---

Blood lingered in the air here. It was like the scent after the gentle showers of rain, save instead of refreshing and jovial, a hint of rebirth, it was the stark opposite. Oppressive, a grim recollection of the end - of the open grave that this town stead was. So it seemed fitting that the merchants that had roosted here appeared especially dubious of their clients. With good reason, he surmised, holding the pistol aloft to further inspect it, admiring its weight. It was bold of them to sell such a tool here, right under the nose of the guard that stood but a few mere meters away.

They had grown lazy, idle, and unobservative in the lush of their control. Command over the new section of the map they had slapped their name on was all but assured. The rabid wolf king offered a draft in response, a cloying chance to draw his troops together and rally them, but that effort, too, had alas ended in demise. The luxury of a lowered attention had the dare of the barrel pointed towards the armor shrouded figure. The shop keep shifted in nervous display, unwilling to voice an objection to his action, but obviously wishing to do so. Did they fear the presumed masters here? Perhaps they figured if he was caught they would be placed in shackles, cuffed to the fate of those who lived in Anderstel. Cattle. Fresh meat for the butchers of Lavalles. Down the cool blight of silver did the carmine iris of his mismatched gaze peer, the bead fixated smoothly, steady upon his intended target.

"Bang." The word escaped him on a soft chuckle, as he turned the dangerous muzzle instead heavenward. He couldn't help the jackal's grin that curved his lips as he turned the full weight of his attention back upon the seller. He was not a frail looking man, but the mask he presented his buyers whispered uncertainties, a hard wired horror. Could he smell it too? Yij would draw in a long, slow breath, allowing the corroded air to flood his lungs, roll upon his tongue. Casual violence made its home here. These passerby, however, did not. They would deal their goods, their weapons of revolution, and then they would depart the chaos they knew would follow. How long before they were banned? How long before the dark dyed wood was ripped from their faces and names were pinned to those who would supply the bedlam?

Alas, he would allow the breadth of his stare to ease, a nonchalant shrug given. "I'll take two." Insurance that he would not wind up on someone's damned menu again. Something he could never have enough of in his line of work. Especially with the one he had agreed to meet here.

---

He knew the caravan would depart soon, intel given readily by the sellers themselves. 'Only available for a short time! Take your chance now! in two day's time the option will leave your fingers forever!' They cried from booths and from the soap boxes they perched themselves atop of. The checkpoints had been placed along the routes outside of the city, his men ready to strike as soon as they were out of the jurisdiction of the Anderstel guards. While none knew the direction the caravans were destined to take upon their leave, there were only a few set streets able to bear carts of this multitude. By the morning after their departure, his gang would be flush with new weaponry and the crescents spent today would find themselves right back into his pockets. It would put him a step above the competition once more, securing his reign over his little section of fetid hell.

“Now now my friend, don’t go tormenting the keepers. They’re only trying to do their job.” Despite the lack of it, he felt sure the self proclaimed deity would be mocking those around him. In his dealings with the being thus far, there was a certain air of unease that prickled the hair at the back of his neck. Something that should he rise his head within the land he had staked claim on, he would bare his teeth in threat. Quench the flames of rebellion ere they had the time to smolder and rise into a problem. However, so long as they remained business partners and the divine took no interest in his own personal affairs, counsel is all he would take. Blood money. As such, a light hum drifted from his lungs in observation. He did not miss the shadow of the god's entourage departing him - though he was beyond certain the unknown would not linger overly far.

The guns would be holstered, the sheathes upon his hips covered by the rugged furs that cloaked his form. They would join the biting arsenal of his blades one of silver and one of iron. He was no fool, and he did not trust any with whom he worked, and this newer candidate was no different, yet hostility was not good for business. One caught more flies with honey and all that horseshit he supposed. That's what his sister had told him once at least, when she cleaned the bloody nose he'd earned for being an asshole to one of the other little street urchins. While she was long departed, at least some of her lessons had managed to worm within his mind. "Fair enough," the words were coarse with feigned dejection.

“What do you think? Does the craftsmanship live up to what this one’s claimed?” His hand would trace over the newly acquired weapon, thumb edging over the bite of the hammer, thoughtful as part of him recoiled at the action. He'd learned in the time since his attack that silver did indeed affect him to some degree. Wounds of steel and iron healed quickly, but those imparted to his flesh with sterling lingered far longer. The vampirism within him, he assumed, and while none knew he was truly not among their number, the rumors often proposed more harmful methods of trying to deal with his regime. "Haven't gotten to test it out quite yet, but," he would offer a slight smirk, "enough to make my skin crawl, if that's what you need to know." His hand would leave the grip, a dismissive gesture of the booth. "Shall we find a spot a bit more quiet? Maybe a target will.... happen along."