A few feet ahead of her, a middle aged man, as thick as a bear, hovered over her with a crossbow;
"Go on, hand where I can see them. . .NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS."
Angel, smiling under her mask, quietly complied. As she rose to her feet, lifting up her arms, the veil came fumbling down. And she watched with delight as surprise lit up the man's face;
"I'll be damned. . .A GIRL?" his crossbow lowered; "What you doin-"
A moment was all Angel needed.
Quicker than the naked eye could follow, she sprang forward, bouncing on the balls of the sole of her feet, sprinting from side to side in a zig-zag motion, keeping out of reach of his weapon.
The man couldn't keep up.
Angel slipped out a short blade, slid under him, and in two quick movements, stabbed the flesh between the joints of both his knees. The man came tumbling down as fresh blood spurted out in a fountain of red.
Even before he collapsed, her blade found his bearded neck, and slashed quietly- killing the growl in his throat.
"There, there. . ." she whispered, wiping the blood on her silk handkerchief, looming over his bleeding body; "You nearly had me for a second, I really must be slipping. But then again, I haven't fucked in a while, so the lack of semen must be the issue. . ."
As the last rays of life faded from the man's eyes, he squirmed at the information.
Angel laughed;
"You pervert, you're about to die, and you still find the energy to get your dick hard?"
She turned her back on him- laughing, and sprinted off towards the silos seated in formation at the middle of the estate- thinking;
"Now where's the bloody gold. . .?"
Meanwhile, in the eastern part of the city- where the grass was green, and gray castles towered in looming shadows, the church bells were tolling consistently. In peals of rolling clangs, their sad, mournful notes rose into the air, covering the suburbs with a blanket of sorrow.
Like sentient beings, the bells seemed to wail;
"Lord Reaves is dead! Weep O city!"
Several servants, hungry for gossip, whispered it across the halls in hushed tones, chattering away in high pitched notes.
Beautiful matriarchs- in their pretty ball gowns, and gold adorned shoulders, flocked together like swans- drinking their fill of the rich spicy gossip. Some spoke clearly. Others spoke in codes. Some chaffed, some others sympathized.
The news was like a hurricane rolling through the city.
Meanwhile, at the top of the hill overlooking the rest of the city, the Reaves mansion sat in a cloud of gloom. From the outside, its tall, powerful walls looked placid. But on the inside, chaos was in full bloom.
"WHAT?!!" a powerful fist came down on the wooden table- accompanying the anger in the speaker's tone; "That caravan is worth its weight in gold!! WHO IS DOING THIS TO US?"
It was a round table meeting.
All the men of the clan were present.
With their droopy eyes, hunched shoulders, and bowed heads, they tried to not appear nervous.
A voice came from the left wing of the table- nervous, unsteady, and a little effeminate;
"Well, throughout the nooks and crannies of Castra City, from the dingy servants quarters, to the brilliant study halls, and even down to the bedchambers of newlyweds, the news of 'his' death has spread. . ."
He paused- making sure to gain the group's attention.
"It is well known. And it has spread fast."
In the background, the heavy breathing of the men rose continued to rise and fall.
Fat lumps of wax sat had formed at the base of the diminishing candles. In the waning light, the group of men deathless statues- frozen in place by the paralyzing effect of defeats. Only the occasional curling wisps of white smoke (from the lit cigars), gave any clue that they were active.
The man continued;
"In the past twenty four hours alone, we've been hit at the southern warehouses. . .multiple times!"
He stretched out his right arm- causing the flapping sound of his sleeve;
"Here, here, and here," he tapped on the great map before them; "Our trading caravans have been ravaged mercilessly."
A much deeper voice boomed the question on everyone's mind;
"Who's responsible for this?"
"Who you say?" the other man echoed; "It could be anyone, we all know the Reaves family isn't lacking in enemies! The fact is, we were to slow to react. . ."
He narrowed his snake eyes, turning it accusingly to the lanky man at the head of the table;
"If you had simply hired the mercenaries in the first place, we would have been able to stop the bleeding."
Angry flames erupted in the other man's eyes. He roared back;
"You cunt! You really expect me to do business with low-breed stinkin' mercenaries?! You know how much that would've cost us?!"
"Get a grip on Miles. You're a cheap bastard, and look what that cheapness has cost the family. Look what we've lost- because of you."
A thick vein pulsed above his right eyebrow; "Me? CHEAP?!"
"Stop fuckin' around and quit playin' boss! You can never- and will never be James."
A chorus of approval echoed across the table.
And a barrage of insults began to fly. People began to take sides- and the low rumbling sounds rose higher and higher. Meanwhile, in the chaotic frenzy, one person remained seated in her seat.
With the looming shadows of the men hovering above her, Tiffany sat there, shoulders back, hair down, finger stroking her chin- watching quietly, and stifling her anger.
.......
"It's the Lady Kay. She's the one doing this. . ."
Honestly, it was but a whisper.
And yet, it rang with a quiet loudness- resonating through the room, bringing every head spinning in her direction. Their widening eyes echoed the question in their minds- how do you know?
Tiffany's hands fell on the arms of the chair, and she pushed herself upwards- springing up with a graceful swing. As she rose to her feet, the men (with fear on their faces), slowly sat back down- refusing to take their wary eyes off of her.
Slowly, the toxic male energy began to fade off. And Tiffany's presence began to dominate the room.
"The question is simple-" she stated, striking out with a light stride- circling round and round the table;
"Tell me, who stands to gain the most from our most recent crisis? Who has the means and the wit to organize multiple raids on our warehouses? Who has firsthand knowledge of our trading routes?"
Silence crackled through- dogging her every question.
She paused;
"Only Lady Kay has the power, and means to do this, and make it look like its some random plundering. I mean," she shrugged; "No low-breed animal would be brazen enough to attack us. . .even with our great loss. . ."
A sharp knock came at the door.
And all heads swung rapidly in the direction.
"Pardon me Miss Tiffany, but Lady Mary of House Kay is here to pay condolence."
Like clockwork, a collective growl rumbled through the table. Tiffany allowed herself a triumphant look before settling back into her chair with an amused look;
"Sure, send her in. Bring her here."
A few feet ahead of her, a middle aged man, as thick as a bear, hovered over her with a crossbow;
"Go on, hand where I can see them. . .NO SUDDEN MOVEMENTS."
Angel, smiling under her mask, quietly complied. As she rose to her feet, lifting up her arms, the veil came fumbling down. And she watched with delight as surprise lit up the man's face;
"I'll be damned. . .A GIRL?" his crossbow lowered; "What you doin-"
A moment was all Angel needed.
Quicker than the naked eye could follow, she sprang forward, bouncing on the balls of the sole of her feet, sprinting from side to side in a zig-zag motion, keeping out of reach of his weapon.
The man couldn't keep up.
Angel slipped out a short blade, slid under him, and in two quick movements, stabbed the flesh between the joints of both his knees. The man came tumbling down as fresh blood spurted out in a fountain of red.
Even before he collapsed, her blade found his bearded neck, and slashed quietly- killing the growl in his throat.
"There, there. . ." she whispered, wiping the blood on her silk handkerchief, looming over his bleeding body; "You nearly had me for a second, I really must be slipping. But then again, I haven't fucked in a while, so the lack of semen must be the issue. . ."
As the last rays of life faded from the man's eyes, he squirmed at the information.
Angel laughed;
"You pervert, you're about to die, and you still find the energy to get your dick hard?"
She turned her back on him- laughing, and sprinted off towards the silos seated in formation at the middle of the estate- thinking;
"Now where's the bloody gold. . .?"
Meanwhile, in the eastern part of the city- where the grass was green, and gray castles towered in looming shadows, the church bells were tolling consistently. In peals of rolling clangs, their sad, mournful notes rose into the air, covering the suburbs with a blanket of sorrow.
Like sentient beings, the bells seemed to wail;
"Lord Reaves is dead! Weep O city!"
Several servants, hungry for gossip, whispered it across the halls in hushed tones, chattering away in high pitched notes.
Beautiful matriarchs- in their pretty ball gowns, and gold adorned shoulders, flocked together like swans- drinking their fill of the rich spicy gossip. Some spoke clearly. Others spoke in codes. Some chaffed, some others sympathized.
The news was like a hurricane rolling through the city.
Meanwhile, at the top of the hill overlooking the rest of the city, the Reaves mansion sat in a cloud of gloom. From the outside, its tall, powerful walls looked placid. But on the inside, chaos was in full bloom.
"WHAT?!!" a powerful fist came down on the wooden table- accompanying the anger in the speaker's tone; "That caravan is worth its weight in gold!! WHO IS DOING THIS TO US?"
It was a round table meeting.
All the men of the clan were present.
With their droopy eyes, hunched shoulders, and bowed heads, they tried to not appear nervous.
A voice came from the left wing of the table- nervous, unsteady, and a little effeminate;
"Well, throughout the nooks and crannies of Castra City, from the dingy servants quarters, to the brilliant study halls, and even down to the bedchambers of newlyweds, the news of 'his' death has spread. . ."
He paused- making sure to gain the group's attention.
"It is well known. And it has spread fast."
In the background, the heavy breathing of the men rose continued to rise and fall.
Fat lumps of wax sat had formed at the base of the diminishing candles. In the waning light, the group of men deathless statues- frozen in place by the paralyzing effect of defeats. Only the occasional curling wisps of white smoke (from the lit cigars), gave any clue that they were active.
The man continued;
"In the past twenty four hours alone, we've been hit at the southern warehouses. . .multiple times!"
He stretched out his right arm- causing the flapping sound of his sleeve;
"Here, here, and here," he tapped on the great map before them; "Our trading caravans have been ravaged mercilessly."
A much deeper voice boomed the question on everyone's mind;
"Who's responsible for this?"
"Who you say?" the other man echoed; "It could be anyone, we all know the Reaves family isn't lacking in enemies! The fact is, we were to slow to react. . ."
He narrowed his snake eyes, turning it accusingly to the lanky man at the head of the table;
"If you had simply hired the mercenaries in the first place, we would have been able to stop the bleeding."
Angry flames erupted in the other man's eyes. He roared back;
"You cunt! You really expect me to do business with low-breed stinkin' mercenaries?! You know how much that would've cost us?!"
"Get a grip on Miles. You're a cheap bastard, and look what that cheapness has cost the family. Look what we've lost- because of you."
A thick vein pulsed above his right eyebrow; "Me? CHEAP?!"
"Stop fuckin' around and quit playin' boss! You can never- and will never be James."
A chorus of approval echoed across the table.
And a barrage of insults began to fly. People began to take sides- and the low rumbling sounds rose higher and higher. Meanwhile, in the chaotic frenzy, one person remained seated in her seat.
With the looming shadows of the men hovering above her, Tiffany sat there, shoulders back, hair down, finger stroking her chin- watching quietly, and stifling her anger.
.......
"It's the Lady Kay. She's the one doing this. . ."
Honestly, it was but a whisper.
And yet, it rang with a quiet loudness- resonating through the room, bringing every head spinning in her direction. Their widening eyes echoed the question in their minds- how do you know?
Tiffany's hands fell on the arms of the chair, and she pushed herself upwards- springing up with a graceful swing. As she rose to her feet, the men (with fear on their faces), slowly sat back down- refusing to take their wary eyes off of her.
Slowly, the toxic male energy began to fade off. And Tiffany's presence began to dominate the room.
"The question is simple-" she stated, striking out with a light stride- circling round and round the table;
"Tell me, who stands to gain the most from our most recent crisis? Who has the means and the wit to organize multiple raids on our warehouses? Who has firsthand knowledge of our trading routes?"
Silence crackled through- dogging her every question.
She paused;
"Only Lady Kay has the power, and means to do this, and make it look like its some random plundering. I mean," she shrugged; "No low-breed animal would be brazen enough to attack us. . .even with our great loss. . ."
A sharp knock came at the door.
And all heads swung rapidly in the direction.
"Pardon me Miss Tiffany, but Lady Mary of House Kay is here to pay condolence."
Like clockwork, a collective growl rumbled through the table. Tiffany allowed herself a triumphant look before settling back into her chair with an amused look;
"Sure, send her in. Bring her here."
