You're awoken by the sound of the ship pulling into dock. The clanking of chains meets a loud, heavy foghorn of some type off in the distance.
You stir, and unexpectedly, one of the guards--a great four-armed ogre--beckons you, and some others, from your bed, or whatever passes for it.
"Come, you lot. Your release has been paid by a patron, they await you on shore." He insists with a grunt, gently prodding you with the handle of his halberd as you rise.
You're lead off the boat that has been your life for some hellish months, and into a small accounting house. The bronze spider-headed automaton plinking away at a typewriter looks you up and down, seeming thoroughly unimpressed.
"Name?" It inquires.
Comments
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"Next!" It hollers.
"Move along. You and he are together" It gestures to N.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"Already here, Shamon." A deep, gurgling rumble of a voice speaks out, cutting through the noise of the dock, and the more distant clatter of the city ahead.
"Your employer, gentlemen." It gurgles. "I am Molace Greevil. CEO of Greevil Acquisitions. I've paid your bail and had your sentences indefinitely suspended. In return, you'll work for me." A puff of thick cigar smoke bellows out from the shadow. The figure's eyes are visible, and they burn a sickly yellow, like twin tiny nuclear reactors.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"I was told I'd be receiving a small group of very special convicts. "Two" is not what I had in mind when I heard small, but, quality over quantity, as they say."
Greevil takes another puff of his cigar, and fiddles with his tentacle-beard.
((All players may choose to make an Intelligence check.))
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"We should depart. Shamon! Bring the car around front." The dwarf scampers off without a word.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"You may consider this job a test, of sorts."
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
"Mr. Greevil wants you on the corner within the hour. We have a general idea as to Walhir's current location. When you're ready, meet me back downstairs. I'll be driving you, of course." The dwarf hurries off.
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead
After donning her slightly less conspicuous garb, she scouts the room for books or perhaps a computer
Assassin poems, Poems that shoot
guns. Poems that wrestle cops into alleys
and take their weapons leaving them dead