The steady downfall of drizzling rain made a steady, lulling sound of pitter-patter upon the wooden cart where Mephisto's body lay. Mephisto's headless body. On either side of the cart, two tall, cloaked forms stood watch over the unmoving form.
That quiet continued as the night wore on, though the heavy clouds above hid the moon's progress across the sky. The darkness of black clouds did well in thickening the darkness, as well as extending it well past the proper time of dawn. It was, in fact, the perfect cover.
Shoes with holes squealched into the mud that had been thickening over the course of days filled with moisture. Spring was coming, everywhere but where the Spires stood. Its corruption continued to spread, little by little, day by day, in spite of the empty husk of a body that stood testament to the ease of Mephisto's demise. 'Too easy,' the heros cried, despite evidence otherwise.
Holey shoes continued their pounding, one lost in the urgency of terror. "Someone help! They've got Miss Khalika pinned up near one of th'big black things!" .. It was a young voice, barely ten. Brown curls flopped soddenly over large brown eyes. She was a short child, pudgy, but barely four and a half feet tall. Clothes were tatters; she surely should have something warmer for the cold nights.
Her breaths were pants as she pounded towards the tavern. The tavern always had heros! They could do something!
As the childs voice echoed its call into the night, the cloaked figures shifted. Eyes fell upon each other. Their R'il was in danger and that came above all other orders, even those to guard the empty carcass. And so like whispers in the dark they fled to aid her. Her protection stood above all else.
Once the pair had disappeared into the foliage, the girl's terrified flight ceased and a silver piece found its way into a hand by way of a grey glove. "Not so fast," the smooth voice spoke. It was male. A tenor, by the sound of it, not that the child would know the difference in such musical qualities.
The girl grinned in promise of another silver piece, hopping from one foot to the other in impatience. She was ignored by the tall form. It wasn't difficult to be taller than she; even most of her peers were good at that. However, this person was easily over six foot tall, and thin. The grey cloak he wore hung off of his bony frame as if he hadn't an ounce of meat on him in the first place.
And oh, the prize. The prize was in the form of Mephisto's body, which was hefted easily over a shoulder that, in all rights, shouldn't possess such strength. The girl was in awe! She'd seen dead bodies, and they were heavy! Oh, but that one was .. missing .. his head.
She turned green and quickly turned from the sight.
A chuckle preceeded the offering of another silver coin. "Do you remember the rest?" she was questioned with that same quiet voice.
"Uh huh," the child promised, not looking back.
"Go on, then."
She was scampering away quickly with his permission. She was two silvers richer, which would help her family greatly in this time of need, but her small mind held its other secret. Telling the truth would not be worth the lives of her family.. immediate and extended.
With the cowl up so, one couldn't see the expression upon the man's features with the darting of the girl. One more, one less, it would hardly matter in the end. The wagon was swept again, and with the sight of the bag hanging upon the back, he had his last piece. Steps carried him across the mud to where the bag hung. Bootprints left were of a far larger size than one would expect from the likely culprit. The bag, along with the body, was snatched, and the cowled man disappeared into the foliage.
