King of the Seditious

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“Have a man come at me with a dagger and I shall have a dagger. Have him attack me with a sword and I shall pierce him with a sword. Have him shackle me and I’ll crush his throat with those shackles.

I’m an exceptional killer. I’ll kill my enemy with whatever gifts he brings me…”

-Savage Jack has told many an assassin.



Blue Lark’s Guild, Dread Hideout

“He’s here.” Markus tossed open the door of Dimurah’s hut to announce. Rain still running rivulets down his forehead.

“Goddamnit all to hell!” The beautiful redhead looked like an angel but spoke like a sailor.

Possibly a trait gleaned from her associates in the guild.

She swept up her dirtied green cloak. And smeared fresh mud from the basin near the door, across her face as she headed out the door.

“Where are you going, Mum?” Markus, one of her bodyguards asked.

“To try to keep him from killing anyone.”

“How so, Mum?” He fondled the hilt of the sword on his hip.

“To distract him.”

“Though you do distract him mightily well, it’s only ever a temporary reprieve. It won’t prevent anything.” He said disheartened. “He does whatever he damn well pleases.”

“Not in my alehouse!” She tossed over her shoulder bitterly. “It’s your job to see that he doesn’t.”

“In his fortress.” He grumbled. “I’ll rouse the rest of the men.” Markus hurried after her. Shouting for the three other bodyguards she retained. Booting the doors of their huts as they strode by, until hearing stirring within. Usually only two were on duty but when he was in the Dread Hideout, they needed to rally.

Dimurah entered her alehouse, Winter Haven, with the four bodyguards in tow.

She heard his gravelly laughter from outside. Studying the worn door of the floating structure pensively. The mired lake surrounding it, looked nearly black in the moonlight. An omen of her souring mood.

When she opened the door. She was already in high temper.

It wasn’t hard to spot him. He dominated any room he was in. Tall, and though not rippling with muscle, his body was chorded in such a way it warned others he’d not only be strong, but also mobile and quick. Piercing blue eyes lifted to look across the room. Meeting her lighter ones.

He lifted his chin haughtily, tipping back his blonde head as his eyes zeroed in on her. There you are.

“Murah.” He purred.


“I’ve told you many times, my name is Dimurah!”

“You’ve told me many things.” He rumbled. Giving the blonde woman clinging to his shoulder, a severe look.

She scurried away at his expression.

“Least of which is that my name is Dimurah!” She shouted.

“Most of which, is how you ache for my hands and arch for my mouth on your-”

“Cease your filth!”

“Keep prodding me. You won’t like how far I take this…” He lifted a frothing tankard toward her in warning.

Robust laughter echoed in the room. Approving his lude remarks. Everyone in the alehouse watched the interchange. Intent on the discussion. Taking in every dripping retort. Barmaids and dangerous assassins alike.

“Your crass tongue and foul innuendos are not duly appreciated here!” She wove through the crowd to confront him.

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