[center][h2]Flay[/h2][/center]

Flay sat coiled like a viper in the corner of the dream-den. Embers of a poorly tended fire cast a dim light on the sunken lounge and its ragged occupants. A beastkin whelp, eyes peeled open and descended into madness murmured through chills, the narcotic smoke of the black mountain orchid at work in his bloodstream. Flay stirred at the sound of an intruder. 

The door was a mound of rags tacked to a wooden frame on a wall of slick, mossy stone. The low ceiling was soot-caked and sagging in the center. Sounds of slaughter and salaciousness crept through the cracks from the brothels and butchers above. The rotting cloth at the door twisted and spat out a darkly dressed man who nearly tumbled down the handful of steps into the lounge. 

Of the dozen wastrels asleep on the floor, none but Flay noticed the intrusion, and the half-beastkin stood, sniffing the air instinctively. He clutched his killing knife as he stood and long, unkempt braids of mottled-black hair fell over his shoulders. Flay stuck out his lower jaw fangs obscenely at the man, who didn't move, but rather stopped in his tracks and removed his hood. 

[i]A boy,[/i] thought Flay, relaxing. Flay sauntered up to the trespasser, giving the shivering whelp a solid kick to the ribs for the hell of it. The stuporous beastkin managed a pathetic moan and rolled over. There came a scattering of whispers from around the room as others began to stir from their narcotic slumber. 

"Piss off," said Flay, wagging his tongue. Up close, Flay could see he was clearly not a resident of the Slain Quarter, let alone Zuag-Si. Clean face. No dirt or scars or weariness on his face. The boys boots were practically new. 

The boy shook his head and started to speak, but Flay growled in anger. 

"I said-"

"I heard you," croaked the boy. 

[i]Pup has a tongue then. We'll have to remedy that-[/i]

Flay grabbed him by the scruff of his cloak, shoving him against the grimey slum wall. He raised his knife slowly, giving his victim ample time to see the blood-stained weapon, the jagged teeth of its bite. 

"Wait!" he managed. "The Mm-m-membrane requests-"

Flay angled his knife slightly upwards, imagined the gore that would spill from the pups throat if he gave but a little tug here. Something primal surged in Flays chest. His beastly heart began pumping fire and eons of weird evolution clouded his higher brain with a simple directive- [i]Kill it.[/i]

[i]But. But-[/i]

 [i]Did he say Membrane?[/i] Flay frowned and tucked his fangs under his upper lip. The Membrane, the fanatics who kissed Lugal's Masters collective arses and effectively kept them in control of the city-or rather from anyone else taking control of it. Flay did not fear anyone in the Zuag-Si, but he was not stupid-the Membrane had power on the streets. The crucified criminals displayed all about the city was proof enough for Flay. 

"Membrane is it?" said Flay, loosening his hold on the boy. 

The messenger blinked and gave a slight nod. Flay dropped his knife to his side in regret. The Membrane-and by extension the Skinless Ones, those sorcerers who nightly cloaked themselves in raw ichor, high in their stone-walled keep, were nothing to be trifled with. If this boy was truly a messenger then Flay would be wise to listen. 

"I'm listening, runt," said Flay. 

The messenger adjusted his cloak and peeled himself off the sticky lichen-covered wall and opened his mouth. 

"You are to disband your...faction for the discernible future and leave the city at once," relief flooded his face the moment his message was delivered. 

Flay smiled wickedly and bared his fangs once more. "Got word of something devilish did they? Well, I'll tell you-ah what's your name runt?" 

"Kwal, but I-" 

"Kwal? What the hell kind of-nevermind-tell your Masters..." Flay trailed off momentarily and looked at the floor. Behind him, his faction stirred. Ragged men and women-nearly a dozen of them rising from the blood and urine soaked sunken lounge, blinking in the pale half light of mid-morning. In a distant hall, something liquid dribbled into a cavernous well. 

"Yes? What?" posed Kwal, leaning in.  

Flay cocked his head to the side. "Tell them-" Flay plunged his knife forward, the man shrieking in surprise more than pain as the knife touched organs, "[b]I refuse[/b]!" 

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