Retaliation starts with a capital H

[Malekai]

"Barely enough for a stew..." he thought gazing down upon the unconscious Mylar.

The Hand of Retaliation- the "Fateweaver" was not pleased with the unwarranted and quite frankly cowardly attack upon his tribesman during the Governers meeting. A message had to be sent. Retaliation must be swift and deadly. These Rangers these milque-toasts must be punished!

Fateweavers stomach rumbled with hunger. He licked his sharpened teeth and smacked his lips together. The young elf girl did not know what hit her. It was too easy. "Her meat will make me weak" he thought. His pale lips contorted into wicked smile as an idea crossed his tainted brain. He would go hungry tonight.

He hoisted her over his shoulder and brought her to the tavern. He propped her up against the wall next to the doors. Reaching into a small medicine bag he removed a small vile labeled "parasitic". He emptied the contents out into a nearby water trough around the corner. He placed the empty bottle in Mylar's lap. "She will be sitting here for hours, too afraid to move!" He laughed uncontrollably. Proud of his prank he started home.

"I nearly forgot!" Fateweaver sprinted back to Mylar.

The Hand of Retaliation leaned in close to Mylar, stuck out his rancid tongue and licked her cheek as he reached down and placed a wooden hand carved letter H in her hand.

Fateweaver >H<
Hand of Retalliation
ICQ 108 677 196

 

[Faeryl]

The aching throb in her head was as steady and relentless as a beating drum. Feeling sick and dizzy, Mylar whimpered pitifully as her golden eyes fluttered open.

It was beginning to get dark. Just how long had she been unconscious? Glancing around, she vaguely noted that she was still outside the Shattered Skull. Letting her eyes drift closed a moment, the young elf groaned in pain. As she opened them again, she froze, staring at an empty bottle in her lap. The haze in her mind hadn’t yet cleared, leaving her thoughts muddled as she tried to recall exactly what had happened and where it might have come from. Slowly her attention drifted to an object held in one of her hands, and she frowned at the sight of the wooden letter H.

H... H... The Hand...?

It was the only conclusion she could come up with; that one of them must have snuck into the tavern and jumped her. Though she had tried to put up a fight, she was unprepared and barely had a chance to go for her blade, let alone get a good look at who was attacking. With her mind a little clearer, Mylar looked back to the bottle, finally noticing the small Parasitic Poison label. She swore, struggling to her feet. She stumbled through the streets, ignoring the looks she got from the citizens as she neared the healers and burst through their doors.

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It was roughly an hour later when Mylar finally left the healers. The hour had grown even later, and she was tired, sore and very, very mad. The poison bottle had been nothing more than a prank meant to incite fear, and she had fallen for it. But now... Oh, they would live just long enough to regret it.