It was the beginning of the end. There was a reason why she tried to avoid Vilpamolan, aside from the obvious. It wasn't just the risk of being robbed, harassed, or assaulted. She had done everything right–keeping her head down, blending in with the crowd, living as a simple person should. But fate was cruel. It was after she had finished a job, and she was making her way out of the port city as fast as she could. Going around the bend of a blind turn, in the next few moments she was hit over the head and her hands cuffed. The last thing she remembered was the blur of her vision and the color of black leather boots against the street. She woke up somewhere dark and cramped, unable to stand. As far as she could tell, she was alone. She tried to speak, but her mouth felt as if it were as dry as cotton, and her tongue was heavy like lead. They must have given her a sedative while she was unconscious.

Hours passed in silence. Then, a crack of light made her squint as a group of hooded figures entered the chamber. It was then that she saw she was in a holding cell, with both hands and feet tied. Her knapsack was gone. Whether it was pawned off or still sat in one of the other rooms in this place she didn't know. Her entire body was sluggish, and they approached with full-face concealing masks. "Is this the one?" A tall figure spoke with the sound of their voice being distorted through the mask. "Yes, height and build both meet the specifications. The mistress will be pleased. Compatible candidates are getting rarer these days. Prepare to move them to the second wing for inspection. Lady Blackwell will be looking over them personally." Another of the hooded individuals replied. Silence followed as she was roughly taken out of the chamber down winding halls built from dark slate, and was forced into a set of shackles hanging from the ceiling of a tall metal cage. There were four other similar cages there, each one with a different occupant. The closest one to her had pointed ears and a scar that ran down the edge of her jowl, and the others were a bald man with ear piercings and a haggard man with a gaunt visage.

After they were all locked in, everyone eyed each other without saying a word. They either were still drugged like she was, or couldn't speak. The waiting was tense, like a tightly pulled bowstring. Eventually footsteps came from an opened door. A woman, clad in leather armor mixed with metal strode in. An air of authority and coldness surrounded her and the sycophants trailing behind. The two men had their cages opened first, as 'Lady Blackwell' scanned their features. "Take them away." A dismissive wave was all that was needed for the other shrouded figures to haul them off as they struggled and screamed in protest. Beads of sweat were forming on the back of Shiloh's neck as it was the elven woman's turn, and she was taken back to the cells. Lady Blackwell stopped before her, and drew a narrow blade. Drawing close, she then pressed the flat side of the metal against Shiloh's neck. Seconds felt like millennia, until the woman finally broke her gaze. "This one looks promising. Bring her to the upper levels." 

When the black bag that had been thrown over her head was taken off, she found herself chained to the back of a covered cart. Its destination–a bidding block in the darker underbelly of the city's black market. Unlike those of slavers, this was a private auction limited to representatives of well-established assassin and mercenary guilds looking for new blood. It was covert and out of the way, just like how the participants conducted their business. Left in the back of a shadowed alley, the stench of damp dirt and sulfur became clearer as the drug's effects were wearing off. 

There were days when following his whims paid off more than sticking routine, and Logan felt this would be one of them.  He had noted a woman trying almost too hard to not be obvious, and almost passed her without thinking.  But the sound of a scuffle reached his ears.  Nothing terribly unusual for Vilpamolan.  But he turned, and saw it was the woman he had observed earlier.  Had she angered someone?  Or had she just looked to be a convenient target?  Either way, perhaps he could have a bit of entertainment out of her.  Carefully, he followed where she was carried.  There was some kind of cult meeting in the building, the typical cliched mask wearing type.  Logan had to suppress a chuckle, there were so many these days it seemed like.  He climbed a wall, seeking a good place to watch the comings and goings.  He was bored, and the woman might make a good plaything. 

His sense of smell was somewhat a disadvantage here, but the smell of drying blood wafting from a cart was enough for him to focus.  He crept closer from his perch on the wall, and he could tell it was the woman from earlier.  Following the cart was no difficult task, though it was into an area of Vilpamolan he had yet to venture into very far.  But he had been to similar places, markets with a special clientele, and a specific set of goods.  And evidently the woman had fit some manner of criteria to be taken here.  He took a moment to take stock of his appearance, and found nothing out of place.  Dark blue tunic, dark leather breeches, boots, and a cloak that made him look not too sinister.  At least if you ignored the odd drips of blood that came from the cloak.

The cart had been left in an alley, perhaps for some negotiations of what was to happen.  He slipped up, noting the two guards, and the absence of the hard woman in armor who had the arrogance to lead the group.  so there was time.  Dropping onto the lip of the cart, he kicked one guard in the head before turning his attention to the other.  He was faster than his unconscious companion, and Logan found himself ducking to avoid the blade of a sword.  But he was a vampire, and that was a mere human.  He sprang at the man, driving him hard into the wall, and bashing his skull against it.  Logan had learned that in this town unconscious was more fun than leaving dead bodies.

He turned to the cart and worked quickly, not knowing when the woman would return.  And it was the woman he had indeed seen earlier.  Putting on a warm smile, he said "Quiet my dear, and I'll get you out of here.  Any idea where the keys are?" he asked, trying to sound charming.  Boot heels were approaching, and Logan decided there wasn't time to wait.  Pulling out a thin sliver of metal, he made a show of picking the lock.  In truth, he just used his strength to bend it apart.  Once that was done, he quickly cleared the woman of the chains and scooped her up, noting the slow reactions.  She was probably drugged.  Ducking around the corner, he set her on the ground, and pressed a finger to her lips to keep her quiet.  The armored woman had returned and was screaming at the guards.  He would let her vent her outrage, then simply stroll in to have his fun.  Hopefully the woman on the ground behind him wouldn't go anyway.

As her senses were starting to clear up she heard the sound of someone hitting the ground. She heard the sound of a swing, something whizzing through the air followed by a loud crack against either the ground or the walls. Did a fight break out? No, it was to quiet for a street brawl. An unfamiliar face showed itself, and a smile that didn't sit right with her. When he asked for the keys, her eyes moved towards where the guards would have been. The sedative still hadn't fully worn off, so she couldn't speak. The bindings on her were removed and she was lifted up, then set down on the ground. She knew it was the ground as the stink of stagnant water wasn't far off. The dark-haired man pressed a finger to her mouth signaling her to be quiet, which she obliged involuntarily. What was he trying to pull? The chances of someone being a good Samaritan and saving her were slim. Her best guess was that a rival organization wanted to take her for themselves without paying up. She still couldn't sit up properly, let alone run. Being completely helpless, unable to do anything upset her the most. She hated it.

The clacking sound of heels on the street told her 'Lady Blackwell' had arrived. The explosive tirade and violent language went on to confirm her guess. Shiloh held her breath, hoping they wouldn't look over to where she was. They'd notice she was gone immediately and then… To put it lightly, being put back in the cage would be the best case scenario. She didn't think they tolerated runaways. She had to get up, she had to get away. Shiloh urged her body to move, to get the drug out of her system faster. Slowly but surely it was, as she managed to move her fingers. Just a little longer, then maybe her arms and legs would be working. When she was able, the most she could do would be to run. Everything she had was still down in the depths of the building she had been shipped from.

The words flowing from the woman's mouth made him chuckle quietly.  This was as good of a time as any to reveal his presence.  "Well now, those are not very lady-like words, are they?  But then, I doubt you are much of a lady," Logan said, calmly strolling out from around the corner.  His rich voice carried the Adelunan accent, as well as nothing but contempt for the woman who had been yelling.  Her head snapped around to see who this new interruption was, and the remaining guards shrank away.  They knew what he was capable of.  But the 'lady' before him only turned her foul words towards him, accusing him of taking advantage of unwary guards.  She obviously did not take the reactions of the men around her seriously enough.

“The one from your cart, she is gone.  Never much liked the notion of trading human lives,” he said, shaking his head.  That much was true, Logan detested the idea of slavery.  There were much better things to do with people.  He grinned at the woman, who hissed something about his being a 'bloodsucking bastard', drew her blade, and charged at Logan.  The remaining guards looked at each other and fled.  They knew what was about to happen.  He drew his scythe, and waited.  She was fast, Logan had to give her that much.  At least for a human.  But he was not, and Logan waited for her to get close enough.  He even allowed her a sporting chance of a couple slashes at his torso, before he lifted the scythe and struck once.  Gore and bile spattered across the stones, and Logan turned away.  “Only one part of your comment is right, and it is not the bastard part,” he said over his shoulder.  Flicking the blood from his scythe, Logan put the crimson steel weapon away.  He had other plans for the woman in the alleyway, and they did not involve his blades.

Crouching before the woman, he offered her a hand up with a friendly smile on his face.  “The so-called Lady Blackwell will trouble you, and no one else, no longer.  Do you know of somewhere safe we might talk?  I would like to be sure her little group is fully eliminated.  And I would like to remain at your side until the drugs are out of your system.  It would be unbecoming of me to allow you to be alone until you've recovered from what they did,” Logan said.  That much was true, he did take a certain joy in the elimination of slavery rings.  But he had other words in mind for the woman before him.

Blood, screams, and silence. That was what she could smell and hear from where she laid on the ground out of sight. When he came back the scent of fresh blood was coming off of him. Lady Blackwell was dead. When he offered a hand she wasn't sure if she should take it. Moving her hand she began to get up, slowly and unsteadily until she was half-sitting. Her legs were starting to respond again, and she after staring at that cold, pale hand of his–took it. Breathing more easily now, she spoke haltingly as her senses were regaining balance. 

"I don't know where they are…but I know the sound." When she was inside the wagon, she could only hear. The clatter of the wheels, a bump in the road. The groan of the axles as they made a turn. The shift of the cage when it was fast or slow. "It's several paces away from here. I remember a black banner with a crow's skull in crimson." That was what she last saw before the tarp went over the cage. Her senses were flooding back to fill the previous void, and it was all becoming overwhelming. Having them cut off for so long had this detriment, even if it offered temporary solace from the noise. Looking behind she saw a pool of red with…offal sitting in it. There was one of the hateful woman's black shoes lying on the cobblestones by itself. That comment of hers about him being a bloodsucker didn't go unnoticed. It was clear to her that the person whose hand she was holding could bleed her dry at a moment's notice. 

A small seed of terror planted itself inside. It dug deeper than that feeling when she had been dragged out of that cell in the depths of the hideout. She was vulnerable and in the presence of a monster.

[My deepest apologies for how long it took to reply, GenCon wore me out more than I anticipated, and work had gotten stressful again.  Please forgive me!]

She was moving quicker, that was a good sign for her vitals.  Whatever poison she had been given was not fatal.  "It seems whatever they gave you was not meant to kill you.  At least in the dose you were given.  I think I saw that banner," he added, sounding cool and calm.  But it was difficult to keep all of the ice from his voice, and his ears told him that the woman's heart rate was beginning to race.  He had a pretty good idea as to how much she had heard, but Logan was calm. He was still in control of the situation.  And he absolutely intended for it to remain that way.

"Now, my dear.  I would like to help you.  Would you like to get some vengeance for what those people were going to do for you?  Do they deserve to live?  I doubt it.  Would you allow me to be their judgement?" he asked, voice as smooth as honey.  But of course his voice hid something.  There was a poison to his offer, one that she would not know until later.  And either way, the people who had followed the woman in black would die.  But the reason for their deaths would be different depending on what she decided.  He waited, still as a statue, waiting for an answer.

[It's alright! Everyone has that time of the year where things get busy. Take your time with your replies, I'm in no rush.]

Her blood was pounding through her ears. After taking the man's hand, a sinking feeling coalesced in her stomach. It stirred something, an old half-forgotten memory jumbled and distorted through the passage of time and dimension. That action of taking another's hand in pledge was unnervingly familiar. The fingers on her left hand twitched as the image of a scene of a woman taking the hand of a figure standing above framed in shadow flickered across her mind. Fear and anxiety made a headier concoction that stiffened the limbs more than any sedative could.

His words, like oil came forth. Like the feeling of something cold and unearthly brushing against the back of one's neck leaving behind a phantom sensation, there was a chill. She heard: 'Do you want vengeance? Do you wish retribution?' Those weren't the exact words he used, but she heard them. He said he wanted to help her. That wasn't entirely true. The shadows lingering in her mind fell back beneath the surface, as she was given time to consider his offer. As the seconds passed, her senses were returning. 

If you let them be, then they will simply elect a new leader and others just like you will be taken the same way you were. How many others were captured and sold before you? How many more will be sold after today? Do you remember the others in those cages when you were brought out of that cell for inspection? The men who were taken away screamed, fighting vainly for a chance to stay alive. They knew what not making the cut meant. You could have easily been put in their place.

The image of Lady Blackwell's face reappeared in her mind. That cold look, that sneer, that air of haughty elitism. That heartless woman. But that heartless woman, was dead.

Are you just going to let them go like that? To allow them to continue their devilry unopposed, with no fear of justice? 

The words whispered in the corners of her thoughts, and she slowly clenched her right hand. No. She could overlook theft, insults, and condescension. But not this–she wasn't going to let this slide. They targeted her when she had nothing to do with them. Now that they threw the first stone, she would send it right back…with interest. Lifting her head to the pale man, she gave her answer.

" 'Do they deserve to live?' I say, let death be their judge. For from death, there is no escape." An undeserved curse does not come to rest; should they be innocent then retribution would not fall upon them. If the man chose to avenge her, then so be it. She herself wanted nothing to do with them, only that they came to the complete realization of how deeply in the wrong they were in everything.

Her answer surprised him for a moment, but Logan was quiet as he listened.  So she thought herself above all the blood and slaughter?  Already, a retort was forming in his head, but he allowed her to finish what she was going to say first.  "Odd you should say that death is their judge.  She does judge everyone, just sooner than others.  And you would leave them to continue their ways when you could put a stop to it all?  Right here, right now.  Just say the word, and none of them will harm another living soul again," Logan said, a musing tone of reverence in his voice. She was Death and Judgement all in one, the Lady he had sold his heart and soul to serve.  But it was worth it to him.  She had given him purpose.  And this girl would not stand in his way.

"And they will harm others again.  It is their way.  They will steal other lives from the streets, like you, and sell them like cattle.  And you could put a stop to their ways.  Death will catch up with them, but after how long?  One year, five, twenty?  How many lives will be wasted in their hands?  Just say the word, and no one else will be harmed by their deeds again," he spoke, his voice soothing and calm.   But there was a hint of anger to his words.  There would be blood on the walls tonight, one way or the other.  It only remained to be determined whose words began the blood bath.

All it would take would be the sacrifice of a few heartless souls. It was so simple, so obvious. That was why she couldn't bring herself to believe it. Nothing was simple. Nothing could be solved with just a simple act. The world did not work that way. Everything meshed together in complex, hidden ways–like threads in a cloth. A tug here would leave a cinch somewhere else down the line, and the loss of one would lead to the seam falling apart. He was accusing her for being passive, and she would've said the same thing too two or three years ago. But the world had tossed her and threw whatever it could at her, bent on crushing her into the ground. And it had almost succeeded.

"So if you kill them, their crimes will cease. Of course it will. But then someone else will do it, and when they fall another will too. Just killing them isn't the answer." Shiloh's voice lowered, as for once in a long time her thoughts and words were one. "Death is not enough." Simply giving them a quick death would be the easy way out for the likes of them. They would have to pay the price and give due penance by the drop. Slowly, surely–that was how it should be taken. "Before they give their last breath, they must know without a doubt that they were wrong." She was no naive child. People were cruel.

In her heart a cold and smoldering fire burned and crept through her being. 'Do you want vengeance? Do you wish retribution?' The words repeated in her mind again. And her heart answered yes. If you want to destroy a weed, you don't simply cut off the stem. You pull it from the roots, out from the earth. And to uproot this weed, she would have to start from the very beginning of all corruption–desire. 

There was resistance to his offer, and he was not surprised.  Most mortals were quite squeamish about death.  A slight smile crossed his face, she was slowly starting to give in.  It seemed to happen every time, that offer of blood and vengeance.  And he wouldn't even ask a price from her.  Just her permission.  "Perhaps I should introduce myself more properly.  My name is Logan Blackwood, and I serve Lady Death Herself.  I bring the wrath of retribution to those who deserve it, especially to those who have escaped justice for far too long.  Like the so called Lady Blackwell and her ilk.  They will know they are wrong, I swear it," he said, offering a semi-theatrical bow as a token of his sincerity.  The tone of his voice left no question that the girl's wishes would be fulfilled. 

But what Logan did not say was that he would enjoy the slaughter, as well as the dark stain it would add to the girl's soul.  He could simply kill them and be done with it, but her intentions would shape his actions.  And he would allow it.  "All it takes in the intent of one person.  The thirst for vengeance.  But think, it is not only for yourself, but gods only know how many other people they've taken.  How many lives have been stolen?  And you can save lives, my dear.  All I need is for you to tell me yes," he said, pouring natural charisma into his words.  Logan knew how to bend people, but the practice never bored him.