"Give me a name."

Kaz Brekker didn't need a reason the saying went, whispered around Ketterdam as the sound of a cane hitting the cobblestones echoed around the forlorn streets, walking away from anxious eyes and leaving terror in his wake. He didn't need a reason to cause destruction, to take you for everything you have while there was truly nothing you could really do about it...well, for most people, there was nothing you could do about it, because if you went up against the likes of Brekker, you'd be lucky if you kept your eyes in tact.

The dregs, the demon named Dirtyhands who lead them, they were all something you didn't want knowing that you wanted to cause trouble, because the least they would do would be laugh off your pathetic attempts with a few broken bones and torn apart ego...but if they thought you were a threat, thought you were someone who had gotten too confident in your slander over their crew...than you'd be lucky if you died quickly, it was as simple as that.

However, to fortunate and quite frankly, rich, souls such as Eddard Nobles, there was something he could do about it...and he planned to do so most indefinitely...because the bastard of the Barell deserved to be taken down a peg or two, after all, he'd taken the man for almost everything he had, his riches, his paintings imported from around the world, even some of his men who'd apparantly been no match for the mere boy who seemed keen to tear whatever was left of his empire apart like he did with every other rich bastard who got in his way.

But luckily for Eddard...there were monsters everywhere in Ketterdam, hidden in shadows and some plainly lying around in broad daylight, salivating and hungry for blood, for kruge, for death...and it was only a matter of finding which ones had the sharpest teeth and more dangerous claws. There were plenty of assassins, of mercenaries, of people who were killers who'd take the job...but he didn't want any of those, he wanted the myth, the legend...Eddard wanted The Stranger.

He'd listened to the whispers, listened to the stories that spread around through loose lips, heard the terrifying tales of something immoral that came in the dead of night if asked too, and taking your name as their own as they drained you of your own morality, and then leaving you there amongst your own floor, dead and gone with nothing more than a whisper on your tongue and a fear that struck the hearts of those who knew them, and who knew who...or quite frankly, what killed them. No signs of forced entry, no signs of a fight, of poison, of fear...just a rotting corpse that had been taken far too easily from a monster hiding in humanity's plain sight.

So, he planted the seeds of questions, of inquires through what was left of his trusted men, forcing them to wander through the streets, through high and low with their name on their tongue, trying to find a scrap of information of the being that made people drop like flies. Bars, taverns, brothels were some of the easiest places they'd gone, through no such luck, then they'd be made to go to the Gala's of the rick folk, to parties and such, but every time they'd come back with apologises on their lips, well, the ones that made it back did anyway.

But the truth was, Eddard, contrary to popular belief, was no fool, he knew no one would admit to using The Strangers dark talents of death, no one would give their location in fear of what they could do, no one would even act as if they existed other than to be a horror story to tell their children at night, all about the great beast that haunted Ketterdam. The truth was you didn't simply find the Stranger...The Stranger found you, and it was up to them whether you lived or died.

He'd sent out those inquiries a week ago, and every night since then he'd been on edge, pacing back and forth across his bedroom floor, refusing to see or talk to anyone, paranoid eyes constantly flickering around the room as if expecting to find them waiting for him with a knife in their hand, ready to gut him like a fish for asking questions he didn't know the answer too...but as soon as the order had left his lips for his men to look for The Stranger, he'd regretted them, but he refused to turn back now, not with Brekker still at large and taking him for everything he had.

Tonight marked the fifth one in a row as he sat on the edge of his bed, deep bags under his bloodshot eyes that seemingly never stopped moving, a certain paleness to his face that brought out his hollow cheeks and dry, cracked lips. Somehow managing to look half dead as his hand nervously fumbled together, muttering things under his breath for nothing but his own ears as he sat there, waiting and waiting and waiting for something, anything to happen.

It felt like it had been hours since he last moved, legs turning numb but then regaining feeling in the next breath, his throat parched to the point his tongue felt like sandpaper as it stroked over the roof of his mouth. He smacked his lips together quietly, the noise echoing through the silence of the room, before he finally stood up and limped over to one of his dresser tables where a pitcher of water lay peaceful, cool beads of condensation licking down the metal rim due to the coldness of the room and his hands held a certain tremor as he lifted it to his lips to take a drink.

But before he could properly clench his thirst...a sudden noise came from outside, loud and clear in the open air and he dropped the pitcher against the floor, feeling the water soak into the fabric of his socks as he spun around with a startled shout, whole body shaking as he looked around frantically but there was no one there...nothing there except an open window and his deep crimson curtains fluttering in the dull wind ominously.

Eddard gulped and felt his breath stutter in his chest as he slowly moved forwards, feet feeling as though they were being dragged down into the fiery rage of hell with every step he took, a weight heavy against his shoulders as he reached the windowsill and, after a moment of fearful hesitation, leaned out of it, looking left and right, up and down for any sign of the creature that had opened it, but there was nothing there once more, just a breeze against his sweating face and just the familar darkness that swallowed Ketterdam whole.

"Careful there, that looks like a nasty drop."

His heart stopped at the voice that came from behind him, feminine, dangerous and thick like honey, oozing false sweetness and when he turned around to face it, the fear that unfurled in his stomach was nothing short of biting at the figure who awaited him, flirting with the shadows of his room to the point that it hardly looked like there was anyone there at all...black clothes sticking to the contours of her skin, black heeled boots that curled over her knees and a mask that obscured her features from view with a cloacked Cape wrapped around her body, looking like every sort of sin in the book as she stood there.

He couldn't see the colour of her skin, the shape of her body, could barely even make out her true height with the quite frankly ridiculous heels she currently wore...all he could see were the icy fortress eyes, a cold azure gaze that glared him down calmly, not moving a single inch to the point it looked down right unnatural, and he knew, he knew that there was no mistaking who was in front of him...the Stranger, in flesh and blood, looking every bit the merchant of death the tales made them out to be.

"I heard you've been looking for me, Eddard Nobles. Why?" She spoke so slowly, and it was a rather horrifying sight to hear the voice coming from the figure that was so still that they almost didn't seem real, but Eddard pushed that terror down, shivering as a chill crept up his spine and stepping away from the still open window, the breeze pressing against his back where his shirt had been absolutely drenched in sweat and making him feel colder.

"I-I need you to take someone out, I'm heard the rumours, I know why you are and i know about your succession rate! I can give you anything you want, anything at all, you just have to name it and-" His sweating fumbling for words was interrupted when she finally moved, holding up a singular slender hand entangled with a deep, rich blue glove that shined just slightly in the low candle light, the movement however, was so stiff and so mechanical that it looked like it was some sort of haunted mannequin, something inhuman and wrong but breathlessly terrifying and Eddard felt his mouth go dry as he stared at her, awaiting whatever cursed demand that would fall from her covered lips.

"Give me a name."

"Kaz. Kaz Brekker, the Bastard of the Barrel, Dirtyhands."

"Hm...I've heard those names before. Many times actually." The Stranger whispered softly, finally stepping away from out of the shadows, coming into the light as the flickering flames of the fireplace bathed her in a warm glow, and Eddard had hoped that it would make her less intimidating, less eldritch in appearance, only to find that there was something about the heat, the fire, the temptation of burning that just made her seem all that more dangerous, like she was half a second away from dissolving in flames and spouting horns and a tail, but still, he managed to swallow some of his fear to frown at her.

"Then why isn't he dead yet?"

"No one ever offered the right price...but they did end up paying for wasting my time all the same if course." Amusement coated her usual monotone voice, and Eddard fought against every instinct in his body that begged him to abort this deal while he was ahead but knowing that now, now he was well and truly trapped in her web...and if he wanted to survive this night, he had to lay all of his cards out on the table, or at least what was left of them as he closed his eyes for half a second, and apologised to his ancestors who'd earned the money he was about to throw out.

"One million kruge....If you can kill that bastard, I'll give you one million kruge."

"Well, this boy seems to have really got your panties in a twist, hasn't he?...Luckily for you, I happen to be in a generous mood, so one million it is, it's been a pleasure doing business with you." The Stranger let out a low laugh, a cruel mocking cackle that bot at his ears unpleasantly as she moved, stalking past him with a certain grace that most lacked. The way she moved reminded him of almost a cat, no, no not a cat, a panther, with crushing jaws that would soon crack open his skull with a simple bite if he didn't want his tome.

But that still didn't stop him from stopping her, his scarred hand stretching out as if to grab her but rethinking his choices when she slowly turned her head to look at him, and though he couldn't see her expression, he had no doubt that it was nothing short of deadly as he tried to figure out how to word his order, his demand without it sounding as such, getting lost in the myth that he was currently apart of and getting greedy with the thought of power, just like all men do. "I want you to make it hurt. I don't care about subtle."

"I don't get my hands dirty."

"Then I'll pay you double." There was a pause as soon as those words left his lips as she froze, heeled foot still pressed against the windowsill, poised to leap from off of it and plunge into the streets below as she though it over, at least, he hoped she was thinking it over, and not debating with herself on whether or not to add his name to her list of death...and unknown to the man, there was a slow grin curling under the features of her mask as she drawed it out, listening to the pounding off his heart, watching the sweat drip down his face as she stared off into the distance dramatically.

"In that case...I'll see what I can do."

And then, The Stranger was gone in the blink of an eye, blending into the darkness like it was merely an extension of herself and disappearing from view as he staggered back away from the window, slamming it shut quickly as his legs gave out and he slumped to the floor, releasing the breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding at the terrifying encounter, trying to steady his pounding heart, trying to remind himself that what he was doing was for the best, because if you weren't brutal in Ketterdam you were dead, it was as simple as that.

He'd get his revenge, he'd get his freedom, and he'd tear that Brekker boy apart from the inside out and make a fool out of him, just like the bastard had done to him. She could make him a legend, she could bring him glory, she could make him the kind witn no crown of Ketterdam instead of Dirtyhands...So why did something in Eddard feel wrong, feel cold and nervous...and most importantly, why did he feel like he'd just sold his soul to the Devil herself.