06-25-2009, 06:46 AM
1)
"He's going to die, they're ALL going to die. Painfully."
Olan did not seem impressed by his guest's outburst. "Is that so, Douleurs?" he asked, disdain dripping from his words. The man was an uncontrolled slave to his vices, what the Necrodiators saw in him, Olan couldn't imagine, save he was willing to dirty his hands in distasteful manners for the right price. As far as he was concerned, Aric Doulers was little more than an animal who could talk.
"Don't start with me Olan," snarled Aric "If Balthus had told me Birchland was a damned spy I would have killed him already! It's not my fault-"
"It never is," the soldier cut him off bluntly. He extended his small pouch to his loathsome guest. "Here you are, as per Balthus' order."
Aric snatched the bag and quickly peeked inside. "That's it?"
Olan nodded.
"Doesn't look like much."
"Just take it and be off."
Aric glared at Olan, threw a quick mock salute and ducked out of the soldier's tent. A few of his men gathered around one of the nearby campfires looked up as he approached.
"We're done here," Aric announced.
"Good," one of the men muttered, "getting tired of being watched." He cocked his head indicating two men on watch who were obviously watching them.
Douleurs looked out over the camp. A faint glow on the horizon hinted at the coming sunrise.
"We're not waiting for dawn, we're leaving now."
"Now?"
"Yes, now. With any luck Birchland, the girl, and that half-breed piece of crap will still be near that damned town. We'll finish the job easy. Besides," he lowered his voice, "being around Olan makes my fists itch."
There was a murmur of agreement among his men.
"He's going to die, they're ALL going to die. Painfully."
Olan did not seem impressed by his guest's outburst. "Is that so, Douleurs?" he asked, disdain dripping from his words. The man was an uncontrolled slave to his vices, what the Necrodiators saw in him, Olan couldn't imagine, save he was willing to dirty his hands in distasteful manners for the right price. As far as he was concerned, Aric Doulers was little more than an animal who could talk.
"Don't start with me Olan," snarled Aric "If Balthus had told me Birchland was a damned spy I would have killed him already! It's not my fault-"
"It never is," the soldier cut him off bluntly. He extended his small pouch to his loathsome guest. "Here you are, as per Balthus' order."
Aric snatched the bag and quickly peeked inside. "That's it?"
Olan nodded.
"Doesn't look like much."
"Just take it and be off."
Aric glared at Olan, threw a quick mock salute and ducked out of the soldier's tent. A few of his men gathered around one of the nearby campfires looked up as he approached.
"We're done here," Aric announced.
"Good," one of the men muttered, "getting tired of being watched." He cocked his head indicating two men on watch who were obviously watching them.
Douleurs looked out over the camp. A faint glow on the horizon hinted at the coming sunrise.
"We're not waiting for dawn, we're leaving now."
"Now?"
"Yes, now. With any luck Birchland, the girl, and that half-breed piece of crap will still be near that damned town. We'll finish the job easy. Besides," he lowered his voice, "being around Olan makes my fists itch."
There was a murmur of agreement among his men.