Legends of Belariath

Joker

Stress Relief

One last look behind him, to Trinka, to Psyn, to Trent with a grimace. "I have to kill somebody." He says quietly, but deadly serious. With that, he headed out the door to the town to find some relief.

Joker trudged down the hill toward the town, heading to the left, entering the city limits of Nanthalion into an alley. For a few minutes he walked the alleys, twisting paths of right angles and trash strewn cans, ajar doors leading into dark homes, and sharp eyes peeking from dark shadows. Filthy, ugly and dangerous. It was home. He fumed as he walked, thinking of Trinka. His anger was not directed at her, but at himself. Why couldn’t he get over himself? Why couldn’t he just accept what she was, that she didn’t love him, that she would be with others, even rat bastard slavers, and that he had to live with it? He tried, he always tried, he even began to like Psyn, but Trent. Oh Trent, he couldn’t stand him. Tying slaves to trees, then acting as if nothing was wrong. Always so nice, but underneath it all was a man who bet a human being in a card game. It was like bile coated in sugar, and Trinka was eating it up. And through it all, he could do nothing about it. He couldn’t change it, he couldn’t accept it, and most of all he could never ask Trinka to deny what made her happy. The worst part was the nagging voice in the back of his head. The one that told him she might love him, she might be with him instead, that she might, if he only tried. It drove him insane. So he did what he had to do to keep his temper in check. He killed people.

A few blocks down the alleys was the door he was looking for. Nondescript, unassuming, just a regular piece of wood over a hole, just like every door in the alley. But this one was different, because of the man behind it. Joker reached into his pocket, a thin piece of metal produced to his hand. Stuck into the lock, it wiggles for a minute, then with a snap the door swung open. Joker looked into the darkness for a moment, then stepped inside. The first thing he did was head up the stairs to the right, then into the room on the right. Inside, sleeping on the bed was a man, snoring loudly. He was rotund, with a baby face and thick fingers, an unassuming gently looking man, the kind you would trust your kids with. "Basso, wake up." Joker said to the sleeping figure who woke with a start.

"God dammit, Joker! Don’t do that!" Basso yelled as Joker settled into an easy chair into the corner. "Im here for the jobs Basso, I need the file." He said into the darkness, reaching into the cushions of the chair, finding a bottle of gin, just as he predicted. He popped the cork and took a swig, waiting for Basso to get to work. Basso himself just nodded, reaching into a nearby nightstand, drawer, finding a dark red leather ledger, brimming with papers. He set it on the bed, lighting a nearby lantern with a coal he always kept lit by his bed. Joker walked to the bed, looking over the ledger. "I need it close, like within walking distance. I want to be home soon." He said as he looked over the papers.

Basso just nodded, looking through the ledger, chubby fingers flittering though papers with practiced ease. He landed on one, pulling it out. "You’ll like this then. Outskirts of town, large building, a local landowner. Somebody, an anonymous this time, want him dead, and is willing to pay five hundred meri for his head." He said quietly. Joker nodded, picking up the paper and looking it over. "Sounds good. Ill take it. After you get the money Basso, take your cut and send the rest by messenger to the guild in Mazzard, okay?" He said as he turned to leave.

"I have maps, an alternate way into the complex if you like." Basso said as Joker turned. "No Basso, tonight Im going through the front door." Joker said without turning to look at Basso, just walking calmly down the stairs. Basso was stunned, gripping the ledger. He knew Joker on front door days, and something was going to get messy tonight, he thought with a grimace. He then put the ledger away, tucking back into bed and blowing out the lantern.

Joker walked back into the alleys, trudging through the trash strewn walkways with his hands in his pockets. He stopped then, taking off his shirt. He then took off his dagger harness, replacing his shirt and buttoning it, then placing the harness over it, daggers on his back displayed for any to see. but none would, not in the dark shadows of the alley, for this was his home indeed, and he was silence itself. he moved down the long paths, turning corners and hopping fences until he stood before a large beautiful manor.

The building was made to fit into the look of the town, but it was larger than most, and stood out among the mass. He walked to the large wooden doors, taking a knocker in his hand and slamming it back down. A loud bang was heard, resonating through the corridors of the manor house. The guards just inside the door awoke with a start. One drew his sword while the other grabbed the handle. He opened the door slowly, looking out to the porch outside. He was a big man, with a big brown moustache and a big chain shirt, a big belt hooked to an equally big sword, now held in a big meaty hand, and he made a big crash as he hit the floor, a big slash across his throat making a big pool of blood on the tile beneath his big form.

The other man, a thing dark skinned man, was quick to his feet, stepping back and drawing his katana. He held it in front of him, a stance, face ready for battle, his robe flowing around him. He looked every inch a master of his sword, vigilant and honorable, ready to face any danger hand to hand. Unfortunately, the threat came from the dark outside, a long thin dagger, still streaked with the blood of his cohort, flying into the room, a glint of crimson splattering onto he floor as it landed square into his skill with a satisfying thunk. He hell to the ground, a look a bewilderment permanently etched into his face as he stared into things that only he could see.

Joker removed his dagger from the man's head, sheathing it behind him as he walked the corridors. He looked about, a nice place, lavishly furnished, with taste and tact, nothing like the militaristic simplicity of Fox or the gaudy decor of Gorin. Joker liked this place, it was fitting of the man he was about to kill, he decided. He stalked through the halls, looking to the left and right. According to the paper, he had two guards, a maid, and a slave. He kept his eyes open for the maid when something struck him. A wall display, two crossbows under a large shield, beautifully engraved with some crest of some kind. He looked at the bows though, a smile coming to his lips. He reached out, grabbing them both and looking them over. they were both large, lever loaded, and still in apparent working order. He looked at the wall display, and to his luck there they were, two bolts crossed in an X. He grabbed them and loaded the crossbows, putting one in each arm as he walked down the hall. He found what he was looking for at the end of the hall. The master bedroom.

Joker picked the lock quickly, deft fingers working the pick inside of it easily and silently. he opened the door, and the scene that greeted him was of no surprise. A large, lavishly decorated room, with a huge bed in the middle. A four poster, silk sheets under thick fur, and under that three figures. The maid and the slave, he thought dryly. He set one crossbow on the floor and took aim with the other one. A pull of the lever, and the bolt was released. It flew through the air with a silent whistle, landing square into the throat of the maid. She squirmed a bit, but then died silently. Apparently the slave had felt it though, sitting up and opening golden catperson eyes. She opened her mouth to scream, but my that time Joker had the other ready loaded crossbow in hand, letting fly with the second. It hit the young catslave in the forehead, the force jerking her back, the bolt pinning her head in place against the headboard, like a doll nailed to a wall.

A loud thud emanated from the headboard as the bolt struck, waking the master up instantly. he sat straight up in his bed, staring wildly. He had dark skin, almost purple like a dark elf, but with great black wings. A torian, Joker thought as he approached the bed silently, letting the man see him walk towards him, both crossbows dropped, nothing but his bare hands now. But the torian was quick, pulling a large scimitar from seemingly nowhere and lunging at Joker with a feral cry. But Joker was faster, stepping to the side and spinning, bringing his elbow into the birdman's back harshly. He fell to the ground with a thud, followed by a harsh boot on his back, holding him there. He grabbed the scimitar from the floor, holding it above the man's head.

"You know why I’m doing this, don’t you?" Joker said to the man, pinned helplessly under him, the sword to the back of his neck digging into his skin. "The De'Metri's?" The torian said in disbelief. Joker no deed into the air with a small smile. "Uh huh, the De'Metri's." With that, he pressed the scimitar down, evenly severing the man's head from his body.

Joker then looked around, the white silk sheets crimson with blood, the floor slickened with it, the catslave’s face pinned to the headboard, eyes still opened in shock and fear. Its not so bad, Joker thought. Im still alive, I can get along with Trinka. I can learn to deal with her choices, I can learn to accept her wishes. Everything will be okay, he thought as he grabbed the head and headed out the door to deliver it to Basso, a grin on his face.

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