Senator of Dahrtag
Lamont, Dahrtag
It was early evening. The sky was just beginning to darken, and already the Monsters had come out of the shadows.
They gathered in a cemetery, the agreed-upon meeting place for this particular occasion. Mist cloaked the memorial stones, forcing Sycorax to watch where she stepped lest she walk over someone's grave. But for the very same reasons, she had to agree it was a good spot for a secret gathering. Criminals were a cowardly and superstitious lot. They wouldn't dare to set foot in a graveyard at night.
She reached the stone that read M. Montague, and stopped to wait. Two of her bodyguards, the beefy Lon and scaled Gill, had accompanied her, their weapons concealed behind civilian appearances. A blade hidden inside a cane, a gun tucked beneath a jacket, a knife tucked into a boot. Both were veteran Monsters.
Sycorax watched Lon light a match against Montague's gravestone, muttering an apology to the dead man's spirit around the cig in his mouth. He lit Gill's cigar first; the fish-man puffed thrice before Lon had a chance to inhale, his sacs inflating like those of a frog with each breath of fragrant smoke. She was a little nervous too. After all, she had heard that an old friend was coming tonight.
It was early evening. The sky was just beginning to darken, and already the Monsters had come out of the shadows.
They gathered in a cemetery, the agreed-upon meeting place for this particular occasion. Mist cloaked the memorial stones, forcing Sycorax to watch where she stepped lest she walk over someone's grave. But for the very same reasons, she had to agree it was a good spot for a secret gathering. Criminals were a cowardly and superstitious lot. They wouldn't dare to set foot in a graveyard at night.
She reached the stone that read M. Montague, and stopped to wait. Two of her bodyguards, the beefy Lon and scaled Gill, had accompanied her, their weapons concealed behind civilian appearances. A blade hidden inside a cane, a gun tucked beneath a jacket, a knife tucked into a boot. Both were veteran Monsters.
Sycorax watched Lon light a match against Montague's gravestone, muttering an apology to the dead man's spirit around the cig in his mouth. He lit Gill's cigar first; the fish-man puffed thrice before Lon had a chance to inhale, his sacs inflating like those of a frog with each breath of fragrant smoke. She was a little nervous too. After all, she had heard that an old friend was coming tonight.
