Rusalka

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

Yeah I...dunno what to post anymore -______-* So I'll just go with collecting the money for now.

Orean Cause (Moved to a new thread)

<.< *insta-death!* "Well...could be worse. At least I ain't part of someone's personal hentai." Actually, I get the feeling poor Becky's gonna get screwed....and not in the good way ;<<

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

http://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/77499-a-twist-of-contracts/ooc i set this up for the rp so that the contracts can be in another place and not get buried in this thread.

@kalinsovrin

Well, that'll give Alena something to do.

Orean Cause (Moved to a new thread)

Hope ev likes stickers -evilish grin-

@liferusher

-____-* "Please kill me."

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

"Hmph! Well that was quite rude. I expected better of a legend." Alena huffed deciding to leave the scene. Besides, there were contracts to fulfill instead of shooting the breeze with someone...who rather loathed her company, even if that someone be a well-known assassin. Following upon one last tip from the embittered businessman that was Lastraad before he and the assassin had parted ways, Alena continued her swift and hasty stride across the rooftops and the high passages of majestic Karstberg in pursuit of her designated target. According to the angry man and his venomous spouting of utterances towards the dark haired woman with eyes red as blood, the bastard known only as Lucien Balford was a well round drunkard who haunted a tavern in the eastern quarter of the city, a place where Alena might expect to find a lowlife such as Balford. From high atop, she leapt to the city streets below her feet, landing safely and displaying such grace a woman of the hidden blade could exhibit. None could see her beautiful visage though hidden behind the thick scarf that obscured her luscious yet subtle lips and her petite nose and the black hood draped over her head, concealing the rest of her face in infinite shadows, the only feature Alena revealed of her identity were a pair of gleaming red eyes that peered through the darkness unto the other citizens who passed by her without a care or a second glance towards the black clad woman ominously stalking through the crowded streets and back alleys. Despite the reputation of this crime ridden district, the passages of the eastern quarter were rather lax and unguarded, not a single armed guard of the city watch patrolling the area, which only made this task so much easier than the journey from the catacombs to Bartleby's Tavern without catching sight of the nuisances armored in their thick plate and mail, nuisances being they offered no challenge to the woman, so slow and so easy to dispatch. Alena approached the tavern's door, carefully turning the knob and nudging it open with a subtle creak of the old pinewood, immediately being sucker-punched by the raw stench of old ale and that oft musky odor of well...men, nefarious men at that. Her uninvited intrusion frankly fell unnoticed by Bartleby's many intoxicated occupants since it was drowned by their raucous drunk debauchery and cantankerous merrymaking. Most, if not many of these scruffy and bearded burly few, were sea captains and sailors who made their living upon the vast oceans, either sailing forth merchant and trader ships or fishing the high seas for a plentiful bounty to bring to market. The clanking of their iron tankards and their boastful hearty laughter intermingled with many a sea shanty they bellowed jovially. In all honesty, they were quite the vocalists in Alena's opinion, but the woman was not here to applaud the singing of sailors. Balford, he was here somewhere. It would've been sufficient if Lastraad could've given a better mental picture of this malicious ne'er do well, but the only clue he could give Alena of Balford's identity was he was a fat man with bright red hair, and from Alena's point of view, there were alot of men here who fit that particular description, however thanks to his haggard demeanor, Balford outed himself to his death dealer. "Bartelby ye old codger! Another round of Ale for me hearties!" There he was, the obese buffoon hollering to the elderly yet still broad barkeep for more booze for him and his comrades, a select few of burly men, shirtless and obscenely immodest but their chests brandished the scars of many a tussle, not to mention a mat of nodded hairs, and some wondered why Alena preferred the company of women over men. "Right away, Balford ye ole sea dog! Aurelia! Take these fine gents their ale! That table over there!" Bartleby handed the tray of tankards, filled to the brim with intoxicating ale, to a rather scraggly young barmaid, a petite figure with dusty blonde hair in a tousled mess around her shoulders, but a face as fair as an angel. I would be damned to ever frequent such a place if I were her. Alena pondered eyeing the lovely young lady, carefully sauntering across the tavern in all her dark cloak and armor towards her, all the while fetching a small vial of an ominous black substance of sorts from the pommel of her dagger sheathed to her side, next to her sword no less. "Ah...pardon me, mademoiselle." She spoke softly to the barmaid, feigning an accidental bumping into of the woman's tray she carried, but no less a faint smile crossing her lips as she saw the drops of dark liquid dissolve into Balford's beverage, along with his mates' drinks for good measure. "I should be more careful next time. Forgive me." Afterwards, before making her exit, she turned at the door to see Balford gulp down his ale. "URGH!! B-bloody hell!" Immediately his hand grasped his fat neck as he gasped for air and groaned in an infernal storm of agony. Saliva, frothy and red with his own blood, began to seep from the cracked crevices of his mouth, and soon a torrent of red exhumed from his lips and unto the knotty cedar of the table where he sat. His chums soon followed with their own cries of pain and suffering, a commotion it did cause, but before the perpetrator was discovered, she would be long gone from this den of undesirable denizens. Before her departure though, the sly woman jumped at the opportunity to leave a kiss upon the cheek of the barmaiden, "Fare thee well, my lovely." And out the door she was, scaling the high wall next to her and taking to the rooftops again, vanished before the watch soon arrived to investigate this vile account of foul play.

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

"And just where do you believe you're going, miss?" A sultry giggle sounded from the woman's lips towards the flustered blonde storming away. "No gratitude at all for coming to your aid? Why I'm quite offended." With a whisk of her cloak behind her she turned to face Celaena, quite the reputation preceding her, but of Alena's face, nothing could be discerned...except for a pair of lush ruby lips curling into a haughty smirk, those old noble habits it seemed. "Celaena Sardothien I presume? Your name is hard to forget."

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

Maaaaaaaaybeeeee! ^o^

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

Yeah...Alena's pretty much a genderbent fantasy Batman....except she kills XD

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

Ok. Posted finally. There's Alena's grand entrance. Now, I'm gonna go read a manga or something. 10/10 Fucking br00tal! \m/

A Twist Of A Knife, The Birth Of A Legend.

To whom it may concern, It is of the utmost importance that I have called upon your expertise for a rather malicious but justifiable task, given you have a known reputation for making problems disappear. An intolerable, wretched oaf of a man by the name of Lucien Balford has shamed my wife and my household, but has slipped past the justice of the kingdom, however he shall not slip past my swift hand I send to strike him. No matter the cost, I want this urchin dealt with as soon as possible in the most lethal method imaginable by an ill-famed cutthroat. Make sure this swine Balford is never able to lay hands upon anyone's property ever again. Signed, Erick Vaughn Lastraad. The tattered sepia toned parchment had written upon it such fiery language and foul utterances towards the chosen target, and at the bottom where the client had written his name lied the mark that forever sealed Balford's fate, the crimsoned, smeared bloody palm-print to mark the man's untimely demise. Having met with Lastraad beforehand as per-custom within the city's dank and dark catacombs, a secluded and indeed sordid arrangement only illuminated by dim, flickering torchlight, the exchange of coin was made for bloodshed as the return gratitude. Such were the blood-soaked contracts, notes left upon a withering, hollow tree of the old cemetery where the ravens perched, their cantankerous caws echoing the arrival of a client to the forbidden grounds soaked with the hatred and agony of dead men festering. There the notes were plucked from the tree as ripened apples dripping with their beautiful nectar, but that nectar indeed held the bite of a serpent's venom, for these were letters unto an evil that forever sealed a man's fate to the grave. The assassin who handled such dark and grim affairs was Alena. Rolling up the contract, she stuffed it into the crevice of her light and surprisingly flexible armor, emerging from her perch high atop the majestic city of Ardarlan, as beautiful as the day she first laid eyes upon its towering buttresses, it's magnificent and colorful market, its posh and elegant Noble Quarter. This was a city she was indeed in love with, marveling the view with such lustful eyes as though a groom who looked upon his bride on the night they made solemn vow to love each other till death do they part. But the time for sightseeing and awing were naught. Alena had a mission, find Balford within the city, kill him, and bring back the blood rose as proof of her sinister endeavors. I, the wings who guide the Angel of Death, take flight. It was the mantra of all the assassins of the Coven, the very same that brutish man with the scar across his face had taught Alena when she first learned to fly as Matthias called it. More-so it was a swift leap from atop the belfry of the hallowed temple and onto the rooftops she sprinted forth, leaping over to the other roof adjacent to her, then another until it seemed the woman was gliding across thin air. Her hastened stride paused however upon lieu of a commotion catching her ears. Ah, the royal guardsmen, their armor gleaming as snow freshly fallen upon the cold mountains to the north and clattering as though pots and pans of iron stuffed so halfheartedly in a cupboard. Twas a sight and sound that made her crimson eyes glint with ill delight, but who be this? They crowded round a woman, a rather striking lass, hair long and gilded a soft shade of honey and eyes, dazzling sapphires. Many a tale was heard of a legendary cloak and dagger that fit such an alluring description, even as far as Imperial ruled Karstberg. Alena smirked under the guise of her hood and with a leap she crashed through the window with a resounding shatter of stained glass. Her cloak, dark and billowing, it flowed around her slim fitting leather armour, giving a sort of ethereal, haunting presence to the woman and in a flash of her hand, the guards before her fell dead, each with a slender, stiletto blade jutting from their jugulars spewing red.