Nice Crime You Have Around Here [Angmor]

[Emma]

What I didn’t understand was why runaways had to hide in dark, abandoned buildings all the time. It was inconvenient, creepy, and thoroughly unoriginal.

The warehouse was pitch-black and chilly, an unpleasant surprise after the warmth of late summer outside. The floorboards creaked, scurrying rats squeaked and nibbled at my boots, and I was sure I could smell rotting corpses. You could tell Lowtower didn’t belong to anyone with good intentions. You could hardly walk past a pond without seeing someone in it, facedown with weights tied to their feet. I stopped, tracing my thigh-high boots along the floor and smiling. It reminded me so much of home. That was probably the reason this was one of my favourite places in Alagaësia, and why anyone who wanted to hide from scary religious egomaniacs generally chose to lay low here. Most Paladins didn’t want to rub elbows with the slum-dwellers, or stink of horse manure and tar for days afterward. I smirked at the thought of it, stretching my arms up into the stale, dusty air. It would take another few moments for my night vision to kick in. The only light I had was one thread of moonlight shining through a broken window.

A broken window, hello.

I stepped over to it, and sure enough felt shattered glass crunching underneath my feet. This wasn’t the broken window in the building, naturally, but this one smelled like prey. I bent down, inspecting the bits of glass that were still attached to the wall, and saw one jutting shard that was coated with a thick, dark liquid. I didn’t need any light to figure out what it was. Tracing my finger along it, I held it up to my nose, and then licked it. Fresh, almost warm. Young. I felt a stirring within me, something animal awakened by the tangy scent. But it was distant, only a passing fancy. Despite knowing exactly what stage the moon was in, my gaze flickered up towards the sky. It was only a pale sliver tonight, so I was safe from any unwanted urges. As I looked up, I noticed that dark clouds were now racing across the sky, blotting out the stars. It would rain heavily tonight. Resisting the urge to lap up more blood, I traced my fingers along the hilt of the knife at my belt and eyed the floor. Clear footsteps in the dust, much of which was up in the air. There had been a struggle here. I just might have been beaten to my prey.

Sure enough, the next step I took landed in something cold and wet. I stepped backwards, tilting my head. A figure lay beneath me, facedown and surrounded by a pool of icy, sticky blood. Long before I dug one foot underneath the corpse and flipped it over, I knew who it was. Even through the blood-streaked grimace, it was difficult not to recognize Paladin Castillon. This one had enjoyed his job, and not just for the pay. He was one of Ramakrishna’s favourites, and I didn’t want to be around her when she found out what had become of him. There would be a ten- or fifteen-minute period there where she would be positively inconsolable. Then she’d move on to the next perverted bastard. One of the benefits of being a psychopath, I supposed- the death of your loved ones never hit you particularly hard. More out of black mockery than anything else, I closed Castillon’s wide eyes and did the Nyxian sign of serenity of the soul.

“Rest in peace, you sadist pig. No one’s going to miss you.”

The distant creak of wood put me on guard again, although I seriously doubted the killer was still around. Sure enough, it was just the wind shaking the building. I dipped my fingers into Castillon’s blood and smelled it. He hadn’t been the one to cut himself on the window; that blood had been alluring and unfamiliar. Castillon tasted raw and savage, just the way he’d lived. I straightened, rolling my tired and shoulders and sighing. Pity. I’d been hoping to relax during my stay in Lowtower, not hunt down whoever had killed one of my colleagues. Getting in a fight with someone skilled enough to kill a Paladin would result in a lot of soreness, and was much less appealing than a drink and a bonk. I blew a strand of hair out of my face and scratched my head, pondering whether to put work or play before me first. But the choice was obvious. If I hunted him down now, it would save me a lot of trouble later on, and prevent one deaf ear from being screeched at by the Prophet. Sighing, I turned and stalked back to the door.

It was humid out, and the moon was now obscured by a thick veil of rain clouds pulled down over the sky. Shoddy lanterns had been lit along the road, although the streets were empty. It was said that at night in Lowtower, you couldn’t walk from one house to other without getting mugged, beaten, stabbed, or all of the above. I cheerfully ambled down the street, not going in any particular direction. In truth, I didn’t know where to start- there were plenty of places to hide in the slums, and I didn’t even know who this person was except for the taste of his blood. So, I would take a bit of time to enjoy the tasteful sights and sounds of Lowtower. The road, after all, was pure caked dirt, and the stink of sewage, vagrants, and some prostitute plying her trade in the back alleys filled the air with a pungent fragrance, only intensified by the humidity of the coming rain. Stepping over drunks that had passed out in the street, listening to shady conversation- I was going to be drunk from simple nostalgia before the night was over, I thought wryly.

As I meandered along, I heard the loud clattering of heavy armour approaching me steadily from behind, and was very nearly run over as a guard patrol pushed past me and trotted up the street at a jog. There were four of them, all looking very determined, but not particularly wary. Having to spread my arms to keep my balance, I watched as the quartet suddenly sharply banked left, and pushed their way into one of the few lit buildings along this street. It wasn’t large in any sense of the word, probably only one floor, with a bad paint job and dirty windows. But from the amount of drunkards milling about the entrance, many of them being shoved aside or even straight to the ground by the rushing soldiers, I knew what the establishment was before I saw the faded sign mounted over the door. The Drunken Dragon Inn, it said in bold red letters, with a comical picture of a pot-bellied, hiccupping green dragon for the benefit of those who couldn’t read.

Well, I thought, soldiers entering a tavern required looking into. And it was about to rain.

I reached the inn just as the first raindrop of the coming thunderstorm hit my nose. I was greeted with the smell of alcohol, pipe-smoke, and sweat, as well as the cacophony of several raised voices arguing, demanding more ale, or laughing uproariously. The entire building, which mainly consisted of a large interior, was low-beamed and sulphur-lit. Surprisingly, despite being filled with less-than-savoury persons, it wasn’t as disreputable a place as I’d imagined it would be- I’d expected corpses and whores, but most people here were quietly keeping to themselves, occasionally casting backwards glances and generally looking like mice hoping to avoid a hungry cat. Ah, so this was a place that tailored to the refugees. Not the most dangerous area, then. Still, there were quite a few fellows quilled with beards, unshaved stubble, and barely-concealed weaponry that made it clear that a good deal of these patrons were a dodgy lot. Most of those men were sipping alcohol or playing cards in menacing silence.

But I wasn’t interested in sampling the local criminal cartels tonight. I looked carefully at each face, studying it for only a moment before moving on. I did this about a dozen times before my gaze finally settled on a lone boy sitting at the bar, head bowed, and ignoring a mug of ale he’d probably only bought just so the bartender wouldn’t kick him out. He wasn’t anything impressive to look at- not a man of his wealth from the dull clothing, slightly built, pale, and only passably good-looking (although compared to most of these greasy drunkards, he was a doll), which was probably why nobody was paying a lick of attention to him. But what had drawn my attention was the thin but deep cut across his left cheekbone. It was fresh, and jagged, almost as if it had been made by glass. As I watched, the boy snapped his head up. For the first time, I saw a pale line that began at his jaw and laced across his neck- and his eyes. They were grey, shadowed by dark circles and some kind of suffering. But now, they were alert and intense as he evenly met the gaze of the patrol leader. The guards had already beat me to him. Perfect.

“Well. Lookie what we have here, men,” said the sergeant, folding his arms and eyeing the boy with a sneer. “Didn’t we spend all evening asking for a kid by this description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen him?”
“It seems we’ve been lied to, sarge,” tutted another soldier, laying a hand on the hilt of his sword.
The boy was very tense now, like a cat about to spring, but still quiet and motionless. I chose this moment to strut over to the guards with a singular purpose. Being preoccupied with their bullying, they didn’t notice me until I had already put my arms around two of them, a fresh-faced young boy and a big burly one.
“Boys, boys, boys, there’s no need for trouble,” I said sweetly as my prey cast me a curious glance and the sergeant gave me a glare. “This is just another pitiful soul seeking refuge.”
“He’s more than that. Now get out of the way, slattern.”
“Slattern?” I exclaimed, and then remembered what I was wearing. I gave a cackling laugh, pulling at the laces of my green chemise. Between that, my leather pauldrons, and my high boots, I supposed I was only covering the minimum required for decency. “Oh, this! I would’ve prettied myself up for you, but I left my polite clothes at home.”
I gave up my hold on the two soldiers when the sergeant suddenly snatched my wrist in a death grip, pulling me close to him and putting his face close to mine. “You’re a little too smooth for my liking, Iberian. What’s your game, eh?”
“Oh,” I said airily, leaning in closer, “you poor, sweet thing, you…”

Clearly, this fellow had never tried to arrest a woman before. His face blanched with surprise and confusion when I upturned my face, half-closing my eyes and puckering my lips for a kiss. His grip on my arm slackened, just barely, and I took the opportunity to snatch his offending hand and use it to pull him down onto the bar, bashing his face into it a couple of times for good measure. I was grabbed from behind by the burly one, who clenched my throat so tightly that for a moment, I saw stars. I slammed my head back into his face, squirmed out of his grip and rounded on him, landing two or three vicious punches and then smashing an empty bottle across his face for good measure. From directly behind me, I heard the threatening scrape of steel on leather. I responded in turn by tearing my misericorde knife out of its scabbard and pointing it at the sergeant’s face before he had even halfway unsheathed his sword. I wasn’t surprised to see a second dagger pointed at him, wielded by the boy with the cut across his cheekbone. That explained why I’d only been attacked by two of the guards. The sergeant looked from him to me, face pale and drawn. He should have known soldiers had no say in Lowtower.

“Tell me, sarge,” said the boy coldly, “is this worth dying for?”

The sergeant didn’t say anything, but merely began to shuffle towards the door. Once his intentions were clear, the other three were quick to follow, two of them carrying the unconscious third one. I chuckled as they exited, tails between their legs and sporting more than a few cuts and bruises. Turning back to my prey, I saw that he’d already seated himself, and was glumly staring at his untouched ale again. But even though he appeared to be ignoring everything around him, I could feel that he was watching me out of the corner of his eye. Those knives of his were well within reach of his pale fingers. If he wanted to, he could have stabbed me in the gut right then and there. I didn’t approach him just yet, taking a moment to tousle my bronze locks and eye the rest of the inn. We’d been subject to much staring once the guards had arrived, but now people were turning back to their drinks and games. I regarded my prey with a wry smirk.

“You know…” I sighed, leaning up against the bar, “I once knew a guardsman who could get you in chains just by smiling at you. But them?” I tsked. “They don’t have the style to work the streets, let alone Lowtower.” I twirled my dagger in my fingers, and then slid it back into its scabbard, stretching out my now-free arm for a handshake. “Cyprus D’Ellsadro, at your service. You might as well learn it. I’m going to be bothering you for a while.”

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 2340
Muse;; I... don't... know? o.O
Thoughts;; CONSIDERING it's my first post in well over a month, it ain't bad! Also, Angster Gangster, Cyprus has a Spanish accent. -pokepokeoke- Dun forget to mention that!

[Angmor]

On a night like tonight, walking through the streets of Lowtower felt more like swimming. The air was thick with damp that seemed to weigh on the skin, making sweat easy and clothes to cling oppressively. It was also laden with a stink that was almost visible with the naked eye, the sort that that latched onto you and never quite seemed to wash out, staining the very soul. And then, there was the quiet. It seemed that tonight, the world had been muted, with any sound coming only in half-hearted blurs that quickly faded away.
And this is how the world shall end, Teiris thought, remembering the words of a famous philosopher. Not with a shout, but with a whimper.

Teiris knew he was wandering. He walked aimlessly through the streets, passing without thought through the pools of grimy light and shadow. He didn’t know where he was going, and didn’t care. In Lowtower, such behavior would usually be rewarded with pain, but perhaps his hunched gait and dead eyes deterred the muggers and thieves, making them think he had nothing worth stealing. And they would be right. Between the dark tunic, pants, and boots he wore and the pair of daggers he carried, he was standing up with his every worldly possession. Of course, that might not stop someone who was simply looking for blood. Random death was a frequent occurrence here, no more uncommon than the people themselves. Teiris knew this, too. It didn’t matter.

He had killed a man tonight.

He had arrived in Carvala weeks before. While the capital city of Broddring would not have been the first choice for a government fugitive, the reputation of Lowtower had drawn him in. ”A paradise for the desperate,” one had said. ”As close to invisible as any man can walk.”
For a man trying to hide, invisible was an attractive prospect. Since then, the city had lived up to its reputation and more. Since his arrival, no one had asked him a single question relating to himself. He had found free accommodation in one of the deserted stone manor houses that dotted the landscape, competing only with drunkards for the sleeping space. He had found odd jobs to be done everywhere, giving him just enough coin for food every day. He had started picking up the slang used by the populace, along with his authentic coating of grime. The city had a culture all its own, one that swallowed its occupants in mere days. He had entered, adapted, and integrated. He had become invisible.
But to the people hunting him, invisible was apparently not good enough.

He had noticed the Paladin around sunset. To most people, it would have been nothing. To Teiris, who could clearly remember every face he had so much as glanced upon, it had been simple. Spotting the face for the first time had been simple. The second time had been noteworthy. The third time he was sure. What followed had been a game of cat-and-mouse through the city streets. Teiris’ first instinct was to run, but he suppressed it, knowledge and experience telling him he was better off within the city. Finally, the chase had culminated in a quiet stalk through one of the city’s many darkened warehouses. It was here that the Paladin made a mistake, coming in to the building alone. Teiris had taken advantage of this without even thinking, hiding himself in a corner next to the door, standing as still as a statue. The Paladin had stepped through, swaggering, confident, knife in hand… Teiris sprang from his hiding spot, bringing his own blade back. There was only enough time for the man to turn, eyes wide with shock, before Teiris plunged his blade three times into the soft, soft tissue of his abdomen, and then… It was done.
The man was dead, and he was alive.

Teiris supposed he should be happy about that. That he should have felt something. But he didn’t. He numb, in body and mind. That numbness stayed with him as he left the Paladin’s cooling corpse behind him, even as he walked the streets, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. He knew only that he needed to find someplace to rest, to think through what had happened. Somewhere anonymous, and with the thunder tumbling in the distance, preferably sheltered. After several moments, the tavern presented itself. The city had many others like it, and they generally were not very nice places, many of them fronts for the many criminal cartels that ruled the streets. But he remembered several people saying that the Drunken Dragon was an excellent place for pilgrims and travelers, those displaced and looking for a new home. Even more, Teiris simply had a good feeling about it, something that he couldn’t explain. Hesitating for a moment, he threaded his way through the drunks and pushed open the door. Immediately, the light, sounds and smells washed over him in a wave. It was good to see that the world wasn’t all dark, even if it did nothing to lift his spirits. He felt somehow outside of it all, as if he was an observer in his own body. For once uncaring of the eyes on him, he drifted to the bar, dropping himself onto one of the crude stools arrayed there. Blowing out a breath, he slouched against the counter, the movement drawing the eyes of the grizzled tavern keeper.
“Gods, kid. You look like you took a shit and found your liver in the hole,” The man said. After fighting their way through a thick braided beard, the words had rather a fuzzy quality to them. “You want something to drown your sorrows?”
“Just ale,” Teiris answered curtly, placing a copper coin on the bar. He didn’t bother taking the man’s reaction as he turned away, returning a few seconds later with a stained wooden beaker. The ale itself was cloudy, but thin, speckled with unidentified things. But that was alright. Teiris had no actual intention of drinking it.

The moment he felt the barkeep’s attention shift elsewhere, he sagged against the counter, resting his forehead on his hand, the other loosening his scarf against the heat of the room.
What do I do now?
It was a simple question, really. He had done it countless times. His pursuers had found him, so it was time to pack up and leave, begin again somewhere else. It wouldn’t be hard. Everything he owned was with him now, and he had learned of at least a dozen ways out of the city besides the gates. No, he knew what he had to do…
And yet for some reason, he could not find it within himself to do it.
After all, what would be the point? He had eluded his captors for months already. Every time, it got a little bit harder, or they came a little bit closer to getting him. And his path from the Cathedral to this very moment had been paved with nothing but death and broken lives. So why did he run? Why did he keep fighting?
Submerged in his own dark thoughts, it took him a moment to notice that the atmosphere of the room had changed. Looking up, it was not hard to figure out why. Four soldiers had entered the bar, eyeing every face.
And the officer among them was staring straight at him.

Teiris felt his body tense, his gloom and fatigue ceding to a rush of adrenaline. All emotion seemed to draw back, leaving him only with thought and reflex.
Four men, heavy armor, short swords. Not good odds. Possible escape-routes; back door, twelve feet behind me. Second floor, ten feet on my left. Jumping to next rooftop possible, but chance of injury.
Immediate action; wait for opening.
“Well. Lookie what we have here, men,” The lead soldier said. “Didn’t we spend all evening asking for a kid by this description? And everyone said they hadn’t seen him?”
“It seems we’ve been lied to, sarge,” Said another, hand moving to his weapon.
The lead soldier was less than two feet away now. This was good. The soldiers were also bunched together, making their swords useless for a crucial second. This too was good. But things were progressing too fast. Teiris knew that if he didn’t act soon, he would no longer have the initiative, and he would be lost. Conscious of his daggers, Teiris tensed for a spring...
“Boys, boys, boys,” Interrupted a voice from a thoroughly unexpected voice. Teiris hesitated, staring. Up until now, the rest of the inn’s occupants had been an afterthought, a piece of the terrain. It would never have occurred to him that they might try to help him. And yet, it would seem one had, and in a most spectacular fashion. Looking over the leader’s shoulder, he could see an exotic young woman, her arms draped over two of the men, smiling grandly. “There’s no need for trouble, this is just another pitiful soul seeking refuge.”
“He’s more than that,” Growled the sergeant. “Now get out of the way, slattern.”
“Slattern?”The woman seemed quite taken aback by the comparison, at least until looking down at herself. Teiris noticed for the first time that she was dressed rather provocatively, wearing only a short, tight dress of flimsy green fabric that showed off the curve of her bodice and the angle of her hips quite nicely. And yet, she was also wearing a pair of practical leather boots and pauldrons, as if for armor, and her shoulder did not quite hide the rondels of twin knives sheathed across her back. Wonton, but not in the passive, submissive way of most of the streetwalkers that plied their trade. More of a brazen confidence in herself and her own beauty. As if in evidence, she cackled wryly, as if her own appearance were some hilarious jest. “Oh, this! I would’ve prettied myself up for you, but I left my polite clothes at home.”
The sergeant suddenly rounded on the woman, seizing her wrist hard and pulling her close.
“You’re a little too smooth for my liking, Iberian. What’s your game, eh?”
“Oh,” The woman said, leaning in… “you poor, sweet thing, you…”
Teiris didn’t even see what happened next. He merely had a sense, an impression of extreme motions before he was up and moving himself, taking up his ale and splashing it in a wide arc into the eyes of two of the soldiers. Their vision obscured for a split second, Teiris lashed out with a clenched fist, catching the smaller man a hammering blow across the jaw, followed by a fast uppercut. The man stumbled backward, staggering against a table and scattering drinks and cutlery. The other, unfortunately, was wearing a helm. Seeing him pawing at his sword, Teiris ripped his dagger from its sheath, lashing out a quick slash to the back of the soldier’s hand. Luckily, the armor ended at the wrist, allowing the stroke to draw blood. The man recoiled, allowing Teiris to follow up with an actually rather clumsy heel-kick to the man’s chestplate. The move worked better than expected, however, sending the soldier down so that his head hit the floor with an audible crack. Teiris whirled, looking for more opponents… Just in time to watch the woman slamming a bottle across the face of the remaining soldier, sending him down and out. Before Teiris’ astonishment could take, however, he caught movement from the man slumped against the bar. The sergeant, his bloodied face twisted into a snarl, reaching for his sword…
Without thinking, Teiris tapped the edge of his knife against the man’s neck, resting it against his throat about half a second behind the woman’s blade, pointed menacingly at the man’s eye.
Teiris knew he could kill him. If he did, then he wouldn’t report back to his superiors what had happened. But his mind recoiled at the thought. One man was quite enough for one night.
Not that he would be letting them know that.
“Tell me, sarge,”He said, summoning his best menacing voice, “is this worth dying for?”
The sergeant didn’t need to think it over before nodding his assent. A moment later, the soldiers had retreated, licking their wounds.

For a long moment, the inn was very quiet. Every eye in the place was turned on him and the woman, but no one said a word. Teiris simply turned his back, placing his dagger on the bar and settling himself back on his stool as if nothing had happened. He knew enough now that he could get away with it here. In Lowtower, soldiers were not held in very high regard by anyone, usually including themselves. The Paladin had probably put up these four into even coming at all. There would be no reprisals or reinforcements. At least, not until they got up the courage to report what had happened, or who they had been after.
Which meant that he still had to run.
Teiris sighed, feeling his gloom settling over him again. Despite his lethargy, his instinct could not quite abandon the woman who had helped him. He watched her carefully out of his peripheral vision, wondering what she might do next. After helping him avoid capture, he rather doubt that she would be a threat to him, but her behavior had so far been devious and erratic. Even as she watched, she primped her unruly brown hair, scanning the room with a pair of wide, blue-green eyes. She at least seemed totally unphased by what had just happened, as if beating up figures of authority was a hobby for her. Finally, she leaned gracefully backward, propping herself against the bar with a broad wink. “You know… I once knew a guardsman who could get you in chains just by smiling at you. But them?” She tsked. “They don’t have the style to work the streets, let alone Lowtower.” The thin blade in her hands spun expertly through her fingers before vanishing back into the sheath on her back, leaving her hand free to extend into an offered handshake. While he had been aware of it before, Teiris was suddenly conscious of her lilting, accented speech. “Cyprus D’Ellsadro, at your service. You might as well learn it. I’m going to be bothering you for a while.”
Teiris regarded the hand impassively, wondering what exactly the woman wanted from him. Still, he saw no reason why he couldn’t show a little courtesy, especially after what she had done for him just now. What did a handshake cost him?
“Solus Tiernan,” he offered, feeling the woman’s calluses under his palm as he clasped her hand firmly with his own. “And I already have. It’s good to meet you, Cyprus D’Ellsadro.” Enjoying the way the foreign name rolled off his tongue, he turned back to his drink, relaxing somewhat. “They say that friends made in battle are bound forever,” He said lightly, about to swirl content of his beaker before he remembered it being empty. “So what does that make us?”

[/blockquote]

[Emma]

“Solus Tiernan,” said the youth after a long silence, giving my hand a firm shake. “And I already have. It’s good to meet you, Cyprus D’Ellsadro.”

Solus Tiernan was most certainly not one of the names on the Cathedral’s wanted list, but I should have expected as much from a fugitive. It seemed nobody used their real names anymore- I was starting to feel unoriginal. Maybe someday I’d stop being ‘the copper lass’ and change my name to something a little more suited to my new profession. But focussing on the task at hand, the name hadn’t given me any clues at all- but there were plenty of others if you knew where to look. He had scars, for one- besides the most noticeable one on his neck, whenever he turned his head and the collar of his shirt lifted slightly, I could see hints that there were more across his back, probably on his entire body. He wasn’t an Oracle; that was for certain. Even a mage this young could have cured himself. And he was too young to be a Paladin. I didn’t stare at him for long, however, only casual glances so I wasn’t obviously sizing him up. Most of all, I looked at his grey eyes, colder than any steel. This boy had seen things no one, let alone how young, should have seen. Such eyes were common of the inhabitants of the Cathedral of Leona.

“They say that friends made in battle are bound forever. So what does that make us?”
“That, my dear,” I sighed, lowering myself onto a stool next to him, “is good enough for drinking buddies!” Seeing as his drink was useless outside of its cup, I hit the bar. “BARKEEP! Get your best whiskey for me and my friend over here!”
“Sure, Iberian,” grumbled the scruffy innkeeper, glaring at the bloodied, splintered wood where I’d smashed the sergeant’s face in. “Wanna break that too?”
I waved my hand impassively and dropped a few gold coins on the counter. The innkeeper inspected them suspiciously, then collected them with a satisfied grunt and walked away.
“Lowtower’s finest isn’t much,” I chuckled to Solus, “but it’ll get you just as drunk as anything else, and with the added bonus of waking up with no trousers. That’s when you know you’ve had a party!”

Outside, there was an enormous crack and a flash of white light, followed by the low, powerful rumble of thunder. If I strained my ears above the noise of conversation, I could hear rain pattering on the windows, and the steady stream of patrons that flowed in were soaked to the bone. Good thing I’d gotten in when I did. I turned my head back to the bar when I saw two chipped clay tumblers shoved towards us, and snatched mine from the bartender before he was done pouring half the bottle of whiskey. I downed it in one go, then immediately held up the tumbler for more. He raised one eyebrow, clearly not surprised, and produced two more bottles from beneath the bar. I licked my lips as he continued to pour, occasionally shooting backwards glances. I’d rarely walked into a bar where I hadn’t been accosted by a filthy vagrant or three looking for a warm body to spend the night with, but it seemed that the little spectacle Solus and I had put on had them keeping their distance, at least for now. Turning back to the bar, I saw Solus peeking into his now-filled cup with disdain, and that I had been left the two new bottles.

I poked him roughly. “You know, there’s a special rung in hell reserved for anyone who wastes good drink,” I said airily, pouring myself a new cup. “And long as you stay in this town, you’re rapping on the door.”
“You don’t seem too bothered by the proximity,” said Solus curiously. “Are you from around here?”
“Nope, but it’s not too different from home. Here I’m what you might call a legal alien. I’m from Iberia, far to the south. You kin tell buh mah ahck-senn,” I said in an over-the-top lilt. Then, returning to my normal voice with a grin, I continued, “And I can tell by yours that you’re Broddring, probably by blood, too. What’s your hometown?”

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 720
Muse;; Not bad at all!
Thoughts;; Short but fun to write. =)

[Angmor]

Now that the excitement had passed, Teiris felt the numbness creeping over him again. He barely heard the woman’s response to his questions, felt rather than saw her sitting down beside him. Any curiosity he felt toward her and her motivations had dulled, like looking through the world through a tarnished glass. He didn’t know what to think, or how to feel, or what to do. He could only sit and wait, listening to the woman’s pleasant voice in the background of his perception, mixing with the distant chest-felt rumble of the thunder.
“Lowtower’s finest isn’t much, but it’ll get you just as drunk as anything else, and with the added bonus of waking up with no trousers. That’s when you know you’ve had a party!”
Teiris felt rather like smiling at the allusion, but the expression didn’t quite reach is face. He was dimly aware that the tavern was filling up with people driven inside by the rain. A part of himself knew that any one of them could be a threat, but even that thought was not enough to shift him into caring. He was sick of it. Sick of having to be so suspicious. Sick barricading his doors every night.
He was sick of the constant fear.
And yet, that suspicion was the cost of his survival. That was the only reason why he had always escaped the Hand; because he was always ready for them. It was why he was still living. But was it really worth it? Was it worth the fear and doubt that was the constant companion of his every waking moment?
It was a question he could not answer right then.

As he waited on the edge of the decision, a clay tumbler was slid into his field of vision, filled with a rich brown liquid. Frowning, he glanced up, finding a similar tumbler placed in front of the woman. As he watched, she snapped it up with the grace and precision of a bird of prey, throwing her head back on her long neck to down the alcohol in one gulp. The barkeep, clearly experienced in such matters, set two more bottles on the counter and began to refill the woman’s cup, conserving his movements carefully. Preparing for a long night. Despite his gloom, Teiris’ found himself examining the woman in more detail, observing the sharp lines of her features and the soft brown coloration of her skin. The male part of himself said that she was quite beautiful, befitting of a high lady. And yet, everything else about her, from the way she slouched against the bar to the very practiced way she put away the whiskey suggested that she belonged in a place like this. And then there was that rigid confidence in her manner and mode of dress. It seemed to go beyond not caring what others thought of her. It was as if she believed herself both beautiful and capable, and the idea that an opposite opinion might exist hadn’t even crossed her mind. And why would it? She was beautiful. And the dented and bloodied section of bar not far from where her elbow rested served silent wisdom to her skill. She was an interesting collection of extremes. One that had, for some reason, decided that he was worth helping avoid prison and buying drinks for. Teiris tried, but he still didn’t quite have the energy to wonder why.

He turned back to the drink she had provided, his frown deepening. He actually had a storied dislike for alcohol. It slowed the body and dulled the mind, and he simply did not like the taste. Besides, he had always been prone to headaches, a trait that his conversion by the Hand had only made worse in the past months. He had not drunk since his escape, and he simply didn’t know how it might affect him. Absorbed in his thoughts, the rough jab to his ribs came as a surprise. He oofed, looking up hurriedly. The woman fixed him with a sharp eye, nodding to his tumbler. “You know, there’s a special rung in hell reserved for anyone who wastes good drink,” She said, her actions making it clear that she was a saint. “And long as you stay in this town, you’re rapping on the door.”
“You don’t seem too bothered by the proximity,” He said casually, turning a bit towards her in his seat as he effortlessly turned the conversation back. “Are you from around here?”
Smalltalk, his uncle had taught him, was a skill. To speak for hours on end without saying anything at all, while wheedling information out of the other side. That was another thing included in the drills with his uncle, and Teiris was good at it. In truth, it came as a habit now. At that moment, he didn’t much care where the woman came from, or why she was here. Luckily, she didn’t seem to mind saying.
“Nope, but it’s not too different from home. Here I’m what you might call a legal alien. I’m from Iberia, far to the south. You kin tell buh mah ahck-senn, And I can tell by yours that you’re Broddring, probably by blood, too. What’s your hometown?”
Aha, so this ‘Cyprus’ was also versed in the ways of conversation manipulation. How very interesting. Luckily, Teiris had dealt with these sorts of eventualities long ago.
“Belatona,” He snapped off without hesitation. “Born and raised. Pretty good town, if you can stay. I couldn’t, as you might imagine. I haven’t been back in a while…” As he was speaking, he had been idly scratching his face, feeling the stubble beginning to appear, when his finger met the deep laceration on his cheek. He hissed in pain, drawing his hand away. There was a bit of blood on his fingertip. The fight had probably reopened the wound. “Tripped on a rock on the way here,” He said, conscious of the woman’s eyes. “Rubbed against a jagged stone in a wall. It’s bleeding far more than it should.”
He regarded the blood with an odd kind of fascination, remembering how it had really gotten there…
…The edges of the window were jagged, glinting viciously in the moonlight. Trying to balance caution with speed, he carefully put his right leg through the gap, finding footing somewhere inside the building. The surface felt solid under his feet, like a crate, or a table. He extended his right arm through… Then the rest of him…
He clenched his teeth as his flesh met the glass, feeling the warmth of the blood running down his face…
Finally, he drew his left leg through. He was inside.
He found himself gazing at a darkened warehouse, cluttered with boxes and other detritus. Knowing the Paladin was right behind, he looked for a hiding-place, drawing his dagger…
He shook his head, forcefully banishing the memory. He already knew what as at the end of that one. It was just him killing a man, just as vivid and real as the first time. His frown returning, he turned to contemplate the drink before him. He just wanted the memories to stop. Could it help? Could alcohol offer him that bliss of oblivion?
Before he could think about it anymore, he snatched up the cup and drained his quickly, the liquid burning down his throat to settle as a warmth in his stomach. He grimaced, rolling the aftertaste around his tongue. “Gods, this stuff is awful,” he said, setting his tumbler on the bar. But still, it didn’t seem to affect him just yet. Perhaps more was needed. He reached for the bottle.

[/blockquote]

[Emma]

“Belatona,” said Solus quickly, a little too quickly. “Born and raised. Pretty good town, if you can stay. I couldn’t, as you might imagine. I haven’t been back in a while…”

Hmm. Impassively, I regarded the youth’s eyes, dark and set off by the heavy purple bags underneath them. They gave his already pale face a very sallow glow. I tilted my head, trying to see beyond the mask of polite small talk, but not quite as far as that suffering of his. What did this tortured little boy think of me? He’d answered my question too quickly, and had managed to answer it by saying absolutely nothing about himself. Rather like me, I supposed, enjoying an inward chuckle. Another thing we had in common. Well, if the boy could kill a Paladin, he could probably outwit one too- just not this one. My eye began to wander towards his untouched cup, but a hiss of pain made me flicker my gaze back towards him again. Solus had been idly scratching his face as he talked- something I’d seen, but hadn’t taken any notice of- and he’d gone and dug his nail into the cut made by the warehouse window. One thin stream of fresh blood rolled down his cheek, and he drew his finger away, giving it a dumbfounded stare.

“Tripped on a rock on the way here,” he explained when he saw me staring. “Rubbed against a jagged stone in a wall. It’s bleeding far more than it should…”

I had been able to ignore the distraction of the blood before, but Solus’s scratching had made the cut deeper, and the blood running down his cheek was fresh. I could feel the heat of it and smell the metallic fragrance, and it began to cloud my senses with a crimson fog. I didn’t pay any note to Solus’s obvious lie, only continued to gaze at his hypnotizing wound. Normally, and especially being so far away from the full moon, I had been trained to resist the temptation of blood- but Solus was prey, and young prey at that, and the last blood I had smelled had been Castillon’s- mixed with the filth and rotted water of the abandoned warehouse, and therefore rank and sour. As Solus turned to his drink, muttering something that didn’t quite register in my mind, I leaned in towards him. Fully and completely aware of what I was doing, I ran my fingers through the short brown hair on the back of his head and then gripped it tightly, pulling him closer, and trailed my tongue across the stream of wetness, stopping at and taking my time on the wound itself. It was sweeter than anything I’d eaten in a long time, and confirmed my already certain suspicions that this was the boy who had killed Castillon at the warehouse.

But then a memory surfaced, one of blood that was equally sweet. I didn’t quite remember it, only scratching the surface- but I knew it was something that I desperately didn’t need to see. It was something horrific, something that I would do anything to not remember- I just didn’t know what it could be. Whatever it was, it offended my bloodlust so much that I pulled away, the red fog dissipating. It was only then that I noticed the stare Solus was giving me. Now that the craving had cleared, I realized just how odd my loss of self-control had to have looked. I gave an apologetic chuckle and released the boy’s hair after a tousle, reaching instead for one of the yet-untouched bottles of whiskey. I did my best to keep up a cheery face, but secretly I was petrified. What had just happened? I hadn’t gotten an urge like that since that time, that time I couldn’t quite remember but was very, very glad I couldn’t. Ramakrishna, the bitch. I’d have to be heading back to The Tears sooner than I’d have hoped. I took a calming breath and looked at Solus out of the corner of my eye. He was obviously surprised, but didn’t seem particularly alarmed- anyone who had seen that lick would probably think I was just a dirty old woman making a pass at him, and with any luck he would too- as long as I kept my cheer up.

“Did you know,” I began, pouring my own cup of whiskey, “that saliva, especially that of canines, cleans wounds and accelerates healing?”
“Are you saying you’re a dog?” asked Solus, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. The question was meant as a joke, but there was also genuine curiosity in his voice.
I grinned back at him. “Not quite, but that would make an excellent talent for escaping angry guards, wouldn’t it?”
“No?” interuppted the bartender, who had his arms full of more bottles, but likely wasn’t going to put them down until I produced more coin. “You’re so alike, I’d a thought you were related.”
“Are you saying a dog’s coin isn’t good enough for you?” I said sweetly, smacking some more gold onto the bar.

The innkeeper was more than happy to place the whiskey next to my waiting hands, obviously prepared for us to drink the entirety of his tavern as long as I kept shelling out the shiny coins. At the same time, however, I felt his gaze on me, one of clear distrust. Bartenders of the lower classes were rarely the book smart type, but they were always street smart. Even if he thought that lick was just me trying to get lucky, the coin I’d given him was enough to rouse suspicion- all of Broddring’s money was produced in The Tears, but only the very rich, or those who at least had connections to the very rich, were able to get their hands on the purest and most untarnished gold. I happened to be tossing said purest, most untarnished gold into the gutters of Lowtower like candy. I wasn’t worried about it, though- it just gave me something better to think about. I wasn’t planning on staying long, especially if Solus was so disturbed that he dismissed me from the bar. I hoped that wouldn’t happen soon, though. The hunt had barely begun.

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 1040
Muse;; ... none.
Thoughts;; Definitely NOT in my best mood while writing it, but it somehow turned out okay.

[Angmor]

As he set the bottle back on the bar, he at first interpreted the feeling as a current of air across the back of his head. Only with a glance at the woman did he realize the truth; she was running her long, angular fingers through his hair. Teiris tensed, frowning, ready...
Or so he thought.
What happened next took him completely and totally off-guard. Surprised beyond thought, he barely summoned a half-hearted push against her as she seized his head. The feeling of her tongue against his face was strange, but not entirely unpleasant, even with the sharp pain it brought when she reached his wound. She lingered there, sucking hard enough against the torn skin that he winced in pain. He pushed against her grip, harder this time...

Just as suddenly as going in, she pulled away, licking the last of the blood -his blood- from her lips with a thoughtful look. Teiris could only stare dumbfounded, his body halfway between relaxing and catching up his knife from the bar as an absent, detached part of his mind ticking through the possible reasons for her actions.
Did she poison me? I don't feel poisoned, and anyone wanting to kill me in such a way would need something that would act fast enough to stop me counterattacking. Did she steal something?
He quickly discounted that possibility. He had nothing in his pockets beside his meager coin, and he still felt the weight of that tucked safely in his tunic.
That left one... rather odd possibility.

Before he could go any further down that path, the woman spoke up, her tone and manner unchanged by what she had just done. "Did you know that saliva, especially that of canines, cleans wounds and accelerates healing?"
Teiris blinked, so confused that he could not help but relax. It was such a randomly preposterous statement that he had no idea how to reply. Luckily, the keen wit so sharpened by his uncle was so well-trained that it no longer needed the permission of his conscious mind.
"Are you saying you're a dog?" He sorted, pure sarcasm.
Instead of being offended, she smiled that sweet, guileless smile that beautified her face with each use.
"Not quite, but that would make an excellent talent for escaping angry guards, wouldn't it?"
As she turned away, Teiris had one of the strangest feelings he had ever had. It as if he wanted to laugh, but had forgotten how it was done. His throat muscles seemed to have become incompatible with the command, able to render only a choking feeling in return. Teiris watched her sidelong, resting his head on his hand. Everything she did was so casual, from her movements, to her attire, to her language, to the way she was throwing her obvious wealth around. All if it on impulse. He shook his head.
Oh, hell with it.
With scarcely a struggle, he allowed his suspicion to slip beneath the surface of his gloom. She was some kind of female adventure-seeker. They were rare, but according to his books, they came around every now and again. Probably an adrenaline-junky, seeing an opportunity for trouble. His emaciated looks and open wounds probably satisfied some weird fetish of hers. But even that was irrelevant next to the fact that she had saved his life. And he never said anything, except some snide comment about being friends. When had he become a person who could have his life saved by another, and he didn't even say thank you?

As he considered, the woman had finished her exchange with the bartender, her eyes following him thoughtfully as he moved further down the bar. His sigh merging with the patter of the rain against the leaky ceiling, Teiris reached across, carefully pouring Cyprus a fresh whiskey from the bottle the barkeep had left.
"You know," He started tentatively, eying the slight tremble in his hands as he poured. "I realize that I never thanked you for what you did back there. If you hadn't stepped in, I would be in some serious trouble right now. So... Just, thank you."
Finished, he pushed the beaker across to her. Feeling suddenly exhausted, Teiris leaned against the counter with his elbows. The rain had done nothing for the oppressive temperature, seeming only to thicken the air even further. He massaged his forehead with one hand, feeling sticky with sweat. "I'm sorry I don't have anything to repay you. I... can't even provide much of an interesting conversation. I've just... had a rough day."
Rough week. Rough month. Rough year.
He shook his head, oddly amused with himself. "Lame excuse, huh?"

[/blockquote]

[Emma]

“You know, I realize that I never thanked you for what you did back there. If you hadn’t stepped in, I would be in some serious trouble right now. So... just, thank you.”

I was able to register my raising an eyebrow and tilting my head at this surprising statement. All traces of sarcasm had slipped away from Solus, leaving me to see what was beneath that snarky exterior. There I saw an exhausted young boy that had seen far too much in far too short a time, as well as a deep sadness, too sad for me to learn about, emanating from him. He had gone a very long time without proper rest, I could see, not just in his eyes but in the way his body sagged and his head drooped. But beyond those obvious things, there was something else- a desperate need for another person. There was a deep loneliness that I recognized all too well. Humans and wolves were so similar in that way- neither could survive without companionship. And why else would he be so eager to sit next to and chat with a slattern such as myself? It must have been even longer since he’d been able to safely touch and speak with another person. Something approaching pity welled up inside me as I gazed down at the unhappy creature. I could see so much of him now that he had dropped his guard, which led me to wonder…

Exactly how had he gotten drunk so bloody fast?

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything to repay you. I... can’t even provide much of an interesting conversation. I’ve just... had a rough day.” His face briefly cracked in a wry smile. “Lame excuse, huh?”
I didn’t respond just then, only met his steely gaze, but I did allow an understanding smile to creep up my lips. He did his best to return it before reaching for his cup again, clearly intent on guzzling it. I placed a hand on his arm, making him jerk at the touch.
“Might want to take it easy on that cup,” I grinned.

I didn’t want him to be too drunk, after all. It was never much of a hunt when your prey was face-down in a pool of their own vomit. For a moment, I pondered what to do about this dilemma. I couldn’t stop ordering the whiskey. Someone spending this much time in a tavern without buying drinks would raise suspicion, and would generally make people nervous. I chomped down on my lip, and at once came up with an idea. I would simply get just as drunk as Solus was, and then the fight would be fair. Enormously pleased with my idea, I took a long draught of the cup the boy had been kind enough to pour me and wiped off the residue with the back of my hand, turning to regard Solus once again. Even when I’d first started drinking eighteen years ago, I hadn’t gotten drunk this quickly- and yet the dropped guard, his trembling hands and disturbingly earnest words were very obvious indicators. I pouted my lip, wondering what had possessed him to take this first plunge into indulging alcohol.

“You’re new at… this, aren’t you?” I said quietly, watching with some amusement as Solus took another sip and reacted as if he’d just been stung by a wasp. The reaction was only momentary, however. The first sip was always the worst. “But you’re a little old to have just started drinking. Why tonight, of all nights, if you don’t mind my prodding?”

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 600
Muse;; Short post is short.
Thoughts;; Ehh... not bad. For a dialogue post. =P

[Angmor]

When it came to alcohol, Teiris had very little experience. His uncle had never indulged during his life, except for strategic occasions such as parties or bartering sessions. He had always condemned it, calling it a vice for the weak and and a chink in the armor of the strong. After his death, Teiris had moved into the household of Rygier Tahn, yet another man who shunned the drink, saying that it numbed the body and dulled the mind. From that input, Teiris had expected that the whiskey would be far more effective. After all, 'drowning sorrows' was something of a hallowed tradition among drunkards, cited in a hundred different stories. At least the physical aspects seemed to work as advertised. Already, the lines of the world had become a little softer, all the sensations of the heat and noise fading dully to the back of his perception. But even with that, his mind was as sharp as ever. His head still buzzed with a stream of a thousand different possibilities, counterbalanced by an archive of memory, each blade-like image clamoring for his attention. Every experience and thought arrayed before him, so clear it hurt.
Try as he might, his sorrows were not drowning. It seemed that they would only swim.

Just then, a pressure on his arm startled him. He looked up, his gaze meeting with the woman's smiling brown eyes. “Might want to take it easy on that cup,” she said kindly. Finding himself unable to look her in the face, Teiris looked away, regarding the cup before him. Although he fought the idea, he admitted that she was probably right. There would be little point in drinking until he passed out, considering that the memories were always waiting for him the instant he left awareness. Come to that, there was little point to anything. For months he had run from his torment, unable to escape it, because it was now a part of who he was. Not even alcohol could change that.

He supposed he might remark on Cyprus' marked change of attitude. From how the rate she had been guzzling down her drink, he would have figured her to be the last person in the world to suggest that someone stay dry. He might have even wondered why the hell she was even still here. Massaging his forehead, he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, watching the graceful arch of her neck as she threw her head back to drink. In his state, he couldn't fathom it. Someone with her beauty, her confidence, and her obvious wealth could have any lover she chose. And here she was, choosing to spend time and money on on perhaps the gloomiest man in Lowtower. If it was in fact a seduction, she had a funny way of choosing targets. Maybe she just enjoys a challenge. Besides, if she propositioned, he thought he might just say yes. Who knew? Perhaps that pleasure might be the thing that allowed him to forget, at least for a while.
Do you really think that? He asked himself.
No. He answered. No I don't.
Letting out a deep sigh, he took another sip of his whiskey. It was awful.
“You’re new at… this, aren’t you?” Cyprus asked, Teiris feeling the warmth of her gaze on him again. “But you’re a little old to have just started drinking. Why tonight, of all nights, if you don’t mind my prodding?”

On any other night, he would have evaded the question. Hell, on any other night, he would not have been in a position that he could even be asked. But now, he found, he wanted to talk. He realized that he had been aching for someone who would listen, without judgement and without reproach. Like his uncle used to.
Like Myrei used to.
At the thought of her, he almost succumbed to tears right then and there. But he suppressed it, viciously driving away the thought and locking it back into a cold and lightless corner of his mind. He couldn't think about that right now, about her. He was already going through enough. The guilt of what he had done to her would kill him.

He ran a hand through his hair, his gazed centered on the bar in front of him as he collected himself. Conscious of the woman's eyes still on him, he drew in a careful breath. "Have you ever had a day," he asked, "When you wondered if it's worth it? If life was worth the cost?" The words came hard. He was so out of practice, he struggled to articulate the tangle of emotions in his heart. Finally, he settled on a suitable example. "Take him, for example." He jerked his head, gesturing toward the tavern-keeper, then serving two men on the other end of the bar. "He could be doing anything he wanted right now, be anywhere. And yet here he is, selling drinks and dealing with customers. Earning coin to feed his children and keep his wife off the streets. But in the end, why? All we do is grow old and die. Then our children grow old and die. So what's the point? Life is so costly, with every day a struggle. And for what?" Teiris' trembling right hand made a fist, his words coming as a strangled whisper. "That's what I wonder. I have to fight so hard for every second I continue to live. And I don't even know why. I don't know if it's worth it anymore."

[/blockquote]

[Emma]

“Have you ever had a day when you wondered if it’s worth it?” breathed Solus after a long silence. “If life was worth the cost?”

Unhappy drunks. Not nearly as fun as their polar opposites, and even less so than the angry ones. The happy ones were good for laughing and bonking, the violent ones were good for beating up and then bonking, but the unhappy ones required a lot of coaxing and then usually cried themselves to sleep, thus making them unavailable for bonking. It was enough to make me depressed. However, despite my initial prejudices, I paid attention to Solus as he struggled to get the words around a tongue already thick with drink. He was about to spill his guts, I knew- spew every horror that plagued his days and hounded his nights. Getting this information on my prey wasn’t vital, but I liked to do it anyway. I disliked Paladins like the late Castillon who rushed into the kill, never once bothering to get to know their victims. The hunt wasn’t a skin-deep thing like sex- it went so much deeper than that. I never forgot anyone I killed, unlike nameless lovers. I even admired their cunning and speed, secretly applauded if they escaped me, and lamented tearing into their sweet flesh as much as I enjoyed feasting on it. ‘Solus’ was most certainly not exempt from this personal philosophy of mine.

“Take him, for example.” I followed his gaze to the barkeep, who was bristling at two seedy-looking customers. “He could be doing anything he wanted right now, be anywhere. And yet here he is, selling drinks and dealing with customers. Earning coin to feed his children and keep his wife off the streets. But in the end, why? All we do is grow old and die. Then our children grow old and die. So what’s the point? Life is so costly, with every day a struggle. And for what?” I glanced back at him out of the corner of my eye, watching his fist clench. “That’s what I wonder. I have to fight so hard for every second I continue to live. And I don’t even know why. I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

Unfortunately for Solus, I was not the one to turn to for emotional comfort. Some people would laugh incredulously at his dismal outlook on life, others would shout to hide their own despair, and some poor fools would give him an enormous hug and tell him everything was going to be alright. I could have done any of these things, of course, and I rather enjoyed the occasional lying- but tonight, I felt it was necessary to tell it to him straight. At this point, he might jump off a bridge before I was even ready to begin the chase. Giving a long sigh, I took another swig of my drink, then raised one hand and lightly brushed my fingers against the stubble on his chin. He jerked in surprise- not as startled as when I’d licked him, of course- but quickly relaxed again, and allowed me to turn his head in my direction. Touching was another part I enjoyed of the hunt. Sexually would naturally be better than this, but even just grazing the skin of my prey was another way I came to know them. I kept my fingers on his chin, gazing at him hard, trying to memorize every feature of his face, trying to see even deeper beyond that paper-thin mask.

“You have pretty eyes,” I finally announced, at the exact same time my mind decided that very fact. I placed a light, flirtatious kiss on the tip of his nose, and turned back to my drink. “Listen, darling, I think you’ve guessed by now that I’m known for my blunt nature. In my humble opinion… there is no point. Or, if there is, it’ll never be discovered by us tiny mortals. And I… have come to accept that.” I raised my arms in the air. “I take my pleasures where I can find them, because they don’t come often- and without those struggles, they wouldn’t be pleasures at all, would they? You know what you’re lacking? Some fun. Relaxation. And awesome friends, like me!” I leaned in towards him, dropping my voice to a confidential volume. “Tell me, when was the last time you well and honestly flipped a woman ass-over-tits and hammered her like a bent nail?”

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 745
Muse;; Actually really not bad.
Thoughts;; Would have been smashing if I hadn't been rushed. -shakes fist at real life- And my dialogue fails as usual. But all in all, 'tis satisfactory.

[Angmor]

He found it odd that he was starting to get used to her touch. Even more odd that he didn't mind it. In the past months, he had found himself shying away from all contact, like a dog that had been beaten by its master. But now that instinct barely lasted one second before crumbling into submission, allowing his head to turn towards her. Her fingers were warm against his chin, brushing the stubble that always seemed to be there. With no tools other than a mediocre dagger, he did not have many options for grooming, and he found that people tended to remember a youth his age with a full beard. Now he was glad that he hadn't grown one. Even though his instinct rebelled, her intimate gesture was soothing to his soul. He hadn't known before just how he longed for human contact, craving another person in whom he could confide.

Her eyes were as warm as her touch, the radiance of her smile assailing the force of his own gloom like a candle amid the darkness.
"You have pretty eyes," She said, her accented voice making the words even sweeter than they might have been.
Even if it was an obvious lie.
There was a time where it would have been the truth. As recently as one year ago, he had pale blue eyes. Myrei had pointed them out soon after they had met, saying that he used them to smile. But not anymore. He had seen his eyes now. Cold, hard, lifeless. Like his eidetic memory; useful in their way. They hid his emotions, and he had found early on that a mere hard stare was enough to send some people the other way, muttering about signs and curses. But also like his eidetic memory, he hated them.

But it seemed Cyprus was genuine in thinking otherwise. She kissed him lightly, the touch of her lips warming him in all the right places even as it confused him. Even so, her casual smile made it clear that the contact was just as frivolous to her as the last. "Listen, darling," She said, turning back to her drink. "I think you've guessed by now that I'm known for my blunt nature."
Teiris huffed in amusement. Aye, that I have.
"In my humble opinion..." she went on, "There is no point. Or, if there is, it'll never be discovered by us tiny mortals. And I... have come to accept that. I take my pleasures where I can find them, because they don't come often-and without those struggles, they wouldn't be pleasures at all, would they?"

Teiris blinked, casting his eyes downward in thought. She's got a point. Everyone's life has struggles. But it has its joys, too.
"You know what you're lacking?" Cyprus went on, her manner bouncing a notch brighter. "Some fun. Relaxation. And awesome friends, like me!" She leaned in, her voice conspiratorial. "Tell me, when was the last time you well and honestly flipped a woman ass over tits and hammered her like a bent nail?"
Teiris paused with his beaker halfway to his mouth, uncomprehending. It was an interesting phrase. Perhaps it was Iberian in origin...

Unfortunately, the sharpened mind the oracles had given to him never shut itself off, even under the assault of heavy drinking. Equally unfortunately, it often worked without his permission, deducing Cyprus' question as a metaphor and following it to its conclusion at the exact same time he was taking a swallow of his brandy. He choked, nearly spilling the drink as he set it back on the bar, coughing violently into his sleeve. Finally, he managed to clear his throat enough to choke out a sentence. "If I'm... understanding you correctly," He answered, "I don't think I ever have." In some circles, he supposed, announcing virginity at his age was tantamount to an admission of guilt. Still, in his mind, he had a perfectly legitimate excuse.
After all, He thought, It's not as if I've had the time.

[/blockquote]

[Emma]

“If I’m... understanding you correctly,” began Solus as I took a long draught of whiskey straight from one of the bottles, “I don’t think I ever have.”

He barely got out of the way of an alcohol shower as I spewed the contents of my mouth across the bar. I wrapped my arm around it, coughing to clear my throat as tears sprung into my eyes. As I fought to regain control of myself, bemusement made my mind spin. Solus- or whoever he was- a virgin? Well, no wonder he was so depressed, then. But at the same time, I felt the strangest urge to giggle. So there was something even deeper, then, beyond all that angst and depression- broody man of mystery on the outside, social retard on the inside. I couldn’t control the laughter after that, and grabbed onto the bar, cackling wildly and completely ignoring the stares I received. None of them lasted long- insane drunk women were a dime a dozen in Lowtower. Still out of control, I gripped the edges of my seat and regained my breath, still gasping and giggling hysterically. We had been swarmed by several barmaids, tsking in admonishment as they scrubbed the spilled alcohol off the floor. The bartender, as well, was leaning heavily on the bar, giving me the sort of look that suggested he was considering asking me to leave- or at least having the bouncer forcibly remove me from the premises.

I coughed and gave a titter. “Everything’s fine here, my good man. Just too much to drink.”
“I can see that, Iberian. I hope that means you’ll be heading out soon?”
“Of course, of course!” I waved a hand impassively. “Just give me a few more minutes with my friend here.” I then turned to Solus, who looked amused, embarrassed, and surprised, all at once. “I am sorry about that, mi corazón. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. But a virgin, and you’re wondering why you’re so miserable. Hilarious! Listen…” I put my elbows up on the bar and leaned closer to him. “Obviously I’ve worn out my welcome here, and the place seems to be booked anyway. But there is another little inn not far from here, The Silver Tankard. Ironically, not much in the way of drink, but…”

In these situations, I would normally respond to the horrific tragedy of virginity by dragging the poor thing to the nearest brothel and buying them premium service. But during our time together, I had seen, out of the corner of my eye, and when I’d been gazing into his own, the looks Solus gave me. I was by no means a shy woman, and I was certainly not blind to my own beauty. I always liked what I saw in the mirror, and I got many a second glance whenever I passed by a crowd of men. And Ramakrishna liked to surround herself with attractive people, she’d said so herself. I knew I was good-looking, and Solus had certainly noticed me. Whether looking into my eyes, staring at the curves of my bodice or letting me touch him, he had that fog in his eyes that all men got when confronted with beauty. Just to assure myself, I let my fingers trail down his cheekbone, mere centimetres from the wound he’d received form the window. Once again, he didn’t object, even tilted his head to accommodate me when I took his chin in my hand. I’d already decided, maybe even when first seeing him, that I wouldn’t mind bedding him. And I was quite sure that he thought the same of me.

“… the rooms there are so clean. Most places here, the bedbugs have bedbugs. But at the Silver Tankard, the sheets are fresh, the beds are big, and the people are very friendly. You’ll always find me staying there. So…” I leaned in closer, “if you’re ever in need of company, you can always find me there.” I abruptly released his chin and rose from my seat, only pausing to lay a little more coin onto the bar before turning back to Solus. “Either way, I am going to need an escort, I think, in this rain. Shall we?”

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 705
Muse;; Meh.
Thoughts;; Moop. It's rushed and meh, but I couldn't think of what else to put. Also, mi corazón means 'my heart'.

[Angmor]

Her reaction was, if not totally unexpected, rather spectacular. On Teiris leaned back on instinct, narrowly avoiding being doused by used brandy. Then she laughed. It started as a choked giggle, but quickly erupted into a fully-fledged manic cackle. Teiris watched in mild bemusement, calmly taking another sip of his drink. He didn't join her mirth, simply because he could not see what was so funny. So, he had never slept with a girl. It really made perfect sense in his mind. The time when most of his friends had started to think about that sort of thing was right around the time his life had been turned upside down. Between his time in prison, on the slave market, and finally as a slave in the house of his master, he really hadn't had much time to consider such things. Of course, if his life had been allowed to take its natural course, he would probably have the same status. His uncle had been grooming him to take his place, instilling him with that same sense of mental discipline, to which women, he believed, were a threat. Looking at Cyprus now, he could almost see why.

Finally, her laughter trickled off into small fits of coughing giggles as she struggled to clear her throat. Teiris watched her carefully, wondering if a sound pat on the back was in order as he lifted his elbows off the counter, leaving the barmaids room to work. At last, Cyprus mostly regained control of herself, turning her attention to a glowering barkeeper.
“Everything’s fine here, my good man. Just too much to drink.”
“I can see that, Iberian. I hope that means you’ll be heading out soon?”
“Of course, of course! Just give me a few more minutes with my friend here.”
She turned back to him, offering a sheepish smile. “I am sorry about that, mi corazón. I didn’t mean to laugh at you. But a virgin, and you’re wondering why you’re so miserable. Hilarious! Listen…” She leaned conspiratorially, close enough for him to feel the warmth of her body. “Obviously I’ve worn out my welcome here, and the place seems to be booked anyway. But there is another little inn not far from here, The Silver Tankard. Ironically, not much in the way of drink, but…” Her finger stroked his face, causing small twinges from his wound. Even so, Teiris didn't mind, soaking up the contact he had been so long denied.
“… the rooms there are so clean. Most places here, the bedbugs have bedbugs. But at the Silver Tankard, the sheets are fresh, the beds are big, and the people are very friendly. You’ll always find me staying there. So…” she leaned in even closer, “if you’re ever in need of company, you can always find me there.” She stood up, looking at him over her shoulder as she placed more coin on the counter. “Either way, I am going to need an escort, I think, in this rain. Shall we?”
Teiris wavered. The message was clear enough; even her smile was an open invitation. A part of him knew it was a bad idea, following a woman he barely knew but...
But it certainly didn't feel like a bad idea.
To hell with it. I'm probably not going to live very long either way. Might as well having gotten off with a beautiful woman.
Finally, he nodded, turning to down the rest of his brandy in one gulp before jumping to his feet. "Hell, why not?" He said, a wan smile adorning his face. "It's not like either of us will be out anything. Lead the way."
Cyprus' smile picked up a notch or two. "That's the spirit! Let's go."

As he he followed her outside the tavern, the deluge hit him like a wave. The rain was falling in sheets, lightning crackling across the shrouded sky in intermittent flashes that lit the streets as bright as day. One such flash illuminated Cyprus, holding her hands above her head and laughing. "Fine night to forget a cloak. I'm going to get soaked!"
Teiris chuckled, blinking the rain out of his eyes. "It's alright. It actually suits you." In his experience, some people just grew more attractive the more disheveled they looked. Cyprus was definitely one of those. Her dark hair had quickly formed a soaking tangle that fell endearingly around her exotic face, and her already sodden dress clung to her in all the right places, accentuating her body even more.
Besides, wet clothes wouldn't be a problem after they were alone.
With difficulty, Teiris dragged his attention back to the subject at hand. "Still," He said, "We should probably get there before we catch cold."
The smile she turned on him then glinted in a flash of lightning, almost feral in its intensity.
"I'll race you!"
With that, she took off running, her boots splashing in the mud. As she grew further away, Teiris felt the last of his exhausted torpor fade from him, leaving him feeling oddly light. Although he didn't quite feel happy, as he remembered it, but... content, at ease.
“I take my pleasures where I can find them, because they don’t come often- and without those struggles, they wouldn’t be pleasures at all, would they?
It was then that Teiris realized just what Cyprus had really done for him, something that he had believed impossible;
She had cheered him up.
Finally, his face softened enough for a full-blown smile. With that, he took off running after his new friend.

Of course, The Silver Tankard was too far away to actually sprint there. In the end, Cyprus called a draw, slowing them to a more sedate pace. They walked side by side, Teiris laughing at his companion's seemingly endless supply of filthy jokes. Through it all, things felt... oddly surreal. By any law that Teiris knew, tonight should have been just another one of misery. He should have been in a dark room somewhere, jumping at of peal of thunder, endlessly reliving the moment when he had plunged the knife into the Paladin's ribs. Instead, he was out with a genuine friend, on the way to have, if Cyprus was right, the best time of his life. For the first time, he dared to think that, just maybe, fortune was starting to look his way.
And that was where it should have ended. Looking back on it later, he would almost wish that it had. But the Hand made sure it was otherwise. His memory was fixed, good or bad. It never went away, and it never shut itself off. Because of this, when Teiris first saw the man following them, he had not even noted it. The second time, he grew suspicious enough to start looking. It was then that he realized the man's odd behavior; whenever he and Cyprus turned a corner, the man would put on a slight burst of speed in order to catch up. As soon as they were back in sightline, the man would slow down again, trying much too hard to look as if he wasn't watching.
It seemed that fate had not reversed its opinion of him just yet.

Teiris felt his stomach drop sickenly, his good humor bleeding from him like a punctured wineskin. Outwardly, he gave no sign. He made a show of laughing and joking, inwardly considering his options. The follower was either a Paladin or a bounty-hunter, of that he was certain. The man had that look about him, that slightly-too-perfect form that denoted a follower of Malandra. The question was, did Cyprus know? Was she a lure for a trap the entire time? At that thought, his heart sank even lower. Teiris had thought, he had almost thought that...
He checked himself, viciously putting the thought away.
It didn't matter. Besides, he didn't even know yet. Perhaps there was time. Perhaps he and Cyprus could go ahead as planned, and he could deal with his pursuer later. But either way, Teiris had to find out.
They had justed turned another corner onto another deserted street, Cyprus chuckling at another crude innuendo. It was time. Putting his quick plan into effect, Teiris seized her arm without warning, shoving her against the side of a shop they were just passing. She let out a surprised curse, trying to push against him.
"Woah, easy mi corazón. I realize you're impatient, but we really should wait..."
Teiris had his dagger to her throat half a second later, ending any other protest. He hardened himself against her surprised stare, feeling the emotion drain from him as his objective became clear. He had to know.
"Just listen for a moment," He said, his tone more earnest than threatening. "In about twelve seconds, a man will round the corner we just came from. He'll glance around for a few seconds, and then spot us. When he does, he'll either rush to your assistance, or try very hard to appear that he wasn't looking for you." He sighed. "Tell me I'm wrong. I want to believe you, I really do. Just say that I'm wrong."

[/Blockquote]

[Emma]

The cool air was refreshing as I opened the door of the comparably stagnant inn. Everything smelled earthy and clean, almost like a forest. As I stepped out from under the shelter of the doorway, however, I was immediately hammered by sheets of rain. I laughed, partly in surprise and partly in pleasure as I ineffectually covered my head against the icy droplets.
“Fine night to forget a cloak. I’m going to get soaked!”
“It’s alright. It actually suits you.”

I turned to Solus, who despite being more sensibly dressed, was already dripping. Raindrops flecked his long eyelashes and mixed with the blood on his face. As I lowered my hands from my head, I took a moment to gauge his expression. There was, as I’d been hoping, lust. I beamed and tossed back my wet hair, immensely pleased with myself. Seduction was not as easy as Malandra liked to claim. I’d heard ‘go away, Iberian hag’ more times than I cared to count. Any success was one to celebrate, but this one especially. Though Solus had given me anything but a difficult time, the change in his expression and demeanour almost made him look like a different person. Gone were the hooded eyes and sour expression. Now a smile brightened his pallid face, and his eyes sparkled with desire. He was considerably more attractive than the lonely, pale youth I’d first seated myself next to an hour or two ago. I watched his gaze rove over my body, raising my eyebrows. It was curious how people were always more attractive when soaking wet. I’d have to ask Malandra what her scientific explanation was for that. Still, I supposed soaked clothes that bunched up in all the right places had something to do with it.

Eventually, Solus managed to control his gaze, and he met my eyes again. “Still, we should probably get there before we catch cold.”
It was an invitation almost as good as the one I’d just given him.
“I’ll race you!”

Without looking back, I turned on my heel and took off. At first, my steps were wobbly- my bloody high heels were not built for running- but once I got my balance and stopped jumping in mud puddles, I let my instincts take over. Suddenly full of energy, I ran at full tilt, the buildings blurs on my peripheral vision. After a time, I was aware that Solus was gaining on me, eventually coming so close that I could hear his steps slapping the dirt road directly beside me. I wanted to go faster, knew I could go faster, but I didn’t want to let my feral side get a hold of me again. Besides that, and terrifying Solus if I did, I needed to save my energy for more useful things. As we approached a turn in the road, I raised my hand and slowed to a fast walk, and then eventually stopped, letting out my breath in a long rush and turning to Solus.

“I’d forgotten just how far it was,” I sighed, and stuck out my hand. “Shall we call it a draw, then?”
Solus shook it heartily. “For shame. I was going to win.”
I grinned as thunder boomed across the sky. “Oh, look at you being funny. You know, this reminds me of a story. Now this was years ago, back in Iberia… tell me, have you ever heard of ‘The Goddess’s Pillow Book’?”
Solus raised an eyebrow and shook his head, which made me snicker.
“I was hoping you’d say that. It’s a very sexy book. And illegal in most countries, for reasons you might imagine. I managed to get my hands on a copy…”

I spent much of the rest of the walk regaling Solus with various tales, all of which were sexual. I found stories were never interesting unless they included sex. Solus smiled beatifically at most of them, although I didn’t get as many blushes out of him as I’d hoped. That was a bit disappointing. The most charming aspect of virgins was their utter lack of confidence in adult ways. Over time, I eventually took his arm in mine and leaned in close to him, babbling away about stolen aphrodisiacs and important nobles that had been ousted as sexual deviants. Solus continued to laugh and beam away, although I was more focussed on the stories now. But there was something else bothering me- a strange little buzzing at the back of my mind. It wasn’t a pleasant one, like the one I got when I had consumed several dozen bottles of alcohol, but rather irritating. At first I assumed that I was just getting a headache from my head being so wet and cold for so long, but over time the buzzing increased in volume and irritability. As such, I ended up paying little to no attention to Solus, and was very surprised when he suddenly spun me against the wall of a nearby building and shunted me against it, breaking off my story.

“Whoa, easy, mi corazón . I realize you’re impatient, but we really should wait-”
Cool steel against my throat. I shut my mouth. Solus had returned to his old self. There was no joy or want on his face anymore- in fact, now I just saw cold, hard resolve. The sort of look a man got on his face when he was about to kill, but take no enjoyment from it.
“Just listen for a moment. In about twelve seconds, a man will round the corner we just came from. He’ll glance around for a few seconds, and then spot us. When he does, he’ll either rush to your assistance, or try very hard to appear that he wasn’t looking for you.” Then he sighed. His voice wasn’t angry or even sad- in fact; it sounded like he had been expecting this. “Tell me I’m wrong. I want to believe you, I really do. Just say that I’m wrong.”

I couldn’t quite mask my surprise. I had no idea what was going on. This had to be some kind of test of his, just to be certain that I really was only a commoner girl looking for a good time. As I opened my mouth to tell Solus exactly this, however, the buzzing increased exponentially, and became painful. At the same time, I felt my throat constrict- not enough to choke me to death, but enough to severely restrict my breathing. I struggled to take in air, and began to lean forward, against Solus’s knife. Luckily, he moved his blade out of the way of my throat, and caught my shoulder as I fell to my knees. I was forced to pant like a dog for the air that I needed, and couldn’t stand- I had to focus all of my energy on just breathing. I slid onto my hands, trying to force the presence out of my mind, but it was well-trained. Very well-trained, in fact. The only kind of person that should have been able to invade me so successfully had to be-

“Teiris Vorthain. Blood patron, later experiment of Oracle Relian. I don’t believe we’ve ever met in person.”
I managed to raise my head enough to see a man bowing in the direction of Solus and I. As he rose out of it, his face confirmed my suspicions. I’d recognize those cold eyes anywhere.
I sucked in another breath as he stepped closer. He brandished no weapons- but then he didn’t need any.
“My name is Sadean, senior Paladin of the Hand of Leona. It’s an honour to make your acquaintance.”
“I really don’t care who you are,” answered Solus sharply. “Just tell me what you intend to do with me.”
“There’s no need to take such a harsh tone! I only-” He stopped short, and tilted his head to give me a proper look, then smirked and shrugged his shoulders. “I see you’ve already met Miss D’Ellsadro. I’m sorry to tear you away from your fun, but believe me when I say you won’t have missed out on anything. She’s bedded enough people to populate a small continent.”
“Sadean, you ruthless bastard,” I hissed. “You really expect me to let you do as you please? You owe me for last time; you barely escaped with your head still attached-”
“Shut up, D’Ellsadro! I’m here under direct orders from Her Holiness,” he interrupted harshly. “Otherwise, I would not bother with the likes of a sordid whore such as yours-”
He broke off as Teiris’s knife began to weave across the air, heading for his chest. Then Teiris suddenly froze on the spot, knife still inches away from Sadean, his eyes bulging in a mixture of rage and surprise. He was frozen, like me, but by some other means than choking.
“So you killed Castillon, did you?” said Sadean, sounding no more upset about the fact than I had been. “Thank you for that. That’s one rival out of the way. Now, do me another favour. Take your knife… and draw it ever so gently across your throat.”

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 1520
Muse;; Good! But it doesn't show. -_-
Thoughts;; GRAW it kinda sucks. ANYWAY my muse decided to stop cooperating or I would have gone further, but this seems like a good place to stop anyway. I'm thinking Teiris overpowers Sadean either by SHEER WILLPOWER or Cyprus can help out, whichever works best for you, at which point Sadean has a bunch of guards rush in. And, uh, he and Teiris can have an epic fight, and maybe Cyprus can turn into werewolf form to nom some guards. >.> Maybe.

OH ALSO. This is the longest Thoughts note I've ever written. =P The reason Sadean didn't help Cyprus is because among Paladins, hunting down runaways is a big competition. Barring actually killing each other since that's not allowed, they'll do anything to make sure they get the job done rather than any of their rivals. The only time they'll actually team up is if they're taking down several runaways at once or if it's an escaped Oracle.

[Angmor]

Teiris was expecting denial. He expected wide eyes and indignant tone of voice as she vigorously denied his accusations. He expected a genuine and heartfelt performance, but a performance none the less. He did not expect to believe her. Despite it all, he knew almost beyond doubt that she was somehow an agent of his pursuers, sent to entrap him. But there was still hope. He still held out that maybe, just maybe, his trust would be rewarded.

She looked as if she was about to do all these things. Her beautiful disheveled face was giving all the right cues of fear and surprise. But when she opened her mouth to speak, something entirely unexpected happened;
she couldn't do it. Nothing emerged from her mouth but a strangled gasp.

For her part, Cyprus seemed just as surprised about this as he was. She tried again, still unable to get her vocal cords to work. Her breathing was suddenly coming in sharp, struggled breaths, as if she was choking. As blatantly impossible as it was, it seemed her struggles to breath were entirely genuine. She swayed, leaning towards him in peril of cutting her own neck on his knife. Teiris removed the blade hastily, catching the woman's shoulder as she slid against him, collapsing limply to her knees in the muddy road. Teiris wavered, totally unsure how to react. Of all the outcomes he had envisioned for this situation, this one had not even remotely been among them. Cyprus had to be putting on an act to throw him off, unless...
Unless it's an external force.

"Teiris Vorthain. Blood patron, later experiment of Oracle Relian. I don't believe we've ever met in person."

Teiris whirled on the voice, cursing his own inattention. He had been so distracted by Cyprus, he had completely lost track of everything else. Perhaps that had been her purpose all along, luring him into a stupid rookie mistake. Sure enough, the voice belonged to the same diminuative, shadow figure that had been following them from the tavern. The cold blue eyes were a new feature, however. Teiris knew immediately what he was seeing. That steely evaluation and the total lack of recognition as humanity could be found in only one place;
an agent of the Hand.
"My name is Sadean," The man said, his deceptively soft voice instantly confirming all suspicion, "Senior Paladin of the Hand of Leona. It's an honour to make your acquaintance."
Teiris felt his lip twist. Polite enough fellow, but that was not surprising. Many of them were.
"I really don't care who you are, just tell me what you intend to do with me." Teiris answered, stalling for time. Sadean was holding his arms just slightly away from his sides, showing that he appeared to be unarmed. Teiris was not reassured. Something was choking Cyprus, unless of course she was faking. Teiris held his dagger ready, trying to be aware of both of them at ounce.
The man drew back, his lifeless eyes widening slightly. "There's no need to take such a harsh tone! I only-" He paused, glancing behind Teiris' field of vision with s slight smile. "I see you've already met Miss D'Ellsadro, I'm sorry to tear you away from your fun, but believe me when I you wont' have missed out on anything. She's bedded enough people to populate a small continent."
"Sadean, you ruthless bastard," Cyprus managed to choke out. "You really expect me to do as you please? You owe me for last time. You barely escaped with your head attached."
Teiris felt his suspicion drain away, replaced with cold, unfeeling certainty. She's a Paladin. Gods, she's a Paladin... Oddly, the realization did not anger him, or even sadden him. If anything, it amused him. It would figure, wouldn't it? The first woman with whom he'd had any sort of opportunity, and she turned out to be a Paladin. The way his life had gone, it was hardly even surprising. Even so, he felt the fatigue coming over him again, the tiredness of the soul that had come upon him earlier. He had killed once already that night. If he wanted to keep living, it looked as if he would have to do so again. Perhaps twice. The rivalry between Paladins was at least keeping Cyprus at bay, but after that was taken care of...
Bridge when I come to it. Sadean first.

"Shut up, D'Ellsadro!" The man was saying. "I'm here under direct orders from Her Holiness. Otherwise, I would not bother with the likes of a sordid whore such as yours-" During the banter, the man's eyes were on Cyprus.
Teiris decided it was as good a chance as he was going to get. He lunged, preparing to drive his knife between the Paladin's ribs...
And stopped, suddenly deciding that no, he really didn't want to kill this man tonight.
Teiris tried to shake the thought away. That wasn't right. He had to kill the Paladin. Had to get away, had to survive...
No, that was wrong. He didn't want to kill, and he didn't want to get away. In fact, he didn't even want to move. Moving was too much work for such heavy limbs and sodden clothes. He would stay put, exactly the way he was.
What the hell is this?
"So, you killed Castillon, did you?" The man asked softly, cutting in on his mental back-and-forth. "I thank you for that. That's one rival out of the way. Now, do me another favour. Take your knife... and draw it ever so gently across your throat."

It was, a part of him knew, a ludicrously ridiculous thing to say. And yet, another part of him wanted to. Thoughts kept creeping in that it would simply be easier for him to end all of his pain and suffering, and improve the lives of everyone involved. He'd considered several times before, after all. Just the soft bite of the steel, A few seconds of pain, and then... bliss.
No, it was all wrong. This wasn't him. This wasn't his thoughts. That was how the Paladin was doing it; his thoughts were being influenced by another mind. A powerful, well-trained mind. Try as he might to fight it, he could not rid himself of the invading thoughts. Against his will, he could feel his own arm moving to gratify the desires that were not his own, the blade coming closer and closer to his throat...
He saw the man smile, the glint of his teeth clearly visible through the rain...
The cocld touch of steel against his skin...
Teiris struggled helplessly against his restraints, feeling the knife's caress against his neck, just beneath the jawline.
"Oh come now," The Oracle said, tone amiable. "Why the thrashing? This won't hurt at all..."
Teiris bit back a scream of agony as the knife cut a line of fire down his neck.
"Well, not for me, anyway. I suppose for you, it will be very painful indeed..."
Teiris forced aside the memory. That would not be his last thought. If he had to go out, it would not be thinking...
Just then, Teiris noticed that the alien presence in his mind had drawn back, the artificial desires replaced by a feeling of pain and disgust.
Of course. The Paladin was in his mind, which, while it granted power of him, it also subjected the man to everything that he felt and saw. And Teiris was willing to bet that such a man with such a powerful mind had never endured pain like he had.

Gritting his teeth, Teiris summoned the worst memories he had at his disposal, immersing himself every incident of fear and betrayal he'd ever experienced. His loneliness as a child, his time as slave, his ordeal in the streets, his mistreatment at the hand of the Oracles, his terror and hardship since his escape.
Everything
At the core of it all, the pain that cut the deepest, was Myrei. The girl he'd thought he loved, taken from him far too soon.
I'm sorry, Myrei. I'm sorry for getting you killed.
Teiris realized then that he was free. The alien mind had retreated, leaving him only with his own thoughts and desires. Teiris could again smell the stink of the city around him, feel the rain against his skin, mingling with the tears on his face...
And see the Paladin standing helpless before him, seeming paralyzed in shock and disgust...
And for perhaps the first time, felt a burning desire for retribution.

With a feral cry, Teiris pounced, driving Sadean to the ground in a flying tackle. An absent part of him was surprised at the weight and heft of the Paladin's otherwise small body, but he figured such facts would be irrelevant after death. Teiris raised his knife, intending to bring it down into Sadean's neck...
Apparently, the man was a sharper than he looked. The Paladin managed to throw his head to the side, the blade missing him by centimeters to bite deeply into the mud of the road. Stars exploded behind Teiris' eyes as the Paladin's foot connected to the back of his head, sending head over heels off the man's body and landing him sprawling on his back. He scrambled to his feet, bringing his knife back up... Oddly enough, Sadean had made it back to his feet as well, but wasn't attacking. He stood ready to, but had stopped as if considering something. Teiris felt the mad urge to laugh. "What? You want to try reaching into my mind again? Go ahead. I've got more I can show you. You want to get inside someone's head, you'd better be prepared for what's in there."

There was a delicious irony to the situation; The pain that the Hand had put him through was the very thing stopping the Paladin from killing him. Sadean, it seemed, realized the same. Now those cold eyes did show some emotion.
And that emotion was fear.
"Guards!" He shouted into the night. "Guards, move in!"
Teiris did laugh at that, even as hw watched the armored men begin pour from the alleyways. Coward. Couldn't even think to bring in one man without commandeering the city guard.
Setting his teeth, Teiris ran straight toward the Paladin, knife raised. Sadean dodged clumsily out of the way, but not before Teiris felt his steel bite flesh. Not stopping to find out the seriousness of the wound he'd inflicted, Teiris continued past the Paladin, setting his eyes on a clear alleyway. It would be a toss-up whether or not he could make it there before the intervening space could fill with soldiers, but Teiris was determined to win.

[/blockquote]

[Emma]

This was simply peachy. I wondered if, just maybe, this vacation had been a terrible idea.

But then I supposed if I was still able to make snarky internal comments, I couldn’t have been in too terrible shape. Still wheezing for air most indignantly and generally feeling like a pig being slaughtered, I managed to raise my head and take in the scene before me. If there was one thing Sadean enjoyed, it was being able to use people. Tell them exactly what to do and have them carry it out exactly to his wishes. I was surprised that he was already going to kill Teiris- usually the kitty played with his food before he ate it. Perhaps he was showing off to me, proving that he was the more efficient Paladin. I scrutinized Sadean’s face, with that bloody smug grin that he always had on it, and watched as it slowly changed from arrogant satisfaction to a confused, almost disgusted look, and then his mouth became set in concentration. Teiris had the knife right up to his throat, the struggle he was fighting obvious in his face and eyes. But it, too, was changing. As Sadean became more and more unsure, Teiris became more resolute. My eyes widened. Sadean was one of Ramakrishna’s most prized mindbreakers. What could one unhappy little boy, barely out of adolescence, be doing to overpower someone like him?

Sadean’s face eventually became a contorted look of horror and revulsion. At the same time, Teiris’s face twisted into a snarl, and he leapt at the Paladin with a wild cry. Sadean was knocked off his feet, just tossing his head out of the way of Teiris’s knife. A swift kick to the head had the boy somersaulting off the Paladin and onto the ground, flat on his back. Sadean rose stiffly, his smug smile all but erased. Now he looked at Teiris with a new caution, and as the boy staggered upright, made no move to attack. At this moment, I realized that I could breathe again. Relief flooded through me as I collapsed onto my side, heaving for every breath of sweet air, thinking that it mixed with rain was quite possibly the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. As I regained my composure, I heard Teiris utter a short, delirious little cackle.

“What? You want to try reaching into my mind again? Go ahead. I've got more I can show you. You want to get inside someone's head; you'd better be prepared for what's in there.”
I was still too focussed on filling my lungs to look up, but I could feel the uncertainty from Sadean. It was then that I realized what Teiris had done- whatever he had endured at the Cathedral; he had shown Sadean. If it had been horrid enough to make that man stagger backwards with revulsion, then I couldn’t even begin to wonder at the atrocity.
“Guards!” I finally heard him shout. “Guards, move in!”

Feet slapped across the wet dirt towards and then past me. I lifted my head just in time to see Teiris making for a small alleyway as five guards closed in on his tail. A sixth managed to beat him to the alley, but Teiris ducked underneath the gleaming tip of his pike and continued down it. Rage flooded through me as I realized my prey was escaping. I stood- far too quickly, as my vision filled with stars- and swayed briefly before making a beeline for the alleyway. But I didn’t take two steps before I felt my throat being compressed again, and I fell to my knees, breathless once more.
“And where do you think you’re going?” came Sadean’s voice from behind me, not quite masking his anger and embarrassment with his usual polite tone.
Hot pain exploded in my stomach. I fell forward, but was caught by an outstretched arm.
“Let’s see if any future lewdness from you will be hindered by an unfortunate accident with your face, hmm?”

The words rang in my head, but I didn’t register them. I felt something else now. The agonizing pain in my stomach was making my mind feel very hot and start swimming. The red fog that had descended when I’d gotten too close to Teiris’s blood was returning again. But this time, it wasn’t just lust; it was anger. It was pure rage at the pain in my belly, at the loss of my prey, but mostly at Sadean. I looked into his face, feeling an inhuman snarl emanating from my lips. His face changed to one of complete shock. He started yelling something, for the guards to come, for me to stop, something about Ramakrishna, but all I could focus on was a phantasm in my head. I envisioned myself in a perfect emerald green grassland underneath a night sky that looked like it was studded with cut gems rather than stars. I was a wolf, the greatest hunter in the land, in between an angry bear and a herd of marvellous white deer. And I was filled with the pure satisfaction that I was going to kill them. All of them. But before I could prepare to partake in the glory of the hunt, the vision changed, and I was suddenly in one just as beautiful- I was in human form again, surrounded by red. It dripped down the walls, collecting in a pool that I lay in. I raised one hand and dipped it into the pool, smearing it across my face with a shudder of ecstasy.

When I came to myself again, I found my face buried into hot flesh, the taste of blood filling my mouth. But the perverse delight had faded, leaving a strange clarity- and then exhaustion. I lifted my head slowly, realizing that it was a terrible, possibly mortal wound in someone’s throat. I raised my eyes and gazed at the face above it. It was Sadean, no longer shouting. In fact, I doubted he would ever make a sound again. I had bitten through his windpipe. I rocked back onto my knees, turning my head to look at the scene behind me. The little square was completely devoid of life. Five of the six soldiers lay in rapidly enlarging pools of their own blood. The main cause of death was having their throats torn out. I looked down at myself, realizing that I was naked. I was covered with small wounds, where pikes and swords had only grazed me. I touched my face, feeling the hot, sticky wetness there, and looked at Sadean again. His eyes were enormous, and he was trembling and uttering pathetic little chokes of his own. Irony.

I felt two little words emerge from the back of my mind, Not again. A strange desire to cry overwhelmed me, and I fell onto my side, feeling tears threaten to begin streaming down my cheeks. I didn’t understand this sadness. As I felt cold stone and dirt below me, and the chill of the rain softly dripping onto my body, the pain of my several wounds struck. I contorted my face into a grimace. I was somewhat grateful for it, however; it removed that very strange, emotional pain I felt. I looked up at Sadean again, and reached for one of the strips of cloth from my now-ruined chemise. I pressed it against his wound, at the same time muttering the only spell I knew- “Waíse heill,” just to close the injury. Then I lay still again, breathing heavily.
“Go,” I spat at him. “Tell Her Holiness what I’ve done.”
He glared at me for a moment, pure hatred in those unfeeling eyes. Then he crawled away. I didn’t watch where he went, or even care. Nor did I give a damn that I was naked and bleeding- I only wanted to lie there, on that filthy road, and rest.

Long minutes passed. I was beginning to doze off, my eyes steadily closing when I heard soft footsteps nearby. I had curled up into a fetal position by then, arms wrapped around my knees. Opening my eyes, I saw the bottom half of a person standing in the mouth of the open alleyway, facing me and the gruesome mess around me. I closed my eyes again, already knowing who it was as the footsteps reiterated, drawing ever closer. I didn’t look up until Teiris was hovering over me, at which point I squinted up at him. His face was set like hard stone. He held his knife at his side- the rain hadn’t quite washed off the rivulets of blood staining the steel. He said nothing. I sighed and put my weight on one arm, pushing myself into a sitting position.

“I’m probably a sorry sight, aren’t I?” I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “Pity. I hadn’t imagined this was the situation you’d see me undressed in.”
Much to my surprise, Teiris suddenly removed his coat and put it around my shoulders, one of the most romantic gestures I could think of. But as he stepped backwards, he said quietly, “You lied.”
“Lied? Demonio, no, I really did want some sexy fun with you, I swear it.”
I smiled. The response was that stony stare of his. I sighed again.
“Yes, I did lie,” I said flatly, pulling the coat around me. I still didn’t care about my nudity, but I wasn’t going to ignore the respect he’d shown me. “Lying is all I know. But you hid your identity from me as well, if I’m right. So let’s start again.”
I stood up, wobbly at first, but managed to stand my ground. I offered my hand to him. “Cyprus D’Ellsadro, junior Paladin of the Hand of Leona. I’m afraid it’s my job to bring you in.”
He took my hand and gave it a hearty shake. “Teiris Vorthain, fugitive of the Hand of Leona. It’s my job to evade you. I don’t suppose that, even after all this, you’ll consider letting me go?”
“No, mi corazón,” I smiled, preparing to reach for my knives. “You should have kept running.”

Character(s) Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 1690
Muse;; Um... REALLY good
Thoughts;; Uh... okay, so. This is like... probably the most original post I have EVER written. And I REALLY, REALLY like it. O.O ALERT THE MEDIA!!

[Angmor]

Fully under the effect of adrenaline now, Teiris felt nothing as he ducked aside the soldier's swinging pike, grabbing the weapon's haft and using as a counterpoint to swing a staggering blow into the soldier's jaw. With that, he was free. All of the soldiers were behind him, and the alleyway ahead was clear, inviting, safe. Putting on a burst of speed, he was nearly halfway to the next street before he realized he had no idea where he was going.

Short term, it was easy. He had to get out of the city. As he highly doubted that Sadean had bothered to put the city gates on alert, that one would be easy. But after that... what? Find another city, another life? How long would that last? A month, a week before he was pulled up by the roots and forced to start over again? Moving from one bleak existence to another until, finally, one of the Paladins managed to kill him or, infinitely worse, managed to take him alive?
What was the point?
"In my humble opinion… there is no point. Or, if there is, it’ll never be discovered by us tiny mortals. And I… have come to accept that.”
Teiris slowed to a stop, numb to the cold of the rain, numb to the thought of pursuit. Much as he had wanted to believe it at the time, he found that he couldn't just accept a life with no joy, no purpose, and no consequence. As long as he was a hunted man, he could not pursue the life that he wanted, even if he knew what it was. And yet, he had proven time and again that he was simply too stubborn to roll over and die. He was balanced on the edge, unable to go forward, unable to go back, with no idea how to turn the balance.
He probably would have stood there for a long time. Or would have, if he hadn't heard the screaming.
Jolted from his despair, he looked up, listening intently. Coming from the street he had just left was a sound unlike any he had ever heard: the desperate sound of men seized by some terror, mingling with the cries of the wounded and dying as they were ripped and torn.
And the unearthly roar of a monster.
Teiris felt his blood turn cold. There was something back there, something terrible. And Cyprus was back there with it.

Unsure why he was doing it, he turned and ran back toward the sounds, feet splashing against the wet dirt. You fool! She's a Paladin, she wants to kill you. It's not worth risking your life. He almost laughed at his split mind. Come to that, was anything worth risking his life? He had no reason to turn back. And if he was to die, it might as well be seeing what could cause trained men such terror. The noise grew as he skidded to a halt at the foot of the alley, peering out into the rain. Even as he looked, a soldier darted past him, nearly knocking him over as the man ran down the alley, screaming and flailing. What had sent him running was not hard to spot. Teiris had the blurred impression of matted red-brown fur, and the glint of teeth, extreme motion amid the knot of soldiers. One fell with his head nearly separated from his shoulders, and it was then that the creature finally stood still long enough for a flash of lightning to illuminate its full form. Teiris had never before seen a wolf, but some instinct told him that was what it was; a monstrous, bedraggled wolf, spread in a fighting crouch, its blue-green eyes glittering with a joyful malice. Teiris stood still, mesmerized. There was something oddly familiar about those eyes...
The moment passed in and instant as the creature leapt upon another soldier, ripping and tearing. Jolted back into awareness, Teiris tore his eyes away, looking frantically for Cyprus amid the mud and chaos. He couldn't see her anywhere, but she could easily have been one of the rapidly growing pile of mutilated corpses in the dirt.
There's no point! Just run!
Even as he thought it, he couldn't. He stayed rooted to the spot, unable to look away even as the last soldier fell. Victorious, the creature stood over the fallen prey, loosing a bone-chilling howl that shook the sky. Just then, one of the fallen bodies moved, attempting to crawl away. Teiris recognized it as Sadean even as the wolf leapt upon him, effortlessly flipping the Paladin onto his back and tearing his throat.

At last, Teiris felt himself in command of his legs. There was no sign whatever of Cyprus, and his curiosity was appeased. Now it was time to run. Before he could however, the monster seemed to give a violent shudder, then fell limp, as if stricken. Teiris frowned. What was it doing? Playing dead? For what purpose? Was it smart enough to believe that it would draw him in?
Forget it. It has to be something new that they sent after you. Either that, or it's something... else. Just run as far and as fast as you can.
The creature shuddered again, and then, something totally bizarre happened. The creature seemed to shrink and deform, growing longer and thinner, the fur seeming to draw back inside the skin. The face flexed and flattened, becoming more round and oblong as a mane of brown hair grew back around it. As teiris watched in morbid fascination, the beast finally settled into a naked, bleeding, but definitely human shape. It took Teiris several seconds for his mind to accept the fact that the human was Cyprus.

Werewolf. Teiris had heard the legends, of course. All children did. People by day, monsters under the moon, stalking the dark corners of the world. Stories and fairytales. And, as it would appear, completely true. And Cyprus... it all made sense. Her looks, her mannerisms, her odd comment about canines...
Poor woman, He thought, She has her curse, just as I have mine.
Unsure of what to do next, Teiris waited in the shadows, continuing to watch. Cyprus, seemingly weak and in pain, slowly levered herself from Sadean's gasping form, muttering something didn't quite catch. There was a soft glow, and sudden Sadean's wound vanished. At least, not quite. The skin was too flat and smooth to be natural, and Teiris doubted that the Paladin would be taunting many fugitives in the future.
"Go," Cyprus said weakly, just enough to be audible. "Tell Her Holiness what I've done."
Silently, Sadean turned and crawled away, eventually managing to get to his feet and stumble into another alleyway, leaving Cyprus alone in the street.

It became deathly quiet, the only sound the hiss of the rain and the crackle of thunder overhead. Teiris knew he should have left then. It was the perfect opportunity to leave it all behind. Sadean was gone, and Cyprus didn't appear to be going anywhere for the time being. But against his good sense, Teiris took a step into the street, drawn by an odd desire that he couldn't explain. Cyprus by then had curled up into a tight ball, lying amid the carnage she had created. As he reached her, she stirred, heaving a deep sigh before levering herself into a sitting position.
“I’m probably a sorry sight, aren’t I?” She said, her tone weary and resigned. “Pity. I hadn’t imagined this was the situation you’d see me undressed in.”
It was true. Only the barest shreds of clothing still clung to her, hiding nothing from him. Even so, lying in the filth of the road, covered nearly head to toe in mud and bleeding from a dozen shallow wounds, it was far more pathetic than evocative. Teiris considered clinically. Even though she had intended to kill him, he didn't like seeing her in such a miserable position. Moved by a thread of pity, he removed his jacket and wrapped it around her slim shoulders. He stepped back to regard her, trying to decipher the tangle of emotions swirling inside him. "You lied," He stated flatly.
“Lied? Demonio, no, I really did want some sexy fun with you, I swear it.” She flashed another luminous smile. Teiris hadn't noticed before just how pointed her incisors were. He wished that he could believe her and forgive, but his reason said otherwise. She had wanted to sleep with him, and then kill him. As she had said herself, taking her pleasures where she could get them. In the face of his impassive stare, her face fell as she pulled his coat tighter about herself. “Yes, I did lie. Lying is all I know. But you hid your identity from me as well, if I’m right. So let’s start again.”
She laboriously got to her feet, extending a hand to him. “Cyprus D’Ellsadro, junior Paladin of the Hand of Leona. I’m afraid it’s my job to bring you in.”
Despite it all, Teiris quirked a smile, taking her hand and shaking it warmly. Paladin or not, she still managed to make him laugh.
“Teiris Vorthain, fugitive of the Hand of Leona. It’s my job to evade you." He sighed, dropping his hand. "I don’t suppose that, even after all this, you’ll consider letting me go?”
“No, mi corazón,” She answered, her muscles tensing just visibly. “You should have kept running.”

It was sound advice, Teiris knew. Any other night, advice that he would have followed without question. In her weakened state, he probably could have outrun her easily. But now, tonight, he stood firm, unmoving.
"And then what, Cyprus?" he asked earnestly. "Can you tell me that? We'll just meet again somewhere, someplace that I've managed to build up a life. I'll run away from it all, and you might catch me or you might not. Do you have another option? Can you tell me where I can go where the Hand would never find me? That's all I want, Cyprus. I don't want revenge against you or anyone. Just want to be left alone."
Cyprus was silent for a moment before answering, her voice gentle. "That's not going to happen, Teiris. You know that. Even if I were to let you go, there are dozens more waiting. We will always find you."
Teiris nodded. "I agree."
With those two words, he felt all of his scattered emotions harden into a cold, unfeeling resolve. For the first time, he knew what he had to do. He looked up, straight into Cyprus' blue-green eyes. "You say that life has no point. I can't accept that. I believe that life is given the purpose we choose. It has to, or there is no point in continuing it. If your choice is to try and bring me in, fine." Setting his right foot back, he assumed a fighting stance. "I've made my choice. And my choice is to stop running."

[/blockquote]

[Emma]

I expected the fight to begin right as I finished my last sentence. Teiris could very well see that I was ready. His eyes were trained right on mine, but I knew that he was aware of my hand sliding to my right, feeling around the blood-and-mud-soaked, tattered remains of my clothes until I felt smooth leather on hard steel. Even as my hand closed around one of my two knives, Teiris didn’t make any movement. I would have made a questioning face at him, but something in his eyes had changed- they weren’t sad anymore, or even angry. I couldn’t see any trace of the brief chuckle I’d managed to elicit from him, either. Now he seemed harder, even more mature. That boyish look of sadness and inexperience was entirely gone now, like he’d aged ten years. Now I raised an eyebrow, wondering what could have caused such a change in his demeanour. This wasn’t the first time he’d killed, and this wasn’t the kind of reaction one received from seeing a werewolf in their true form. So then, what was it?

“And then what, Cyprus?” he demanded in an oddly clear voice. “Can you tell me that? We’ll just meet again somewhere, someplace that I’ve managed to build up a life. I’ll run away from it all, and you might catch me or you might not. Do you have another option? Can you tell me where I can go where the Hand would never find me? That’s all I want, Cyprus. I don’t want revenge against you or anyone. Just want to be left alone.”

I took a long moment to consider all that he had said. There was nothing odd about his request, of course- that was all escapees ever wanted, to find sanctuary from the Hand. What I had to take the time to think about was that somewhere inside me, I had been expecting him to just give up. Self-preservation was a powerful instinct, but this boy had nothing to live for- no family, no goals, no purpose. The body needed more than just food and water to keep on living. It was not an uncommon occurrence for escapees to simply throw themselves at Paladins just to receive the death they had always longed for. From Teiris’s serious depression and bleak future, I had expected this very reaction should Plan A go horribly wrong, as it did. And yet instead, his determination had increased tenfold. I frowned slightly at the thought of that, and wondered if it was only the last wall of sorts I had to tear down before he would finally submit.

“That’s not going to happen, Teiris,” I said firmly, but also gently. “You know that. Even if I were to let you go, there are dozens more waiting. We’ll always find you.”
“I agree.” Suddenly he locked his steely gaze with mine, and I almost started. They had gone from dull and lifeless grey to such an intense silver that they illuminated his entire face. “You say that life has no point. I can’t accept that. I believe that life is given the purpose we choose. It has to, or there is no point in continuing it. If your choice is to try and bring me in, fine. I’ve made my choice. And my choice is to stop running.”

Once again, he appeared to be waiting for me to make the first move- something that I was glad for, because I had to take a moment to keep my mind from reeling. And how in pus-spewing, blood-gutted hell had this happened? This was an entirely different person from the pathetic little boy I’d sat down next to in a seedy bar only hours ago. He was taller, stronger, and for the first time, perhaps even able to beat me in a straight fight- and that was a good thing. My image of killing Teiris had been rolling over next to him in bed early in the morning, and stroking those angular cheekbones of his as I slit his throat. Boring. The fun was in the chase, never the capture. As I realized this, I decided that I liked the new Teiris. I liked him very much. It was so refreshing to see someone that for once did something besides lie down and die. For the first time in too long, I wasn’t chasing down one of the old or sickly prey, the easy kills. I was going after the strongest in the herd, whose blood would taste the sweetest. I felt a pleasant smile crawl onto my lips, and I leaned in slowly toward Teiris, half-closing my eyes as if I were about to kiss him. His face registered mild surprise as he took a step back.

While he was mid-step, I pulled my knife from its sheath in one fluid movement and leapt forward, slashing across the air.

Teiris managed to stumble backwards so that I missed his throat by inches, and was quick to counterattack, raising his knife over his head and bringing it down towards the space between my shoulder and my neck. I sidestepped the attack and jumped up into the air as Teiris slashed again, the knife whistling through the air underneath me. Most humans were very inexperienced when it came to dealing with immortals and their superior speed, but as I somersaulted through the air I felt more lunges coming towards me. I hit the ground unscathed, but slid backwards for several moments over the slippery dirt. I almost struck a small wooden shed behind me, low enough for even a human to jump up onto. I made to get up, but Teiris was faster, his knife aimed to plunge into my chest. I grabbed his wrist and flipped him so that he ended up on the roof of the shed, banging into the stone wall of the building behind it. Before he could recover properly, I stabbed viciously at him with my knife, forcing him to weave his head and shift violently from side to side until he finally managed to raise his knife and deflect the last of the blows with surprising strength, sending the blade sailing straight into a deep puddle.

Without wasting a moment, I grabbed Teiris by the front of his coat and threw him over my head, sending him flying backwards as I raced around the square to where my second knife still lay. By the time I had snatched it up he was charging at me again, and slashed across the air right at my abdomen. For a moment, I was sure he’d struck me- pain exploded across my torso and I cried out, stumbling backwards, until I remembered that that was one of the wounds I’d sustained during the fight with Sadean and his men. Then I remembered just how long and how hard I’d been fighting, and how tired I was- and I felt myself falling backward, just as Teiris’s blade came down again to meet my throat. Defense was first instinct, however, and I managed to raise my leg fast enough to pull a muscle and kick him viciously in the wrist, causing him to lose his knife in turn. As my back hit the ground with a wet thump, I rolled to avoid a stomp and staggered to my feet, taking off towards the shed. I jumped up onto it, and then onto the taller building behind it. Without looking back, I set off across the roofs of Lowtower.

The rain was still falling. Its cool wetness was refreshing against my skin and especially my wounds, which burned hideously where dirt had entered them. But the wet roofs were treacherous, and I couldn’t run at full speed. As such, it wasn’t long before I heard rapid footsteps behind me, and a boy’s shallow, rapid breathing. My heart missed a beat- how difficult would it be to survive this fight?- but then it was replaced by an animal thrill. With each heartbeat I felt the ominous hand of death clutching at me. Anyone who walked the path of carnage would always have it following close in pursuit. And that was what I was meant to live for. Nothing was more beautiful than putting my soul at risk. The pain meant that I was alive. I looked up at the sky, where thunderbolts threaded through the dark clouds like silver lace, and tasted sweet water in my mouth. It was only then that I stopped fleeing, taking an enormous leap onto the next roof, landing on my feet, and turning to face Teiris.

It was ironic that the roof I happened to be standing on was a temple dedicated to Nyx. Scattered throughout Alagaësia, none of them could hold a candle to the Cathedral of The Tears. But here in Lowtower, this building was undoubtedly the tallest and most beautiful. Teiris came to a halt right at the edge of the roof I’d leapt from, and simply watched me for a moment. We were too far from each other to exchange words, but they weren’t needed at this point. I met his gaze evenly, a smile curling my lip and raising my eyebrows enticingly. I curved a finger towards me, as if I were inviting him to bed, and then turned and leapt onto one of two small spires that were in close proximity to the bell-tower. As I began to climb, I was aware that tiny streams of blood were running down my arms, and sharp pain flared up inside me again.

As usual, it only added to my elation.

Character Used;; Cyprus D'Ellsadro
Words;; 1605
Muse;; ... >.>
Thoughts;; Well... UGH. Especially compared to my PREVIOUS post... plus, REALLY nothing at all happened in this one. I was going to put more, but I butchered the instigating fight scene so much that you can take over for the bell-tower one. T_T I really don't enjoy them as much as you do. ANYWAY. Just MSN me first to tell me what you have in mind. >.>

[Angmor]

Teiris waited, tense and ready. Watching the surprise play out over Cyprus' mud-streaked face. In the wake of his ultimatum, he had no idea what was going to happen next. Normally, his mind would be swirling with all the possibilities and outcomes of a situation, trying to plan and adapt for each and every one. Now it didn't matter. Cyprus, by virtue of her fatigue, nakedness and wounds might instead relent and give up, allowing him to leave in peace. Or she was about to fight. If so, Teiris did not know who would win. He was weak and inexperienced, as well as slightly drunk. She was wounded and unsteady, having killed so many already. It didn't matter. Whatever happened, he knew what he had to do. This kind of focus was new and fascinating to him. For perhaps the first time since his capture by the hand, he did not fear the next few moments, instead waiting for them with a sort of excitement, filled with a new energy.
As he watched, Cyprus' surprise spread into a slow smile. Her expression turned soft, like a lover about to share a secret. Sensing an attempt to put him off guard, Teiris drew away...

Cyprus leaped up, her knife flashing in the air just short of his neck, close enough for Teiris to make out the markings on the hilt. He retreated hastily, his back foot struggling for purchase in the mud.
Buoyed up on a rush of adrenaline, he brought his dagger in a downward arc, following up with a slash when she weaved aside. To his astonishment, instead of blocking or ducking the strike, she leapt effortlessly into the air, his dagger passing through the space where she had been standing. Seems she's got some fight left in her after all, An absent part of him thought. Good. Let's dance.
Acting on pure instinct, he thrust his knife upward as her flip carried him in an arc over his head. Though the strike missed, it seemed to have the effect of throwing off her landing. She stumbled back several paces, colliding with a small shed nestled against a darkened house. Sensing she had nowhere to go, Teiris rushed forward with a stab...
Oddly, instead of steel striking flesh, the world seemed to invert, Teiris finding himself flat on his back, staring at the sky with the rain suddenly falling into his eyes. The rain, and the glint of Cyprus' dagger descending toward his head.

He threw his head sideways just in time, the sound of steel striking slate roofing loud in one ear. He dodged a second strike, then a third before finally gathering enough wit to regain initiative. The one advantage of his being flat on his back in top of a shed was that she could only attempt one kind of strike, making her pattern predictable. On the fourth blow, he snared her wrist, his free hand snatching the exposed pommel of her dagger and twisted hard. At the same time, he struck the blade with his own knife, sending the weapon spinning from her hand with a sharp ping. Before he could begin to follow up, he felt himself seized by the front of his tunic and throw bodily through the air with far more strength than Cyprus' slim frame could possibly possess.
I guess being a werewolf has advantages even in human form... he observed absently, before the heavy impact with the street dashed the thought from his mind.

He tumbled to a stop in the muddy track, spitting dirty water from his mouth as he attempted to rally his defenses. Cyprus, however, had not followed him, instead dashing the opposite direction with her eyes turned downward. As he watched, she seemed to find what she was looking for, bending down... Scrambling to his feet, Teiris pursued, slashing hard just as she straightened. By her cry of pain, he thought perhaps he had wounded her. But his knife had met nothing. Even as he frowned in surprise, she seemed to stumble inexplicably backward. Not above taking advantage of bad luck, Teiris flipped his dagger to a reverse grip and plunged it downward...
Whether by random flailing or considered defense, her leg snapped up even as she fell, catching his wrist hard and sending the knife flying from his hand. Feeling a flash of anger at being disarmed, he brought his foot down hard. His foot hit the mud with a splash as Cyprus rolled neatly aside, leaping to her feet like a trap closing in reverse. Before Teiris could react, she took off running, scaling the rooftops in two bounding leaps before she was lost to sight. Teiris snarled, casting about for his lost knife amid the mud and bodies. After a second, he gave up, satisfied with the first Paladin's dagger tucked in his belt. With that, he followed Cyprus's path as best he could, jumping to the top of the shed and grabbing the edge of the house roof, hoisting himself up.

From his new vantage point, a flash of thunder illuminated the mostly flat rooftops of the slums and buildings of the Lowtower district, spreading around him like a fragmented chessboard. It also illuminated Cyprus, dashing across one of those roofs, her unbound hair trailing wetly behind her as she leapt from one to another. narrowing his eyes against the downpour, Teiris took off in pursuit. Here at least, it seemed he had the advantage. In most of the cities he had frequented, the young waifs and vagabounds had seemingly perfected the fine art of running away, adapting their movements to the environment until they seemed to pass seamlessly over, under, around, or even through any obstacle in their path. With his eidetic memory and hours of study, Teiris had picked up several tricks, many of which had proven useful against pursuit. Now it seemed it would work in the opposite direction, as well.

He vaulted neatly over a tall bench, the movement translating seamlessly into a leap to the next rooftop. Almost too late, he dropped and slid on the wet roof, passing under a table laden with pottery. As he ran, he considered this odd reversal. For the past seven months, he had been chased by paladins. Now her he was, chasing a Paladin. A part of him said it was folly. If he turned and ran the opposite direction, he could be long gone before she could ever find him again. He forced down the instinct. That was no longer what he did. He had a goal now, more than simple survival. Here and now, he had to prove that he was no longer the prey, and that he could become the hunter. Prove it to the Hand... and to himself.

Before long, he was close behind her, close enough to smell the blood and hear her ragged panting. She couldn't run much longer, he was sure. While his own legs burned and his lungs labored, he was sure he could outlast her. As he thought this, Cyprus suddenly met a gap larger than any they had traversed yet, sailing through the air before landing gracefully on the next rooftop. Here, oddly, she stopped. Teiris also skid to a halt, not wanting to leap so closely behind her so she could kill him before he had consolidated his landing. One rooftop removed, their eyes met. Teiris was almost glad to see that the amusement behind those flashing blue-green eyes was undimmed, without a shadow of pain or worry. Sleeping with him or running from him, it didn't seem to matter. She enjoyed both equally. Her smile radiating the distance between them, she gestured invitingly, then turned provocatively away, rounding behind one of the building's spires and becoming lost to sight. With a flash of lightning, Teiris finally realized where she was standing; A temple to the Goddess Nyx. Teiris' lip quirked upward at the corners. How very appropriate. Perhaps by bringing him here, Cyprus hoped that fighting him on Her on ground would give her the Goddess' favor. Teiris doubted it.
Fine. If we're going to end it, I guess we should do it in style.
Gathering a running start, Teiris leapt mightily across the gap, landing solidly and rolling over his shoulder to dissipate the impact. Drawing his new dagger, he kept in a fighting crouch, awaiting ambush. His eyes scanned the new surroundings, the only sound the rain pattering against the stone roof, and the crackle of thunder overhead. Standing cautiously, Teiris followed Cyprus' path, rounding the spire. Looking around, she was nowhere to be seen.
So, this is what it feels like... He thought, dealing with the excited twisting sensation in his gut. It was a night full of reversals. Usually he was the one lying in wait, and the Paladins were the ones who had to blunder after him. After a moment, he noted the traces of blood against the side of the spire, quickly washing away in the rain. He glanced up, following the path of loose boards and scaffolding the held the crumbling masonry in place...
The belltower. Glad to see you're not afraid of heights.
Smiling to himself, Teiris sheathed his knife and began to climb.

The ascent was harder than he thought, especially with a lull in activity. His adrenaline had worn down, leaving him with all his aches and pains that had gone unnoticed before. His back and side were bruised deeply, and his right wrist sent cold needles of pain whenever he moved. Every muscle seemed to ache, and even worse was the headache rapidly developing, like a storm inside his skull. Shivering amid the rain as he struggled across a wide beam, he now regretted the decision to give Cyprus his jacket.
Aye, sure, you had to be the gentlemen there, Teiris. Now you're going to die of cold instead of having her kill you. Should have just let her fight naked. I doubt it would have bothered her any.
Finally, he managed to make a short leap to a platform under the belltower eaves, startling a flock of roosting pigeons to flight. Cursing the announcement of his presence, Teiris drew his dagger and fell into a fighting crouch, eyes tracking from one side to the other, taking in the details one by one. The top of the tower was a wide square of planked platforms, the walls open to the sky on three sides. Typical of lowtower, the place seemed ready to fall down at any second, with the structure shorn up by makeshift wooden braces, bound together with loose rope, rusted nails, and fervent prayer. Suspended from rusted pulleys were a pair of iron bells, their clappers making soft bonging sounds in the wind.
There was no sign of Cyprus.
Teiris blew out a breath, shaking his head. "Is it really to be hide and seek, Cyprus?" He called, taking a step further into the room, scanning for hiding places. Rope... Crate... Under ledge... "I should warn you, that's my game. Just ask your friend Castillon..." Bell rope... Shelf... Under stairs...
Just then, the motion of a falling droplet drew his attention as it fell into a pooling puddle before his feet with a soft plop.
Staining the puddle red.
In the rafters...
Eyes widening, Teiris threw himself forward, just as something hit the space in which he had been standing with a crash, and a sharp pressure traced across his back. He stumbled against a loose crate, whirling around to come face to face with Cyprus' grin as she brought her knife down toward his neck. Crying out in surprise, Teiris blocked desperately with his forearm while lashing out with his free hand. Cyprus weaved backward out of reach, framing a thrust that Teiris only just manage to direct past him. Somehow sensing what was coming, he disengaged and rolled sideways, just as Cyprus' knee came up in what would have been a crippling blow to his jaw. He came to his feet some distance away, hissing through his teeth at the pain the motion brought him. He had barely felt it seconds before, but now felt as if a burning line had been traced across the center of his back, just beneath the shoulderblades. Reaching behind with his free hand, he found a long gash in the fabric of his tunic. His fingers came back bloody. Cyprus hadn't moved, instead pausing to regard him. Still smiling, she brought up her knife, also stained with new blood. "Just about had you there," She said pleasantly. "A hair slower, and I would have had your neck." Teiris grit his teeth, steeling himself against the pain. As far as he could tell, the cut was not deep. It doesn't matter. Just another scar for the collection.
Setting his eyes back on Cyprus, he readied his guard. She sighed, blinking water from her long eyelashes. "Ready to go again?"
Teiris nodded, and then attacked.

In most of the books he had read, single combat between two warriors was always depicted as a romantic thing; a skilled dance between two partners, as beautiful as it was deadly. Teiris had never found this to be the case, but it was especially untrue tonight. This contest was pragmatism and brutality, between one inexperienced and half-drunk boy against an exhausted and half-naked woman, both wounded and bleeding. Both took one death as a foregone conclusion, but neither sure whose death it would be. There were few elaborate moves or pretty flourishes; instead simple slashes and cuts, quick in-and-out movements. Teiris tried to take any possible opportunity to cut, kick or bruise anything he could reach, while Cyprus mostly managed to dodge and evade every one. It was she knew more of the theory involved. She, after all, had been trained, while Teiris only had memories of overheard conversations and images caught out of the corner of his eye as he had been preparing his master's meals.
It doesn't matter, He thought again, bringing his blade down yet again.

Just then, instead of weaving aside, Cyprus' hands shot upward and snared his forearm in steel grip, directing the slash aside and expertly channeling the momentum to twist his arm up behind his back. He cried out in pain, feeling the edge of her knife biting the back of his hand. Unable to see, he felt her slowly prying the knife from his helpless grip. Unless he wanted his shoulder dislocated, he could not hang on to his dagger.
So he let go.
While his eidetic memory was most useful for recalling images, it also worked the same way for tactile sensations. With the feeling of the knife falling from his pinned hand, he could mentally predict how the weapon would fall, allowing his free left hand to be there behind his back to meet it. As the hilt landed solidly in his grip, he calculated approximately where Cyprus would be standing and slashed hard.

There was a cry as his arm was released, and he staggered forward, whirling around yet again. He found Cyprus gimacing in pain, examining a new shallow cut on her bare thigh, stark red against the pale skin. Her grimace turned to a feral smile that she turned back on him. "That had better not leave a scar."
Teiris remained silent, waiting, shifting his knife back to his right hand. His senses hummed with adrenaline. He could feel the chill wind cooling his face, soothing the cut on his cheek. He could hear the drumming of the rain against the roof, sense the changes of light as the lightning played across the sky behind him. Through it all, he was focused entirely on Cyprus, awaiting nothing except her next move. She seemed not notice, frowning as she gingerly put weight back on her injured leg. "No witty comment? Nothing? You used to be a lot more talkative."
Teiris didn't even think. "People talk a lot when they don't know what to do."
"Fair enough," Cyprus smiled, her vicious thrust echoed by a peal of thunder. "This is more fun anyway!"

From the renewed intensity of the fight, it was clear Cyprus was done playing. Every strike Teiris negated was either a killing blow or a prelude to one, forcing him purely on the defensive. Her wounds and exhaustion barely seemed to slow her anymore, and try as he might, Teiris was unable to maneuver her stance onto her injured leg. He blocked and dodged frantically, knowing he was being cornered, knowing he was running out of time...
Finally, he was just too slow to evade a kick, catching him squarely to the side of the head.

The world went white.

When the light and noise receded, he found himself lying on his back. His dagger was gone, and the rain was blowing in his face. Opening his eyes, he found his vision split between wooden rafters and storm-tossed sky. A moment later, the rafters were obscured by Cyprus standing over him. Teiris forced his sluggish limbs to move, trying to rise... Heaving a sigh, Cyprus straddled him, her knees pinning his arms, her dagger at his throat. "Shit, Teiris..." She said breathlessly, brushing a strand of sodden hair from her face. "You made me work for this one, I can tell you that. You have been some of the best prey I've ever hunted."
"Aye," Teiris answered. "Great. That's all I've ever been. I might as wel be the best there is at it." He was too tired to feel defeat. He was too tired to feel anything. His body and mind simply couldn't accept that he was finished. There had to be something he could do...
"Oh, don't be like that," Cyprus urged. "You've been in pain for so long. Just think, a little bit more, and you never need to feel it again. Now, this will go quicker if you hold still..."
Teiris shut his eyes, waiting for the final bite of Cyprus' knife. He had tried his best, at least. Now his death did not seem all that undesirable an option.
But had he really? If he had truly done his best, why was something twitching at the back of his mind, something that he could still do? Unbidden, an image flashed before him, an image of a wooden glimpsed during the fight, wedged between ceiling and floor. That spar was supporting a loose beam, to which was nailed another spar, which was reinforcing a broken section of masonry... As his perfect recall pieced it together, he realized that it was a chain reaction waiting to happen. And it all began with that first spar of wood.

As Cyprus began to lower her knife to his throat, Teiris strained against her, throwing her off balance just long enough for him to kick the spar away. There was an ominous groan of straining wood. Somehow sensing what was coming, Cyprus rolled to the side, just as one end of the loose beam hit the floor beside Teiris, resting at an angle over him that would have crushed Cyprus' skull. They simultaneously scrambled to their feet, eyes meeting over the fallen beam.
"What did you do?" Cyprus screamed over the sudden noise of cracking timber and crumbling stone. Teiris smiled.
"I improvised."
Cyprus probably would have had a witty comeback, had she not had to dodge a falling bundle of spare lumber that had been stored in the rafters as it clattered down around her. Somewhere amid the chaos, the twin bells fell from their moorings and went tumbling down the shaft of the tower with a resounding clatter. As Teiris watched, a tremor in the floor beneath him made him wonder if his chain reaction was going a bit too far... When it gave a great lurch and tilted under him, he knew that it had. Under the adrenaline, he found he could not experience any kind of alarm; just cold calculation. Some instinct told him the tower was about to collapse. This meant that he was either about to plummet three stories, most likely to either be killed outright, or be crushed by rubble moments later. Or he could leap intentionally toward the temple roof, for an uncertain landing a mere two stories below. Deciding instantly, Teiris gathered the last of his energy for a sprint, leaping over debris and ducking fallen beams between him and the edge of the tower. At that moment, the figure of Cyprus rose up before him, her face registering surprise at the chaos around her, which at that moment including her target barreling toward her at full speed. Without slowing, Teiris took her in a flying tackle that catapulted them both into empty space. Over Cyprus' shoulder, the temple roof rose up to meet them. There was a flash of pain, and then darkness.

Teiris came to slowly. He was aware first of a dull throbbing in his knee and ankle, and then the pain of each of his injuries, one at a time. He could hear nothing, except the muffled sound of his own breathing and the pounding of his pulse in his ears. When he at last opened his eyes, he found himself lying on cold stone, the rain soaking his back and the wound there. Cyprus was lying in a heap several feet away. Glancing up, Teiris began to piece together what had happened. The tower was still standing, but from the looks of it, the inside platforms had indeed collapsed. In tackling Cyprus, she had actually landed first, with Teiris on top of her. That probably had saved him from further injury. Some comfort... Teiris thought, groaning in pain as he tried to rise. Everything seemed to hurt, but his right leg especially didn't feel too clever. Finally, he managed to get to his feet, limping over to Cyprus. With her limps splayed out and her hair fallen over her face, she looked dead. No wonder. A fall like that was survivable, but with another body falling on top of her, there were not many ways she could have avoided breaking her back or crushing a vital organ...
Just then she broke into a violent fit of coughing, causing Teiris jump awkwardly back. His good foot came down on a hard object; Cyprus' knife. After a moment, her coughing subsided, giving way to a moan of pain. Her eyes fluttered open, her blue-green eyes meeting his. "Well... that was impressive," She said, her voice slightly raspy with pain. "After all that, you still found a way to win."
Teiris nodded, stooping to pick up the knife. "It's what I do. Only strange that it still surprises you people."
Her chuckled quickly turned into a cough. "Well, I will freely admit that I misjudged you. You are a worthy hunter, and to you goes the kill." Her eyes closed, her face calm. "I only ask that you make it quick."
Teiris blew out a breath, glancing at the knife in his hand. It was the right thing to do, logic told him. He was perfectly within his right, and it would mean one less enemy standing between him and his goal. Besides, he had proven to himself that he didn't have to run; that he could stand his ground and take the fight to them. As she said, he had earned his kill.

Limping closer, he stooped over her in a repeat of the position she had used to pin him to the ground not minutes before. Steeling himself, he placed the knife against her throat. Cyprus did not struggle or say anything. So utterly unlike any other servant of the Hand, she was seemingly accepting of her fate, and ready to die gracefully. Teiris hesitated. Paladin or not, they had shared an enjoyable time together. She had saved him from despair, she was the one who had finally clarified his path, giving him his purpose. The thought of a world without her jaunty attitude and generous smile was a depressing one. Even when she had tried to kill him, the fact remained; he liked her.
"What's the holdup?" She said suddenly. "I haven't got all night, you know."
Teiris removed the knife, her bravado sparking a genuine smile. "No. Sorry Cyprus, but this world is better off with you in it. Besides, I need you to deliver a message for me. Your corpse just wouldn't have the same effect."
Her eyes shot open, obviously surprised. "Well, alright... Message to who?"
"Tell Her Holiness this," Teiris answered, leaning in closer to make sure she could hear every word. "I'm coming for her. I can't say when, and I can't say how, but I'm coming. I'm going to have to get stronger, and learn a lot more. But when I come, all her walls and her armies and her monsters won't be able to stop me. I will get to her, and I will kill her."
Cyprus' eyes widened... And then she gave a long, choking laugh. before long it subsided into a pained groan. "I'm sorry mi corazón. But you have no idea what you're saying. You've set out to do the impossible. Not with an army could you do that."
"Then it's a good thing I don't plan to do it with an army. Just tell her that from me. Teiris Vorthain is coming to kill her."
"She won't remember or care." Her face softened, reaching up to stroke his face. "But I will tell her anyway." Leaning in close, she made to kiss him... but diverted to a light peck on the nose. "Go with fortune, Teiris Vorthain."
He huffed in amusement, dropping her knife at her side and standing up. "Goodbye, Cyprus D'Ellsadro. Thanks for cheering me up." As he looked up, he realized for the first time that they were not alone. Standing beside an open door was a balding man shielding himself from the rain with the sleeve of his robe, looking utterly bewildered. His embroidered sash depicting the image of nine moons marked him as a priest of Nyx. Making a swift decision, Teiris removed his money pouch, which miraculously managed to remain in the pocket of his tunic. As he walked past, he thrust it into the priest's trembling hands. "Take good care of her," he said. "She's a loyal servant of the Goddess." He did not even stop to gauge the man's reaction as he walked through the door and started down the stairs to the chapel below. That was all the money he had. He was now penniless and weaponless, with only the clothes on his back. Strangely, it felt right. It was somehow fitting that he start this journey with nothing. As he limped through the chapel doors and out into the rain-washed night, every part of his body hurt. But his heart felt light, and more free than it had ever been. For the first time, he had a mission, a purpose that could see him through any obstacle.

He was going to kill her.

He was going to kill Malandra Ramakrishna.

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