtactic Assassination back to its former glory through this. Tomorrow you can depart for your designated regions. Good night.

Since it seemed like the mysterious group had finished talking for the day, Victor lifted his ear from the door and crept off to the lobby, giving the clerk his keys and leaving the Inn behind him. After all, if these people were going to be after him, the Bard wanted to put as much distance as he could between them and himself...

OOC: Even I question the grammatical correctness of that paragraph...

OOC: Finally! Registration is complete after 5 months

Now then, as for when the rest will occur... soon enough, but there may be a snag. Waddles hasn't visited our bountiful kingdom for quite some time, so I don't know how reliable the idea of him showing up is. Denning, Alpha, Reg and Victor should be fine, though. You all seem to be pretty active lately. And Dogura said he's show up for his part.

... And I can only assume that Blank will be around as well

Don't worry, Alpha. This won't interfere with Force of Gold. You'll all be surprised as to how small this part is actually going to be. Well, not majorly small, but not entirely large. It's more of intro to greater things as well.

There'll be an obvious alert when the time comes.

OOC:And ill be ready. I cant wait for Alpha's quest. This is going to rock! And I hope we hurry up with this sweven strange visitors topic! Its gonna be great!

OOC: Well, bad news, guys. Waddles is M.I.A., and Denning tells me there is very little chance that he'll return for quite some time. That being said, I'll still need one more person.

OOC:Why don't you drop Weienw a message. He's a wicked writer. I'm sure he'll love to join your little quest...it is, after all, an amazing one. Plus you better get started with this thing. I'm anxious for a one on one fight...my favorite topics...

OOC: Thanks Julian ^^. Honored to join this thread; besides, how could I dare disappoint all of six people?

IC: In room 2F30 (coincidentally adjacent to 2F32), Arco sits up abruptly in his bed, a seasonal (Goronic, but then again you knew that, didn't you?) hibernation interrupted by the slam of a door. He settles in a heap for a while before pushing his pillow up against the wall and leaning on it, his head resting on the lilac-patterned wallpaper of the Inn.

Voices.

"?" says Arco, to himself. He tilts his head against the thin wall, pointing his ear to the sound of the voices, and listens for a while. Utilizing his exquisite Way of the Sponge technique, he relaxes in that position, drinking up all the information he can hold at the moment. He'll process and judge said information later, but now, people talk and he listens. His parents were traditionalists, anyway.

After a while, he recognizes a couple names and tries to put two and two together (but only succeeding in adding together a couple of one-and-a-halfs). Regardless:

"!" he exclaims, in a hoarse whisper. He shakes his head, lets his feet hit the ground beside his bed, and then pauses. He clears his throat as you might after a good night's rest, but exponentially more potent. It's been many nights and days of good rest, and you can just leave it at that.

Having heard his fill, Arco begins freshening up, looking into a mirror for the first time in... quite a while.

OOC: Yes! Just what I expected from you, weienw. I love it
IC:

The voices are few. One is slightly angry, and one seems somewhat dismayed. These two are the only voices that drift through the walls and into Arco's well-toned Sheikah ears. The light drone of snores and the rustling of blankets, sheets and mattresses as other characters turn about in their slumbers lets the bard know that the other five are fast asleep. Arco should have no trouble eavesdropping on the assassins in the room adjacent to his.

On the other side of the wall dividing the two rooms, the two mercenaries to show any signs of consciousness converse in hushed tones, but loud enough for even the weariest of men to hear at as close a proximity as Arco. Sloan, the red-haired Hylian that specializes in "incendiary homicides" and Daemon, the unopposed leader of the group, are discussing current issues pertaining to their given missions.

We have reason to believe that your target, Alex Farr, has been neutralized by a third party. Waddles, as he is known as in this kingdom, has not shown himself in Hyrule for quite some time. Boss has informed us to forget about him. As of now, your target is a Sheikah. Goes by the name Arco. According to his file, he's constantly in hibernation. Maybe if you're lucky, you can catch him in a state of drowsiness...

And burn him to the ground.

That is what you do best, Sloan. I take it you'll do just fine. Now listen. At dawn, we all leave this stink-hole of an Inn and head for our destinations. And as unit policy, we show no mercy. The sooner we finish here, the sooner this whole fiasco can end and we can head back home.

A puff of wind is heard from the assassins' chamber, presumably one of the two blowing the flame from a lantern and darkening the room to a comfortable brightness. The rustling of beds passes through Arco's wall, loud as a Moblin's grunt. And then there is silence.

OOC: Aw, glad it was so. Also impressed that you were able to work with it, better than I thought. Anyway. Let's do dis! ^^

Yes, that is to say... one of the names he'd recognized was one he knew pretty well.

His own.

As Arco whittles away at his overgrown fingernails with a dagger, he reviews what he'd listened in on a few minutes before.

Boss... target... Arco--oh, right, that's me?... burn him to the ground.

The Bard flinches from his own stream of thought, and peers into the mirror thoughtfully.

So someone's going to kill me soon.

He stares at his own eyes as if seeing them from the third person before letting himself laugh quietly. Apparently, he finds this all very interesting...

A moment of silence. Arco mats down his hair, rinses his mouth again, and holds a lopsided pose before standing up and picking up his things. For a good reason, he seems to have energy to spare. Opening the door, he blows out the candle and heads down and out, thinking that now would be a good time to find some of his old friends and have a mug of something for old times' sake. He could use something to eat, too.

Standing in Rauru Town Square, Arco looks up and squints his gray eyes at the moon. He appears to think about something, and then heads off towards it with scuttling feet. After all, moonward is as good a direction as any for one resuming the adventuring trade.