Hellbent

The strange aspect of racketeering, is often a result of circumstances and opportunities, rather than the goal of a nefarious mind. Yorrick, a man no different than most racketeers, was just such a circumstance. He was a ticket conductor at the train station of Daggard Keep, working seven days a week from morning to evening before returning to his quite nice apartment. A young human man, Yorrick was friendly, approachable, good looking, and most importantly charismatic enough to be convincing.

The station with which he worked was the Shining Iron railway, a bustling platform that consisted of multiple tracks going in and out of the city, the gray stone floors covered in well-worn red carpets, which stretched in front of wooden benches laced in soft, cushiony upholstery. It naturally complimented the red-carpet floors with coal black shades, the main seating area was tastefully decorated with curtained windows facing the platform. The uncovered walls made of fine wooden paneling marred only by three large signs advertising departures, arrivals, and delays. Impressively, on the platform outside was a quite advanced and new age vending machine that was kept away from the peaceful interior due to the rather loud noises it's grinding gears made when used. Yorrick made use of it several times when it was first installed, fascinated by the way the gears ground and the soft hum of the mana-battery inside that cooled the beverages. It was his favorite part of the job, always having fresh and ice-cold drinks whenever he wished. It certainly made wearing his uniform easier. He did not mind the tasteful blue jacket, nor the cream-colored white undershirt or tan linen pants, but the hat always annoyed him. It was a bowler meant to set him apart from the porters, deep blue with a white crest to signify him as the ticket master. Well, it was a trade Yorrick always concluded, a silly hat for his wage and his side business.

Yorrick’s racket did not start intentionally, nor was it his plan when he was hired. It sprang about because many tourists traveling from the Warren Federation were often first-time arrivals. They would ask him for directions to the nearest hotels, restaurants, bordellos, or other various businesses. At first, he relied on the knowledge he had gained from living in this particular city all his life, directing these often times foreign travelers to where he personally approved. However, it did not take long before he was approached by one of the owners of a nearby hotel. This owner wanted an edge over his competitors and thus was willing to pay young Yorrick a small sum of money each week if he began directing people to his hotel.

Yorrick, being a cunning man, accepted and began getting what he saw as a harmless bonus. From that one humble start an entire racket was born because Yorrick thought to himself, why stop here? Over time he contacted various businesses, managers, and employees of popular tourist spots. Discretely and without quite admitting what he was doing while offering “advertising” at a competitive rate. Whoever gave him the highest payment that month got the most customers sent their way. A few years passed, Yorrick’s co-workers and his own manager having no idea of his growing side business as the sole ticket conductor of the Shining Iron railway company. The station was a particularly busy one most days after all, the bustling platform seeing the departure and arrival of all manner of people. From soldiers, to business men, to would-be adventurers and travelers. Yorrick met all manner of people and sent each on their way in turn with an easy smile and polite words.

But, for poor Yorrick, his efforts did not go unnoticed. In time, his business caught the eye of a more organized and nefarious group. Yorrick was approached one day by a rather rough looking orc outside his apartment door and was offered a deal that seemed far to good to be true. The orc told him that each week he would be given a hefty sum of money and in return all he must do is never approach, speak with, or mention a certain woman who would appear at the train station each morning. He must bring this woman a cup of tea and scone each day and never interact with her otherwise. Yorrick, suspecting that refusal might be dangerous and seeing easy money, took the offer. The orc handed him an envelope of his payment and Yorrick never saw him again.

The next morning Yorrick arrived to work with a sealed thermos of hot green tea and a fresh scone from his favorite bakery. The only person there was the woman he was to avoid, a lagus woman of a towering height. She wore a fine traditional dress, exposed at the shoulders and low cut to the edge of her rather endowed chest upheld by a corset. A wide brim hat and colored feathers adorned her head between two large rabbit ears that twitched in his direction at his approach. She was reading a book as Yorrick came up, conscious of his non-interaction the two met eyes in a single glance when she looked up before he set the tea and scone next to her. He offered a small bow and went to his ticket station to begin his day.

Over time, Yorrick grew steadily accustomed to this woman. Each day he brought her a tea and scone and each day he watched her eat and read. His spying, of course, was discrete. He made sure to never stare or look at her directly and went about his day with the same cheerful smile and normality he always had. Yet, as novelty is a fleeting thing, he soon found a routine with this strange woman. Even when he began finding his weekly envelopes of money directly delivered to his apartment he was not quite alarmed. Familiarity did not quiet his curiosity, however. She rarely interacted with anyone, sometimes she spoke in passing, once or twice a rather average looking person would sit next to her and strike up a conversation. Each time she would close her book and speak in soft low tones that Yorrick could never overhear and yet he could see her smile and laugh at times.

In a way he was becoming fascinated because to him it was like seeing a picture slowly taking shape. When he was a younger boy, Yorrick and the merry lads he called friends had often traveled to Old Man’s Lookout outside the vaunted walls of the city. This spot was named after the curious formation of stone that looked like the kind face of an old man forever staring out from his rocky home. It was a rite of passage for younger boys to go there and see the face. At first, it was just rocks and one could see nothing. Yet the longer one looked, the more carefully one traced the lines, cracks, and crags, they began to see. There it was, Old Man, and then you could never unsee it. Every time from that point forward you would look upon that stone hill and see that smiling face. The rocks, crags, and cracks ceased to be and the man took its place.

That is what Yorrick felt, watching this woman over the span of weeks, that he was seeing the picture begin to form. Noticing details of others was a skill that Yorrick had developed a long time ago, picking up the unsure or confused aura that foreigners gave off so that Yorrick could sweep in and help with directions and aid. What he saw watching this woman was that she was keenly aware of not only him, but of everyone on the station platform. She was looking for someone or something. Stranger still, some of the average normal looking people who sat by her and struck up a conversation were not strangers if one looked carefully enough. There was too much ease, too much casualness that it became a facade to a critical eye. The only person that Yorrick felt was a truly random encounter of those she knew was a particularly ugly ogre. Yorrick sensed that he might have seen this ogre before, perhaps among the local homeless vagabonds given his tarnished crown, food-stained vest, and dirty blue cloak, but he could not quite place him. The surprise that he read from the woman’s gaze was proof enough this was not a planned occurrence.

Sadly, he was stuck at the counter for some time helping various customers needing help with ticket purchases, train departures, and other business he was far less interested in. It wasn’t until he could flag down a porter to take his place for a moment that he could wander closer to the pair. He busied himself with tidying a pamphlet rack while straining to listen to the duo among the busy station. Yet all he could make out was the word business and something about magic. What little else he could have gotten was left a mystery as the porter was suddenly swamped with passengers and Yorrick had to move to assist.

After that day, Yorrick's keen interest had now become an obsession. He began to build a profile in his head of what this woman was doing, who she might be, what system she was a part of, and more importantly why it was so important to pay him not to mention her to anyone. She was a lagus, the tall lapine folk of the federation and thus was likely psionic to some degree. Yorrick was sure she was, after his observations noted her staring discretely and intently at various travelers. To what extent her psionics ability went he was unsure, but if she could read minds, he was positive he would have lost his weekly bonus now that he was more actively prying. If she could not read minds, his methods so far had gone undetected. He now branched outwards, noting details of those she spoke to and those she was observing more carefully whenever she looked up from her books.

A key set of characteristics began to form, details that would be easily overlooked were he not paying attention. First, of those she spoke to in more than passing Yorrick noted that each one was a federation race. A rodentfolk, a kobold, a lagus, rarely did he see her talk at length with those not from her own homeland. He could put this down to familiarity, that a familiar face made even those in passing look more fondly and openly to a stranger. Yet the second detail that he began to notice made him think more was going on. Nearly all of them wore the same ring, a simple band of steel that was likely a wedding band, decoration, or perhaps a sign of fellowship.

That was important, Yorrick noted, as he was being paid good money each week that nearly matched his racketeering business to do next to nothing. Whatever group she belonged to must be well connected and operates with discretion, so a simple sign of fellowship like a steel ring would be a perfect way to identify each other. Of those this woman took keen interest into, Yorrick could find no pattern that could connect them. Whatever her business was it eluded him no matter how much time he pondered and racked his mind for connections he simply could not make. He was forced to bide his time, observant and careful, bringing her the tea and scone each morning with his small bow and not once speaking to her despite the fact she occupied his every thought as weeks became months.

In a way, as Yorrick’s bank account swelled between his payment, his wage, and his racket, he fell into the same opportunity and chance that lead him here to begin with. On a slow drizzling day of light rain, a bit chilly, Yorrick found himself sitting behind a desk in a nearly empty station. His usual porter had called off that day, an unexpected pipe bursting at the man’s home left him calling out of work. His manager did not show up that day but Yorrick expected that, the lazy bastard rarely came into work if the weather was anything but pure sunshine. So he ran the place as a one man show, as the conductors remained on their trains and gave only a passing wave as they rolled by on the tracks.

Of the platform, only the lagus woman and a singular orc man were there. She was reading her usual book while the orc, sitting a few benches down, was reading the morning paper. He had a comfortable business suit, gray in tone and likely just passing through. Yorrick was dully going through the schedule, feeling a touch lazy himself with the weather and the normally bustling station now silent. He almost did not notice when the woman closed her book quietly and stood up. Her nine foot form caught his eye as she moved towards the orc. She remained behind the greenskinned man, beneath his notice as she withdrew a large wicked looking black dagger from her sleeve. Yorrick could hardly believe what he was seeing. The quiet, the calm and pleasant morning broken as this woman he had become obsessed with understanding suddenly drove her dagger into the orc’s spine, one huge hand covering his tusked lips and stifling his scream. She twisted the blade, the barest hint of a bloodied ragged wound seen before she jerked his head back and snapped his neck. Even in his shock, Yorrick noted a blood freezing detail, that the motion was done so carefully, so precise, that barely a drop of blood seeped into the orc’s clothes.

She was already moving, leaving the blade in the man’s neck as she lifted the orc’s arm over her shoulder and hoisted him unto her back. She turned and began to walk towards Yorrick, long legs striding as he tried to keep a lid of his panic. “Open the break room door.” She said, her tone neither sweet nor polite as he had often overheard. It was cruel and forceful, Yorrick almost did not do it, he almost turned and ran from behind the counter and towards the door. Then she was blocking the way behind the counter, looking at him coldly, waiting for compliance. Without a word Yorrick did as he was told, opening the door and walking inside before she followed. “Lay out the luggage tarp on the ground, quickly.” She said, shifting the weight of the corpse.

The backroom was little more than a somewhat large storage room forced to serve the multi-purpose function of being an office, break room, meal hall, and locker room for the six employees managing the station. It was sparsely decorated and had little more than a few maintenance items or office supplies scattered about on a few racks and a table. It was a familiar spot, where Yorrick often ate or took his rare breaks and yet now it was dominated by a murderer and the dead body she carried. Yorrick moved in a daze, not quite believing the reality he was now living as he grabbed the tarp covering the rack it had been tossed on and threw it on the floor. A moment of silence passed, the woman staring at him with those same dark eyes before he realized his mistake and reached down to open and spread the tarp out. Absurdly, he almost laughed, feeling foolish and nearly doubling his panicked mirth for even thinking that he was feeling foolish after witnessing a man be mercilessly slaughtered. The lagus dropped the corpse onto the tarp indifferently, her hands now free she began to roll it up and tie it down, wrenching her dagger free before wiping it indifferently on the tarp.

When she finished she stood up and looked at Yorrick carefully, she was appraising him now and he shrank away, not cowardly enough to run but fearful of his life. Another silence followed before she spoke, “Later tonight, three kobolds will arrive by carriage, you will open the back doors and they will dispose of the corpse.” She said, giving the tarp a sickening kick. Yorrick merely stared back in confusion. She wanted his help? After this? She did not notice or care for his thoughts. “You already know how to identify them.” That finally spurred him into action, Yorrick giving a hard startle. She knew. If she knew by now he had made that connection then she likely knew everything he had discovered. He finally found the courage to speak, “And why the hell should I help you?” He tried to sound angry, accusatory, as if he could fake the bravado he did not feel. Instead his voice came out sounding wilted, barely offering a wit of force behind it.

“Because if you don’t, the money stops, and you get blamed for this.” She responded back casually, nodding to the corpse. “Blamed? How in...” Yorrick began to say before his mind ran off faster than his words. Of course he would be blamed, he was the only person here besides her and what would the police believe? That a lagus nobody had ever heard of him mentioning, who had been there for weeks and had been paying him just murdered this man and ran off? It was possible they would believe him, possible that he could convince them with conviction but did he really want to take that risk? That his absurd story MIGHT be believed? He had a lot to lose. His job, his apartment... The money...

She was grinning at him now, amused, almost leering as she either guessed or read his thoughts and understood he concluded he was doomed if he did not help her. “What time will they arrive?” Yorrick asked, surprising himself with the control in his tone. “Ten o’ clock.” She replied before turning and heading to the door. She paused in the doorway, glancing back at him for a moment. Yorrick looked into her black eyes and pondered what made her so difficult to read. “Do this right, keep quiet, and start bringing jam with my scones and you might find more money waiting for you, Yorrick.” He could only nod in return before she disappeared. He looked to the corpse and wretched, not tossing up his breakfast but coming close. It was going to be a long day.

It was at the third time the mystery lagus killed someone at his train station he was given a clearer picture. She was Boss Yaga, coming and waiting for her target in a spot so public nobody would think of it dangerous or to be on guard. Waiting, watching, for the opportune moment to act while gathering intelligence of the comings and goings of the station and her syndicate underlings. By then he grew used to it, to the blood and the death. The second time he lured her target to the backroom by claiming an issue with their ticket and was helping wrap the body when it was over, the third time he even distracted a second patron while Yaga carried out her work by leading the target into the office, the fifth time he had his own knife and was blocking the door while Yaga did the work. The sixth time she gave him her dagger and told him to do it and he did the deed without hesitation. He was paid more each time.

But that hardly mattered. The seventh time Yaga made him an offer and he took it. He was welcomed to the Blackwood Abbey as one of Yaga's penumbra and soon became one of her deadliest murderers.