The Alchemist

The lone sellsword paused to catch his breath, glancing back to see that white-haired man hadn't chased after him. "Shit…everything has gone to hell…" He muttered to himself as he'd continue along through the woods, heading to the gathering point the boss had planned. "The old man fucked up…said this be damn simple!" He arrived at a small clearing that overlooks the nearby King's Road, the woods offering perfect cover to not be noticed. This was how the group had tracked the King's approach along with seeing how much protection he had as well. They were just back up while their so-called 'man-on-the-inside' tried a subtler means of getting at the king. "That boy fucked up. How hard is it to get a man like that drunk!?"

A sudden branch snapping made him gasp in shock before turning about, short sword out. "Put that down sellsword." A deep voice calmly mutter, words thick with a foreign accent that the mercenary knew was Dothraki. From the dense brush an imposing man dressed in a mix of boiled dark leather and light fur clothing. The simple choice of armour showed off the man's more foreign traits, such as his copper dark skin and dense muscular body. At his back was a large scythe-like blade, an Arakh, the recognizable blade of the Dothraki raiders. The most striking feature of the Dothraki though was the large scar that went up the left side of his face, going across the eye which was a dull pale colour unlike the deep blue of the other. His short cut black hair also lacked the braid all Dothraki warriors had, a hint that this one had committed a serious dishonour in the past.

"Where's the old man copper skin?" The sellsword growled, keeping his weapon up despite that warning.

Despite the man's insult, the Dothraki gave a small shrug before nodding back into the woods. "Tying up any loose ends."

The simple answer had the man lower his blade and sheath it, pacing around nervously. "I knew that old knight and foreigner was good…but never thought they could take on so many at once." He muttered to himself, still shocked at how fast that Witcher had moved.

"It shows that we shouldn't have relied on amateurs." An aged voice spoke out, smooth and well-spoken. Moving into view to stand beside the Dothraki was the old man who the sellsword believed was nearing sixty. His face was thin and pale-skinned with the chin having a well-kept dark goatee. Those deep green eyes stared calmly at the man, seeming hardly worried despite the complications that had happened. He wore a faded red robe over his slim figure, pouches and bottled mixtures strapped around his waist for easy access. Crowning the top of his thinning dark-haired head was a red cap, completing the recognizable outfit the Alchemists of King's Landing wore. "The priority was Robert. If you had focused more on your men during his escape, we could have ensured his death."

"What do you mean ensure? Also, did any of my men survive?"

The old man didn't answer immediately as he paced towards the ridge, looking over the road. "One of the men got lucky and wounded the King. It could prove lethal, but there is no guarantee." He paused in thought, lightly stroking his goatee. "As for your men they are all dead. I killed the last few myself."

"YOU WHAT!?" The sellsword raised his short sword in anger, rushing at the old man who seemed unfazed at being attacked. The Dothraki though reacted quicker as he lunged forward to grab the man's sword arm, gripping it tightly and twisting at the wrist to disarm the sellsword. "Ugh! You bastards! I should have known…dealing with scum like you!"

"Heh, considering you were willing to kill the King for money. I think we know who is the real scum here." The Dothraki chuckled, keeping the struggling sellsword in an arm lock.

"Ugh…and you two are no different?"

"Your men were a loose end. I couldn't risk having them talk and expose us to…or the employer just yet." At this point the alchemist turned to face him, a thin smile hinting his lips. "You fight for the coin, but as we fight for an ideal." He stopped to stand before the mercenary, tugging on a red leather glove before reaching into one pouch at the hip. "Really if I had wanted Robert dead I'd had blown up his tent. Loud and messy, but effective. However, the employer wanted us to pin it on the Targaryens, which was where your group came in."

"So what was the point then? You did this to send a fucking message?!"

"In a manner of speaking. However, I won't bore you with the details…since it won't concern to you." He withdrew his hand from the pouch, a fine white powder just drifting away between his fingers. "Ogatto, please get the man on his knees."

The Dothraki grinned before one strong leg struck the back of the sellsword, who grunted out as he forced down into the requested position.

"Thank you."

"You're making a mistake old man! You kill me and you'll have the Brave Companions hunting you down!" The man threatened though panic hinted his words.

Despite the name of one of the most vicious mercenary companies in the known world, the alchemist gave an amused smirk. "I'm not worried. If anything I expect them too…and you'll no doubt tell them yourself." With that he tossed the powder into the man's face, catching him by surprise as it also caught into his open eyes.

A shocked gasp escaped from him, eyes rapidly blinking and narrowing in they began red with irritation. That redness spread along his skin, which made him hiss out as the skin started to flake off. "Ughh…w-what the fuck did y-you do!?" His eyes were red, tearing up as he also started to cough. "Its…shit it's burning! My eyes…AGHH!" He started to thrash about, Ogatto letting him go as he rubbed at his face, trying to scratch away the pain even as his skin was being peeled off while doing so.

"Hmm…curious. Need to balance out the mixtures used. The reaction is too violent…" The alchemist muttered, moving away from the crying man as he fell onto his back, grasping at his face. Calmly, he'd take out a black notebook and quickly write something down into it, glancing between the sellsword and his Dothraki companion. "Is our horses set for us?"

Ogatto nodded. "All prepared for the trip to the Riverlands. With the extra supplies and coin, we'll have no trouble." He looked at the sellsword who was trembling in pain, body going into shock. "Will he die Zarin?"

The alchemist shrugged as he closed his book and slipped it back into the leather bag he carried. "Perhaps." Picking out a flask of water, he poured it down onto the man's face, making him gasp out with some relief. "Still with me?"

The sellsword only gave a gasping whimper, face bloodied and eyes swollen that they could barely open.

"Good. Now, I want you to go to your commander Vargo Hoat. Tell him that you have crossed paths with the Grims and that Red Cap sends his regards. He'll understand…which means he'll hopefully drag his 'Brave' Companions back to Essos where they belong."

The name had a hint of surprise show on the man's face, fear soon showing as he trembled. He tried to say something, but his swollen lips only let him gasp and mumble senselessly.

"Hah! You nearly made him piss himself, Zarin, just saying a few names.!" The Dothraki deeply laughed out as he'd follow the old man away from the clearing, leaving the sellsword to his fate. They soon reached their horses tied up close by, getting them loose and mounting up for the ride ahead. "So, not worried that our employer will be angry about this? She'll not be pleased if Robert survived."

"It matters little," Zarin said with a shrug as they followed a trail, taking a more secluded northwestern route through the King's Wood. "Let the nobles in King's Landing scramble with their games. Those that are required will be in their proper places. When events fall into motion we'll be the ones who are prepared."

"Does that mean we're getting the whole group together?"

The alchemist nodded. "The Grims have been preparing for this time for twenty years." Gripping the reins, he urged his horse to start into a gallop, making Ogatto hurry after. "For me…I've been waiting all my life."