Khador's Call

“I have heard life is cheap on the streets of Korsk. Apparently assassins are not.”
--Prince Neplakh Vanar
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Irena Strakhova had lived as an orphan of Khador for as long as she could remember, scavenging for whatever she found in the city’s streets and avoiding what trouble she could. Her skills developed around deception, much like the street magicians that had often visited her orphanage. By keeping people distracted, she would be able to do whatever she wanted. Irena learned at her young age that not everyone could easily be fooled and an escape from the police could be inevitable. Often times she would be successful in evading their pursuit, but she wasn’t always so lucky.

The few run-ins she suffered through with local law enforcement taught her a valuable lesson: Only the strong survived here.

As the years passed, Irena grew more and more adept at bartering, stealing, and blending in with the crowd. She would become invisible within the throngs of people that permeated Korsk’s overflowing boulevards and eventually Irena’s crimes became more and more daring. She became an expert of the city and knew of every alleyway where she could lose pursuers if need be. Learning to use the environment to her advantage she became nigh uncatchable.

Rumors of a phantom thief began to circulate throughout the poorer districts of Korsk and became an underground suburban folk-tale over the course of a year. At the age of sixteen, Irena had successfully left her mark on the people of Khador.

Despite her skill, she went on living a minimalist life, never staying in the same area of the city more than two nights, and often rotated between various inns to help cultivate her legend. She dressed in modest clothing, wore her champagne-blonde hair in a single braid, and took on the unassuming role of a street performer.

Irena lived a satisfied existence -- or so she called it -- until one fateful day.
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Khadoran winters were famous all across Western Immoren for their mercilessly cold weather, emphasizing -- yet again -- that the weak could not survive in the Empire. Irena made her way through Korsk’s northern merchant district, clutching a scarf around her face with wrapped hands. She had originally planned to head east after her last job, but the terrible weather and biting winds had made her postpone the move. Risking frostbite wasn’t worth it even though the streets were practically empty.

It was an abnormally long blizzard, even for this time of year, and Irena decided to break one of her strictest facets and stop by the nearby Kramarczuk brothel for another night. She possessed a long history with the Kramarczuk as it had been one of the first places she had stayed very very early in her career specifically because a night’s accommodations was considerably cheap.

Irena pushed the entrance to the brothel open with her shoulder, struggling somewhat as the wooden door had never quite fit the doorway. The scraping of wood against wood forced all eyes in her direction, stabbing gazes focused on the intruder who had disturbed the peace and only after she started shaking the snow off of her caked boots did the brothel’s patrons return to their previous activities. Her plain appearance did little to attract any of their attention again other than a passing glance.

The young sixteen year old woman approached the front desk and leaned an arm against it, her other hand fiddling with the coins she had lifted from a stiff several blocks away. There was something strange about him, though, as she thought about it more. Others would chase after her, scream thief, or beckon someone to seize her before she got away. As Irena had looked back this time, however, the man she had pick-pocketed simply stared at her as she escaped. He had failed to utter a word or even stop her as she fled with his gold and his lack of a reaction bothered her.

The brothel’s owner brought the woman back to reality with a curt question regarding her business at his establishment. A scar cut across the right side of his face reaching from his eyebrow down to his lower lip. It made him talk with a slight slur and gave him a perpetually angered expression -- no doubt there was a reason for it.

“I’d like to have a room for the night, if you will. I won’t be a bother and I can pay.” She talked quickly and briefly. No need to speak any more than she had to.

The man chuckled somewhat, “Lady, you do know that this is a brothel? My business is based on time and space. I can’t simply give you a room.”

Odd, Irena though, I’ve never had problems staying here before. New management perhaps? Or a new policy? She heaved an audible sigh, “How much would it be for me to inconvenience you then?”

He gave her a price and she reached into her pocket finding the appropriate number of gold coins, handing them to him. The small metal pieces seemed out of place in the man’s large and muscular palm, but that was not what caught the thief’s attention. There was a look of surprise and shock on his face as he took one of the coins between his thick fingers and examined them closely. Looking up at Irena, he eyed her and quietly stated, “You wait here.”

That’s not good. Irena half-thought about leaving, but she was unable to make up her mind as three people came in from behind the desk following the man that had taken the gold. Two women and a man who were easily memorable characters, dressed in dark crimson and black clothing with gold trim. It took Irena a moment, but she recognized the other man as her mark from earlier that day. Oh shit.

Motioning for her to come around the desk, Irena followed his instructions and -- flanked by the two women that had accompanied him -- entered the back room. The door behind her closed quietly and she stood there in a stupor before one of her escorts forced her to take a seat.

It appeared he had been eating when he was interrupted. The man continued his meal in front of Irena for several minutes before wiping his mouth clean and stating, “I know who you are. The street thief from earlier today.” He picked up one of the coins and held it up between them. “I know, because this is my money and your hair -- no matter how hard your try to hide it -- is unforgettable.” Placing the coin back onto the table, he leaned into his chair with a slight smile. “Do you know who I am?”

Irena shook her head slowly.

“I didn’t think so.” He smiled between a mouthful of chicken. “I know more about you than you think, Miss Strakhova, we’ve been keeping a close eye on you. For a cunning woman who knows her way around Korsk, you are very ignorant to the people who inhabit it. If it were any of my brothers you had stolen from, you’d very likely be dead already.”

She couldn’t contain her curiosity any longer. “Who are you?” It sounded a little panicky, rushed mostly.

He chuckled. “I am Vaska Krastovich, a prince of the Kayazy and a manager of Korsk’s brothels.”

Kayazy? Irena had heard of them before, the merchant-princes of Khador and the economic power behind the Empire’s military. They existed as legitimate corporations and criminal organizations, procuring money and influence by all means. Empress Vanar paid little attention to them as long as they filled the coffers of the Empire’s warmachine. The Kayazy were their own legend, their assassins lurking behind every corner and in every shadow guaranteeing that no one escaped their debts.

If Krastovich wasn’t lying about being a Kayazy, then Irena was in very deep trouble.

“As you may know, Miss Strakhova, we Kayazy don’t take too well to being wronged. Especially from someone like yourself -- a street thief.” He leaned towards her. “I have two options. I could just kill your right now.” He shrugged nonchalantly and Irena felt her heart drop. “Or, I propose to you a challenge. I have heard of your skills in evasion and would like to put them to the test. Aksinya and Akulina here are Eliminators under my employ.” Krastovich then sat back up in his seat. “I don’t know how much about Eliminators you do or do not know, but let’s just say they’re good at hunting people down. They’ve kindly suggested giving you a head start and if you can escape their grasp, you are free to go. If they find you, however, you will work for me. How does that sound to you?”

It doesn’t really feel like you’ve given me much of an option. Taking in a deep breath, Irena stared back at him, “I accept.”