The muscled brute, known as Goy, vomited profusely upon discovering two corpses within the room. Cassandra, a known prostitue, and her client lay dead. Goy fell back against the wall in horror. He had seen blood before, no doubt, but nothing to this extent. The spiked club fell to the floor, his knees trembled. Cassandra and client were dead and the shades flicked menacing in a chilling breeze signaling the arrival of Winter. Goy noted Cassandra lay like a discarded teddy bear, pillow over her face, multiple stab wounds in the stomach and chest. Her client was sprawled over the bedside, his neck opened to mimic a Pez dispenser. Goy was puzzled at the pine scent that filled the room, overpowering the raunch of blood and released bowels. He figured it was a tactic by Cassandra to "set the mood." Or to hide the stench of her filthy customers. Goy pressed his bulk from the wall and stumbled to the closed shades, tearing them open and lifting himself over the frame to stand on the fire escape. The metal was cold upon his hand as he leaned over the balcony. He peered to the right and the rusted ladder; he knew then, it was murder. Murder by a third-party. See, his first assumption was the two killed each other, but the droplets of blood on the ladder steps secured the later theory. A frigid breeze manifested from the north east and bit into Goy's flesh. Snowflakes shot down from the skies, majestic and beautiful in the pale moonlight above Asylum. The man moved back to the window and climbed inside, distracting himself from the gruesome scene as he moved to pick up his club and close the door. Goy then sprinted to the stairs, down to inform his boss of the discovery. --- John Wetty was probably the wealthiest man in Asylum, due to the fact he acted as both pimp and mayor. He was also corrupt as they come as you might expect. The hour was late and Wetty was in the basement of the pleasure house, which was the cleanest part of the whole joint. Cigar smoke lingered the air around a wooden table. Six individuals sat, playing a rather rigged game of poker,( in which Wetty was always the winner.) The man had influence and power in Asylum and he was feared, very feared. Wetty was a tall, muscular business-type, his hair was short and white as snow, and his eyes were crimson red, a trait inherited from being an albino. He had a thick white mustache and bushy white eyebrows. A tight, black suit and a red tie were today's attire. A fat cigar was clenched in his teeth, smoke rolling from the cherry. [i]"What're you lookin' at Tyus?"[/i] questioned Wetty. Tyus, a minion thug of Wetty, brought his eyes back to his cards. [i]"Nuttin' boss, j-just wanted to see if you were bluffin' that's all, honest!"[/i] Tyus fearfully responsed. Wetty was self-conscious of his albinism, and usually punished those who held their gaze on him for too long. But, he was in a good mood today, as he had just won his seventh re-election, which was undoubtably rigged. The albino chuckled and was about to throw his cards down before heavy footsteps signaled the arrival of Goy, his left hand man. [i]"B-b-boss you gotta come quick!"[/i] Goy shouted, with his eyes to the floor, which was a fine, polished wood. [i]"Can't you see I'm playing a game Goy? What is it? Another fool rough up on another one of my gals?"[/i] [i]"W-w... Well boss.."[/i] [i]"Spill the fucking words!"[/i] shouted Wetty. [i]"Cassandra, she's dead boss, her client too."[/i] Wetty leapt from his seat and slammed a fist on the table, he threw his cards at Tyus and stalked around the table to stand at equal height to Goy. [i]"Koil!"[/i] hollered Wetty, his crimson eyes fixed on Goy. Emerging from the shadows, a beast of a man marched to the side of Wetty. Koil, his right hand man. Every bit of seven feet tall, the heavily muscled, and heavily burdened behemoth towered above all in the room. His head was bald, scars left his lip cleft, revealing a tooth, beneath a massive black beard. His trapezius muscles nearly touched his earlobes, and trickled with dark veins that spread throughout his physique. He wore only a red tank top and black jeans, his boots were leather and had aged well. [i]"No one gets in or out,"[/i] commanded Wetty. [i]"Let's go Koil, you too Goy."[/i] The trio headed to Cassandra's quarters, the rest locked down the pleasure house. --- The jacket was warm, also free. It was a trophy taken from an unfortunate man seeking only for a nights pleasure. A victim of Icarai Buchinsky. The snow fell heavy and the winds were mighty, bending trees to submission. The moonlight was quickly drown out by the snow, an impending blizzard it might seem. Icarai knew he had to find shelter or be buried in an icy tomb. His hands and toes had gone numb long ago, as he departed Asylum in the cover of night, down the road to the settlement of Fairview. His interrogation had led him to this location, and he knew it was accurate. His way of persuasion always acquired the truth. His footfalls came heavier and heavier as the snow began to pile high. His arms wrapped across his torso in feeble defiance of the elements. The warmth was quickly being sapped from his disciplined body, as was his hope of reaching Fairview, until two lights came into view, piercing the blizzard. It couldn't be the settlement, he had only been traveling for a few hours, Fairview was two days at least on foot. As he gained closer, the outline of a building appeared. A sign that read [b]The Elm[/b] swayed in the wind above the door, and it quickly was being covered in snow. This was an inn no doubt.. How perfect. The commotion within was cut short as the door flew open, the wind howled like a witch with cancer in her belly. All patrons turned their attention to the stranger. The hearth crackled solemnly in the brief silence, until the stranger shut the door and dusted snow from his form. Icarai stomped his shoes on the floor and lifted his gaze around, surveying for an empty seat.