He silently moved through the clubhouse, looking at all of the different rooms and the few memories he had of the place. He wasn't leaving much of an impression behind, for he knew that in no time at all none of the other members of the guild would even remember his name. That is how he had wanted it. No painful goodbye should anything happen to him. Of course it could also be due to the fact that he was the only SANE member of the guild. The rest had a few screws loose should you meet them on the wrong occasion. The guild had been Tara's idea, yet he had fought for the name it now held. Yet the pig-tailed cochroach killa got the credit. That right there should have been a hint to just up and leave the band. However the Arena Warlord had played on, daring to hope the guild could become something great.
Instead he had watched it fall into a mockery of what it COULD have been. From Tara bouncing from one crazed event to the other, then the "war" where the house became the target of someone with a fetish for fish, it was one looney incident after another. Yet Sylus knew that among the guild members, though highly ranked as he was... he was in the minority. Tara did not truly care about what the guild did, she had originally wanted it to just spread chaos, and so it had; but not to the level that the Blades could have. No, the vision had been lost in the wake of the S.S Tara. And there had been next to nothing he could have done about it.
Moving through his sparsely furnished room, Sylus slowly packed his belongings. The small room had only one window, which the now twenty-five year old ex-assassin had installed personally. Along the far left wall, was an unadorned dressar drawers, a few boxes with the meager bits of jewelery he had deigned to keep through the years sat atop it. In the middle of the floor there laid an ornately decorated Persian rug with a small stain on the one corner, from where either Jewel had found her way in here and spilled a drink one night, or Sylus had missed a spot upon cleaning up some blood he had spilled while taking care of a hunter's arrow. More than likely it was the former, but the latter was still possible. Beside the bed, Sylus opened the drawer to his simple oak writing desk. From inside he pulled out a pair of throwing knives he kept, should he need a quick weapon and his twin shamshir's were out of reach. Placing the blades into his vest of throwing knives, he reached behind the headboard of the four-poster bed and pulled the bowie knife from it's quick release sheath and placed the weapon in his boot.
With a tired sigh, the former Chief Complainer went about the task of tidying up the room, making sure the bed was made, sheets tucked in under the mattress and all of that stuff. Placing his bags at the foot of the bed, Sy moved over to the side of the dressar and pushed it aside. In a hollow cavity that had been carved into the wall, he pulled out his prized silver bow along with it's magical quiver that gave him an endless supply of black fletched arrows. Pulling one of dark projectiles out, he held it up to the light, the anti-coagulanet glistened along the arrow's head. Sylus had kept this weapon for a very long time, it was the weapon he used in his vampire hunting days. The anti-coagulent was a special mixture a friend of his had come up with. The arrows themselves had silver tips which slowed down the healing rate of any and all bloodsuckers, as well as a few other creatures that lived on blood, though weren't of the undead persuasion. The arrows would slow down the rate of healing, then the concoction would kick in, thinning the blood and increasing the rate of blood loss. Meaning if the unfortunate soul did not get the would taken care of, they would bleed dry from even the smallest wound. Kurgen had often laughed at the idea of someone dying from an injury the size of a paper cut.
Slinging the bow over his shoulder, he tied the quiver to his hip and picked up his bags. Moving through out the clubhouse he left a note on everyone's door, except Tara's saying:
"Tara fired me for speaking my mind, is anyone suprised?"
-S.K.
aka "Sylus the Virus"
P.S. I will miss you all.
Instead he had watched it fall into a mockery of what it COULD have been. From Tara bouncing from one crazed event to the other, then the "war" where the house became the target of someone with a fetish for fish, it was one looney incident after another. Yet Sylus knew that among the guild members, though highly ranked as he was... he was in the minority. Tara did not truly care about what the guild did, she had originally wanted it to just spread chaos, and so it had; but not to the level that the Blades could have. No, the vision had been lost in the wake of the S.S Tara. And there had been next to nothing he could have done about it.
Moving through his sparsely furnished room, Sylus slowly packed his belongings. The small room had only one window, which the now twenty-five year old ex-assassin had installed personally. Along the far left wall, was an unadorned dressar drawers, a few boxes with the meager bits of jewelery he had deigned to keep through the years sat atop it. In the middle of the floor there laid an ornately decorated Persian rug with a small stain on the one corner, from where either Jewel had found her way in here and spilled a drink one night, or Sylus had missed a spot upon cleaning up some blood he had spilled while taking care of a hunter's arrow. More than likely it was the former, but the latter was still possible. Beside the bed, Sylus opened the drawer to his simple oak writing desk. From inside he pulled out a pair of throwing knives he kept, should he need a quick weapon and his twin shamshir's were out of reach. Placing the blades into his vest of throwing knives, he reached behind the headboard of the four-poster bed and pulled the bowie knife from it's quick release sheath and placed the weapon in his boot.
With a tired sigh, the former Chief Complainer went about the task of tidying up the room, making sure the bed was made, sheets tucked in under the mattress and all of that stuff. Placing his bags at the foot of the bed, Sy moved over to the side of the dressar and pushed it aside. In a hollow cavity that had been carved into the wall, he pulled out his prized silver bow along with it's magical quiver that gave him an endless supply of black fletched arrows. Pulling one of dark projectiles out, he held it up to the light, the anti-coagulanet glistened along the arrow's head. Sylus had kept this weapon for a very long time, it was the weapon he used in his vampire hunting days. The anti-coagulent was a special mixture a friend of his had come up with. The arrows themselves had silver tips which slowed down the healing rate of any and all bloodsuckers, as well as a few other creatures that lived on blood, though weren't of the undead persuasion. The arrows would slow down the rate of healing, then the concoction would kick in, thinning the blood and increasing the rate of blood loss. Meaning if the unfortunate soul did not get the would taken care of, they would bleed dry from even the smallest wound. Kurgen had often laughed at the idea of someone dying from an injury the size of a paper cut.
Slinging the bow over his shoulder, he tied the quiver to his hip and picked up his bags. Moving through out the clubhouse he left a note on everyone's door, except Tara's saying:
"Tara fired me for speaking my mind, is anyone suprised?"
-S.K.
aka "Sylus the Virus"
P.S. I will miss you all.