complacency is death.

Xenobia listened to Beckett intently as she spoke, and as words came to quell her inquiry her expression softened into some sort of sick, smug grin of satisfaction. “You’ve been more than amiable during this negotiation - why, I could hand you what you seek on a silver platter and it still wouldn’t measure up to your courtesy.” She drew her hand back and peered at Beckett for a second longer, then drummed one of her grotesque tentacles against the ground like a testy cat might thump his tail. “All right,” she said finally. “I know how *apprehensive* you may be about all this, but rest assured, there’s no need for us to cross sharp words…or shrapnel.” She gestured broadly toward Beckett’s hip and turned on spiraling stalks to squelch sickeningly back toward the doorway. “Come, now,” she said, and then, quickly, “I feel nothing sentimental toward the Lady’s possessions - through the Rift she afforded me power greater than the likes of some garish baubles could ever hope to bear. Out of respect for her I may reclaim whatever it is you’re looking for, in time - that’s not a problem, I’m sure, if whatever you seek really is just a token for information.”

What a wicked smile she wore.

Reluctantly, Beckett moved her hands away from her holsters. She really didn’t like that smile, but she made her decision. Although…by the sounds of it, her contractor could be in trouble. Ah well, as long as she got the information, she couldn’t care less what happens to him.

“Ah…” Beckett responded, leaning away from the eel when it gnarled its teeth towards her. Was it gonna bite her? She certainly hoped not.

“You make it sound like recognition is a bad thing.“ The rocketeer leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. The stone was cold and damp against her back. “Hey, everyone’s different. Your desire to…” she turned her head, gaze drifting over the witch’s tentacles, “change…yourself to an extent to a point where you aren’t yourself anymore puzzles me too. I don’t even want to know how that feels,” she muttered.

The boughs of the trees to the left some fifty meters ahead of the wagon part, then the underbrush far beneath them rustle. The oblivious sort might mistake the disturbance for some kind of woodland creature, but Ramsay’s quick reaction to the movement may very well be fair for the threat his shipment faces.

Xenobia parts the veil of oak and pine and slithers quickly up onto the embankment. Her face is shrouded in a dark cowl, and the cloak draped over her body billows as her tentacles thrash wildly behind her. This outfit of hers is hardly a disguise, and though it’s rather ostentatious in its silken cloths and arcane stitching, it seems to serve its purpose as an equally outrageous witch’s travel regalia.

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“Ede..?” Ramsay only has a moment to speak before there’s a loud clang and the cart starts slipping behind, Ede standing on the back of the horse that was pulling the shipment, but no longer. They held the valuables, eyes narrowed in a way that made it look like they were mocking the thug. “Ede!” He had been double crossed.

With a salute, Ede turns back around and sits on the horse, kicking the sides and disappearing into the distance. The cart is still going and then Ramsay suddenly finds himself face first in the dirt. The cart had stopped. He growls and looks back, eyes growing twice their size at the green, oozing substance flowing down the sides of the road and leaving what seemed like chaos behind. 

Boredom. That’s what Ramsay felt. First starting out, this gig felt fun and energetic and amazing, but now it was just… boring. Always stealing, always delivering, always doing some stupid grunt work when his time could be better spent doing something awesome and cool. 

The big boss didn’t exactly trust Ramsay, not yet at least. The ruffian was a little tough to tell what to do. If he didn’t like how you were doing things, he’d do things his way, which would most often end in violence. He could also, should he be given the right amount of trust, steal from the gang itself and take off- which Ramsay will admit, he hasn’t not thought of doing that before.

Xenobia parts the veil of oak and pine and slithers quickly up onto the embankment. Her face is shrouded in a dark cowl, and the cloak draped over her body billows as her tentacles thrash wildly behind her. This outfit of hers is hardly a disguise, and though it’s rather ostentatious in its silken cloths and arcane stitching, it seems to serve its purpose as an equally outrageous witch’s travel regalia.

Xenobia listened to Beckett intently as she spoke, and as words came to quell her inquiry her expression softened into some sort of sick, smug grin of satisfaction. “You’ve been more than amiable during this negotiation - why, I could hand you what you seek on a silver platter and it still wouldn’t measure up to your courtesy.” She drew her hand back and peered at Beckett for a second longer, then drummed one of her grotesque tentacles against the ground like a testy cat might thump his tail. “All right,” she said finally. “I know how *apprehensive* you may be about all this, but rest assured, there’s no need for us to cross sharp words…or shrapnel.” She gestured broadly toward Beckett’s hip and turned on spiraling stalks to squelch sickeningly back toward the doorway. “Come, now,” she said, and then, quickly, “I feel nothing sentimental toward the Lady’s possessions - through the Rift she afforded me power greater than the likes of some garish baubles could ever hope to bear. Out of respect for her I may reclaim whatever it is you’re looking for, in time - that’s not a problem, I’m sure, if whatever you seek really is just a token for information.”

What a wicked smile she wore.

Reluctantly, Beckett moved her hands away from her holsters. She really didn’t like that smile, but she made her decision. Although…by the sounds of it, her contractor could be in trouble. Ah well, as long as she got the information, she couldn’t care less what happens to him.

Xenobia minded Beckett’s words carefully as she moved, then turned her eyes to survey the room and stopped on a dime. Her spindly arms folded across her chest, and her mouth opened a bit, and for a moment she looked like she was about to let loose some scathing remark. Suddenly, though, she turned on the coiling stalks of shadow that carried her, gaze still trained on the adventurer, and slunk silently toward one of the vanities left ajar.

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The rocketeer kept her eyes on Xenobia as she slithered across the room, closer to her. When she stopped at the dresser, Beckett backed away, observing her actions. As much as she’d love to open fire, she knew that starting a fight wasn’t the best of options right now. She would just have to bear with it for now.

“I’m not in it for the glory. Never was, never will be. Not really in it for the gold either. Not this time, at least. I consider it to be more of a…well, a bonus.” She paused. “I’m only here because of a job.”

Oh. That…actually wasn’t that bad of a price. While she still didn’t trust it, Beckett decided to go along with the witch’s wants. Besides, she didn’t really want Xenobia against her. At least, in the present moment. “I don’t know why you care, but…a tavern-keep in the Reef sent me. Name was Yetu…I think. Anyways, he told me to come here and retrieve this one specific artifact in exchange for some information that I want. Dunno why he cares for it, though. It ain’t my business, so I didn’t ask.”

Xenobia minded Beckett’s words carefully as she moved, then turned her eyes to survey the room and stopped on a dime. Her spindly arms folded across her chest, and her mouth opened a bit, and for a moment she looked like she was about to let loose some scathing remark. Suddenly, though, she turned on the coiling stalks of shadow that carried her, gaze still trained on the adventurer, and slunk silently toward one of the vanities left ajar.

Keep reading

The rocketeer kept her eyes on Xenobia as she slithered across the room, closer to her. When she stopped at the dresser, Beckett backed away, observing her actions. As much as she’d love to open fire, she knew that starting a fight wasn’t the best of options right now. She would just have to bear with it for now.

The witch stopped suddenly some two yards away from Beckett, then turned back to her and crept closer to her again. She unwound the string of pearls from her wrist and plucked it between her wicked nails by a single bead. “A price of the abstract sort,” she repeated, and she slowly extended the jewelry toward the adventurer. “That is my lone, simple demand in exchange for...what are you looking for? Guttersnipes like you seek gold and glory, don’t you?”

There were few jobs that Beckett didn’t like, but having to rummage through an old Devaedric castle in the middle of the night definitely was far from ideal. It wasn’t the architecture that made her uneasy, though. No, it was the thought that someone could be checking up on the place or worse, coming to get the artifact she was paid to retrieve. Her contractor did say that it was pretty important, after all. 

Worst case scenario: someone from House Devaedra shows up, also seeking the artifact, and they recognize her.

Beckett clicked her tongue, having found nothing of interest on one of the desks. As much as she hated being here, the rocketeer figured that she might as well see if there was anything else worth taking home. After all, her contractor is only paying her in information. Useful information, yes, but information nonetheless. 

Dignified, from her perch upon the castle precipice, Xenobia watched the dusty pillars of the fallen castle plunge deep from where they shouldered its great marble roofs. A great darkness blanketed the vine-wrought paths of the shrouded ruins; these grounds were once a place of sanctuary for Devaedra’s best and brightest, idyllic in its own twisted way, but the tides of war flooded the cobbled paths in a thousand shades of red and washed away those with softer grips.

No skin off the shadow witch’s back, of course - people who fall in the face of conflict, she thought, could not even hope to wield the kind of power needed to siphon power from it. She turned her watchful gaze away from the ruins and slithered down the coiling stairwell leading off the narrow rampart.

One might find a telling stain if she knew where to look.

Incidentally, Xenobia was more than familiar with the desecrated fortress. Such is how she knew the winding paths through the upper reaches of the sanctuary, and such is how she wove with so little effort through its winding halls, and with hardly a whisper of a sound. No floorboards creaked, and no tiles split between the lashing of her tendrils; she moved with the same deliberate purpose and care that carried her to glory under the harsh tutelage of her mentor, and only the appearance of the adventurer stirred her from her mission.

There are always complications.

Xenobia heard Beckett long before she saw her, and as she crept along the wall leading to the room the skybraver was rifling through, the fluidity of her movements turned to languor. She peeked around the frame of the door and held a breath, but something within her seemed to shake her free of her reservations. She was a shadow witch, after all - the shadow witch! Nobody could keep her from her prize, surely, least of all the adventurer…right?

With no further reservations, Xenobia slipped through the door and closed in a few feet toward Beckett, her spindly arms outstretched. Her tentacles twisted and slapped against the ground as she moved. Finally, without a breath, she pulled her lips back into a tight sneer and spoke.

“This place was abandoned, and now it isn’t - don’t you act so surprised. A castle left unmanned is a treasure trove for the fearless...and a trap for the foolish.” She reached down into the drawers and began sifting stiffly through its contents, then, in a pleasant tone that betrayed her scathing expression, continued, “You’re looking for something, aren’t you? Both you and I are in pursuit of something, I think, but I can’t quite get a bead on your heart’s desire.”

There were few jobs that Beckett didn’t like, but having to rummage through an old Devaedric castle in the middle of the night definitely was far from ideal. It wasn’t the architecture that made her uneasy, though. No, it was the thought that someone could be checking up on the place or worse, coming to get the artifact she was paid to retrieve. Her contractor did say that it was pretty important, after all. 

Worst case scenario: someone from House Devaedra shows up, also seeking the artifact, and they recognize her.

Beckett clicked her tongue, having found nothing of interest on one of the desks. As much as she hated being here, the rocketeer figured that she might as well see if there was anything else worth taking home. After all, her contractor is only paying her in information. Useful information, yes, but information nonetheless. 

Dignified, from her perch upon the castle precipice, Xenobia watched the dusty pillars of the fallen castle plunge deep from where they shouldered its great marble roofs. A great darkness blanketed the vine-wrought paths of the shrouded ruins; these grounds were once a place of sanctuary for Devaedra’s best and brightest, idyllic in its own twisted way, but the tides of war flooded the cobbled paths in a thousand shades of red and washed away those with softer grips.

No skin off the shadow witch’s back, of course - people who fall in the face of conflict, she thought, could not even hope to wield the kind of power needed to siphon power from it. She turned her watchful gaze away from the ruins and slithered down the coiling stairwell leading off the narrow rampart.

One might find a telling stain if she knew where to look.

Incidentally, Xenobia was more than familiar with the desecrated fortress. Such is how she knew the winding paths through the upper reaches of the sanctuary, and such is how she wove with so little effort through its winding halls, and with hardly a whisper of a sound. No floorboards creaked, and no tiles split between the lashing of her tendrils; she moved with the same deliberate purpose and care that carried her to glory under the harsh tutelage of her mentor, and only the appearance of the adventurer stirred her from her mission.

There are always complications.

Xenobia heard Beckett long before she saw her, and as she crept along the wall leading to the room the skybraver was rifling through, the fluidity of her movements turned to languor. She peeked around the frame of the door and held a breath, but something within her seemed to shake her free of her reservations. She was a shadow witch, after all - the shadow witch! Nobody could keep her from her prize, surely, least of all the adventurer...right?

With no further reservations, Xenobia slipped through the door and closed in a few feet toward Beckett, her spindly arms outstretched. Her tentacles twisted and slapped against the ground as she moved. Finally, without a breath, she pulled her lips back into a tight sneer and spoke.

xenobia: i will snuff out the stars!

me: