assailants used a highly toxic poison on their blades, no doubt,” Milea answered. “One of the blades must have made contact with your arm and poisoned you. Luckily, it didn't cut deep enough to do any severe damage.”
Varg shook his head to clear away the last bit of fog, then said, “Thank you for the potion. What was that exactly was it?”
“A very potent anti-venom. I've studied alchemy over the years, as it comes quite in handy in tight situations like this,” the half-elf answered proudly.
“I can see that,” Varg said. Then he looked around at the bloodbath that was once known as Moonlighter's Manor and added, “For now though, we need to search their bodies for clues.”
“Fair enough,” Milea concurred.
The fallen assassins had little on their bodies aside from their hooded uniforms and a few extra potions—Milea was sure to examine the liquid, but she couldn't name the type of poison it was—but they still found nothing to identify who the assassins were affiliated with. When Milea lifted one of their hoods, however, she was presented with an unpleasant surprise.
“Varg, this one is just a boy,” she muttered.
Varg joined her side and silently examined the boy. He was indeed young, for his features barely began to form the angles of a man's and it appeared that his body barely had any musculature. The young assassin hadn't even grown a hint of a beard yet, and so Varg determined that he was more than likely no older than sixteen. A quick search of the other bodies turned up four more young men who now lay dead along with their adult counterparts.
“We killed these boys,” Milea muttered ruefully.
“Milea, this isn't your fault . . .” Varg assured.
“They were so young. How could boys like this get involved in a gang?” Milea dreaded.
“It's terrible, but it happens, Milea. I'd bet my axe they were homeless and probably orphaned, so they were tempted into the gang just so they'd have a place to go and a meal to eat. It wouldn't be the first time I've seen it,” Varg said. Then he added, “Don't blame yourself for their deaths. You did what you had to do. They knew the risks of walking into battle.”
Milea shook her head, but still said, “You're right . . . hold on a minute.”
Milea stooped down beside one of the dead men and pulled his collar down to reveal a familiar symbol tattooed in red on his neck.
The same haunting snake that slithered around a hand taunted Varg and still gave no clues to whom the symbol represented. Varg quickly rechecked the bodies and found the same symbol on each of them. One of the men had it inked on his arm, another on his back, and the other three had the mark on their shoulders. The half-blood shook his head as he replaced the body on the floor and said, “Usually when I see a group of individuals bearing the same tattoo, I see them forming a gang.”
“You think these thugs are in some kind of gang?” Milea pressed.
“They seem a bit too organized for something small time, but it would seem that they are. We had best watch our backs from here on end,” Varg replied.
“And here I thought we already were,” the half-elf remarked.
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of moaning. Varg and Milea had been so involved in the battle and the aftermath that they forgot all about Horatius. The old man emerged timidly from behind his counter and gasped at the sight of the carnage that was once his tavern.
“Care to offer an explanation?” Milea said to the little man.
Horatius simply looked to the ground without saying a word.
“Horatius, you had better start talking,” Varg ordered. “Who are these men and what are they up to?”
“Varg, I can't,” Horatius muttered.
Varg slammed his fist on the counter much harder than he intended, causing the little man to jump. “You nearly get us killed, then you refuse to tell us anything?”
“I have a family to protect! Those brutes are trouble, Varg. Considering all the other
Varg shook his head to clear away the last bit of fog, then said, “Thank you for the potion. What was that exactly was it?”
“A very potent anti-venom. I've studied alchemy over the years, as it comes quite in handy in tight situations like this,” the half-elf answered proudly.
“I can see that,” Varg said. Then he looked around at the bloodbath that was once known as Moonlighter's Manor and added, “For now though, we need to search their bodies for clues.”
“Fair enough,” Milea concurred.
The fallen assassins had little on their bodies aside from their hooded uniforms and a few extra potions—Milea was sure to examine the liquid, but she couldn't name the type of poison it was—but they still found nothing to identify who the assassins were affiliated with. When Milea lifted one of their hoods, however, she was presented with an unpleasant surprise.
“Varg, this one is just a boy,” she muttered.
Varg joined her side and silently examined the boy. He was indeed young, for his features barely began to form the angles of a man's and it appeared that his body barely had any musculature. The young assassin hadn't even grown a hint of a beard yet, and so Varg determined that he was more than likely no older than sixteen. A quick search of the other bodies turned up four more young men who now lay dead along with their adult counterparts.
“We killed these boys,” Milea muttered ruefully.
“Milea, this isn't your fault . . .” Varg assured.
“They were so young. How could boys like this get involved in a gang?” Milea dreaded.
“It's terrible, but it happens, Milea. I'd bet my axe they were homeless and probably orphaned, so they were tempted into the gang just so they'd have a place to go and a meal to eat. It wouldn't be the first time I've seen it,” Varg said. Then he added, “Don't blame yourself for their deaths. You did what you had to do. They knew the risks of walking into battle.”
Milea shook her head, but still said, “You're right . . . hold on a minute.”
Milea stooped down beside one of the dead men and pulled his collar down to reveal a familiar symbol tattooed in red on his neck.
The same haunting snake that slithered around a hand taunted Varg and still gave no clues to whom the symbol represented. Varg quickly rechecked the bodies and found the same symbol on each of them. One of the men had it inked on his arm, another on his back, and the other three had the mark on their shoulders. The half-blood shook his head as he replaced the body on the floor and said, “Usually when I see a group of individuals bearing the same tattoo, I see them forming a gang.”
“You think these thugs are in some kind of gang?” Milea pressed.
“They seem a bit too organized for something small time, but it would seem that they are. We had best watch our backs from here on end,” Varg replied.
“And here I thought we already were,” the half-elf remarked.
The conversation was interrupted by the sound of moaning. Varg and Milea had been so involved in the battle and the aftermath that they forgot all about Horatius. The old man emerged timidly from behind his counter and gasped at the sight of the carnage that was once his tavern.
“Care to offer an explanation?” Milea said to the little man.
Horatius simply looked to the ground without saying a word.
“Horatius, you had better start talking,” Varg ordered. “Who are these men and what are they up to?”
“Varg, I can't,” Horatius muttered.
Varg slammed his fist on the counter much harder than he intended, causing the little man to jump. “You nearly get us killed, then you refuse to tell us anything?”
“I have a family to protect! Those brutes are trouble, Varg. Considering all the other
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