You've truly found yourself in a moral quandary here. You did all of that bloody work and now the bureaucratic bastard's going to undercut your pay because you spent
extra effort to bring the target in. Oh, hell, you'll show him.
"Oh, I see. To be honest, I'd rather not tarnish these halls with the blood of this criminal scum. Mind if I take him outside to do the deed?"
"Hm, yes. That'd be preferable, I suppose," he responds, glancing up at you briefly before returning to his work.
A voice in your head screams out, telling you to murder the receptionist. You suppress it.
"Ah, well, mind giving me the extra hundred?"
The receptionist sighs. Again. He rummages around under the desk, picking up a smaller bag. He empties its contents and picks through them individually, separating out five coins worth '20 gold'. It's only now you realize how ridiculous this country's system of currency is. Once they're sorted, he slides them over to you. You pick them up and stuff them into your pocket with the rest.
Well, mission success. Almost. You grab hold of Simon's legs and drag him back outside the building. You decide to roll him down the stairs as it'd undoubtedly save much effort. He tumbles helplessly and falls
side-over-side down the stone steps. It just keeps happening. Eventually he reaches the bottom, rolling face-first into a muddy puddle. You're quick to descend and drag him out of it, lest he'd succumb to unconscious drowning, truly the worst kind.
There's an alley across the street, out of sight. You figure you'll do the deed there. With Simon propped up against a wall, you lift his blindfold. Huh, looks like he's conscious again. He's also bleeding from a head wound. Nothing that won't heal with time.
"I'm going to let you go. Hell, I'm not sure why I'm doing this, but I've got my money and that's what's really important."
He nods. You cut the cloth binding his hands behind his back.
"Go and stir up a rebellion. Or something. I don't really care."
With those words spoken, you leave the alley, not looking back. You're 500 gold coins richer! Now about that bastard receptionist... you'd love to end that pathetic man's life. Disembowel and strangle him with his own intestines, perhaps? You smile at the thought! Oh, what pain you'd inflict onto him. Heheh. Heheheh. Your laughter draws a few awkward stares from the pedestrians all around you. Wait, pedestrians? This is the first time you've noticed them. You also note the absence of raindrops falling oh so softly onto your head. It might actually be sunny outside once again. Or maybe it's sunrise? Whichever it is, it doesn't really matter to you, one unable to see light or color.
You shake off the overwhelming urge to kill the receptionist in cold blo--who're you kidding, you can't escape an urge that powerful. You jog up the steps and burst through the door to the Town Hall. The receptionist glances up from his books briefly, slightly bemused.
"You slimy two-faced bastard!" you exclaim, drawing a sword from your sheath. The receptionist fumbles for something underneath the counter. You toss your blade at him, sending the revolving weapon spinning end over end. He ducks under it handily and it batters off the stone wall harmlessly. The desk is too close -- there's not enough room to levitate or spin or rotate anything at all. Your telekinetic abilities will be rather useless for this fight.
You hop the counter, drawing your other blade. The space between the wall and the desk is remarkably cramped. The receptionist seems concerned with something he dropped, almost completely ignoring your advances on him. It's been a while since you've bloodied your own two hands! You charge, sword at the ready, ready to drive it into his flesh and tear him apart, slice him in two! Just as your blade is about to contact his sweet, succulent, unarmored flesh, he makes a sudden movement. He darts under the arc you've swung, evading it effortlessly. In his hand is a small, sharpened stone of some sort. You try to stop it with your mind, push it away, push him away, break his bones, bash and block and bludgeon! You focus your mind and push as hard as you can, but it has no effect! The stone continues uninhibited, plunging into your stomach, slicing upward through to your spleen, your liver! You feel searing pain, burning, a chiselled edge tearing through your skin!
With one last breath, you pull your discarded sword back to you, winding its tether, returning it to its master. It cleaves through the receptionist's right arm on its return flight, he lets go of the stone in pain, it's lodged in your chest, oh... you can't hold on any longer. You collapse backward onto the cold, hard stone floor. The spray of arterial blood from the man's dismembered arm is warm on your face, its warmth in stark contrast to the cold you feel. It was so hot, so burning just moments before, yet now you're as cold as a glacier, a mountaintop, the bloody arctic north. Oh hell, what have you gotten yourself into? Why couldn't you have held back your insatiable murderous urge?
Your eyelids fall shut, your mind wanders. It doesn't hurt anymore...
Invoke Deus Ex Machina?
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Topic: Raleigh Crane: Wandering Blind Telekinetic Female Swordsmage (Read 14666 times)