Wanted! Torturer/Executioner

[PilgrimSoul]

In a dingy corner of Talbot's Tavern as well as in other disreputable establishments in the city adventurers may find a particular poster of interest...

Wanted! Torturer/Executioner

"Hey you! Yes, that's right, you!

~Are you looking for an exciting new career with endless possibilities?~

~Do you secretly enjoy making people suffer?~

~Don't mind getting your hands dirty?~

~Well look no further, because we want you!~

In this role, you will be given the necessary "tools" and freedom to handle the realm's "trouble makers" to your heart's desire.

You will need the "special" skills required to extract vital information from the unwilling detainees as well as discourage further disruptive activities.

Of course, due to the sensitive intelligence that will be handled, absolute discretion is a must.

Admittedly, pay isn't fantastic -but it's guaranteed this role will reward you with its own unique sense of satisfaction.

Just speak with the hooded fellow to your right for more details."

//Please feel free to post any IC responses here

[Defunct Fiddlesticks]

*One of the messages is removed by a white-hooded man in a blue coat, the man passes through the inn without speaking to a soul after seeing it, he would vanish under greater sanctuary somewhere near the north gates whether he is being followed or not*

[PilgrimSoul]

*A nearby hood tilts towards the blue coated man when one of the posters is removed. Once he has left, the figure rises from his stool.

An annoyed mutter was heard as a replacement is pinned up; "Seriously... where do some folk get off?"

[Dobian]

An elegantly dressed red-headed elf reads a similar poster at the Tipsy Imp.

"Really, Ronso, is this a playbill for comedy night at the Imp? A shame your friend interrupted when I had you hogtied, I would have given you a wonderful audition for the job."

With an airy laugh, she heads to the bar and orders an apple cider.

[Deleted]

*A woman approaching forty years old, dressed in a pink hooded robe, steps into Talbot's Inn, carrying a simple wooden staff as a walking stick. She pulls her hood down and runs a hand over her blonde hair with the occasional silver strand to brush some of the rain water out of it. Her deep, soulful eyes are a rich blue, and she has an old scar in the shape of a "D" in the middle of her forehead.

The woman goes to a table and sets her things down. Noticing the poster, she walks closer to it. Her lips move slightly as her intelligent eyes flit across the page, reading. As she goes through it, a look of consternation sets in on her features. She glances at the man sitting near the poster, then turns her eyes back to the poster. She licks her lips lightly a couple times, collecting her thoughts, then turns, smiles to the man, and goes to the bar, straightening out her robe. She orders a steak dinner, a drink, and some cookies for dessert.

Once her tray is loaded up, she heads to the table where the man is sitting. "Salut, domn," she says. Speaking in gentle tones, she sets the tray down in front of the man and says, "My name is Petra, and you looked hungry to me, so I thought I would buy you something to eat and drink. But I also could nu help but notice this sign you have posted up. And, forgive me for being blunt, but I have to ask, what in the world are you thinking?" Her voice retains a kind, warm, genuine tone as she continues. "I mean, you may as well come out and say, 'Salut, everybody. I have some shady things that I want done, things that are against the law and will make us both mult enemies, but I want to do it anyways. So, if you nu have any conscience at all, and you are willing to break the law because I told you to, then you are the person I want working for me, because my job is illegal and makes bun people angry. So nu tell anybody, because then we will get caught, and we nu want that.'"

The woman continues, speaking in gentle, sincere, compassionate tones. "Domn, I nu know you, and you nu know me, but I have to say, just the same, I care for you and what happens to you, just because you are here in front of my eyes. And I have seen this kind of business destroy so many people before you, that I know what lies at the end of this road. I could tell you names. All of them either dead or undone. And it is nu because they were weak or foolish or anything, it's just the nature of this kind of darkness. It ate them, and it will eat you, too, if you let it. So please. Turn around before it is too late." Straightening up, she adds, "May the heavens above bless you." Then, nodding to the dinner she has placed, she says, "And please, enjoy dinner. On me."

[Pedantry INC]

When the newly winged Mirrir Tharasvin enters Talbots to yammer on about the Hunters Challenge to encourage the locals, she takes note of the poster. Her wings atwitch, seemingly throwing her off balance now and then, she smiles in amusement, taping a sharp nail against the posting.

"Some sort of game, hmm? Clever, or silly, I wonder?"

She flashes the hooded man a white toothed smile.

"Good luck, dear."

She sauntering off almost before the last word leaves her lips, uttering an irritated series of mutterings when she catches a wing on the door on her way out.

[Fleur de la chevalerie]

A handsome brown-haired man enters and inquires of the locals what has been transpiring in the town lately, plying them with rounds of the inn's likely-watered down ale. Somehow or other his attention is directed to the recent posting and he goes over to read it, frown lines crinkling his high forehead. "Ilmater's work is never done."

[Hellwalker]

A powerfully built man in unassuming attire, his head shaven, enters the establishment. After speaking with the barkeep for a few moments he turns to leave, but stops as he notes the poster. He remains staring at the poster for a good half hour... now and then he mutters to himself, audible only to those in his immediate vicinity;

"It was just a job."

"They made me do it."

"If I hadn't, someone else would have."

"I gave them mercy."

He eventually leaves without speaking to anyone, only to return the following night, looking even more haggard than before, now clad in a thick, black executioner's hood, the worn edge of a large axe of similar nature protruding from under the mantle. He glances towards the poster upon entry, moves to the bar to buy a drink, then takes a seat in a dimly lit corner of the establishment. And there he sits... for hours, slowly savoring his drink and seemingly waiting or searching for someone.

[PilgrimSoul]

The hooded figure pushes his face up from the table, after having devoted his evening to drinking himself into a drunken stupor after the older woman's lecture.

His eyes squint over at the man with the axe, his wooden stool toppling to the floor in his hurried scramble to stand.

He wobbles over to the other table, ever-so cautious in his wary approach, he slowly seats himself opposite the axed-man, watching with a calm, subtle appraisal.

After a few silent moments, a finger would slowly lift, pointing to the discreet rear exit of the tavern.