Ray and Masquerade's RP (The Struggle)

[Masquerade]

The night was silent, save for the screams that had so swiftly traveled through the city air, but only for a brief second. As Masquerade continued to prepare the noble's cake, he tilted his head slightly to hear them. "Such a shame we live in a city such as this...," he spoke solemnly and took a deep breath, the sweet and fragrant aromas of the different kinds of bread in the bakery drifting lazily into his lungs.

Nothus flicked his tongue out in disgust. "Well, it seems the High Order will have even more bodies to contend with whenever they arrive on the bloody scene. We should be let off the hook. But, that's a second murder in one night. Should I go and check it out?" His hand reached for the handle of his lance and gripped it tightly. The adrenaline was already rushing through his veins like a mighty current--never faltering, but was that always a good thing?

In the end, Masquerade shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that, friend," he replied, his voice enigmatic. "You've put yourself on the line one too many times for tonight. As a matter of fact, I think you should get some rest." He took out some ingredients to make some icing for the magnificent cake he was planning.

"You'll keep an eye on this poor sap, right?" Nothus asked, gesturing towards the man that had previously been beaten up and who was now snoozing peacefully in the hard, wooden chair. His wounds had all completely healed by now. The baker had worked his magic.

Masquerade nodded, but was too busy to say anything as he whipped some of the ingredients into a soft, fluffy cream.

"Very well, then. Good night." Nothus bowed to the baker and went to retire in the back room. Seems that the High Order isn't doing its job so efficiently after all.

The scene was one of horror. Four dead bodies, the cobblestone street covered in blood. A wounded dingo was on the ground with bolts in his back, from a crossbow, no doubt. And a single anthropomorphic wolf stood there, his fist covered in blood. Silent, but evident footsteps approached the scene. In the moonlight, a man appeared wearing a green traveler's cloak that was embroidered with gold. He wore light armor that was obviously supplied by the Knights of the High Order, but he had no weapon on him. He seemed so simple, yet so eloquent. The mystifying light of the moon reflected off of half moon spectacles, and shiny, light brown hair stood out the most upon his head. He had a disarming and strange smile upon his face, even though he had just appeared at a murder scene.

"My, oh my, what has happened here?" the man said calmly, his voice as tranquil as his countenance. "What crime has plagued these wretched streets? What wicked web of lies have thou been caught in? It matters not," he said theatrically. "This incident must be reported, you know. By my honor as the new leader of the High Order. But I may be willing to make an exception." He glowered down at the dingo, although he was addressing the smith. "My name is William Reschelle, and the High Order has been on the hunt for a horrid theif, by the name of The Dervish. And I believe I have just found him. My first night with the Order and I've already caught a wanted criminal. Oh well. Listen to me going on. Allow me to cut to the chase. I no naught of your relationship with this thief, but if you turn him over to me, I can let you go." Although he had no weapon, he appeared too confident in his position of this particular negotiation.