Breaking Some Strings, A Short Story

    'Tis not everyday adventurers seek out assassins outside of the adventuring racket; Those who do the dark deed without a moral shield or deadly friends to watch their back. But in a dank bar so far removed from the main roads of Vindelhiem that its only real purpose is to sell alcohol during the shady and illegal proceedings happening within is where Boe found two of the most stereotypical adventures sitting at his table. An ork wearing mostly war paint and animal skins was keeping hold of a gnarly looking axe next to a cleric girl. The girl was pulled right from a quaint mountain village and was well wrapped in a robe that obscured her body type. She had the look of a girl tempted away from a simple life by the 'thrill of adventure.'
    Boe was the exact opposite of what an assassin would look like. Dressed in loose merchant clothes and a wide brimmed hat hiding most of his face as he sat in the chair in a practiced foe relaxed posture that would allow him quick access to throwing knives and pushing the table over. The pair sat silent as they studied one another before the cleric girl spoke.
    "We require your help," she started timidly, looking to her companion before continuing. "We have... A delicate problem."
    "We want you to murder our bard." The orc said in traditional orcish straightforwardness.
    Boe outwardly raised a eyebrow with professional practice, but inwardly he sighed deep enough to make you wonder about his character traits. It seemed the business of bardic killing was in season within his profession, but it was a specific kind of bard.
    "Let me guess: loves the spotlight, big on the sparkles in his magic, becomes hysterical and whiny when he's not the one involved in social interactions?"
    "Are you also a psychic?" the cleric asked, eyes wide with all the confirmation he needed.
    "Just a good guess," Boe said, making a motion for the girl to start the explanation all new contractors give.
    "It started out fine enough," She began. " He was always melodramatic, but in a quirky charming way, for a while at least. But as our party continued adventuring he began getting... a little obnoxious.
    "Annoying," the barbarian butted in, "The more attention we received the more he wanted to be the 'face' of our party, wanting to soak up more and more of the acclaim."
    "Yes, the more charming and unique he tried to be the less we really liked him." the girl said solemnly.
    "So why not just kick him out of the party?" Boe asked.
    "We can't, he handled all the official paperwork, hirelings, and our money its all under his name." the holy woman toyed with the symbol of her patron around her neck. "Our Wizard has tried to get him to split the burden but he refused."
    And there it was, Boe thought as he mulled things over. Simply kicking him out would mean all the wealth and whatever home base they managed to attain would go with him, but they can't kill him themselves because the motives are plain as as a dark elf in daylight.
    "I see, well if I am to kill this bard I'll need to know a few things about him." Boe switched his casual sitting to a more professional upright pose, what better way to show that they were in business.
    His name was Joruush. He was handy with a lire, not very proficient with that fancy short sword strapped to his belt, and his brilliant and flashy clothes blinded everyone within eyesight of him. He had stroke into the largest and flashiest bar within the city of Vindelhiem and threw enough money at the bartender to make instant friends of the half drunken patrons and put on a show for them.
    Easy enough for Boe to find, he had found a nice secluded spot within the bar and played up the drunken merchant he was disguised as, and watched his query. His contractors had told him he used a sizable chunk of party funds to perform this stunt, a habit that followed from their lesser known years and only grew more extraneous as the groups popularity rose.
    Poisoning would have been the easiest thing to do, a two-part poison which would make the patrons of the spiked barrel queasy after their hangovers, but that final drink bought by 'that pretty thing over there' and he'd have been dead within minutes. But Joruush didn't drink, merely pretended to and passed it along to another.
    Another would simply acquire a long bow, a few dexterity and steady aim potions with a eagle eye drought chaser and send a arrow though his brain matter, but the orc had insisted it being a 'horrifying accident.'
    Getting up and stabbing him was out as well, as magic armor and the contractors request made the easy route a murderer's dream. On the subject of magic, that was also off the table thanks to the unspoken code of adventures: 'Investigate how our party member died, and enact brutal vengeance if possible."
    "Sadly my friends!" Joruush's boisterously high pitched voice cut though the crowd, "I must take my leave!" with that he made a plodding and ostentatious walk out the door.
    The assassin followed after into the torch lit streets of the city, the bard being incredibly easy to spot and follow, already attracting pickpockets and street thugs hiding in the shadows. It was then Boe noticed a pair of yellow eyes glinting near an open sewer grate.
    A fun fact about the beings known as ratlings, is that they love gold, they will do anything for gold, and when motivated they can come together in great numbers for great effect.  But they can be quite messy, which makes them terrible assassins in most cases. But when the mangled and brutalized body of the bard was found, Boe got his bonus and the local population of ratlings was culled down ahead of schedule.
    A win-win situation for all, save for Joruush. All his effects and land were seized by his party, followed by a quick burial in the Vindilhiem Cemetary. The tombstone was so bombastic and garish it would be tradition to throw a cloth over it during the somber ritual of putting the dead to rest.
    Boe would often muse over his luck of the ratlings being out that very night and simplifying his job, musing that the very gods themselves disliked the bard so much he gave him an easy pass. Given he wasn't a religious man, he never bothered to ask.

So you Wanna Leave a Cult?

    Well hello there! If you have picked up this pamphlet, opened the cover and started reading this then you are in fact, in a cult! It's alright though, these things happen to people with little self esteem and who are incredibly gullible to people who speak with a degree more authority than they are used to. If you feeling offended, then congratulations! You are on your way from leaving the happy little group of suckers that surround the ego maniacal criminal you call a cult leader!
    Follow along these 7 simple steps and you just might make it out into normal society!
    Step 1: Just.Leave.
    Now  I know what your thinking- "If I could just fucking leave, then I would!" and if that is your case, this is not the step for you. For those who just got their feet wet in strange rituals and sabbaths in a spooky warehouse, you can leave! Most cults starting out will always have one or two who drop the cause and return to normal life. They may attempt to reach out to you, so if you find them getting too frequent, best skip town for a while.
    Step 2: Remember that skipping town bit?
    If just now 'a cult' seems like a bad idea after the sacrificial bloodletting binding you all together, then its time to close your accounts, stuff all your clothes and money in a bag and drive. There are two optional places you can hide if your former cult buddies decide "one of the Chosen Children of Chargathum'dall" is too important for the Grand Plan: A massive city, or a small town. Both have their pros and cons of course. a city will offer the anonymity of millions of other people, though so do they if they come for you. In a small town, you are the newbie in a town where everyone knows everyone, and there is a high chance your new friendly (and nosy) neighbors will happily greet you, while simultaneously trying to pry everything about yourself out of you. The trick is to act the right amount of normal to keep the community placated, while being interesting enough to keep them from just dismissing you as "just another townie."
    The con of a small town is that everyone is just too damn friendly. Once your cult finds you via some dark magical means or the paper trail your incompetent ass left, being friendly to the locals will make it easier for them to spill your location to them. But, I hear small town cops are really bored and with something like this, you'll have their full attention.
    However, if you are too deeply entrenched in the eldritch rituals and ceremonies to actually just up and vanish, proceed to Step 3!
    Step 3: Fake your Death!
    Well this escalated quickly didn't it? Sadly, your inability to "just say no" when you performed that rite naked and skin-soaked in a mixture of goat and pigs blood, and your witness of something inhuman peering between the shadowy gaps of the trees scribbling furiously, means it's time to take hold of your gender specific genitalia and start being drastic! This step might be a tad hard to do as they watch over each other like a bunch of paranoid hawks but it is worth trying out at the very least! Due to some legal reasons this pamphlet cannot spell out how to do that, so if you're rather unimaginative and have no skills in grave robbing, proceed to the next step!
Step 4: Time to be a Mole!
    Like any decent cult, yours is bound to be doing something so shady even shadow things raise their shadowy eyebrows. It's time to put your natural ability of ass kissing to good use! Build up evidence against your Leader and the various members of your Cult, maybe set up a camera during the Ritual of Borsha'gthha so you have that rampant animal abuse on tape (best keep yourself out of the footage though). Collecting evidence might be hard if you have to live in a room with four other dudes while your Great Leader has a girl-filled mansion to himself. But hey, if you all have an hour of "private time" then be sure to stash them where no one would look. Finally, once you have enough footage, be sure your one of the few who go into the neighboring town to get supplies, ditch your fellow cult members and sing like a canary hopped up on crack.
    With any luck, your testimony and the various evidence will be enough to have police and SWAT kicking in plywood doors and dragging cultists out. Unless of course, the police are under the Cult's control... Which leads us to:
    Step 5: Time to Hire Investigators!
    Aaah, the bane of any cult: nosy people! Yes while it seems a little terrible dragging other people into your mess, remind yourself you saw your leader summon a black glowing ooze from a ritual circle and it turned Bob into a horrible bloated monstrosity that shambles around the estate, so you're really running out of options! A normal party of investigators come in groupings of 3 to 8, and have a wide variety of skills and knowledges that could be helpful in ending your cult...Or getting them brutally killed, at the least. Fret not, for there always seems to be a unlimited number of people willing to fill in the sudden vacancies!
    As for actually hiring them, its best to hire by proxy! Find a good friend, trusted loved one, or someone the cult has alienated, and promptly beg them for help. 9/10 Times they will happily shell out money or favors in order to bring the investigators into town. If your Cult leader starts to get antsy and look suspiciously at his herd then you know they are here!
    Step 6: Lay Low!
    Again, this may seem rather hard as the gaggle of semi-competent "heroes" you managed to hire happily plow though all the carefully laid plans your leader had laid in place with a frightening mix of pure luck and incredible bouts of violence toward the heart of the eldritch and sordid affairs you and your buddies have been up to. It is here you may start to notice bouts of madness begin overtaking various cult members, including your leader as the amount of black rituals with each gleeful ruination of one of those dastardly webs that were woven.
    Human sacrifice in order to summon up a big nasty thing from the realm of H. R. Giger's nightmares and spell slinging mad men are not far behind you and your choice of wearing your "brand me with dark maddening runes" robe today. Its best for you to stay as far under the radar as possible, and weave the illusion of actually participating. Make the movements but not say those hard to sound words, stay hunched in the back as your leader asks for "volunteers", and above all else- STAY. AWAY. FROM.THE. INVESTIGATORS.
    They are more likely to get you killed than any abomination of nature your Grand Leader pulls from parts unknown. You're still a "cultist" and in 99% of the time you run into them, you will get shot, stabbed, beaten, or hit with a spell. Find yourself in that happy medium and wait for:
    Step 7: Wait Until Everyone's Dead!
    Yup! The final step is to be the biggest coward in the bunch. For you see, in the end once you introduce investigators into the mix the  "Final Plan" will be pushed months or even years ahead of schedule as time becomes a precious commodity. As the party to end all parties gets started, the investigators come storming in, guns blazing and sealing spells at the ready.
    Before that, be sure to have an exit strategy, know the entrance which they will most likely enter, hope you aren't doing this ritual inside a room with only one door, and make your move when everyone is distracted! That's right! Run like your life depended on it (because it does!) Always be sure to be wearing normal clothes and good running shoes under your robe because you best ditch that place the minute you can.
    Its best to find a place to hide and wait it out if you can, as who knows what nasty buggers are lurking around the perimeter? Just don't stay in the main building as investigators have a habit of setting fire or blowing up buildings with cult related activity in them.
    If you can't do this, I suggest stealing some car keys before hand, or learning how to hot wire for a quick and safe getaway. Just be sure to ditch the car after the sun rises! With any luck all evidence of you being in the cult would be burned up along with the corpses of monsters and your former colleagues, leaving you free as a bird (except for those nightmares and therapy!)
    And there you have it! You managed to survive the worst decision in your life, and once again are free to hopefully not join another cult! For additional aid please grab "So, an Investigator is Trying to Kill You?" Who knows, you might need it!

Stakeout

    Rich winced at the sloppy enchantment the goth band wannabe tried (and failed) to direct over the girl he had been stalking since 11:45PM while she was bar hopping with her friends. This had been his fourth attempt to use magic to lure her away, and every time, the girl's unbending willpower had torn the magic to shreds. Since Rich had been stalking the stalker since 11:00PM, he was getting tired of evidence gathering and the rookie who had been sticking to him like melted chocolate on shag rug all night.

     "So, is he like, a real vampire?" Asked Mitch, the aforementioned tag along. "Are real vampires even, like, real?"

     Rich sighed, tempering his irritation with the bonus this particular job granted on his paycheck, and gave Mitch a side glance. He was nothing to really look at; dangerously thin and short with strait black hair and smart square glasses, the skinny jeans, messenger bag, and black tee (giant white letters screaming NERD across his chest) gave the impression he had googled his fashion sense into being after being a gigantic DnD nerd had been popularized.

     There were a lot of people like him in the Special Circumstances Division, people who though sheer accident or blundering intent gained enough magical power to garner the Magi Groups attention. Very few with the ability to push their gifts passed "It's just this weird thing I can do." Mitch was one of the very few who seemed like he could truly become a mage, hence why the Magi had 'requested' Rich to take him on a low level task, to find a fake vampire that has put three women in the hospital.

     "No, goth-head just thinks he is... Some dick taught him enough Enchantment, Biothurgy, and Transmutation to make him believe that he is. A real vampire doesn't use magic like us living folk." Rich replied, his sentence elongated as his scholarly half took over. " And yes, vampires are real. But their queen has a hard core screening process so there aren't that many running about."

     "Cool," the lore nerd beside him said, soaking up the information like a sponge. It was one of the few things about this mission that made it slightly more tolerable for Rich. "So, whats the plan? Do we have enough evidence to take him down?"

     The seasoned mage snorted. "I suppose so, Mitch. I hope you're ready to play hero because I have a plan."

=OvO=

    Malciour, (real name Malcolm) had finally found someone to feed upon. She had appeared almost magically after he had reached the boiling point with this one woman who stubbornly ignored everything he threw at her. But this one fell into his hold quickly, his power finding purchase in her mind like the ergonomic handle of a knife. He had planned on bringing her back to his place, taking his time before burying his fangs in and draining her of enough life essence to feed himself and his Master. It was getting late, and prey would begin to dwindle the closer it came to sunrise. He thought of the rumor among the ranks of 'Vampire Hunters' attacking those of his brood.

     He knew he would be fine, as he was of the 'first' generation, having grown into a true vampire where others of his generation had failed and sunk into mortal obscurity. He had more power than the underlings of the newer generation; No talent with glamours, and having to use what mundane tricks they had in their previous life to get them by. They were unlike him, dragging his prey down the alleyway, stress from the previous prey melting away as he cornered the giggling fool...

=OvO=

    Mitch was worried, but then again Mitch had always rode the line between just being worried and full blown panic attacks for most of his life. It started with him being worried about how he would be mocked about his messenger bag, seemingly cheap leather etched with odd symbols his aunt has gifted him. But when he found out one pocket was seemingly endless and the other could conjure three items per day (simple things, like food and figurines) he stopped giving a shit about the nonexistent bag jokes made in his expense.

     He was now worried about Rich's plan, as it involved him taking out a crossbow and shooting a man in the heart with it. His attention was caught between listening to the explanation of this plan and Rich summoning a being made of clear melted plastic that quickly morphed into a beautiful stereotypical horror movie-victim woman(A mimic, Rich would later explain to him).

     "Why do I have to do this?" Mitch watched the mimic go bouncing off, getting ready to run into the 'vampire'.

     "Because, it will notice me gathering enough power to hit him, while you can just pull a crossbow out." the mage said, watching as the 'vampire's' simple charm stuck to the equivalent of an animated doll. "Plus his body has been altered, his 'Master' made sure his minions can regenerate and have a cluster of nerves right above their hearts in case he needs to assert his dominance."

     "How the fuck do you know all that?" the young nerd asked.

     "Because we are but one pair of grunts working toward cleaning the dregs of a larger problem." Rich motioned him closer. "Now get ready he's on the move."

     The vampire eagerly led his 'prey away from the busy club and down the streets, traffic and security cameras growing scarce until he turned into a darkened ally. With a nod from his supervisor, Mitch reached into his bag and focused. His hand grabbed hold of something and he pulled it free, a modern carbon crossbow, a bolt already loaded. It was a lot heavier than he imagined, and he began to worry as he had never actually fired one of these outside of the realm of pen and paper.

     He didn't have that much time to really think it over as a shout echoed off the grimy walls. "What the fuck?!" Malciour screeched as his prey melted like cheap ice cream the moment tooth touched skin.

     " Now!" Rich shouted loudly, making the pale, sharp-toothed human to turn about with higher than average speed.

     Mitch steeled himself and aimed as best he could, praying video games had at least helped him get this stance half right, and pulled the trigger. The bolt flew threw the air with a hiss, before lodging itself directly into the artificial vampires knee. He howled in pain and dropped like a sack of bricks, clutching the wound as his still human brain was clouded by shock. Mitch was kept from being shocked himself by Rich's burst of laughter. "Oh my god, you just knocked over fake-ula with a Skyrim meme!"

"I don't know how to fucking aim a crossbow dude!" He shouted back indigently, watching as the still laughing mage produced a wooden dagger and a cellphone from his pocket.

     "YOU SHOT ME!" Screamed Malciour, still not registering what was going down as Rich approached. " WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!"

     "A lot," Was Rich's reply as he stood over the man made monster, and shoved the dagger into the cluster of nerves just above his heart.

     It was rather instant, one moment he was screaming and in the next his whole body was paralyzed, seized up in his current position and unable to move. Rich took a few photos before texting them and their location to their handler. Mitch sat down on the curb, crossbow carelessly tossed to his side.

     "That was...anticlimactic." he said after Rich joined him in sitting.

     "Yup." Was the reply.

     "Is it always like that?" Rich scratched his chin thoughtfully, " When it comes to magic," he began, "mages new to the game think that there is some unwritten code of honor among them, that magic will be the only weapon used to fight one another. Hell even some seasoned mages believe this. But there are those who are wise enough to exploit this. Your opponent is prepared for you to throw magic and monsters at them, not tear gas and stun batons."

     "Yeah, but we used magic to capture him." Said Mitch.

     "We used a little bit of magic yes, but in the end an arrow to the knee and a sharpened wooden prop knife is what got him in the end." Rich replied, chuckling. "If he wasn't a woefully under educated grunt then things would of been more interesting."

Mitch pulled open his bag and produced two cans of soda from a 12 pack he had put in, the inter-dimensional pocket kept things at just the right temperature. he handed one off before opening his.        

    "So, I dunno if I want to work for the Magi's..." he finally said.

     " Understandable," replied Rich, rolling the can in his hands.

     " I would suggest taking up some of their magic courses. Those bags only work if you've got a little bit of magic in you."

     "Why? I have my magic bag what more could I need?" he looked over to the grinning mage.

     "Well, I know an Illusion major who runs some seriously kick ass DnD Games."