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M x M x m gale baldurs gate snuff death suffocation prostitute twink

Blurb: Gale and Gabriel are on an epic quest to stop the realm from falling into the abyss. They must complete deadly rituals on an unsuspecting male prostitute to ensure that the realm is safe. This is safe for work.

Tag: SFW, Baldur’s Gate, Gale, snuff, death, killing, suffocation, feet, foot, prostitute.

The evil was upon the city and nobody was the wiser. Nobody except Gabriel and Gale that is. The city bore the scars of the impending doom, little things here and there: sporadic fires, political decline, rats becoming ravenous, disappearances… the uncertain certain dread of reality crashing down like a meteor… these bleeding bastardizations to stability to the city were not felt exclusively to this city alone. Cities ebb and flow, such is life, but this was the general downward trajectory of cities the world over. Had others realized this, there might be more concern.

The brothel sat like a red and gold painted mirror in the flickering gaslight of the city’s slums quarters, a building out of place in the quiet aftermath of their unsavory deed being done. Its windows, thick with the haze of incense and hedonism, barely revealed the dull movements of those inside. Privacy and secrecy were the stock and trade here, not sexual immorality. The world outside was a gray, quiet ruin of cobblestone streets marked by rain-soaked gutters and the faint scent of burning. Each street seemed to splay haphazardly connecting one place to another until a city proper could be loosely discerned.

The ritual the duo of adventurers had performed had a particularly wild and aggressive outcome, resulting in not just the burning of one corrupt noble, or the slit throat former mentioned noble’s wife, but the building itself turning into a towering inferno.

Hardly noticed in a city decayed to the point of rot.

Gale’s weather worn leather brown boots scraped the wet stone as he followed Gabriel into the building, his robes still singed from the fiery death of a corrupt nobleman, the heat of the flames still clinging to the edges of his clothing. He was lagging behind, but even if he wasn’t so spent, he would still take the rear. Let Gabriel lead, it was what he was born into. Let the privileged warrior earn his keep. The wizard’s breath came in short, shallow bursts, his pulse quick and erratic from the magic he had woven earlier, such power always left him with an unsettling hunger, gnawing at him, like something had been torn from his own flesh, his soul. The spell, which triggers the ritual, had drained him, though the discomfort didn’t quite overshadow the strange satisfaction of the deed. Even in doing something so twisted, there was reward in not only eliminating someone that should have been eliminated, but for the greater purpose of a ritual spell that would protect the realm from a ruinous end. For Gale, and confidently Gale could say the same for his companion, Gabriel, the end did indeed justify the means.

Gabriel, on the other hand, seemed unfatigued, the blood on his hands already dried and his dark eyes unclouded by remorse. Much of that blood from the corrupt nobleman’s wife’s neck that spurted out erratically as he slid his knife clean along her neck, biting at the start on the jugular, had been washed away from the rain, diluted to pink as it painted the cobblestone. Soon to be forgotten, such as the lives taken tonight, such as the good deeds accomplished by the childhood friends. But blood doesn’t just wash off in the rain, not all of it, never all of it. Gabriel was undeterred by a little bit of blood, as much as Gale was unconcerned with the singes incurred in the bonfire. The city was ill, they were the clerics.

Gabriel wiped his blade clean with a damp folded linen as he entered the brothel, his movements fluid and practiced. His attention both in front of him, and distant. There was no tension in his posture; he seemed entirely at ease, as though he'd walked through this door several times before, a regular purveyor here. This, however, was not the case, but damn did he play that part.

Gale watched his best friend with a mix of admiration and something darker… something that lurked at the edges of his mind but was easier to push aside. Gabriel had always been the one who kept them grounded, always in control. His aristocratic upbringing had taught him how to mask his intentions beneath layers of charm, his every gesture deliberate and smooth. His face, with its sharp angles yet somehow soft and gentle infused with striking handsomeness, was perfect for deception, a facade of duplicity that few could see past. He resembled a person from some well-crafted portrait, the kind one could imagine holding court at the end of some grand hall, yet his true nature, Gale had come to learn, was far more complex, far more dangerous. Not evil, exactly, just unsettling. Once the façade could be seen through though.

Gale was more reluctant as they made way into the brothel. Danger lurked at every turn, given the sad and twisted state of affairs of the realm. Unlike his friend, he wielded magic, which meant that Gale was more attuned to the horrors that were envisioned for the realm if they fail. The wizard, his face pale beneath the dim light (pale from magic excursion, not skin tone, Gabriel’s natural complexion was fairer then his own), took in the scene as they moved deeper into the brothel. He hadn't forgotten what they had done… what they needed to do. He hadn’t forgotten the ritual that bound them, the role they had been forced to play, one after another. But here, in this house of depraved pleasures and whispered sins, he felt an odd sense of detachment, as if they were yet again actors in a play too grim to be fully real.

The brothel was quieter than expected. The walls, thick with rugged curtains, muted the world outside. Lush rugs covered the floor, and the air, sweet and spicy with perfume and cheap wine, made Gale’s stomach churn. There were no drunken revelers in sight, no orgiastic chaos that one might expect from such a place. Instead, a single woman with dark eyes and bright-red lips sat at the bar, polishing a glass. She was wearing what one might expect of her given the environment, which was to say, something that might as well be nothing at all. It was meant to excite. The few patrons were scattered about, their faces blurry in the dim candlelight, too distracted by their own desires to notice the two men entering.

Gabriel gave the woman a cursory glance, his lips curling into a faint smirk. A smirk from him was sharper then a knife, and Gale had seen it cut down many a person. She returned his gaze with no hint of surprise, recognizing the aristocrat for what he was, or perhaps simply accustomed to seeing strange men come and go. Gabriel didn’t just look like a regal; he dressed as one also.

"Is your employer available?" Gabriel asked dismissively, his voice smooth, a calculated mix of charm and authority. His accent was cultured, refined, the kind that could make even a command sound like an invitation. An invitation often accepted.

“What makes you think I am not she?” She smiled stunningly with her eyes.

“I expect the owner would have more clothing,” Gabriel said, returning her flirtatious nature with no intention of anything other than banter.

“Can we just get this over with?”

Gabriel glanced at Gale, then back at her, his eyes meaningful, “You heard the man.”

The woman looked him up and down, measuring him as she would any other guest. She nodded slowly and motioned toward the back of the brothel. "Room six. You’re looking for something… particular, I take it?" Her eyes went from Gabriel to Gale, her assessment of the situation not far off the mark, though the reasons for that being the case were lost on her. Even if she was completely wrong, she needed to make these assumptions, for her own ego.

Gabriel’s smirk deepened, but there was no trace of mirth in his eyes but he employed a certain charming flippantness to himself, "You could say that."

Gale, trailing behind Gabriel, felt a sense of discomfort creeping up his spine. He had been complicit in the previous killings, but something about this task felt different. There was innocence involved, where others were much more cut and drier.

They made their way down the hall, their footsteps muffled by the plush carpet, until they arrived at the door to Room Six. Gabriel gave it a soft, almost languid knock. Knock, knock, knock.

A voice from inside, thick with sleep and a heavy, guttural tone, answered. "Come in."

The door creaked open.

The friends walked in, single file. There was a singular candle lit in the room but it was bright enough to touch all the corners of the room but still maintained the eerie shadows that night and candle light often produced. Behind the table, a play prince if ever there was one. Just a shrewd business owner that inhabited the blackest of black markets, complete with gut hanging out from his ill fitted but noble shirt. He could dress like a prince, say he was a prince, but he was no prince. Just trash.

The pudgy soft man waved a hand and the chair on the other side of the desk moved a little back. Ah… Magic. Sorcerer? To Gale that would explain a little about this denizen of the gutter.

“What can I do you for?”

Gabriel and Gale exchanged looks. Moment of truth. Gabriel produced a coin pouch and tossed it onto the desk. The pouch was closed by a string but the momentum of such heft caused gold coins to be pushed through closed off hole and spill out. The portly perfectly legitimate and respectable business owner glanced at the spilled gold than narrow eyes went to the two men besieging his den.

There was silence.

The amount of gold given was not for one night.

The amount of gold given was not for one year.

It was enough for purchasing – clear and simple. The amount of gold suggested illicit and illegal activities as well. They all knew that from the onset of the negotiation.

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Gabriel said in Gabriel style.

“Blonde.” Gale supplied, standing more toward the shadows then his counterpart who was now settling down in the chair provided for him. There was only one chair, this was not the typical place to do business as such but sometimes concessions were made, especially when unusual requests were on the desk.

This just so happened to be one such usual request.

“A blonde?” The guy chuckled, eyes glistening with gold, the whites of his eyes disappearing in the hue. It was hard not to think of him as anything but a dragon, hording wealth however it came.

“Yes, a blonde. Is that a problem?” Gabriel confidently said while plucking one of the spilt gold coins and sliding it over to himself, a testimony to his disapproval.

“No, no, fine. It is fine.”

“I thought so,” Gabriel pocketed the gold coin, “They cannot be missed. This transaction is between us,”

“Yes, yes, of course this is between us…” The greedy hands plumply rested on the pouch, coveting it. The pretend prince succumbed to his baser instincts, looking very much like a drug addict. Gabriel sliced his hand between the grubby hands to maintain control over the money. There was something so final about the action.

This seedy business owner did not impart trust by any means.

“I said fine!”

The hand withdrew, relinquishing the pouch full of coin and yet the wannabe prince had eyes for only one thing – the reacquired golden coin that Gabriel was dexterously rolling between his fingers, casting reflective candlelight in hypnotic rotation. The noble didn’t need confirmation of the mans greed but chuckled a little to himself when he saw this and clenched the gold coin, securing it as his own. Not a part of the original deal.

They set to plans after that. Not in detail, but detail enough for the dots to be connected. Nobody in this room would be innocent if tried in a fair court of law.

Thankfully for them, the realm was going to the abyss in a quick and terrifying fashion. Just as much as the procured victim wouldn’t be missed, so to were their impropriates swept under the carpet and lost.

--

Gabriel, leading the charge, left the private audience of the business owner, Gale in tow. The same woman from before guided them to the room where their session of love was to be taken place. A rickety staircase led up to the rooms above, where the smell of must and dampness lingers in the air.

“I should have known.” She commented flippantly, obviously upset that she wasn’t going to get some action from the two adventurers.

She was giving clear signals that they would be admitted into her for a discount. Probably free.

Gabriel took the gold coin, a flick of the wrist mimicking magic and he held it up to her, “You aren’t paid to think. You don’t know anything.”

She snatched the coin and she disappeared, silent, knowing when to take a win.

It was amazing that this building stood in harsh weather, a heavy wind should be able to take the roof right off, clear and simple. These rooms were not rented out for their luxury though. The brothel room was dimly lit by a few flickering candles set atop rough wooden tables. The floorboards creak with each step they made, worn down from years of use, having borne the weight of countless hedonistic people. The walls, stained and patched, were adorned with faded tapestries to hide the rundown condition. The air smelled of stale beer, and a hint of roasting meat from the kitchen just on the other side of the tavern. A fire crackles weakly in the hearth (a necessity to keep the place heated, not luxury), casting uneven shadows across the room. Gale and Gabriel cast menacing shadows on the walls.

There he was. Whether he knew it or not, there was their sacrifice. For the greater good, of course. Rhy was a small frail prostitute, lovely as ever given the conditions, flesh fair and exposed, save for the underwear he had on, or what amounted to underwear, practically a loincloth of the most sordid kind. Rhy was coyly laying on the bed, a welcoming smirk on his face.

He had no idea what was going on, that much was clear or else he wouldn’t be presenting himself so invitingly. There was something coquettish about him and innocent, quite the feat given his occupation. Rhy scooted on the bed a little, showcasing all that he had to offer, less so additional flesh and more so willingness. His movements were graceful even with limited movement.

Gale shut the door. Gabriel bit back a sneer of distaste at seeing who… what… was given to him to work with.

The moment the door shut, Gale cast a spell, a minor spell, a spell that required little to no effort, a spell that would be considered difficult for most, but a cantrip to him. Rhy immediately froze in place, disturbing his feline fancy. The position was quite usual and unrealistic, he was in mid-seduction and the posture and position was eerie, making it clear he had been frozen, much against his will, by anyone.

“Not bad for wizard who didn’t get eight hours of sleep last night,” even weary and threadbare to the soul, Gale had a charismatic knack.

“She should have known…” Gabriel said darkly.

On the bed, soundlessly, was the anointed sacrifice, the one that would be offered to stop the ongoing onslaught to the world that, presumably, everybody wanted to remain not in the abyss. The particular spell froze someone in place, but only conscious movements and actions. The way his chest rose and fell told as much, given his body functioned perfectly normal, his lungs took in air and expelled the waste. He looked dead, though not dead.

“What’s that?” Gale said wearily.

Hissing through his teeth, Gabriel followed up, “Nothing,” But it wasn’t nothing. The noble glanced around the room, finding decent sized mirror on the nightstand next to the bed and approached it, not wanting to look at the frozen male. One might consider his actions vanity, but in truth, Gabriel noted his appearance, fingers pinching the base of his mustache and curling it out, “Maybe it’s the mustache.”

“Maybe it was the clothing? Maybe it was the way you walked. Maybe I just don’t care and maybe you shouldn’t either. Greater Bargests to fry and all that. Can we get back to this? I am wet, I have blood on me, I am almost out of spells…”

“I was just hoping for a little fun before we did this, is all,” Gabriel sneered toward the frozen prostitute, “and this isn’t going to work at all.”

“It will work, just not for you,” Gale commented, ruffling through an ancient tomb, turning curled, aged pages as he muttered under his breath. The book was bound in the flesh of a virgin, inked with her blood too. Gale had ran the calculations in his head the moment Gabriel commented that the book couldn’t be written in the same persons blood – too much writing, not enough blood. The grim realization was for that to happen, the victim needed to be alive for a prolonged period of time.

“Well?” Gabriel said insistently.

“Ah! There we are. Needs to be suffocated. I knew it was in here somewhere. Suffocation. hmmm…” Gale kept the textbook out, and in one of his hands, as his eyes slid upward and to the side, considering what spell would do the trick.

“Sometimes Gale, I think you don’t think too much, and others, you think too much…” Gabriel smoothly cut through the distance and stood over the prone prostitute, distant enough away from him to show just how much contempt and disgust he held for the blonde haired sacrifice. The body was near naked and lean, he was muscular, but in the most feminine ways. The juxtaposition of the essence of this femboy was quite disturbing to Gabriel. His hand stretched to the others throat and placed two singular fingers against either side.

“Ah… Gabriel, what are you doing?”

“Just doing something I saw. Might be useful here.” Gabriel said mysteriously before his fingers crushed the sides of the neck quickly. A wet little popping could be heard, not quite like a broken bone, but there was a fleshy crush that punctuated his sentence as it finished. Before the snap, Gabriel was already moving away from the body, delivering the fatal blow casually and with extreme prejudicial disinterest.

Gale watched in astonishment as Gabriel just waltz off like nothing had happened, the way he was scouting and rustling through the room was rather disturbing given that by Gabriel’s own admission he had maybe a trick he maybe had seen that could maybe kill someone. To Gabriel, death was nothing, but to deliver it with such calmness was unnerving.

But not as unnerving as the body on the bed twitching. It wasn’t the kind of reaction one would expect from someone anchored by a spell, but the hasty desperation for breath, the spasming of muscles as air was snuffed out, the ability to retain and expel, that was by far more unnerving.

To die, and to realize the death, much like Rhys was doomed to, was truly horrific. Saving the realm or not, there was something to be said about the deed done in action, at least to Gale and not so much for Gabriel.

“How many times do you think this room has been used for sex?” Gabriel asked cool as a summer breeze.

Rhys’ eyes mirrored Gale’s own, those the objectives were different. Rhys was screaming silently, with his eyes, pleading for help, while Gale was going over the text once more to make sure that the ritual would be properly satiated by the actions done. Gale remained unconvinced.

“In my humblest opinion, and it is humble for a wizard of my majestic skill and renown, that I think we both need to have a hand in this sacrifice.” Gale levied.

“Well hell, Gale, looks like your going to have to get your hands dirty… for once,” Gabriel snapped, casting an accusing eye toward his companion.

Gale was taken aback but before he could say anything, Gabriel offered a mischievous smile, “Time’s wasting. I’ve done my part, time to do yours.”

“Elminster’s beard and pipe…” Gale swore but relents, approaching the bed, the body still frozen, but the agonizing detailed impending death could be heard from the stoic body, the naked body shutting down as breath was denied from Rhys. The sickening gasping for air escaped his mouth, yet nothing went in. Those eyes, they were filled with horrible, horrible, desperation and fear.

“You’re taking your dear sweet time there, Gale… Almost makes me think you want to see the poor whore suffer,”

Gale took this in stride, he had taken a chair and carefully moved it to the bed all the while Rhys suffered more, and more, and more, until his eyes locked onto Gale, pleading for death, or life --- anything at this point. An end of this was what was sought. Gale slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, it was cleaned (a cantrip) the blood from the noble. With handkerchief blanketing his open palm, Gale blows a vaporous green breath onto it, wet, condensed venomous vapor. A little-known spell, but it was obvious that it was poisonous, venomous, or deadly. Or all three.

Gabriel went to the window, a heavy curtain over it, a finger peeled away the cloth enough for just his eye to peek to the streets below. Nobody would suspect, seeing him, that in this room he occupied, he was party to murder. Not just any murder, a sacrifice, not of body, but soul – the darkest deed.

Rhys demanded to be witnessed, to be seen, but Gale refused to look at the near naked whore, instead Gale’s eyes slide past the soft sensual feminine body to the wall adjacent to him. Delicately, his palm clasped over the thin, naturally rosy lips and the sleek somewhat hawkish nose of the victim. Once positioned, he applied pressure, the green vapor invading Rhys, undenied, undeterred.

Though it looked like this was a brutal end, it was more soft, a little whimper instead of a bold statement. It wasn’t the palm that forced the spell into Rhys but merely the tips of his fingers. It wasn’t exactly guilt or disgust that motivated the softness of the elimination, but a mixing of the two. The outcome was far less harsh than one might expect though.

“Beholders Bar?” Gale glanced over his shoulder to Gabriel.

Gabriel moved from the curtain and looked at Gale… and the victim inhaling the toxin, “Mutton? No,” He seemed so personally offended by the suggested, “We saved the realm and you want me to eat Mutton in celebration?”

“Don’t make me fish, I am a wizard, not a ranger. What is it that you want?”

The noble gone rogue was now going through some drawers, unamused that the contents were all sexually oriented, “Glad you asked, I’d a mind for ---”.

Gabriel heard some commotion and his well honed skills went to a frenzy, hand rapid fast on a hidden dagger but departed the weapon as he saw Rhys struggling now, truly struggling, hands slightly moving to wrap hands around the wrist of his companion.

“Mistakes were made, Gabriel, and none of them my own,” Gale said thick with charm, a dash of worry as the body, an easy kill, found itself breaking free from immobility, waking up in the most horrific circumstances. Rhys unconscious mechanical body was fighting for life, but now he himself was in the fray, flailing, fighting for life even though death was not something he could prevent.

The legs wither and writhe, small little limp kicks turning into whirlwinds of force, pounding muffled onto the bed, seething and squirming.

Rhys struggled deeply for life. This was only infused with the idea that this was a fate that he might be able to fight against, if only he had the strength. The will to live was powerful, inspired by his fear. His muscles, once relaxed from the spell, started to tense, awaken, providing him a slow expansion of his body. He was lean, but rather sensually gracefully strong, now all those muscles were working jointly for liberation.

“A little help!?” Gale said, composure failing.

“Maybe if you didn’t sleep through your classes, this wouldn’t have happened,”

“Yeah, well, maybe if they weren’t so bloody boring, I wouldn’t have. Now grab his feet!”

The feet in question were anchored on the bed, using the prized position to heave the body upward, bucking against captivity like a wild animal regaining strength. But Rhys would not go quietly to death.

Gabriel snatched both ankles in a manacled grip and forced them planted on the bed, Gale standing up from the chair, the chair to which had been noisily thrown from his rump to wail against the wooden floor. This gave Gale a superior position of leverage to keep his entire palm crushing over mouth and nose as if the pressure would force the spell breathed onto the cloth to work faster. Gale’s other hand snapped the delicate slender wrists of Rhys, one by one, before prying them back and above Rhys head, nuzzled and nested in between the pillow and the headboard. Rhys eyes were wide and in terror, looking deeply into Gales own eyes, crying and pleading, but he was already feeling, yet again, the critical sensation of having his breath snuffed from him. His reaction was doubly so then originally, he had another shot for life.

Do to the substantial lack of oxygen, much denied from the femboy’s lithe body from the previous suffocation, the renewed asphyxiation caused his muscles to collapse in onto themselves, violently spasming, which was the complete opposite of his dwindling ability to truly provide strength and effort to his kicking and flailing. As he lost that vital vitality, his body was no longer even fighting, instead it was imploding in weakened jerks and seizures.

The slowly growing struggle whimpered and slowly died out anew. The violent reaction disappearing and replaced with the actions more akin to a dying man near death and not a dying man embracing the onset of death. Strength evaporated completely, his body not having energy enough to even survive, let alone support its most vital and critical organs. The body limped but Gabriel kept his grip steadfast on the ankles, just in case, but Gale loosened his grip on the handkerchief and settled himself back onto Rhys with the pads of his fingers delicately, he even opted to remove his hand from the fine wrists, wrists both of which with easily were contained within exactly one of his hands.

Rhys hands limped, tired, sleepy, crawling to his mouth, to liberate himself, unconsciously or consciously, but to no avail. But that didn’t stop Gale was smacking the glacially moving hands away from anything that could remotely be considered resistance.

Gabriel chuckled to himself.

Rhys, it was clear, was unconscious, eyes lulled to nothingness, closed.

Gabriel sits onto the foot of the bed, between the feet he was holding down, “Why does it feel like this was the hardest of the sacrifices. I mean, at least the others were fun. This? Hardly even a tale to tell. When the bards sing about this, they will not be getting this part,”

Rhys, long gone and passed out, pisses himself as the wetness of the handkerchief suffocates against his mouth and nostrils, sickly and damp wheezing into him and blocking all air completely – not even a tiny bit of life requiring oxygen getting in now. The final touch of death was when Gale shoved the fabric against the mouth, prying lips open to rest inside, the nostrils suffered the same penetration, the wet moist poison practically resting, unhindered, on the victim. It was only then that Rhys removed his hand.

The body twitched, spasming gently, and gentler still, inhaling, or what could be considered inhaling only worked to expedite Rhys death.

“Let’s see what we can see.” Gales consults the book again.

Gabriel, looking at the cloth that might very well slip and sighed but knew that he didn’t want to have a repeat of what had just happened and committed himself to a new action, “Even when you have to participate, your quite sloppy.” Gabriel used his toe to peel off his sandal, letting it tumble to the wooden floor before turning around, his butt flanked by dying tiny jerking legs of the victim, his foot, naked, went to the cloth (and the mouth and nose underneath) and planted his well-maintained foot right against it, taking up the position of what the hand once was. He might be a traveler, someone with light and fleeting feet, he possessed remarkably smooth arches, no blemishes on his foot, and his nails were perfectly in order and even, objectively, quite beautiful.

“I didn’t make the roles but this doesn’t fall under Wizard duties. This,” He holds up the book, “does.” His other hand, eyes still reading the book, went to the limp wrist of Rhys, fingers resting on naked flesh to read the rapidly dying pulse. Blindly doing this resulted in him reaching for nothingness until finally he felt out the wrist.

Tensions were still high, and the two squabbled, still trying to lessen their infusion of anxiety and adrenaline.

One weak, uncontained hand of Rhys found itself to the very corner of the cloth, index finger hooking against it until strength expired, allowing gravity to drag the hand down to the pillow, arm in a C’ed position. The position might have gone unnoticed had one of those fingers not tickled across the side of the naked foot desperately and barely shoving the cloth into position. The fallen hand felled the finger, which hooked and felled the cloth as well, pulling it awkwardly off, exposing Rhys mouth to fresh air which his body mightily focused on and inhaled.

This was met with a sudden response, the naked foot taking residence where the handkerchief once was. What Gabriel was not aware of, grimly, was that the tongue of Rhys was lulling out, the surest sign of impending death. The wet little organ panting and dimly licking against the naked foot that ensured the death.

“Oh, come on. You’ve lived a disgraceful and disgusting hedonistic life, the least you could do is die with a little bit of dignity and respect.” Gabriel sneered, pressing against the tongue, and mouth, trying to expedite the execution. He looked at the ankles which he was forced to hold down, angry red marks of his grip could been seen. It seemed that either Rhys fought much harder then he originally thought, or he reactions disproportionate to the threat and went full out on his strength.

After Gabriel rolled his eyes, obviously bored, Gale finally lets the wrist go, it solidly bangs against the side of the bed, “And the ritual is complete,” He said with a sigh, perhaps bored himself, or exhausted from the adrenaline pump he incurred earlier.

“Now I am hungry.” The noble said, hand running through his hair before he starts to stretch himself. Up on his tippy toes to hit his calves, locking stiff elbow between folded arm. All for show. Like they’d just went through something oh so strenuous.

Gale sighed himself, annoyed, taking out a diamond, closing his eyes as he whispers a spell. The diamond was worth more than the pouch of gold they’d given for this little prostitute that wouldn’t be missed. The lulled mouth, open, tongue hanging, was appropriate as a white mist escaped and was quickly sucked into the white diamond, a little magical snap could be heard.

The wizard stood up from the chair and tossed the diamond up, snatching it from the air, the facets catching glints of reflection as it whirled through the air. He puffed a breath onto the stone, the mist briefly clouded its surface before it quickly dissipated. He took the diamond and pressed it against the fabric of his robes, hand moving in small deliberate circles to clean it off.

Gale throws his arm around Gabriel’s exaggerated stretching routine and starts to cart him off toward the door, “We are almost done. Almost,” He took the diamond and held it up to admire it before talking directly to the diamond in question, “As for you, the journey is just beginning,”