Morgan's lithe form smoothly pulled itself up and over the edge of the tiled rooftop, just in time to hear the... accented voice make an observation of the red hooded man that stood across the two, three storied buildings. As the vampire dusted his right shoulder, eyes on the imaginary soot that had formed itself on the green cloth, he couldn't help but wonder the same question his newest opponent posed. [i]For an assassin, wouldn't honor be out of the question? After all, it's all just business. Unless it is, or became, something more...personal...'[/i] Shuttered eyes turned slightly towards the blade-for-hire, more questions arising. So far, no amount of emotion had truly risen from mercenary. Yes, tempered feelings of anger or maybe even annoyance, but no blatant exposure, no sudden outbursts. [i]'Cold, stiff, like his steel.'[/i] A realization dawned upon the sniffer as his thought process continued, [i]'Or perhaps, maybe like myself at one point.'[/i] 

Crimson eyes shifted back towards the blue coated woman's killer, eyelids shutting ever so slightly in a suspicious manner. This man, was odd. His clothing was not in the form of a universal shirt, but as if he was wrapped for burial. But then, it transformed into something socially flexible, something casual, relaxed. Such attire was confusing, sending mixed messages, and causing Morgan to give this masked man a up-down look, taking as much detail as could. Irises locked onto the man's unique blade, [i]'Similar, but different?'[/i] The sniffer thought slowly, attempting to make some connection. However, he couldn't place his finger on it, for another thought came to mind, [i]'He could just be any assassin. After all, if Ms. Maggot-hatchery was an employee of the Duke, she could have many wanting her blood for something'[/i] Morgan would snort gently from his nose, amused by the given nickname. It may be too soon for some for such amusement, but Death had been pleased. Through this, Morgan was pleased. But an emotion of happiness would turn to an unsettled frown as he contemplated further, [i]'But pleased by some other hand.'[/i] Suddenly, the sniffer's thoughts were interrupted by the newest adversary:

[b]""Would ya wait a minute, eh? I'd like to finish givin' ol' Blue 'er gift... I don't real have an' business with ya."[/b]

Morgan's grip tightened around his knobbed weapon, his mouth becoming a thin, firm line as the man continued, [b]"Either of ya."[/b]

Morgan's eyes slight squint of suspicion began turning to a flash of scorn. If his face had been not clear, a dark cloud would have begun to brew on the otherwise emotionless face. As he observed the nonchalant killer, the roots of hate slowly burrowing themselves into his heart. [i]'This masked man's mannerisms and speech... It's almost as if he enjoys killing.'[/i] Morgan could not help but observe. But then again, why had it taken him so long. Perhaps this man felt an affinity with death, wrapping himself in lines of cloth, like the dead, and painting his 'face' with blood in a gruesome, comical way. Suddenly, Morgan would expertly spin his staff twice with his gloved right hand before planting the butt of the weapon sharply against the stone tiles with crushing *tack!* [i]'He has no fear.'[/i] The vampire thought, the right corner of his mouth would then lift ever so slightly as a spark of grim amusement stirred in his chest, [i]At least, not yet.[/i] The sudden action was to attraction attention, demanding the floor for speech and thought. There would be no backing out, and Morgan knew there would be very little chance for surrender.

[i]'He has strong magics'[/i] But how couldn't he? This darkly clad man had sent spear length's pick spike through someone, who was obviously skilled both with blade and magic than Morgan could ever be, as if he were merely brushing the dust from his shoulder. Ambush was a key factor, of course, and things may have ended up different if the bandaged man did not have the element of surprise, but Morgan's senses warned the vampire in a most dire manner. [i]'This assassin - he is no thug, and he more than likely just as powerful as her... if not more so.[/i] The vampire's eyes wandered towards the man's weapon once more, and there! Morgan had seen it before but he did not know why it took him this long to make a connection: the demonic looking blade was very similar, if not exactly, the same shape and the same craftsmanship as "Blue's." Their power must be the same. [i]'It must...[/i]. Crimson eyes refocused themselves on their target and looked eye to eye (if such a thing had been possible between two masked faces).

Anger was beginning to well up inside him once more. But one thing was clear as Morgan attempted mentally steady himself, [i]'I cannot lose control again. She was powerful and I was fortunate that my reckless actions did not kill me.[/i] A steady, silent breath issued from his mouth, hand again clenching his weapon with assurance, confidence, [i]'To be Death's hand, I must be like him - cold, precise - without emotion.'[/i]

"But that is where you are mistaken."

Morgan would bound forward, speed increasing dramatically with the three, four steps before leaping over the alley's space. While his speed would be nothing that of what had been displayed towards Blue, it would indeed be a pace that would be breathtaking, particularly in such a small time frame. Once across the gap and landing on the occupied rooftop, the vampire would immediately spring into the air, planting his staff into the tiles with a tremendous crunch. Using the momentum of his unnatural speed, Morgan would springboard himself up into the air with his right hand, rolling into the action with a side flip, left glove balanced on the top of the now erect knobbed weapon.

The vampire's body now fully air bound, he continued his offensive action: Morgan's left hand would swiftly yank the weapon from the rooftop as his body moved forward in a cyclone of flying metal and wood. In a flourishing manner of spiraling destruction, the sniffer would make his move. Somewhere in between the whirling display of acrobatics and impossibly smooth landing, Morgan would be able to use his free hand to swiftly retract and wrap the long, attacking end of the weapon around to the opposite hand, transforming an overhead aerial attack into a sweeping motion. Hopefully (and with a little bit of luck), the staff's blow would at best, break the joint between upper and lower leg, or at worst, would send the smiling mask head over heels to the ground. Either way, if Thrainsson managed to get the enemy on his back, the vampire's weapon would whirl around and above to smash its butt into the man's left shoulder, attempting to brutally smash the blunt end through flesh and bone, in order to wrap a spare hand around the darkly clad man's throat. 

All of this would be just as Morgan wanted: cold, calculated, precise. He was to bring souls to his only master. And if all of this was successful, the sniffer would speak to his pinned prey, "You denied me a soul for him, [i]his hand[/i]." Morgan's gloved hand clenched tighter as he spat the last part of his sentence through clenched teeth. "Perhaps, it's fate though," A twisted smirk tugged at the right side of his face, words from moments ago trickling from his memory, as he continued to speak, "Better I kill you than her, yes?"