Beggar's Landing.

The little port village of Beggar's Landing had once been the largest refuge for humanity outside of Avelius on Alban. When the kind returned it should have prospered and flourished, however, almost a year before that faithful day The Blood Revenants had moved into the village. They didn't take over, they didn't force the inhabitants out they simply moved in. Those who tried to stop them were cut down, those who protested were intimidated, but those who kept their peace found that The Revenants left them alone. After all, those who lived in the Landing were human and Skrag did not condone the spilling of human blood unless necessary.

In the year that passed some villagers joined The Revenants ranks seeking the power to avenge themselves just as Skrag promised. Others fled the village and the unsettling new inhabitants for fear of what they might do. Still, others simply contended themselves with the new situation doing their best to go about their day to day lives enjoying the extra protection the crazed barbarians offered, as one may enjoy the protection of a vicious but loyal wolf hound. Then the king came to power and travel became safe again and all but the most stubborn of the normal villagers left to become part of the restoration effort in Avelius, the village was mostly Revenants now the painted figures of the near-feral people haunting the shell of the once near bustling coastal village.

Skrag was sitting on the docks when Svorstash finds her, he was often seen there sitting on one of the piers looking at the waves. It was known that in his old life he was a fisherman and it seemed that he took some solace in staring out at the black waters of the Albish coast, the gently lapping waves calming the frenzy of his anger for small moments of time. However, much like the sea itself even when he seemed to be at his calmest a storm could spring up out of nowhere.

"You failed." The voice of Skrag is not a human thing it is too raw, too guttural as though he was not used to speaking such a pleasant thing as the common tongue, as though his voice was meant to communicate in a language of primal roars. His back is to her his great ax across his legs his forearms resting on his legs. "You dare to return without the scent of blood upon you Svorstash? Dare to return without claiming a single life from those wretched mongrels of the moors?" Each syllable sounds like it pains him to speak it, as though stringing together so many words tests the limits of his ability to hold in his boundless rage.

There is no response, no action Svorstash could have taken to stop what came next as he swings around and surges to his feet, towering above her. His face is shrouded by his bearskin cloak only the burning red dots of his eyes visible under the hood of the slain Bear Wildling. A massive hand shoots out to coil about her throat and drag her off her feet to dangle helplessly in his grip. "Do you forget our purpose?" His voice grinds out. "Our troth to see these lands cleansed?" That hood comes closer and closer to her meanacing in how even this close only the vaguest outline of his features become visible in the dim light. "Perhaps you need a reminder, a permanant reminder."

The man's free hand grabs her left wrist and pulls it up, slowly he bends down her fingers one by one until only her ring is extended. Then he brings it close to that hood. She would feel his almost burning hot breath as her finger entered his gaping maw and then with a might snap his teeth come down severing her ring finger in a single clean bite. This close his face is clearer, the black war paint explained somewhat the unnatural shadows but his expression was inhumanly feral and vicious and his eyes really did glow a malevolent crimson like the blood he drank. He spits her finger into the see to be food for the grabs before dropping her to the ground. "Next time I will not be so merciful, for you will have no excuse to have forgotten your mission."

The raw malice and hatred her open display of weakness stirred within Skarg is a palpable thing. Those glowing red eyes fix on her whimpering form and she would know that only the barest thread of restraint stops him from smashing her skull against the pier until there was nothing but a bloody pulp. With the addition of blood running down his chin, the horror that is his shadowed face gains a stark and unpleasant bit of color, the blood left on his chin glowing an unnatural red like his eyes.

Suddenly the brunt of his malice shifts from her as he turns to settle back on the pier his gaze once again out on the ocean. His hand scoops up the great ax which was on the plans after tumbling from his lap, damn near almost fell into the ocean. He doesn't say anything, doesn't dismiss her, but the meaning of the return to his perch is clear. She had failed and she'd been punished she should leave and count herself lucky the brutal Skarg was taking no more interest in her.

After taking up on the bounty, Khan hopped onto Xuxus and took off to Aldan, more specifically Beggar's Landing. As he got close he pulled out a telescope out from a pouch he had on himself. He extended it and looked down at the landing, spotting the village, seeing a multitude of raiders and bandits, but not his targets. He tapped Xuxus. "Let's head over to a near by peak, We should be able to hide from their view for the time being in this mist." Xuxus nodded, knowing his booming voice would give them away. He turned and glided towards a near by peak and landing in a small, but comfortable cliff.

"We'll camp here for the time being and scope out the area before I head down and try to infiltrate from within." Xuxus curled up and lifted his head to look at him. "Sure that is a good idea? I mean how would you be able to pass off as them?" The Dragon inquired quietly now that the wind wasn't a problem. Khan sighed and sat down, looking through the scope at the village and though some mist was covering up most of it, even with the telescope.

He inspected the ballistas and thought a bit. Though could be disastrous even with Xuxus' Armor if well placed. He would definitely have to sneak in and sabotage the ballistas before he started any kind of attack...though he could increase the voltage into a spell of his and arch lightning though the wood and metal in the ballistas...anyone who is close to them at the time would be a bonus and make the killing easier. Though frying them to a crisp would be a bad idea monetary wise. That would also mean just sending a massive arch of lightning through there would be a bad idea...but he is an exile, and rather like his time as a exile, he doesn't need this money....but the thought of a warm meal for him and Xuxus sounded nice....Ah dilemmas...curse you.

As he contemplated his next moved, he peered through the scope and looked down at the camp. He sighed as he saw an increase in activity in the camp and started to look around hoping to see why, if there was a reason.

He sighed and looked through the scope, watching everything to down. Unlike his old superior..., He had a heart. It was hard to watch the slaughter. But he knew a bit more about them now something honestly fucked up...they gain more power they drink blood. Savages..that's all he could say on them...every last one of them. He needed that storm to come a bit faster...as soon as that storm appears, his plan can start.

He looked up at the sky and saw clouds up in the sky. Soon..hopefully soon...

The slightest sense of unease would loom over Beggar's Landing, so small in volume that most would never notice it, while those who did might pass it off as a funny creeping feeling; like when the presence of a spider in the room causes one's skin to shiver and crawl, but it is mistaken for mere cold.

Those who were especially observant, or had gifts of a more psychic nature, might feel as though something was coming on the wind. Yet this new presence would neither act nor show itself until the sun crept down behind the horizon and the dark took over from the light.

He looked up at the clouds, waiting for a storm to brew. He looked down at the encampment once more when he felt a breeze come along, though not the kind he expected. It felt odd...felt like this once before on his travels...though them he was prepared and took it on his battle field...but as night grew, he knew what was coming. "Son of a bitch...well..let's hope for a good distraction." He grumbled before he felt a ping of rain on his nose, then another on his hand.

Perfect timing.

He started to mumble a few words as rain continued.

The sun begins to dip below the horizon, not that anyone could really tell. A light mist has rolled over the banks of Alban and a drizzle comes down upon its shores. Beggar's Landing becomes little more than a few motes of flickering light in the dwindling light and fog no noise drifting from the village beyond the occasional voice or growl.