A Hell-Forged Alliance || Xalen

The moon's light illuminated the path, though Xalen's eyes would have managed just fine even if the silver light simply went out. His solidly crimson eyes almost seemed to glow with their own infernal radiance, teasing his supernatural ability to see without the assistance of light. As it stood, he could see much further than what might have been considered natural in this time of night, his eyes piercing the gloom as though the sun were out in all its glory. This blessed vision was how he managed to navigate without the usage of torches and the like, allowing him to enter the village of Aarunia without drawing undue attention. He was not afraid of attracting the notice of others by any means, however a lack of fear did not necessarily translate into a lack of caution. Perhaps it was an unconscious pessimism or simply the force of habit, but Xalen simply preferred to enter villages more stealthily during the night. After all, with his crimson skin, horns, and tail, he was clearly marked as being of a line "tainted" by Banoor.  Perhaps in a better world, that would not have been an aspect of himself to be noticed but unfortunately that better world had yet to be created.  "Tch."  The thought of his goal elicited the simple sound from Xalen's mouth, an expression not of annoyance but of simple recognition.  He knew what his dream was, and he believed himself to be progressing ever so slowly toward it.  

The unfortunate problem was that it was difficult to truly gauge how close one was to being the most deadly individual on the face of the planet, at least until it was too late for such a gauge to matter.  "Heh.  I'm musing again," Xalen said to himself as he walked in the direction of a familiar tavern, "though I won't be for much longer, if Chandra has much to say about it."  If Xalen survived long enough to pen his thoughts onto paper in the form of a book, he would have to include a section that detailed a simple rule for mercenaries to follow: be on friendly terms with all tavern owners.  Taverns were valuable places, where one could get information, contacts, contracts, and much else besides.  In truth, there had only ever been one problem with taverns as far as Xalen was concerned.  As Xalen opened the door to the chosen establishment, the laughter and shouts that had seemed to almost shake the building subsided for a moment.  The only problem with taverns was that they were often filled to the brim with the ignorant masses who feared the "devil-spawn" that tieflings were often mistaken for.  A moment after Xalen walked in, the noises of the tavern returned though there were quite a few people who turned hurried glances in his direction.  The tiefling ignored it all and made straight for the barkeep, one of the newer girls working in Chandra's locale.  Xalen could tell that she was new by the fact that she seemed to flinch away momentarily as he approached and sat down at the bar.  "Ale."  The word was simple and spoken in an almost bored tone, the jingling of coins accompanying it.  The girl recovered herself and habit took over, the coins disappearing and a drink going through the beginning stages of preparation.

 "Hey devil-spawn!"  A simple breath was Xalen's response to the man who had walked behind him from a nearby table.  Looking to where the man had come from, Xalen spotted a pair of buxom wenches and understood immediately what was occurring.  Had he been the sort to give in to obvious emotional displays, he might have groaned loudly at the man's lack of foresight.  "I take it you're talking to me?"  Xalen's question was rhetorical and dripped with condescension that the other man did not notice.  "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you.  My friends don't like the look of you, so I'd suggest you leave."   Gods of magic preserve the world, how many times had Xalen seen or encountered a situation similar to this one?  "Let me guess.  Those two women over there; you're trying to impress them by confronting the "devil-spawn" as you put it."  Finally Xalen turned to face the man bothering him, and noted that the individual was carrying a sword and seemed to have a few daggers on his person.  In contrast, the tiefling was completely unarmed at the moment, which was likely why the man was being as bold as he was.  'Well that and alcohol.'  The thought almost brought about a small smile, though mirth was at the moment being quelled.  "I'll say this once: my name is Xalen Nestor, and I suggest you go back to your table with your wenches and let me drink in peace."  The words were said with tones of contempt, and Xalen began to turn himself back around to face the direction of his incoming alcohol.  His hope was that the man would look around and see the faces of others in the tavern, the mixture of fear, anticipation, and recognition that his name had elicited.  He was hardly famous in a global sense, but his reputation as a hired blade was strongest in Malscure and many knew the surname Nestor to be linked to the darkest of deeds.  If the simple aura of the room failed to pierce the man's skull, then it would likely come to Xalen piercing his skull with something more metallic.

The man lunged towards Xalen, hands outstretched to grab and immobilize so that his teeth might find their mark.  The tiefling did not seem to notice, as he did not move from his seat to rise in self-defense.  If anything, he seemed to become unnaturally still just as his assailant went to grab his arms.  Then in an instant he was gone, as though he had never existed.  There was no bright light or loud sound to announce his disappearance, nor did reality seem to fold in on itself to mark his passage from where he had been.  One moment he was sitting, and in the next moment his seat had been vacated.  The girl who had been bringing his drink stood frozen in place, mug only barely in hand as she nearly gave into her urge to flinch.  It was true that magic was fairly common this close to Rielcia, but it was another thing entirely to see someone casually disappear in such a manner.  The hungry man looked equally stunned and confused for a moment before a crimson hand grabbed the back of his head.  With a greater amount of force than might have been necessary, Xalen slammed the man's face downward onto the bar.  When the man reeled back stunned, the tiefling took the opportunity to slam his fist into the man's gut.  Once the air had been driven out and the man doubled over, Xalen took the opportunity to place his hands on either side of his head.  Holding the man's head in place, he would drive a knee into his assailant's head as though he were trying to shatter it.  There was no art to the tiefling's hand-to-hand fighting style, no great flourishes or fancy maneuvers.  

He was simply keeping his opponent off-balance and stunned, and not allowing him to recover.  Perhaps not the most honorable method of combat, but "honor" had hardly ever bothered him before and it would do no such thing now.  Before the assailant could crumple to the ground, the tiefling would reach out and grab one of his swords.  "Should have let me drink in peace."  The words were aimed at the assailant who now lay prone on his back, still recovering from the vicious assault.  While he spoke, Xalen took a moment to judge the sword in his hands.  It was a simple weapon, a common longsword that could have been forged by any smith or one of their apprentices.  More than likely unnamed and without much fame for itself, much like its owner who now groaned on the floor of the tavern.  "Xalen."  The word came from Chandra, who had been watching the skirmish from afar.  "I know.  No blood."  A part of Xalen's rule of befriending tavern owners was that he often promised them that at no point would he spill blood in their establishments, and up to this day he had never broken that particular oath.  Rather than ram the steel into the man's midsection, he would simply toss the blade to the ground and ram his foot into the man's stomach instead before kneeling down and wrapping a hand about his throat.  "Don't worry, I'm not killing him."  

The words were more for Chandra's benefit than anyone else's, though they would also hopefully keep others from attempting to get involved.  What the tavern's patrons would see would be the tiefling choking the man into unconsciousness before rising back to his feet.  Unbeknownst to them however, Xalen's right hand would be infused with necromantic energies.  Unlike in stories, a necromancer's magic was not always skulls and black bolts of energy.  Sometimes it could be as subtle as an assassin's blade, as he would prove in this moment.  Though much like an assassin's blade, this particular action did have a way of being noticed.  While Xalen's eyes were naturally as crimson as his skin, they had momentarily shifted to a golden coloration during his usage of conjuration to teleport.  Now they had become as black as a moonless night, two glimpses into the void itself.  Rather than choke the man into unconsciousness, he would drain much of his opponent's life force and leave him too weak to move.  As promised, the necromancer would leave the man alive rather than kill him outright, but the man would take days to recover from having so much of himself drained away.  Rising to his feet, Xalen rolled his shoulders for a few moments before walking back to the bar.  On the way back, he picked up the common longsword and when he sat down he leaned the blade down nearby.  The barmaid looked at him with naked fear in her eyes, prompting Chandra to take the mug from her hands and slap it down in front of the tiefling.  "Like I said, no blood."  Chandra nodded once at that and walked off to continue attending to her patrons across the tavern, yelling for someone to collect the unconscious man and get him off of the floor.  Distraction dealt with, Xalen took the mug in a hand and breathed deeply before draining the ale inside and placing the cup back onto the bar with a belch.  Whereas he had walked into the tavern feeling tired from his journey back home, he now felt quite reinvigorated after the feast of life force that he had just partaken in.  "I might need another of these," Xalen said largely to himself with a contemplative expression.  

Just as Xalen was beginning to contemplate whether or not he desired a second mug of ale to compliment the first, a stranger began to approach him.  From the corner of his eye, he had seen this man bump into his assailant but had thought nothing of it.  Had the two perhaps known each other?  In that case, the man would perhaps be approaching for a shot at vengeance.  Though he did not betray it by openly reaching for the common steel that he had stolen from the drunk, Xalen's entire body tensed slightly in preparation for a jump through the aether.  Rather than attack him outright or begin to incant a spell however, the man sat down beside him and set some gold down onto the bar between them.  This prompted the tiefling to relax somewhat, especially when the stranger explained that his cause was a reward for Xalen's actions.  Though suspicion was naturally difficult to release, it was at least comforting that the stranger was not outright attacking him.

 The man, who introduced himself as Ichabod Afof, extended a hand to be shaken which prompted an almost imperceptible narrowing of Xalen's eyes.  It lasted for only a moment however, and a crimson hand reached outward to shake firmly the hand that was offered.  "Xalen Nestor."  Had he imagined it, or had there been a momentary tingling in the back of his mind?  A dark whisper in the wind that was only just beyond his ability to hear?  Perhaps the whispers of Banoor that some tieflings were rumored to be able to hear, their dark blood acting as a conduit of the blood god's thoughts.  Or perhaps Lord Zerebus had momentarily roused from his slumber and he had felt some shard of that patron's consciousness within himself begin to stir?  Or perhaps it was nothing, merely a fleeting feeling.  "Of the illustrious House of Nestor."  The "title" was said in jest, though not with tones of mirth.  Unlike Ichabod, Xalen was not quite smiling though neither was he outright scowling.  He was merely being on his guard at the moment, something that he hoped would not be taken offensively.  When the two men's hands parted, Xalen would reach for his cup and raise it towards Ichabod for a moment.  "Thanks for the drink.  Tis refreshing to note that not everyone in this building thinks that I intend to deflower their virgins and devour the unborn."  There was the slightest of glances in the direction of the barmaid, who was at the moment tending to another patron nearby.  The glance did not last long however, before his attention and crimson eyes were turned back towards Ichabod.  "So, may I inquire as to what brings you to this fine tavern?"  The question was asked without the sardonic tones that had marked the previous statement, and was instead posed with an air of politeness to match his companion's smile.  

The horned man gave a small bemused smile at Ichabod's words.  While it was true that most men would have found the statement disturbing, Xalen had never fallen under the umbrella of "most men."  He passed a glance along Ichabod's body for a moment with an eyebrow jokingly half-raised.  He suspected what the man actually meant, but the ale within him commanded the jest be made.  When Ichabod mentioned his "services," the smile widened into a knowing grin that exposed the tiefling's strangely long canine teeth.  "Ah, I see."  Xalen paused for a moment to take another drink of his alcohol before placing the cup gently back down onto the bar.  He would take a casual glance around the bar, seeing if anyone was close enough to realistically listen in on the conversation.  No, the other patrons seemed to be giving them a wide berth, and the barmaid seemed to be busy elsewhere even if she did peek back at the two of them quite often.  "Fair enough, how can I help?"  Though he had originally been mildly annoyed by the disturbance, Xalen was becoming grateful for his hungry assailant's interruption.  The added life energy would perhaps prove useful for whatever task Ichabod had in mind, which begged the question of what sort of assignment would the man request?  Would he need a bodyguard?  Perhaps he required help retrieving an artifact?  Or maybe he had a rival whom he wanted revenge against?