Crossing an old stone bridge that went over a small river, Crimson was starting to grow tired of his seemingly endless walk through the desert. He’d been on his journey for a little over a week at that point, and hadn’t encountered any trouble besides an obnoxious merchant that tried to sell him a new spear.
But he didn’t need a new spear, for he liked the one he had. His father, an old blacksmith, had made it for him, as well as his shield and mask. They were amongst the few things he treasured, aside from his father, of course.
Although he made sure nobody knew of those weaknesses. And, if anybody was aware of them, he’d make sure to silence them for good.
He continued thinking of his home on the outskirts of Ancii before being interrupted by the sounds of horses riding by. Turning, his eyes widened slightly at the sight of several Tamvaasan men riding nearby. He found it odd that they’d be in the desert, but perhaps they had a good reason for doing so.
Although, what he found stranger, was the fact that they were riding out of the desert. And, judging from the direction they were going, they must’ve recently left Ancii. But what business would they have there?
He shrugged it off, believing that he may of been making assumptions when there were none to be made. Luckily, he’d be out of the desert by the day’s end.
- - - - -
The old man grinned as he sat in the dark corner of his manor’s dining hall. After meeting with the assassin known as Crimson, he had returned to talk things over with the Tamvaasans that had come to his home.
“The plan’s in motion,” he told his blue-skinned guests after they joined him at the table.
“Good ‘ork. I’ve gotta score ta settle with dat man,” the burly clan leader said.
From what Andras understood of the man’s situation, Crimson had completed a contract to kill the leader’s brother, and that brother wanted revenge, so he needed an excuse to lead Crimson directly to his ‘clan’. They were no clan. No, they were more of a Tamvaasan gang.
They were founded by Bursakke and his brother, who were cast out of their clan for a heinous crime - the assassination of a clanmate, and all because they just wanted his axes. Soon after they started their ‘clan’, they began to get more Tamvaasan outcasts and criminals until there were nearly twenty of them. A small number for sure, but enough to get Crimson out of the way.
Andras needed him gone, for he knew it was a matter of time before he had a bounty placed on his head for the crimes he’d committed. And he knew it’d be a bounty that Crimson would collect.
And Andras had plans of his own as well. He’d discovered the identity of Crimson’s father, and was going to be paying him a visit after the Tamvaasans left. The old man knew he wouldn’t be able to kill Crimson, and if the gang failed to, he’d simply have to leave the assassin broken by knowing his father had been savagely beaten to death by Andras’s goons.
“I wouldn’t confront him until he reaches your village,” he told Bursakke. “Now I think it’s best for you to get a headstart on him. I’ve got some horses out at my stables, take them. They’ll probably die of heatstroke before you reach the Kharn borders, but it’ll give you a headstart on the assassin,” Andras explained.
“Eh, alright. Let’s leave,” the vicious-looking blue-skinned Tamvaasan told his men, both of whom nodded before heading out with their leader. “Now, time to have a pleasant meeting with that blacksmith,” Andras muttered under his breath before signalling for his goons to come to him. They’d leave him unrecognizable.