Awkward Company, ...and a bit of a nap.

[Creejak]

---
Forewarning: I'm slow to respond in casual role-plays.

This is Open

[Creejak]

It was quiet.

Creejak was unsure how long such a state would last, but he was content with it. His world was, after all, not a noisy one, although as of late it had become somewhat stressful. What with Fay’s little bastard being born in his presence, practically on his lap, and news of Kamui being defeated having reached his ears, Creejak was highly unaware of anything wrong in the world at that moment. With such a revelation, the man sat up and laid his hands in his lap, merely contemplating the throws of life in the darkness of his personal room. The barely used little apartment he was staying the night in kept him quite warm, and he made a mental note to spend more time on the Noctis grounds. After all, he had free room and board, so why let the dust settle so thickly. Tomnas seemed to enjoy the comforts of luxury more than those of the scanty taverns their company stayed in so often, and a soft bed was a bit of a treat…

Leaning forward slightly, Creejak began to stroke the giant, unconscious form of his feline companion that rested by his knees, running his boney fingers through the beast’s long fur and smiling gently as the cat heaved a heavy, contented sigh before rumbling purrs escaped through its constricted throat. The poisoner chuckled quietly, comfortable to let something so unlike him to escape when in the private of his own quarters, and watched the massive cat as it continued sleeping, a few lusty snores keeping the mood of rest and contentment.

”Silly old thing,” Creejak murmured, leaning back and keeping a hand on the cat, placing his other arm behind his head and pillowing his skull in the crook of the limb. As he stared at the ceiling, he barely remembered the effects of his blind eye, for it was so dark and the shadows from the moon were cast so perfectly, everything seemed once again normal. For once, he realized, he was at peace.

Absently, he wondered how the new mother was doing before he drifted off.

“You can burry your own grave because when I catch you, boy, nobody will do it for you!”

…pardon?

Now there was a green mist, and the baby wouldn’t stop crying.

Creejak stirred, his body twitching as his eyes flickered beneath their lids, and his head turned upon the pillow. His unconscious mind let him mumble a few incoherent words, barely syllables, as he continued to sleep but slowly became less and less entranced. Eventually, his dark eyes flickered slightly open and stared blearily into nothingness, red around the edges and seeing nothing in the mind’s stupor. As the poisoner closed his mouth and slowly turned over, he began to wonder just where he was that the early dawn would be so dark. He knew not to panic, or to be worried, or bothered in the slightest, but something told him to still be weary. Half asleep and still dreary, it took him quite a few minutes to figure out that he was in his private Noctis quarters.

Slowly sitting up, Creejak groggily scratched at the back of his neck before running the back of his hand over his nose, eyes blinking as they gazed around. His back felt sore, he noted; he was not used to sleeping on a firm, comfortable mattress with a soft pillow to support his head. Somewhat disgruntled at his stiffness, but rather pleased that he had slept so well, he gave Tomnas a gentle pat on the side before lifting his legs from beneath the sheets and setting his feet upon the cold ground. He heaved in a slow albeit deep breath before letting it out, his hand groping around for his shirt while his other one stayed splayed against his chest, covering the ugly scar but making sure his lungs weren’t rattling. Naturally, they were.

After finding his shirt and putting it back on, he went about locating his cloak, which he draped over his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves. His vest and belts were left behind, for he fully intended to return immediately to his room after a quick venture outside. After fishing a few rolls of tobacco grain from his cloak, he began to nibble on the end of one he had deemed the best suited for an early morning taste of dirt, and then reached for his sword.

The damn blade was in need of replacement; the chips, the scars, the scratches that adorned its once fine metal were so irritating to weapon that the Master wondered just why it managed to be as balanced as it was; or rather, wasn’t. It had served its purpose throughout the years, and although it was stained a sickly colour that couldn’t quite be differentiated from red, green, or yellow, the poisoner was quite fond of it still.

Creeping from his rooms was interesting; apart of him knew that he had no reason to skulk within the shadows that he had clung for so long, yet at the same time, he realized that with being the seldom seen Master he was suddenly back in Noctis, there would no doubt be a few who would want to see him, to chatter, to be general pests. Creejak found himself hoping fervently that no students had shown up looking to become artisans of his craft. Quietly, but quickly, he stalked off to where he recalled the old assassin guild leader Valisa so long ago had told him where the kitchens were, and somewhat blindly for his memory was foggy, he made his way to where food would be waiting.

The day passed, slowly but surely, and Creejak found himself back in his rooms reorganizing the poisons on his belt for the hundredth time, and once again, he put them back in the order they had started in. His mind had been wandering, far and rather lucidly, to the reason he had returned to Noctis. The warm bottle of brandy on the desk did nothing to sooth his flittering thoughts, for he couldn’t fathom why he had given up good business to return to a place that had no real need of him. It was true that he had heard whispers of Kamui’s defeat, and a plague taking the necromancer’s place, yet rumours were only rumours in a paranoid land.

Starting as his door opened, Creejak whirled around, a hand flying to where his sword leaned up against the desk, yet it was only Tom, slithering through the doorway with pride, having finally mastered opening doors with but his paws.

No magic! the great cat purred happily. Creejak scowled.

”Nobody needs magic to do anything, Tom.” His room was warded, after all, and Creejak realized his foolishness. He needn’t worry about anybody breaking or sneaking inside his quarters when there were spells making sure only those welcomed inside would be allowed to go in.

As the cat hopped onto the poisoner’s lap and proceeded to lay his furry little chin upon the surface of the desk, the beast’s eyes and nose flickered more hastily than any spitting flames, and very soon, almost as quick as he blinked, the creature had taken everything there in.

Didn’t you just read up on opiates? Tomnas questioned, nudging Creejak’s foreign-word filled notebook. The human sighed and closed the book gently, keeping his hand flat upon the worn out, frayed cover.

I mean, when you took care of Fay, you used-

”Miss Southwind, Tomnas, yes, I gave ‘er a poppy tea, but that was nothin’. A pain reliever. I want a sleeping mixture now. A strong one.”

If I may ask, and I will if I may not anyway, why? You seemed to be fine last night.

A blank stare forward was all the response Creejak could muster for his feline companion. He did not want to admit that he was dreaming; he hadn’t dreamed in years, and if Tomnas, with his mental link to the human, hadn’t noticed than it would simple and better to not say anything at all. Why trifle the cat over such a silly little thing.

Wordlessly, Creejak stood up from his chair and buckled his sword needlessly to his belt, leaving his cloak draped over the back of the chair.

Where you going? Tomnas asked, standing up and tensing as he watched Creejak head for the door.

“For a walk. The hall’s are empty after all; might as well give them company.”

And so, Creejak headed in the direction he felt most suitable for himself, and after a good hour of merely strolling about, he found himself before the great thick doors to the library. He had ventured only a few times before, and although he was curious if it would look like he remembered behind the massive barriers, he was also slightly weary. Libraries meant books; books in languages he couldn’t read or understand. Within the section designated strictly to High leaders and Masters, however, there was a book Creejak wanted Tomnas to translate for him. The book contained a very special mixture for dreamless sleeps that wouldn’t relax the mind into numbness but rather ensure a total amnesic recollection of any dreams that had pulsed within the mind the night previous. Creejak wanted it.

Swallowing, he pushed open a door regardless of his reluctance, peeking inside. There was no one about, which he found slightly curious; the cat had mentioned a few new students had arrived lately, and the poisoner had expected them in the library, hard at work studying so they could make good impressions on their eventual colleagues. Such had been part of Creejak’s reluctance in showing up at the library, but upon seeing it empty he went in slightly more chipper, strolling about with a hand tucked into his vest, his cloak left behind in his room, pipe still perched, smoking lightly, in the corner of his mouth. The shelves towered above him, and he craned his neck occasionally to see to the very top racks, re-familiarizing himself with the large, impressive room.

As he found the restricted section, he paused before going in, wondering just how badly it was guarded. What spells had been implemented, and would they recognize him? Lady Kali had never presented him with a ring, but Mercra had been the one to pass the petty jewellery to him; it was not on his person. With a shrug, he opened the thin doors and stuck his toe forward, expecting at worse a terrible shock for intruding, yet found nothing affronting. Perhaps the spell had been designed to recognize Masters merely by their names, or something else. Regardless of spells, Creejak went into the section and explored for a good half hour, finding books that had very descriptive, twisted pictures within and thumbing through a few that he figured were relevant to him, though he took down from its shelf the modest green book he had originally set out for.

Exiting the rather foreboding Restricted Section, he located a secluded small desk by a window and perched himself upon the edge, not quite sitting nor standing. The book was exactly as he remembered it was; he even recognized a few of the recipes that he had used since Valisa had first read the pages to him so very many years ago. He had scribbled them in his own personal notebook, memorizing them almost immediately at the time and rarely having to go back for a reference so interesting had they been. Now, they were second nature, and the thrill of a new experiment had long since gone.

This will do,” he thought, nodding to himself and preparing to ask the Noctis cooks to feed his cat only their most luxurious and tasty fish and chicken meal for the next few days; it would take a lot to bribe his feline companion to translate some of the more tedious potions, let alone hang around during the testing to make sure corrections were made if necessary.

[Infernum]

Libraries, houses of solitude for some and a prison of incomprehensible gibberish for others; for Infernum it was a place where he felt at home, away from the disapproving glances of the other mages and questioning students that disapproved about his choice in carrier paths. Infernum cared not what they though in their petty little brains, but the stares were getting to him. He was heading to his home away from home at the wee hours of the morning so as other people wouldn’t be here to bug him. It took him about an hour to traverse the compound as he made many stops to admire the stonework of his new home, until at last he arrived.

He pushed upon the heavy wooden doors and saw that they opened easily. *Strange,* Infernum thought, *these doors are normally harder to open. Oh well.*

As the large doors relented to his presence, he walked into the grand library, his ash wood staff clicking upon the stone floor. Infernum wrapped himself in his thoughts to keep him warm from the chill on the morning air. He thought about how to make his ideas more acceptable to the people of Noctis as a whole, but that would be an ordeal in and of it’s self. From what Infernum had heard, the old necromancer named Kamui had tried to kill everyone in the realm with an advanced plague so that he could do something with his necromancy. The high lord Mercra had rallied all of Noctis and even Noresh against him. That kind of attention tends to make people feel less inclined to accept something.

He strode through the hallways made by the large bookshelves filled with all manner of tomes and scrolls from areas far and wide across the realm, some even father than that. This library was the closet thing to a haven for Infernum, the quiet, the cozy closed in feeling that one got while surrounded by a mountain of books, these were the things that calmed the young mage.

He finally located the shelf on which the scroll he had borrowed belonged and placed the crinkled paper back into the case in which it rested. He had learned nothing he hadn’t already known from this particular scroll and hopped to find something a little more helpful in another. He plucked up a dark tan colored paper book from a nearby shelf and began to flip through its dusty and cracked pages to see what it was about. This book turned out to be journal written by someone whose name was smudged out but the content was still there. The book contained the mad ramblings about underground creatures from unseen depths of the earth that had once ruled the world eons ago. An interesting read to be sure. He picked up the book and placed it in his satchel then proceeded to let his mind and body wander.

For a while he let the smell of the dust and aging paper fill him with a sense of ease until he came across a man sitting slightly atop a table all by himself, alone, in the middle of the library at this hour of the morning. Was this person another early bird perhaps, or just a library attendant? Infernum was curious to find out. But he did hope that his aura wouldn’t bother this man like it has done to so many others.

"Good evening my good sir, are you perhaps a student pulling an all nighter or a keeper of the tomes perhaps? I am Infernum of the Red Robe, a new student to the Noctis society and am still not familiar with everyone yet. Mercra says that he will call a Noctis wide meeting to announce me and a couple of others that are new arrivals. But I am trying to meet people on my own. Oh, I also apologies if you feel a chill or despair inside of your body, that comes from my aura. If you don’t judge people on their profession, I will tell you what mine is other wise it would be best if I kept that to myself."

While speaking, Infernum approached the man peering over a green bound book that looked as though it may contain any kind of information. Infernum’s rune studded glove twinkled in the light that came from candles and the bodies in the heavens above as he neared the man. He eyed him with his strange purple eyes with the silver irises glowing in the poor illumination. This man was intriguing, an oddity here among the books of old. Hopefully he would be at least friendly and interesting.

“By the way, what would you be reading if you don’t mind my asking, I do so like reading and the secrets contained in tomes and scrolls from times long passed.”

[Creejak]

The library’s stillness was broken by a wave of life that was arguably less than welcome. The doors opened with a creak, and Creejak glanced up languidly, uninterested in whoever had come into the large double-floored room so long as they returned the favour and remained apathetic to him. Better yet, if the other presence simply didn’t find him, it would be a welcome continuation of Creejak’s habit regarding company; he avoided it. The clicking noise that seemed to accompany the new entity went in all manner of directions, perhaps in exploration or perhaps looking for something extremely specific. Eyes narrowing into slits, the Grandmaster hoped that whoever it was merely returning something, and that he wouldn’t be approached at all, even for a simple bypass.

However the noise, which Creejak figured to be that of a cane or a crook, then paused and the poisoner did not heard it again for a good while. If they had sat down, Creejak made a note to avoid the area he had last heard the footsteps, least the owner be an eager student who, on the off chance, happened to know who he was. The steps picked up again, paused, and Creejak contemplated merely making a mad dash for the exit and back to his room as the steps got closer.

Turn around, turn around… he pleaded, hoping his mere thought for a lack of company would deter whoever it was from approaching.

Alas, it was not to be; sure enough, as was Creejak’s mere mortal luck, fate went against him and tossed an inconvenience his way in the form of a young, brightly cloaked man with peculiarly dyed-looking red hair who was just a touch shorter than himself if he stood at full height. His limited peripheral vision told him the looks of the boy, but his sight was not good enough, nor would it ever be, to judge the kid’s character. He didn’t want to know the lad, though, nor was he interested in anything about the new presence, and so he refused steadfast to look up as the glowing-eyed man approached him regally.

The moment the other opened his mouth to talk, Creejak wanted so desperately to acknowledge him with a great wince; the fellow just started…talking and wouldn’t stop. Did he really think that Creejak, a total stranger of Noctis, would genuinely be interested in the kid’s entire life’s history? Truthfully, Infernum was not as terrible as Creejak perceived him to be; in fact, Creejak was quite good at mentally exaggerating things so as to justify his putrid thoughts about others and further give him reason to hate or ignore them.

Chill? Despair? They were in Noctis, the continental capitol of chilly weather and despairing thoughts. Crossing one leg over his other knee, Creejak continued to let his eyes flitter across the pages opened in the book he held up in front of him, pointedly pretending to be so entranced in the writing that he merely did not know Infernum was there and hoping that the mage would go away if he realized he was unwanted there. However, as the other man mentioned how he was unwilling to give up his profession due to fearing judgment of others, Creejak made a soft grunting noise of amusement as he resisted the very strong temptation to smirk.

The fellow walked closer, and finally delivered the last blow, expressing his keen interest Creejak what it was he was reading and explaining his own infatuation with literary benefits. The Grandmaster began to furiously grind his teeth and wished early that Tomnas had been there to alert him sooner of someone entering the library, as well as encourage him to merely get up in leave. Feeling trapped, and fully frustrated, the poisoner remained staring hard at his book before suddenly slamming it shut with a quick clasp of his hand and, still clutching it, resting the worn-out hard covered in his lap.

He looked up at the intruder, fully scowling at Infernum with his eyes partially closed to convey his boredom with what the other man had just said.

”I’m neither,” he answered honestly to Infernum’s occupational question, his words as quiet as a whisper as he once again, more calmly, opened his book and attempted to remain settled and, in his own mind, superior to the riff raff that came through the library. “Nor do I give a damn what it is you do.” Holding the palm-sized tome before him, he raised an eyebrow and once again tried to appear as though he were reading, however different the page had been than what he had been looking at last.

“They’re not very well kept secrets if they can be read, now, are they, Mister ‘Infernum Of the Red Robe’.” It was neither a question nor an accusation, but a mere observation that indicated how very unimpressed Creejak was with Infernum’s delight for books. Didn’t the boy have a proper last name, either? Grunting to himself, he wondered where class had vanished to within the ranks of Noctis. Perhaps there was still some smattering of it within Noresh, though he wasn’t about to go over and knock on the giant gates to ask.

”Is there any particular reason…” Creejak began, his voice dangerously soft, “…that yeh insist on pesterin’ me…”

[Infernum]

The man he spoke to now was a rather short winded and curt individual, whose words seemed to be meant in a condescending manner. He regarded Infernum as nothing more than an annoyance or rather someone not even worth his notice. An interesting yet rude individual to be sure, but Infernum wasn’t someone to be talked down to or treated as if he was nothing.

"Well, my good "sir"," Infernum said with sarcasm in his voice, "I am "pesterin" you out of nothing more than sheer curiosity. But you with your disregarding gaze and voice are a rather rude person. You look down upon me as though I was not even worth acknowledging."

Infernum gave him a glare of his own, his eyes narrowing. He hated people who talked down on to him with no reason for doing so. This person had an air about him, one of anger and agitation. He was certainly someone who disliked company, but Infernum was somewhat intrigued; he would ask a couple of more questions before leaving.

"Now, if you would be so kind as to answer a couple of questions, I shall leave you and your ego be. Who here would I talk to about having a hilt crafted, not just any hilt though a magic hilt. In addition, who is in charge of poison and potion crafting here in Noctis; I have need of this persons services. I need certain components and equipment that they might possess."

Looking the man over again, Infernum noticed that he had reopened his book to the wrong page and was acting as though he was reading. A most curious thing to do, but he probably had his reasons. He shifted his stance from one of standing straight, to that of relaxation, leaning upon his staff. If this man wasn’t going to show him any respect, then he wouldn’t receive none either.

He gripped his ash wood staff with a firm grasp and pulled out his pipe. The pipe was a wonder to behold, carved from one solid piece of white marble; Infernum stuffed a fine tobacco that anyone could smell before it was even lit, into the end of the pipe. Lighting it with a small magical fire he produced with his hands, he took a long draw off of the pipe and exhaled in satisfaction. He had always loved the taste of a good tobacco. Looking back to the man before him, Infernum had more to say to him before he left.

"In addition, if you have a problem with me, speak you mind. Don’t just stand there and give me an ignored look and speak to me in condescending manners. Nothing you could say would affect me greatly, but if you have issues with me come out and say it."

Infernum spoke with vigor and meaning; he meant what he said, if this man had an issue with him then he should say what it is. Infernum had been ridiculed and harassed, but what he hated most was smug arrogance. If you have a problem then by the Prime Evils you spoke up, Infernum could respect those who openly spoke out against him. He might not agree with them and do everything in his power to prove them wrong, but they had his respect; other wise you were a coward and arrogant in his eyes.

[Creejak]

The boy was new to Noctis. Anybody who had spent any significant amount of time in the dark country would never have been so abrasive to a complete stranger without having damn good evidence suggesting they’d be perfectly safe and not mauled by the possible demon hiding under the guide of a mere human or gnome. What a brazen wee thing, Creejak mused, lifting his brows upon is face and he continued pretending to be engulfed by the texts within his book, to intentional speak ill towards a person and than demand answers usually given in courtesy.

Typical Noctis behaviour, and it amused Creejak just enough that he didn’t smack the young man upside the head right there.

Still, the boy was insolent, and clearly naďve as to the workings of Noctis; especially the ‘whose who’ game that generally seemed of great interest to the little hatchlings that would wander into the fold looking for guts and glory. Suppressing a snort, Creejak remained silent and uninterested as the young man proceeded to light his tobacco and relaxed if only for a moment.

Creejak’s brow furrowed in a deep frown, the expression more concerned than bothered or angry. As he chewed on his own pipe, he contemplated whether or not it was a wise decision to create magic fires in a library that held ancient and prized texts, many of which used by countless hands and would continue to be handled for ages to come. If a spell went even the slightest bit wrong, it could prove disastrous, and a modest match was so much more simple than a possible explosion.

As the red robbed fellow became increasingly agitation, Creejak’s ability to hide his smirk became increasingly foiled, until he was outright sneering at the boy. At last, the staff-wielding righteous one finished his fretful tirade of reprimand, and the poisoner looked up, staring unblinkingly at the other man through his greasy black hair with dead eyes and a twisted expression that resembled pain.

It perhaps looked rather peculiar; he hadn’t been hurt in the slightest, at least not physically, but as he gently removed his pipe from his lips and cradled it within his feathery grip, he opened his mouth and took a very forced wheeze of air into his lungs, and then slouched forward. He could not call the boy a hypocrite, for he had contradicted himself very little and in mere insult. However, the irony was just too great, and Creejak’s look of discomfort came from hiding a laugh.

”Yer not even entertainin’,” he growled quietly, his breath barely above a whisper. As he rose and began to stand, making sure he was quite close to Infernum so that the shorter man would be forced to look up to Creejak and feel his faint breath beating down on his face. “Yer words…reflect only yer ignorance, boy,” his voice slithered out from behind his crooked smirk, and then came only from half of his mouth as he replaced his pipe back between his teeth, biting down and tilting his head in an almost curious manner.

”I’m one o’ those who yeh seek, boy.” He did not care however Infernum would react; he wasn’t interesting in gaining the man’s respect, or his apprenticing, or anything from him at all. He did however wish to gain one thing from the necromancer.

”Which is more important ter yeh? Findin’ a blacksmith or the Grandmaster, hm?” He gestured up with his chin, his brows raising in what was rather an accusation more than a question. He crossed his arms over his chest, cocking one so that he was able to lay his fingers contemplatively upon his chin in expectation.

[Infernum]

The man's face shifted as Infernum spoke, from his none caring features to that of what appeared to be a grotesque form of amusement. After Infernum had finished the man spoke, although his words were strange and still a bit condescending.

He said that Infernum's words weren’t even entertaining as he walked over to him; standing rather close so that he might use his height to make him look up at him in some domineering way. He claimed that Infernum's words only showed his ignorance. A most interesting statement to be sure, but at least he was voicing his own opinion on Infernum. He could respect this.

His next statement was a bit odd though, throwing Infernum off a bit. He claimed to be one of the two men he was looking for, although he didn’t say which one. Instead he gave him a most intriguing question, which was more important to him in finding, a blacksmith or the Grandmaster. This one question told Infernum more than he needed to put two and two together. He had not known that there was a grandmaster of poison making, and one would not insinuate this if they weren’t that person; unless they wanted swift repercussion and death.

Infernum's face drew into a thoughtful one as he contemplated the possibilities of what had just happened, thinking about the mistake of insulting a Grandmaster and was fairly why he hadn’t been struck at this point if he wasn’t a grandmaster. He decided that this man did look the part of a grandmaster and judging by his appearance he was definitely not the blacksmith.

"You’re words are intriguing sir, and they have told me more than you might imagine. To answer your question first, I find it more important to me to find you grandmaster."

Infernum took a step back and half bowed, keeping his eyes on the man as to show respect, but also to make sure he didn’t knife him while he bowed.

"I apologize for my harshness of my words, but I do not apologize for the words themselves. Had I known you were of a station commanding such respect I would have phrased them differently and used a different tone honored grandmaster."

Infernum relaxed a bit, knowing if this man wanted he could gut him before he got a spell off. If the man was going to kill him there was nothing he could do so he just relaxed and took a neutral stance so that he may speak his business and then leave the obviously busy grandmaster to his devices.

"Now that I have found you I have a request to make. I have certain needs that I cannot accommodate on my own. I need special herbs and roots and other plants that I know not where to locate them. I also require bodies and only certain poisons kill with out destroying or damaging the body beyond use. I would ask to purchase these special herbs from you as you are the poison master and as such have access to these items. In addition, from your stance, build and general demeanor, I believe that you are also quite adept at killing; I am in need of the services of an assassin. I can pay well for the bodies and will compensate for any poisons used in the process if you are interested. If you are not, I merely wish that you provide these components so that I may function in Noctis better."

Infernum looked into the man's eyes, as a show of seriousness and respect. Infernum, while knowing that he might be turned down or even attacked for his insolence, decided to speak his mind anyway and place the offer on the table. He then waited, taking a draw off of his own pipe, for the man to respond.

[Creejak]

Creejak raised an eyebrow at the necromancers display; the lad was frivolous, and unnecessarily so. He assumed too much. By using a synonym to merely cut out some words from how Infernum spoke them, he had somehow ‘betrayed’ his Grandmaster’s position. A lucky guess, but there had been no skill in deducing such. Even if the kid hadn’t know there was a potion’s grandmaster, or a poisons grandmaster, he should have at least acknowledged that a mere rephrasing of his own words was that and only that; a mere rephrasing. Who wouldn’t have done such? Only someone ignorant of Noctis ways, he had no doubt about it.

“Find it more important to yeh ter find me a Grandmaster? Unlikely, boy,” Creejak spat, quirking a brow and smirking as he did so in a very cocky manner.

Still, the red robbed man went on, and Creejak let him have his words, even benefiting him his luck-driven assumption. He wanted an explanation, a reason why Infernum insisted that the poisoner specifically was a Grandmaster. Had he betrayed something else, a lilt in his speech, a stray thought picked up by a psychic reading perhaps? Impossible. Whatever it had been, the other man had merely gotten lucky with his assumption, though Creejak wasn’t prepared to let onto the affirmation just then. There were other things to be bothered by.

The younger fellow never once took his eyes off his own. Creejak did not like the staring contest. It was aggressive, conflict inducing; like two dogs with raised tails, and Creejak was clearly the older, perhaps more brittle and less loose of the two knaves. Whether or not the other man was conscious of his posture and stance, the poisoner didn’t know nor did he care. To insult someone and then to pose oneself as such betrayed either a bold personality, or a very incautious one; neither was savoury to the poisoner. Who the brat kidding? Not sorry for his insults, but he’d have said it differently if he had known? So what, he’d have still insulted him, but in a gleeful, happy go lucky manner? Most honoured Grandmaster? Contradiction after contradiction allowed Creejak a very good chance to deepen his scowl, unimpressed with what he was hearing and seeing.

The worst, he realized with an ounce of dread and fatigue, had yet to come. The necromancer then, directly after berating him in an attempt to chew him out and then sucking up like some spoiled school child, then asked for his favour, and favours, and at the same time betraying a fatal weakness. Without Creejak’s assistance, the first part of the boy’s request would not be able, or at least easy, to carry out. With a word from the Grandmaster, no shop in all of Noctis would sell to the younger man either, and such a fact forced Creejak’s lips up into a lopsided grin that flashed tobacco stained teeth as a very sinister glint kept into his eye that matched Infernum’s stare with his own unblinking look.

”Yeh want a lot from me, boy, considering yer whole request is based upon an assumption.” He leaned back before “If I were a Grand Master, I’d likely slit yer throat fer yer insolence. Or perhaps not.” An earnest shrug. “No doubt, I’d be too busy ter bother with yeh.”

As he spoke, he tucked his book under his arm, snugly fitting it right under where his shoulder connected with his torso. As he did so, he took a step and turned to the side so his other shoulder was facing Infernum as he rummaged around in his clothes and produced more fuel and flint for his pipe. Loading it, he crushed and tapped the plant down into the head of his pipe and quickly struck a match against his cheek, shaking it out and lighting up the plant, sucking in and puffing out in quick intervolves to keep the embers low but still glowing. Satisfied, he pocketed the used match back with its alive brethren and looked back to Infernum, his expression hazy and despondent.

”Yeh judge on how someone looks. Curious, considering this is Noctis and nothing is really quite what it ever seems ter be. Yeh think I’m a killer, eh? Well, ye’d be right about that.” A subtle, one-armed shrug as he suddenly cocked his head in a bird-like fashion to favour his good eye.

”No. I won’t get yeh yer plants. I wont get yeh yer bodies, and I most certainly don’t believe a student can afford a Grandmaster’s services.” A soft chuckle. “Nor do I give a damn how poorly yeh ‘function in Noctis’. If there’s nothing else, boy, I have ter go feed my cat. The morning is upon us’ns.”

He brushed past the necromancer, making sure to pass incredibly close so that knocking shoulders seemed almost inevitable and yet not actually make contact. He glanced back over his shoulder for a moment as he slowed without stopping, and barked back, “Why don’t yeh get Lord Stendarr’s help, boy. I’m sure he knows plenty o’ folk touched in the head enough ter enjoy killin’ fer yeh merely for the pleasure o’ the slaughter.”