Something was bothering Isilmo. It was not the new crowd, it was not the presence of the mob he exchanged words with, and it was not a simple thing like finding an imp. It was a feeling of power, a power that was clearly inhumane. There was something great around, perhaps something evil that clearly had an influence on its surroundings. Undoubtedly something from outside this plane he thought. Curious though cautious of this realization, he fell out of focus with the talking between the female party and intentionally started to poke around. He thought more about it, and recalled that the feeling had surfaced just recently, perhaps whatever is responsible had only now become active. What a fascinating level of magic, his conclusion was that there was a demon (or demons) nearby. Has this tavern fell under attack, or is there an imminent one? Are there possible shifters among us? No signs of alarm....this did not really make him fell any better though. All of a sudden, insecurity gripped him, and he frantically looked around. A civil structure that was well lit and crowded with commoners was not a place he wanted to be right now, and he made a snap decision that finding an imp would have to be postponed for now.

Approaching the three others, Isilmo started off with, ''Sorceror, a moment of your time, and speak quickly.'' ''Do not you feel weird, are not you experiencing something dark?'' Louder, he continued with, ''This building is being watched, and I am leaving. My apologies, I do not think I can continue with the search of your little friend right now....'' ''Ladies,'' he spoke while nodding his head and slightly bowing, ''I suggest everyone disperses immediately, this may very well concern your own saftey.'' Turning around quickly and pulling out his hood, Isilmo left the building in a hurry.

GM Action:
A dark figure watches in glee as his servant returns, bearing the prisoner he had been sent to retrieve. As the black robed figure deposited the bag of holding into one of many chests that lined the chamber wall, the dark overlord gave him his newest instructions: "I want you to follow those four adventurers you told me of, for I know at least one of them will attempt to retrieve what our movement has taken from her. However, you should fear the one in black, for he was never supposed to be involved in our plot and might hinder our rise to power..."

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Grabbing Iraeluariia by the elbow, Shea quickly guided the Drow towards the exit, while Everny covered the retreat from the guild. Once outside Shea announced, "Follow me, for I know that we will be safe in my town home." However, she motioned to Everny that they should follow her actions, and not her spoken words. Gathering the others together Everny and Shea led them into one of the disadvantaged sections of the city, finally ending outside of a worn looking townhouse. However, once the companions had entered, the building reviled its true nature, for this house was one of the Thief Guild's bolt holes. "We'll be safe here, but I believe it would be a good idea if we locate our enemies as soon as possible. Why am I so sure the demon's, if our magic friend's identification is to be trusted, mean us harm? Well I received word from another of our order that my vacation home was attacked soon after we departed the guild..."

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People, towns, cities, and civilizations all have one thing in common: they are built up on action. Actions like subjugating, fighting, defending, submitting, and extinction. With every action that takes place however, an accompanying reaction is slow to follow. Isilmo knew this; he had spent plenty of time in his life delving over anthropogenic sociology and structure. He had learned to predict actions and reaction, he had learned to make informative decisions, and much to his favour he had learned not to take risks. These three thoughts encompassed his mind just moments ago and his ultimate decision was to disappear, so he stuck to the alleys and darkness until he eventually descended. The repeated things on his mind though need to be addressed so he reached his study in his secluded sewers and brought out the two: why had he left and what was the fate of the guild?

Although he felt a little nagging in that he should have shown a little more responsibility to those that were in the tavern, he dismissed it. He was justified; he did not know any of them. He did not share spellbooks, incantations, and meals with anyone there. He was a guest, a lonely one that was invited yet allowed to leave whenever. An awkward presence had spooked him within a turn of a head, and he made a snap decision over safety. Isilmo of course would not allow the thought of cowardice to enter his mind. It matters not he concluded, he left a building full of armed people behind with one being undoubtedly proficient in the magical arts. He was not needed there.

Pulling himself back to reality and focusing more on what to do rather than what he should have done, Isilmo decided on catching up on some reading. Locating and brushing the dust off of a yellowing text, he sat and started to leaf through. If there was something to enjoy within this world, it was the books he thought.

DM Action:
Slipping between the borders of light and shadow a dark figure approaches the home of his intended victim. It knows no fear, nor does it feel remorse. This creature has been bred to be a perfect killer, willing to become yet another martyr in the service of its demonic overlord. If one were to peer under the cloak the viewer would see only a skeletal, androgynous, figure clad in little more than a ragged loincloth. However, this does not mean the assassin is any less dangerous than a member of the Thorn and Talon, for the messenger has been gifted power by a lord of the nine hells. In this case the messenger is tracking a mage, and it intends to end Isilmo's life if the chance arises. If one were to glance out of Isilmo's window, one might see the shadowy presence, but only a quick and unexpected strike would end the killer's life.

OOC: I'm only trying to jump-start the main campaign, so don't think that I want to kill off your char...

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Tria’s eyes never wavered from his face, despite the distractions of his toying with the daggers or the flickering flames of the fireplace. “That others would want me dead, I have no doubts. I will not ‘hunt within the ranks,’ as you say, but neither will I stay my hand should others come hunting me. As to my worthiness of your attention, that is for you alone to decide, Turamin.”

She took a pair of simple daggers – certainly not Ilmabyrn and Shrityrr – from her sleeves and began juggling them in imitation of his manner, allowing each to flash through the air for a moment before coming back to her hand. “If it is a game you wish to play, perhaps you should summon another. If there are issues that need must be cared for, perhaps I am precisely where I should be. Amin naa moolle e’ iluve.”


---

Turamin - my master
Amin naa moole e' iluve - I am your servant in all things.


OOC:
Sorry about the elapsed time, I'll try to post more regularly...

"They will not hunt you, little snail, not with permission, at least.” He eyed her dancing daggers for a moment, before smiling and looking at his second in command, who didn’t seem to notice that and kept writing.

“Who is to say who is to decide, little snail? Perhaps you do, perhaps I, perhaps no one... but, seeing as how you are but a small butterfly taking its first steps into the web of the spider, that is not for you to worry about.”

Looking back at her, his smile changed into a somewhat demeaning one, and his kind of amusement seemed to have changed.

“You call me master, yet you assume you know my ways and my intentions... you thought so once before, little snail, and you were proven wrong. Tell me, then, what is it the game that I am playing?”

His dagger landed on the table with a soft thud, and stood firmly in the wood, without him looking at it even once. His entire body was once more relaxed, and at piece, but his expression was not, although it certainly didn’t look serious either, then again... it never did.

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Finishing what he needed to do, he shelved his book and blew out his paraffin candles. He decided on going out for a gander, so he geared up. Preparing himself and locking the main entrance, Isilmo left the building. He decided he would go somewhere to eat, perhaps something fancy. Once again, Isilmo took to the dim alleys.

GM Action:
As Isilmo travels down the roadway, a black cloaked figure "accidentally" bumps into the mage's back, knocking him to the ground. However, it is not the assassin, for the figure thrusts out a slim elven hand at Isilmo and apologetically announces, "Sorry about that friend, I should have looked before exiting the guild. Now, would you consent to let me buy you a supper as compensation? If not, I'll find some other way to make up for my abominable conduct." As this one-sided conversation was going on, the other cloaked figure retreated into the shadows that filled Narbondel's many alleyways, and reformulated its plans...

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Straightening himself out and brushing himself off Isilmo started with, ''One does not accidentally collide with another in a dark and narrow alley. Furthermore, no one regularily travels these corridors, unless they mean to and have them already mapped.'' Maintaining a mean look, Isilmo continued, ''Now tell me, what do you want. Are you a burglar, a horrible killer, a clumsy ruffian, or are you drunk?'' Seeming to be impatient and in a hurry to get nowhere really, Isilmo did not expect much of an answer. ''You know what, eldar, run along now. You can keep that extra dinner for yourself, perhaps you can spend the money in acquiring some new manners.'' Hooding himself and then tipping his hood, he turned and headed into the projection of streetlights. Now, what was that all about he thought....