Murran: The Tenacious

Prologue

"So it's come to this has it?" Murran asked sorrowfully? He was leaning against the once white wall with a hand on his stomach. It was cold, although not cold enough to have to burn the stacks of books and journals lined up against the wall. That, he was thankful for. The constant stream of knowledge both drained him and kept him distracted from the constant hunger that gnawed at the innards of an injured man. The small cauldron bubbling away in the corner was filled with whatever pests and unfortunate creatures had been unfortunate enough to be in his way as he stumbled back home.

The arrowhead that had been lodged in his forearm lay untouched in the middle of the square room, dried blood gluing it to the floor.  It served two purposes. To remind him of his folly, and to lead him to his attackers when he recovered, if he ever did. The barbs near the shaft and the poison that nearly crippled him were indicators enough that whoever ordered the blow wanted a special type of death for him. Ordinary thugs wouldn't suffice. They wanted him to suffer before he died and they got their wish. But the suffering was but a footnote in the footnote of his life. He had suffered before, he would suffer more and naturally he would share that pain with the bastards who tried to stab him in the back. 

He let out a groan as he forced himself up, tendrils of pain spreading from his core and outwards. It was his first nerve poison, and as always, the first was always the worst. He had no experience, no  tricks and no surprises for his new lover. Just meaningless fumbling that may or may not have impressed her. He made his way to the small window overlooking the busy street. Small carts sold their goods for happy civilians who knew nothing of the wars raging around them. Blissful ignorance. He was jealous of the life he once had. 

He made a point of peering out of it for a few seconds at least each day. It let his attackers know he still drew breath. Let them know he was still alive, a wounded animal in his den. They would only move in once they were certain he was dead so he had to come up with something that would surprise them, thorough as they were. But it wasn't the time for scheming. He was too tired for that. No, that would come once Lime returned. So he made his way to the corner of the room where the bundle of clothes he called bed lay. He fell asleep reading The Hermetic Tales of a Wandering Sage, but not before he heard the faint ringing of a bell.  He smiled softly before his consciousness left him. His revenge was close. 

The heavy weight on his chest was a comfort instead of a fright. A familiar weight which let him know that his companion had returned. He opened his eyes and saw a dark silhouette standing out against the nighttime shadows. Slowly, two yellow orbs opened up within the silhouette, revealing a pair of eyes.

A rumbling purr came forth from the creature's chest so intense it massaged Murran's aching body. 

"And a good evening to you my lovely," Murran croaked back as softly as he could. "Did you hunt well?" A flash of teeth and the hot breath of a predator answered his question. He raised his hand to stroke the creature's furry chin and after a few seconds, it rubbed back against his finger before licking it. The pair stayed in place, enjoying the other's company before the creature uncurled itself and carefully placed a round, cold object on Murran's bare stomach. 

Reaching out for the object in one hand while carefully removing a metallic stud from his ear with the other, he began muttering words under his breath. His heart, taxed as it was, began to beat faster, but he wouldn't stop. Not unless it ruptured entirely. He finished the incantation and spat on the marble before attaching the stud to the almost imperceptible grove that was engraved on its smooth surface. He gripped it tight, blood and phlegm mixed in. He had no idea if the poison would interfere with the comm bead, but with how pricey even an average one was, he was certain it wouldn't be an issue. Murran then bit down on his molars hard enough to cause his ears to be filled with a sudden piercing sound that disappeared just as fast as it had come. Now, all he had to do was wait. 

Looking out of the windows, the street lights outside barely did anything to banish the shadows on his room. It was late. So late that he might not get an answer, but it was a start. 

"10 tools," a beguiling voice said without warning. It had come from within his ear.

"For the crafting of talismans, amulets and protective wards," he replied weakly, sitting up. The secret phrase was all the two had between themselves to differentiate friends from friend or foe, emergency or banter. With his reply, Murran had spelt it out in no uncertain terms. He was in a bad ways, and he needed assistance on the double.

"That bad huh?"

"Shayla, just hurry it up," Murran answered weakly. "It's poison. A nasty thing. Bring whatever you've got...and food, lots of it"

Shayla paused for a while before answering. "Best I can do is 2 hours. Till then, don't die. I hate walking for nothing." 

"I'll stitch my chest closed all by lonesome without your kind assistance," he chided playfully. 

Muran received a nasty curse for that. "You know I'm not one for playing with cadavers. I'm no coroner."

"Consider it on the job training if you don't hurry up," Murran breathed through gritted teeth. Shayla cursed again and Murran's head rattled as the clang of sharp instruments was heard through his implant. 

"I'm bringing in help then. I won't be able to save you without it." Murran was far too tired to argue at this point. 

"Bring in the Devil's Own for all I care, I'll have to leave the door unlocked. I'm fading." Murran managed to  get to his feet through no small effort and stumbled half blind to the door, missing half of what Shayla was saying. With a great pained heave, Murran reached the door and unlocked the triple latches before sliding down against the door proper, barricading. Now nothing save a good kick and some clever magyck could get that door open, but depending on who Shayla brought with her, that would be no problem.

"Murran! Murran!" He heard Shayla scream into his head before the world went black "I need to know how bad it is really. Before I stumble in blind."

At that, Murran smiled, a wretched thing. He was holding back a painful shuddering cough with every fiber of his being.

"Busted and blue, Shayla. You may want to bring your best cold iron shackles with you...and perhaps some nails." The edge in his voice was downright sinister, and he wouldn't be surprised if a chill ran along the spine of anyone listening to him then. 

"I hate you, Murran you bastard."  He heard Shayla whisper in his head. But it was hard to think at that point. Murran let out a cackle not quite his own and answered with a vigor he didn't have previously. Something that must have crawled out from beneath the floorboards to settle in his chest before being let loose. Lime hissed and he grinned at her before cocking his head to one side.

"Hate is but a stone's throw from love my darling, and the things we do for love, ey?" Then without waiting for a retort, he leaned forward as far as he could, ignoring the pain that shot out throughout his body and  flung his head into the rusty door frame, blacking out before his body even slumped forward and hit the ground.