Hawk sat comfortably with his legs outstretched beneath an old and chipped table in the corner of the room, across from him, behind a few glazed empty pint glasses reflecting the hearth light - sat Zephyr. As stubborn and defined as his cheekbones were, Zephyr's mannerisms at the table were infinitely more obvious and awkward at a table, he sat straight and sipped at his drink carefully.

Unlike his friend and co-worker, Hawk appreciated a chair, a drink and warm fire more than most men - mainly because he had lived with the cold, the dry and the dirt for all of his life. However he was no alcoholic, and he would be fine with the one pint for tonight, food is what he craved at this late hour.

Raising a hand lightly up into the air Hawk rapped upon the wooden top above the fire and called out to the barmen "A plate of food Barmen, heaped not piled, tasty and filling!" with his gruff but calming tone. He then rested back into his chair once more, pulling his hood up slightly he peeked an eye at the door as a gust of wind sneaked in with a small group of orcs, eyeing them over quickly, Hawk spoke once more.

"Anything for you Zephyr?" He asked quietly, not opening his eyes but pushing out his left booted foot to nudge his companion into an answer.

"Hm? O-oh, right. I'd like the barmen's severed head, with a side of bone marrow if that's possible. I haven't tried old man-head in a while, and I'd like to open my repertoire. You know me, always wanting to be a competent chef." Zephyrlink taps his fingers on the table gently, bespeckled with the unmistakable grey of bruises. He straightens the folds of his robes, and stares directly at his companion, Hawk, who seemed to have grown a smirk.

"What now? Something wrong with my face?" Hawk continues smirking, but Zephyrlink looks away dismissively, his attention moving to the group of orcs that had entered the bar premises. Thankfully he hadn't used any of his abilities, so those were definitely not voodoo-casters--to his fortune. Zephyr could only put his mind to the torture he had suffered as a newborn, and the nightmarish face of his master.

The tension in his muscles brought him to bashing the table with his fists, out of the blue.

The glasses on the table stumbled and shook as Zephyrs fists came down mercilessly on the poor old table, Hawk opened both his blue eyes fully for the first time since he had sat down not half an hour ago. "Perhaps a sliver of tongue too? Don't forget pasted liver, always good for your nerve." His smirk remained as he spoke, his right eyebrow raised slightly and quizzically. Quickly moving his hand to the edge of the table, he opened it wide enough, and just in time, to catch the salt bowl along with its contents, which had been slowly tumbling toward the sheer drop toward the cold stone floor, no thanks to Zephyrs little outburst.

"You know we can't make a move until they have swapped goods? Keep your calm, order a drink." He said this very discreetly as he leaned in over the table to replace the salt bowl in its place, all the while still smirking at his friend. Suddenly his face became straightened and serious however, as he noticed with his keen eye, a small but none the less full sack that hung upon one of the Orc's belts. With the same booted foot as before he nudged Zephyr before relaxing back into his chair, and laying a hand over the hilt of his dagger.

"Alright, alright," began Zephyrlink, "I'll keep discreet." He knocked his knuckles loudly on the table's rotted frame, gaining the attention of the barman. "I'd like a change of course. I'll have whatever Hawk's having." The orcs cast a sideways glance at Zephyr, and he saluted them mockingly, turning back to Hawk's blank face.

"You know, there are times in our relationship which I just have to save to look back on. Why can't this be one of them? I mean, shedding orc-blood isn't going to do us any harm, is it?" Zephyr whispered, an obvious hint of seriousness in his voice. He really did enjoy killing, even for the fun of it. And yet, as much as Hawk refused to provoke the orcs, Zephyr continued his silly retorts about doing so.

Hawk knew of Zephyr's thirst for blood, he himself had such urges when it came to hunting. The sweet iron smell of crimson boar blood as it spilled over his arrow head never failed to make him grin, but the contract was for the Orc leader alive if they want anymore than a 1/4 of what was promised - so such instinctual feelings may not serve them well at such times.

"Remember the two corrupt dwarf guards last Barkspring? Lets tackle this as we did then shall we." Taking himself up out of his seat, Hawks smile beamed as he moved the chair back under the table and walked slowly past Zephyr, laying his hand on his neat shoulder Hawk looked at his friend and took immense pleasure as he saw a small tinge of realization wash over his face. One brief surge from Hawks arm later - he pushed Zephyr from his chair as he walked toward the bar.

Spinning dramatically with his arms out stretched Hawk exclaimed at this strangers unfortunate accident "Oh my Sir, I am sorry, here lemme 'elp you up shall I" Hawks words were slurred and fell from his mouth as a drunkards do. Reaching down he gripped Zephyrs collar and elbow in either arm and pulled him to his steady feet.

"I will get you drunk - Drink! From this here good Barmen...person" Hawk proceeded to hiccup and stumbled the full 2 yards up to the bar for what seemed like a few minutes. Throwing himself onto a stool, he whistled half halfheartedly for the Barmens attention. All the while his knife had cut the sack from the Orcs waist, leaving it nicely snug beneath him on the stool upon which he sat.

"Oh and erm, w-where is my foood? I am porsitve I ordered some fod" Hawk gave the Orcs a nod, and let his friend do the rest.

Zephyr took the orc's possessions and threw them into a sack, making sure he was discreet and actions subtle. He then stood himself up and walked towards Hawk.

"Y-you're so fuckin' going to, like, y'know, regreat--regret that!" he slurred, throwing a punch at Hawk and attempting to strangle his meaty neck. He then stumbled around and collapses into one of the orcs, "accidentally" winding him with his fist. "Oh my, it seems that I misplaced your fist in yo-your chest. Sorry."

The orc, whose skin was a dark shade of green, and had already unsheathed a dagger, stood up. He lifted his chest and eyed Zephyr. "Oint' you a tastee dinner? Eh eh eh." he muttered, in his obnoxious manner of speaking. They were always bad with their pronunciations. "Oh, quite. All you reed--fuck--all you need is j-just a bit of salt and pepper, if you get my gis-gist!" he replied, mockingly.

Hawks eye widened and spittle festered in the corner of his mouth as he tipped slowly toward the orc brandishing the knife, a big and crude thing, but a weapon none the less. "P-Please Orc friend, take my knofe...Much better, shinnie and special!" He pushed his knife into the orcs hand and took the Orcs knife from him, placing it on the counter, blade side facing the Barmen. The Orc stared for a moment at Hawk and smiled mischievously then his eyes slowly crawled over to settle on Zephyr, who appeared to be entranced by his own hands.

"Now I can curt 'em real good!" The Orc said as he stood from his chair, the knife raised in the air slightly. As his foot met the ground and a soft glint of light shifted along the ground, a reflection of the hearths fire, Hawk grabbed the Orcs wrist and hand in both hands and pushed the blade - which was already close to his neck - into his jugular vein. AS the first drop of blood squeezed through the hair thin cut, Hawk pushed the body backward, taking his knife as it toppled into the other two Orcs.

In an instant the Barmen span on his feet and made for the back door, guilty men always run, but Hawk knew guilty men all too well. Reaching for the Orcs knife he flicked his wrist and flung his forearm out with it, sending the blade spiraling into the Barmens back.

Pulling his Bow from his back, Hawk readied an arrow, and turned back to the Orcs to see what his companion had added to the action.

Zephrylink smiles evilly, veins pulsing and mouth enlarging into that of a demon. His skin fades into a deep red, and horns begin growing from his temples. From his behind, a tail slithers into view. Zephy's muscles and body grow in size, creating the perfect image of a nightmarish, intimidating, demon. Oh, this was going to be good.

Zephyr materialised a pitchfork and forced it into the exposed belly of an obese orc, who had tried going in for a kill. He blocked the attacks with that large tail of his, deflecting the sword and sending the enemy stumble, one-by-one. The incandescent fire began flickering off into the wood, igniting what looked to be the very start of a deadly fire. The whole scene was now unequivocally refulgent, and hues of orange and yellow were splashed about. Zephyr continue nonetheless. Perhaps if the voodoo casters were to come here after they were alerted by his powers, they would think him dead.

Zephyrlink kept swinging with the pitchfork, using both the handle and points to defend himself. The group of orcs had been reduced to a single leader, whom looked almost frightened by such a sight. He cowered away, before Zephyr smiled again. "You're going to obey me, Orcscum. I am your master now." Almost in a way that looked force, the leader slowly edged himself towards Zephyr reluctantly. "I am your master..."

The manipulation was a success, and the orc leader had joined his side. The next part of the plan was to escape and claim the fortune. Except there was a guilty Barman on the loose, and a fire that would soon engulf the whole building in golden flames, lighting up the serenous night sky.