[b][u][center] Adjutor Insula[/center][/u][/b]

[center][b]The Bastard of Karren[/b][/center]

Marcus shoved open the door to one of the Insula's few houses dedicated to social drinking. Alien faces glanced up at him from ale soiled tables, and smokey pipe haze. Dwarves, Elves, Gryphs and foreign humans occupied the Three Tails Inn, and few of them were in good standing with any God. It was ironic, to Marcus, that a nation built with the sole purpose of bringing out the best in people, would also harbour exiled murderers, thieves, rapists and of course, usurpers. 

"You're late," muttered a tall figure, clad in tattered brown robes. There was a slight hiss to its voice. "Remind me, Lord Defender, why it is I have so much faith in you, when you cannot keep a deadline."

Marcus ignored the figure, and strolled up to the bar. A rough looking Gryph, with his golden skin tinted a slight red from whatever substance abuse occupied his interests, grunted at him. 

"Cured water, if you would please," Marcus said, flashing a warm smile, and half a silver coin. The Gryph jumped into action. 

The figure stalked Marcus, and placed a scaled hand onto his plated shoulder. The Lord Defender's friendly smile vanished, and a scorn quickly replaced it. He turned, and grabbed hold of the figure's wrist. 

"You'd do well to remember what it is you owe me, Bastard," Marcus said angrily. "The Council overran, as I thought it might. I need a favour from you." 

The figure snatched back its hand, and used it to throw back its hood. From the shadow of the robes, came forth the ridgid, pointed face of a Draconian with a delicate pattern of green and red scales. Yellow eyes, with vertical pupils looked out from that majestic face, and thick saliva gathered around exposed fangs. Draconians looked angry by nature, and so it was sometimes hard for a human to judge their emotions, but it appeared Ragnak of Karren was in an obvious rage. Such was his nature, most of the time.

"More blood?" Ragnak snarled, shaking his head bitterly. "How many old monks, women an children must I slay before you come good on your favour to me!?" 

Marcus drunk his cured water in one solid gulp. And then grimaced. He quickly returned the half silver to his purse, and gave the Gryph a full copper. The Lord Defender's almost regal position saved him from the bar keeper's revenge. 

"Just one more, my King," Marcus said, smiling. "And if you wouldn't mind keeping your voice down, then that would splendid." 

Ragnak grabbed Marcus again, this time by the front of his armour. Marcus did not fight back, only smiled his customary grin. "One more. One more or I'll kill you myself, and flay yo-"

"Yes, yes, you'll flay me alive. Or kill me first, then flay me, which I think is what you were getting at," Marcus interjected, pushing the lizard from him. "I'd like to see you try, my King. Your armies in the north of Karkarth are a long way from the Insula, and last I heard, the Scorched King had you on the run after he smashed your troops at the Battle of Bloodspire Pass. A battle he [i]should[/i] have lost."

"I was outnumbered, you swine," Ragnak spat. His forked tongue slithered throguh his teeth, and his eyes narrowed. "No one could have wo-"

"You had him pinned in a valley. If you'd of held your ground, you would have starved him into a suicidal attack. Karkarth would be yours, but no, you had to play hero didn't you." 

Ragnak's hand fell to a blade hidden in his robes. Marcus didn't flinch. "Interrupt me one more time, human, and see what happens."

Marcus sighed. "Do not forget, my King, who has funded your campaign. Do you think it was easy for me to send that gold into your coffers, without the Order noticing? I've killed a century of men in the last three months, just to keep everything hush-hush. People are talking of a curse, which is fortunate, but sooner or later they'll start pointing fingers. I need you to win, Faran be damned." 

"I will win. As soon as I return, I will win. The Scorched King is a mighty warrior, but he is not a smart king. Every day, he pushes more of his subjects into my hands with his acts of dishonourable slaughter and his bloody-minded tactics," Ragnak spat on the floor; the bar keeper muttered something distasteful. 

"Yes," Marcus agreed, "you will win. Kill the Matron Scribe for me, and fifteen thousand of the world's best infantry will land on your shores, with five thousand of the world's heaviest horse. You will win, because I will make it so."

Ragnak's anger ceased suddenly, and he lent in to Marcus. "You can do that?"

Marcus nodded. "Yes. Kill the Matron Scribe, but be sure it is one of your people to do it, and be sure that he or she does not escape."

Ragnak's anger returned as quickly as it had gone. "You want me to kill one of my own?"

Marcus nodded again. "You're a smart King, Ragnak. My people have to know beyond doubt that the Insula is facing its End Times. In me they will see a hero who can stop the wheel from turning, and once I have achieved control, the Sighing Hand will no longer be fixed to home defence."

Ragnak paused for some time. The other patrons hadn't paid the conversation much heed, and if they had, then they didn't care. The Three Tails Inn was Adjutor Insula's epicentre of organised crime after all, though the trade was a minor one. No doubt someone would have seen the Lord Defender enter, and no doubt he'd have to answer for his reasons for visiting a notorious establishment, but Marcus had an answer for everything. He had always said that in his times of personal trial, he would visit those with less grace than he, and bless them. 

"Very well," Ragnak snorted. "She dies."

"By today," Marcus added.

"Why so soon?" Ragnak asked, curiously.

Marcus glanced through the pipe smoke, and saw a squadron of Heavy Horse arriving outside of the Three Tails. 

"Because from now, until you do your job, I'll be under arrest. No freedom for me, no help for you. Killing her will fix all this, especially if a Draconian is seen doing it."