Solo The Most Dangerous Game Pt. 1

[Rhov]

87th of Winter, 515 A.V.----

Tendrils of smoke choked the air of the Spinning Coin, puffs of warm white crowding the alcove of the warehouse. Excited chatter blared from every corner of the establishment. Cries of joy and cries of anguish near-drowned out the angry snarls of the animals in the pit. Some members of the crowd let out snarls of their own as blows were exchanged between the forced fighters, leading Rhov to question who were the animals in this setting. The creatures in the cage, or the creatures in the crowd?

The Chaktawe chuckled darkly to himself at his observations. Seated at the bar with his back to the long row of drinks which glowed invitingly behind the long wooden table, Rhov had full view of every animal in the area, be they leashed or legged in appearance. Their raucous shouts shook thoughts of aggravation from the youth's mind. Any contemplation he attempted proved interrupted by the rising wave of volume that seemed to fill every corner of the Spinning Coin. Irritation began to boil Rhov's blood, and it was with discontent that the bounty hunter shifted his attention from the crowd to the bloodied animals in the ring.

Feathers, a portrait of dark plumage framed by firelight, flew freely throughout the air of the cage. A shrill cry of pain rang clearly even as the din of the crowd grew to match the heightening violence. Even from this distance, Rhov could damned near feel the bird's fear. It was a wild creature, fettered in irons and displayed before the citizens of Syliras for their bloody entertainment. The creature that Through some sort of miraculous circumstance, no doubt orchestrated by Mr. Gene Duval himself, the Spinning Coin had managed to wrangle this testament to nature's wrath into a cage. Excited whispers from the bar informed the Chaktawe that the impressive creature was a Sahovan experiment, but the meaning of the words were lost on Rhov. He had never heard of Sahova or their monstrous magical experiments. All he knew was that the magnificent feathered beast which was fighting for life below him was losing to its opponents. It was dying. Not a peaceful death, nor an easy one, but death would come for it soon all the same.

Roars of excitement rippled through the room as the bird's enemies, two of Duval's prized wolves if Rhov understood correctly, sank their yellowed teeth into the black plumage of the avian. Streams of scarlet poured down from the wound and onto the battlefield below; a red rain soaking the storm-grey fur of the wolves. A wayward talon sank satisfyingly into the flesh of the bird's opponent as it fell backward onto its back. The Sahovan creature managed to eviscerate the pack animal before succumbing to its death throes, but it was far too late for the ink-black monster. The crowd held its breath, and an almost pained silence overtook the whole of the warehouse.

[Rhov]

----

One second, then two, then ten had passed. The bird finally stopped twitching, and Rhov looked away in disgust. The crowd, on the other hand, held a very different view than the bounty hunter.

Cheers erupted in an uproarious cacophony which consumed every facet of the Spinning Coin, followed quickly by the clink of coin as bets were exchanged openly and enthusiastically. The sound was so thunderous that Rhov could feel the sound cut through him, sending a buzz through the core of his being. Stifling and angry growl, the youth motioned to get the bartender's attention.

"Ale," Rhov barked at the man before him, any meager manners he had lost in the rising tide of his irritation. In all honesty, the Chaktawe should have made more of an effort to ingratiate himself in this establishment, considering it was one of the few he did not have to watch his back in. Ever since his run in with the Knights, with Alexander, Rhov had to keep on his toes in the city. Tensions between him in the Order were becoming even more strained than they had been. He had always butted heads with them in the past, his profession often putting him in competition with the Knights, but it had never gotten this bad. Things were less of a problem out in Mithryn, where the farmers and country-folk had begun to trust him for his merits and not what was said about him, but not by much. The Knights' words were law in Syliras, and if the Order had begun to see him as a threat, Rhov did not doubt that the citizens would follow suite. Sheep following their Shepards, blind to how the world actually is.

With a frustrated sigh, Rhov placed a bronzed, calloused hand on his recently placed ale. He stared deep into the honey-colored liquid, seeing his onyx eyes stare back at him in its reflection. What am I still doing here? he asked himself, running a hand over his mostly shorn skull. His angular face screwed up in conflict; the hard edges of his warpaint providing stark contrast to his tanned skin as they folded with his face. They don't want me. I don't want them. So why haven't I left? Growling low in anger, Rhov forced the brew before him upward and down his gullet in a smooth motion, letting the bite of the drink distract from his troubles. Finishing with a deep gulp, the Chaktawe slammed the drink down onto the table, his frustration shifting to fury at an alarming rate. These questions had plagued him often as of late, and he had seriously considered leaving in a caravan. He would even be willing to face the dreaded sapphire of the Suvan Sea to escape, but he could not bring himself to do it. Eywaat had sent him to Syliras for a reason. There was a divine purpose behind his suffering. He just needed to find it so he could leave the city and their damned Knights behind.

[Rhov]

----

The drunken stumblings of two men beside him forced Rhov from his dark thoughts. It had been apparent that they had been drinking heavily. The rank smell of ale and wine billowed out from the pair like smoke from a fire. Other patrons gave them a wide berth, whether from aroma or reputation Rhov knew not, but the youth sat stubbornly in his seat all the same. The men did not seem to care, as they were far too rapt with their own conversation to even pay Rhov's unique form heed.

"Hooo boy, I jus' made a killin'! Stoopid schmucks thought a bird could fight a pair o' Syliran wolves? In their dreams!" One of the men said to the other, slapping him on the shoulder enthusiastically. The second nodded with vigor, a slow, dumb smile overtaking him.

"Yah, we almos' made as much as the boss this season. Poor Mithryn hicks didn' know what hit-" the second man began before being roughly silenced by the first's hand. The first gave a cursory glance around him, stopping for a second over Rhov. During this whole affair the Chaktawe had been minding his own business, trying his best to ignore the drunkards at his side. He had been lucky that he was drinking while the second man had been speaking, or his expression would have been surely revealed. Satisfied that Rhov had not overheard their inebriated ramblings and was not paying attention, the first removed his thick hand from the second man's mouth and began talking rapidly into his ear. "Boss tol' us to keep that quiet. We'll get in trouble if we don't. The kind of trouble you don' wake up from."

It didn't matter. The damage had been done. Rhov had known people that died in that sudden snowstorm out in Mithryn. It seemed impossible, but these two drunkards had just implied they and their employer had something to do with it. His head screamed at him to keep his head down, finish his drink, and just go back home. He was already on thin ice with the order, one more public disturbance and Rhov was sure they'd toss him in the Tank.

The men had gotten up and were now leaving, and with them was going Rhov's window of opportunity.

The Chaktawe's coal-black eyes trailed after their vanishing forms. He was torn, caught in the calamity of choice. Interfere and risk imprisonment or worse for what equated to a hunch, or let it be and allow two men potentially responsible for the tragedy on the 53rd to go unpunished.

Rhov slammed a few coins onto the table to pay for his drink before hopping off the stool. It had never really been a choice anyway. Rhov was many things. Stubborn, reckless, impetuous, rude, the list goes on. But there was one thing he would never do. He would never let the guilty escape retribution.

Shaking his body loose, the youth's endless eyes focused completely on his new-found prey. A predatory smile overtook the whole of his face, and as the men began to swim deeper into the sea of people, Rhov followed suite. Wherever they went, wherever they hid, Rhov would be there, right behind them.

Ledger-4cm for ale

[Rhov]

----

Following the two men's drunken stumbles had proved easy for the most part, the only trouble arising when the crowd inside the Spinning Coin had grown to thick to properly navigate. Rhov made a concentrated effort to keep his quarry just within his sight-line. The lesson he had learnt on his hunt weeks back was still fresh in his mind, and the youth did not intend to let another mistake like Alexander Faircroft happen again. So much went wrong in that pursuit, so many mistakes on his part, it frustrated the Chaktawe to no end that he had nearly lost his last prey due to novice errors and the Knight's intervention. With a quiet growl, the bounty hunter assured himself that his emotions, his past errors, would not get the best of him today.

Rhov exited Duval's establisment with great effort, forcing his way through the rapidly thickening crowd. After such a brutal match, many patrons frenzied attitudes infiltrated the air as they clambered to escape with their winnings or cut their losses. Their excitement only encouraged Rhov's irritation; the latent cinders threatening ignition with every step. He had to push it aside though. He needed to retain his hunter's focus if he was going to get to the bottom of whatever those men had mentioned, even if they were making it fairly easy to follow them.

Cold winter air huffed in sharp displeasure as the Chaktawe finally managed to escape the roving throng of civilians that had claimed the Spinning Coin. His obsidian gaze searched the docks for a moment, the faintest whisper of panic racing down his spine as Rhov tried to place his marks. A relieved sigh slipped free from his lips as he spotted the pair again. They were moving with free exuberance down the Docks and towards what Rhov remembered to be the Bittern District. Stepping quickly to keep pace, the youth closed the distance between the men until he managed to enter earshot.

"I'm telling yah Nik, this ist' gonna be great," the first man, the taller and drunker of the two, informed his friend. What looked like a heavy, meaty palm slammed down onto the second man's, Nik's shoulder. Even with the casual intent, it landed with enough force to cause Nik to stumble slightly. "We gots the mizas, and when we check in with 'da boss-man, we can get the girls."

Rhov made a mental note of the man's size and apparent strength, something that had escaped him when the suspect was at the bar. He'd need to be more observant, make better connections if he wanted to follow this wolf to its den. The Chaktawe thanked the gods that the man was at least inebriated enough to forget what volume was, speaking loud enough that Rhov could hear even as he shadowed the pair.

"Krem, quiet!" Nik hissed at his companion, drawing a few concerned stares from passerbys, but not causing a large enough scene to warrant investigation. Alright, Nik seems like the brains, which is not saying much, while Krem looks like the brawns. The two's conversation had become hushed as they wandered closer and closer to the Bittern District, and Rhov forced his footsteps to fall silent as he pressed nearer to his quarry. The rapidly thinning crowd around him granted the man-hunter some semblance of cover as he drifted through the city streets, aiding Rhov in his efforts to remain unnoticed. Bits and pieces of a conversation danced through the frigid night, finding brief solace in Chaktawe's ears.

"-idiot-", "-get caught-", "-can't talk-", and "-Knights-" were the only snippets that Rhov managed to hear. Dark lips curled into a from as he racked the words for meaning in his mind. Sure, parts of the conversation seemed slightly damning, but only just. It just confirmed what Rhov had already known, that these two had somehow involved themselves in some shady business that shouldn't be discussed. Unfortunately, it did nothing to give him an idea of what the bounty hunter was up against. An operation responsible for Mithryn would require more power than these two had on their own, and if Rhov wanted to find the alpha of this pack, he'd need more than a smattering of phrases.

And then, like a gift from Eywaat himself, Nik let slip a word that did register in Rhov's mind. A name, half-remembered, shone with acknowledgement from the recesses of the Chaktawe's mind. It proved one that Rhov had looked into after a brush with an influential merchant a few seasons ago, a name that Rhov made sure to avoid.

"-Valini-"