Story: Marcus Rosse Makes his Move
Montgomery Pyre walked the Undercity’s darkened and less traveled corridors with his usual confident swagger. His eyes were focused on some documentation he carried in his hands, whistling some plaintive tune, discordant with his saunter. His carriage displayed to those who may have laid their eyes on him as a Forsaken in control of his station, one who knew exactly where he was going. And where Montgomery Pyre believed he was going was upwards.
It came as a great surprise to him to be accosted by two ruffians in this dark corridor. Each of them displayed incredible skill as they disarmed him, stole his documentation, and nearly broke his jaw before he could react. What Pyre was not expecting was a mugging in the corridors of the Deathstalkers; and where he did not believe to be going was a darkened room, lit by a single lantern in close proximity to his face.
“Tell me, Pyre,” said a voice with such calculated diction it could only come from a Forsaken with all of their teeth, “What is your plan?”
“My … my plan?” Montgomery Pyre said, he lift a hand to shield his eyes from the bright light being shone in his eyes, obscuring the view of his interrogator, “I can honestly say I have no idea what you’re talking about. This is preposterous.”
“You’ll find the door barred on the outside, Montgomery Pyre. And we’re all alone here. Just you and me,” the voice said, trailing the Deathstalker as he backed away from the lantern, “I have no desire to allow you to leave before I discover your intent with whatever mess you’ve stumbled into.”
Pyre struck out at the device, which was moved deftly out of the way, briefly showing the gaunt and unmarked face of blonde Forsaken male, “I am ignorant of your intentions. Really, your vague accusations, or intimations, or whatever game you are playing do nothing but infuriate me … do you know what you are doing? Am I some sort of prize of yours?”
“I ask you, Montgomery Pyre, do you have any idea that you are a pawn in an even greater game? Only to be tossed aside? There is no glory for you once this game you are playing is done, only pain.”
“Would you please shut up?” Pyre’s hand struck out at the lantern knocking it aside, allowing Pyre to see exactly whom he was dealing with: a very well kept blonde Forsaken wearing a suit, not leathers, with a pronounced stoop.
Pyre grinned, his skin cracking at the cheeks, “Good evening, Mr. Rosse. We’ve heard tales of your meddling in this little campaign of ours - the Peyton Proposition - have you finally become so fed up that you’ve resorted to kidnapping and ineffective interrogation techniques?”
Rosse was unmoved, “Merely a warning, Pyre,” Marcus Rosse’s eyes were fixed on the Deathstalker’s face, “This woman, this Forsaken you are so intent on destroying, is no toy. Should and Olin continue to treat her as such, she - and the remainder of the Deathstalker Lords - will not hesitate to act.”
Montgomery Pyre rolled back his head in laughter, “You honestly think that I am afraid of this? Caeryn Peyton is fond of me, on the verge of being in love with me. This weakness of hers is palpable, and she trusts me implicitly.”
Rosse shook his head, a low grumble of laughter in his throat, “You poor misguided fool. A monster cannot love a thing. A monster can only destroy that which she thinks she understands,” He looked at Pyre, “She does not love you, she will never be fond of you, she will second guess you as she has second guessed everyone whom she has pulled in close to her. And then, as she has with everyone whom she has deemed worthy of her affection, she will destroy you.”
Pyre stood defiant, looking down at Rosse, “I am different, Marcus. I will succeed where the others failed. This time, this time, the tables will turn.”
Marcus put down the lantern gently. Looking up at Montgomery Pyre with true pity, he raised his left hand, placing it on Pyre’s shoulder, “I tell you this as a fellow Forsaken, your plan will fail. You cannot tame a wild thing. Peyton will destroy you as she has destroyed everything in her path. This is why she is so needed; she is a project which will fit neatly into our ultimate plan. As a member of our staff, her ideas feed into our ideas, which allow us to grow stronger,” he let his hand fall, “Attempting to capture her as a trophy, you only seek to capture and destroy yourself. So save yourself the anguish, and let her go. This monster will not return your affection.”
Pyre seethed, balling up his fists, “I am different, Marcus. I will succeed where the others failed. This time, this time, the tables will turn.”
“So you have said,” Marcus Rosse replied as knocked in a specific rhythm on the door, “This is how a man admits defeat: when he has nothing to say.”
Pyre and Rosse stood staring at one another for a moment, until Rosse broke the silence, speaking in a friendly tone, “The door is no longer barred to you. Think on your future, it is a bright one, full of promise. Abandon these dreams of glory with Olin and Peyton: deals with demons will only bring pain. Come back to where you belong - it is a slow climb, but the results are certain. I assure you, you will be rewarded.”
Montgomery Pyre nodded, licking his lips. He turned slowly, shoulders by his ears, swagger all but gone. His earlier assailants stood guard on either side of the door, “Good afternoon, Pyre,” they said in unison, “Would you like your documents back?”
“No.”
“Suit yourself,” the two said again, as one.
“He’s going the wrong way,” the left said to the right.
“He knows where he’s going,” the right said to the left.
“Do you think he was fond of her?” the left said to the right.
“Completely,” the right said to the left.
“Too bad for him,” the left said to the right.
They watched as Pyre continued down the corridor into the shadow, his posture slowly righting itself until his swagger returned, although with slightly less swing in the step. They continued their observation of the saunter until Montgomery Pyre, with all of his bravado, disappeared from view.