To the one known as “Ovibos”,
In the beachside resort known as Costa del Sol, there is a Lalafell named Gegeruju. He is your target.
Given his wealth and status, you will find him in the company of guards and servants. I trust that this will not be a problem for someone of your talents.
The target must be eliminated within the next three days. I will await confirmation from the Rogues’ Guild that the deed is done.
The assassin crushed the note in his fist. Quietly, he spoke a single powerful word– at which, the note crumbled into dust and ash.
“Ovibos” had been the name mentioned in the note. That name would serve, for this mission. There were some within the Rogues’ Guild that knew the name, but none that would acknowledge it. In the event an assassination should fail, the Guild would deny any knowledge.
But Ovibos would not fail. He never did, particularly not when the target was a rich, obnoxious Lalafell.
Ovibos looked up, surveying the area before him. He stood near the base of a steep hill, looking out toward the sea. There, just beyond the coastline, a village of bungalows floated above the waves– built on stilts, connected by a series of wooden walkways. The walkways were lined with torches; many, many torches. It was early evening, and the sun had already left for the day. Yet so brightly lit was the floating village Ovibos could clearly see several people walking from one bungalow to another.
This was Costa del Sol, the famous resort where Gegeruju resided. Appropriate, then, that he will die here.
The assassin walked toward the resort. There was a shadowed area near the shoreline, a wooden walkway built upon the rock. This would serve as his entry point. From here, Ovibos would climb along the underside of the walkway, hidden from view, shielded from torchlight.
Hand over hand, Ovibos climbed along the walkway, pulling himself along from one plank to the next. He moved beneath one resort guest, then another. No noise did he make, no alarm did he raise, so perfect was his technique. This was his favorite part of the job– creeping along toward the target, safe in the knowledge that the years of training had paid off…
Ovibos felt a tap on his shoulder.
Instinctively, his hand went to the shortsword at his waist– but before he could draw his weapon, he found himself tightly bound, a long tentacle having wrapped around his entire body. There was a loud splash, a moment of intense cold, and then the assassin found himself brought face to… face with an enormous octopus.
Ovibos sputtered, and shook his head to clear the water from his eyes. “Wh– wha–“
“You sssssshould have checked in with the ssssserver…” The voice was quiet, but unsettling, unnatural. Was the octopus speaking? “Honored guessssssst, let me tell you about tonight’s sssssspecialssss…”
In the last moments before he was swallowed whole, Ovibos took some pride in the training that enabled him to remain silent while being devoured by a giant octopus.
To the one known as “Spriggan”,
In the coastal resort known as Costa del Sol, there is a Lalafell named Gegeruju. He is your target.
As you may have heard, there was another recently who attempted to assassinate Gegeruju. In light of this, security in the area will be tight. I am informed that you are an infiltration specialist. Assuming I have not been misinformed, you should have no trouble.
The one known as “Spriggan” crumpled the note, then put it into her mouth. She chewed on the scrap of paper for a few moments, reflecting on cherished past memories of tastier, more enjoyable paper. Then, the moment was over, the note gone and forgotten.
You’re next, Gegeruju.
“Spriggan” channeled a bit of aether into a glamour prism. Within moments, her entire appearance had changed. Gone were the grim, drab clothes of a rogue– suitable for the shadows, perhaps, but not for tonight. Through the power of glamour, she now appeared to be a semi-attractive young woman, dressed in tasteful, casual, but altogether modest attire.
I’ll fit right in at tonight’s event, Spriggan thought. Oh, I can’t wait to crash this party…
It was early evening in Costa del Sol, and the torches were brightly lit. Spriggan walked toward the resort gate. The client had advised that security would be tight, and indeed, there seemed to be a heavy guard presence. And yet the host seemed unconcerned about potential visitors; for just above the gate, a tall marquee had been placed, bearing the phrase “Happy Birthday, Gege”.
“Stop right there,” said a gruff voice. “State your name and business.”
Spriggan turned, then looked up into the face of a tall Roegadyn fellow– one of the resort’s guards, no doubt. No matter– be they tall or small, she could charm them all, given her many years of extensive training.
“Leila! My name’s Leila!” She giggled, and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. “And I’m here for Geggie-baby’s birthday party, of course!”
A dark look crossed the guard’s face. “No,” he spoke. “No. You can’t call him… that.”
The guard consulted a small journal, reading down a list. After a moment, his expression softened, and he looked up at Spriggan with a smile. “Well, then, Leila. You’re on the list. Try not to have too much fun in there, eh?”
Spriggan winked at him. “I shall behave! Promise!”
Fools. She kept her disdain well-hidden, of course. Yet she found it exhausting, after so many different missions, to achieve consistent success using the same old tricks.
If these guards were the “heightened security”, I should hate to have seen the normal lot. Speaking of which…
Spriggan looked around. This was not her first time visiting Costa del Sol, this resort village of floating bungalows. Yet it was the first time she’d ever thought about which bungalow might be home to the resort’s owner, and she was dismayed to find that all of the bungalows looked alike.
There was one bungalow, however, that seemed to have attracted a larger crowd than the others. Spriggan walked over to it, staying close to small groups as she went so as to avoid being noticed. As she came closer, it became clear that the crowd was gathered around a bar, atop which three Lalafells were spinning like weathervanes in a typhoon. At length, one of them collapsed– and several party guests cheered, turning toward one another to exchange gil.
Spriggan grinned, sensing opportunity. One of the oldest rules of the game, she thought. Wait until they’re happy to ask for directions.
She walked over to one cheerful fellow, who had just finished counting his winnings and was about to start doing so again.
“Excuse me,” Spriggan said.
The happy fellow looked up, still smiling. “Well, well, hello, lovely! Hah, as if fortune hadn’t smiled on me enough!” He laughed, and turned toward her, opening his hand to display some of his recent winnings. “Fancy a drink? It’s on me, an’ I insist!”
Spriggan giggled, stifling an urge to vomit. “Oh, I shall take you up on that, handsome,” she cooed. “But there was something I needed, first. You see, I’m looking for Geggie-baby…”
The smile faded instantly from the man’s face. All at once, a hushed silence settled over the entire crowd. Faces of every age and race turned toward Spriggan, universally masked in horrified expressions.
“No,” the man whispered. “No, you… you can’t…” Perhaps the man had more to say, and thought better of it. Spriggan would never know, for in the next moment, he walked away from the bar as quickly as his feet could carry him. The rest of the crowd followed closely behind, until there was no one left in front of the bar.
But on top of the bar, the three Lalafells from earlier remained. No longer did they appear dizzy, or mirthful. Instead, they had each drawn wands.
Spriggan was incredulous. “Conjurers?”
One of the Lalafells spoke. “That name,” she said, “must never be spoken here.”
The three wands glowed, and Spriggan felt a moment of panic– for a tornado had begun to form, just beneath her feet. Her first instinct was to spring away from danger. A moment later, she found herself soaring high above the nearby cliffs– several hundred yalms up, at least. Conjury gave way, and gravity took hold.
The ground was approaching, very quickly. Spriggan tried not to think about it.
To the one known as “Moogle”,
Under normal circumstances, I would not engage the services of such a skilled assassin as yourself. Unfortunately, two of your Rogues’ Guild colleagues have failed in their pursuit of the Lalafell known as Gegeruju.
I have the utmost respect for your profession, and for your colleagues, of course. That said, I believe it’s time to call in a true specialist. Though it may go without saying, I have every confidence that you will succeed.
To the one known as “Chocobo”,
This contract concerns the same target that your colleague, “Moogle”, recently failed to eliminate. From the beginning, I knew he wasn’t up to the task. You, though? You’re different.
That said, extra caution is advised. After careful analysis of your former colleague’s failure, I strongly recommend that you avoid the use of “decoy toads”.
The one known as “Chocobo” reached over, and picked up his glass from the side table.
“I’m afraid I’ve come up empty, old chap,” Chocobo said. He shook his glass, adopting an expression of faint sorrow.
Gegeruju clapped his hands. “Servants! Where are my servants!” He made a disgusted sound, and shook his head. “You know, a man of my wealth and stature deserves better.”
A young woman walked over to them, carrying a round tray. She took the empty glass, then turned to Gegeruju.
“Another of the same, Geggie-ba–“
“No!” Gegeruju slashed his hand through the air. “None of that! I don’t pay you for this nonsense. Get the man his mojito, and be quick about it.”
The young woman rolled her eyes, then walked away, empty glass in tow.
Chocobo shook his head, and whistled. “I must say, I see why some would want you dead!”
Gegeruju laughed. “Oh, you don’t know the half of it! In the old days, I had so many more, you know– attempts on my life, that is.” He reached over for his drink, before realizing to his chagrin that he no longer had one.
“Quite a risk, though, putting a hit out on yourself…”
“Oh, but that’s what makes it exciting!” Gegeruju stood, and gestured broadly around the resort. “You’d think a man with all this would never want for anything, but it does get so dreadfully boring here sometimes, you know.” He tapped his bandana, his mustache twisted in an awful smirk. “No, my way is absolutely brilliant. Give an assassin a fish and he’ll kill it. Pay an assassin not to fish and… and… Well, you know that old saying!”
“Precisely, precisely; well said,” Chocobo agreed. “Although…” He leaned forward, catching Gegeruju’s eye. “If one of your rivals caught wind of your game, all she would need do is hire that same assassin for a larger sum ahead of time, eh?”
Gegeruju blinked. “Eh?”
Thanks for reading! At this point I should note that the prompt in this case is “Another Red Herring”.
Cai Linn's Library 
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