Clypsion:
08:14 Nov 07 2008
Times Read: 649
An austere figure stumbled through rusted gates and onto cobblestone, barely able to keep steady and just short of collapsing breathless before a city's entrance. Sunset was on the horizon, and the threat of thieves and all manner of criminal ilk trouncing about without a care for who they plundered kept his eyes open and alert despite the obvious fatigue that plagued his entire frame.
"Not here again.." The words almost dragged out from his throat refusing to force out into the open, afraid he knew to admit the reality that smacked him right in the face.
Here he was, after all that time, back in Clyps again.
"Oh where the paths of life do lead us. Tsk, tsk, Groriene. Should have known better, you should." Musing to himself wasn't going to get him away from the truth that days of wandering following his little venture to Salistro had rendered him right back at home again, and with more hanging over his head than he even remembered.
There wasn't much that could be said about the man, especially for one familiar with the territory and the tale which wound about his lifetime. A couple of dual blades extending beyond each shoulder as they always had, their casings masked beneath the cloak which ran along the shoulders and clutched about his entire upper-body. Simplicity was what it was, as it always had to be with him. A few auburn strands splayed here or there from beneath an ivory scarf wrapped around his head and the image would be undeniable for those unfortunate enough to have witnessed the whole mess that took place in that old city before escape became a necessity. Only a solitary utterance would be required to complete the piece.
Ryske.
"Great Father save me." He stepped in again to that place which he could call nothing less than home. It was almost eerie how things proceeded from there. Sunset seemed to beckon the worst of the worst almost immediately, like some crazy charm that drew them to what the city with the audacity to share the name of the world itself offered. Taverns, lights, the voices of street performers and visitors, criminals and thieves, all of it permeated the air as for that single moment Clypsion was thrust into darkness.
And without another moment passing, it illuminated. They said there was nothing in the world like Clypsion at night, and it was true. Not just for the brilliant light show that ancient hanging street lanterns put on, but for the ever-present threat that to drop your guard for barely an instant could lose you your wealth, your pride, and possibly even your life.
A man treaded across those familiar cobblestone pathways, those same familiar leather boots smacking against the trail, producing audible taps against the ground, reverberating through the alley ways and alerting many of his presence. A grin formed along his countenance, signifying his obnoxious persona was already preparing itself for yet another night of insanity along with bumbling stupidity.
The Dumbass.
An attire everything but amiable, dressed in a pitch black trench-coat, overlapping a dark-gray turtle neck sweater, rolled up at the elbows, known only to him however, for the large coat he wore, concealed the confines. Crimson optics peered through the vicinity, scanning for the nearest tavern in sight. The feel of his high frequency blade sheathed in it's black metal casting continued to clank around inside, coercing the man to take it out and start a fight with the first drunkard he saw.
Had the man any less than one fourth a brain, then we'd all be screwed. Thank God.
The round black hat, covered his auburn medium length hair, draping down in front of his forehead and eyes, obscuring his vision.
"God forsaken hair! IF I HAVE TO SLICE THE TOP OF MY BLOODY HEAD OFF TO GET YOU TO STOP CLOUDING MY VISION I WILL NOT HESITATE TO DO SO!"
Yet again, those same old spontaneous outbursts ceased to function. He was literally any psychiatrist's nightmare - Unfortunately for the land of Clyps, reality always delivered the truth.
And Christ, did Drak love slapping people with the truth.
It seemed as though a gathering on this wondrous and mystical realm were to happen, as yet another figure lurches forth. .
"Clyps.." a soft voice spoke to the wind. Oceanic pools and Emerald jewels surveyed the land, taking in all that the city had to offer in whole. Tap. Tap. Tap. The only sound that seemed friendly as light steps carried him through the darkening land.
Glossy strands of hair scattered here and there, to and fro, and back again before coming to rest upon a hood; wrapped around a males neck and extending well down past ones own knees. Nothing more than rumors had rustling movement, concealed behind the cloak, lurch to the right of the waist. A means of defending past down treasures from a Father and other valuables from thieves. Yet, whatever it was, fastened to a hard-iron grip had another of equal importance on the other side.
"How I miss watching the skies at home.. There you needn't worry about theft or any hard-knock criminals.. How troublesome." A soft voice getting firm.
A task must be kept alleged and he must see it's fulfillment. Ceaseless yet cautious steps continued. From a distance a single voice could be heard, emanating through the passage of an alley way. First victim of the night? Ever alert, Oceanic and Emerald spheres shifted to the surroundings.
This man is but one. Mandrachite.
Ryske stepped with confident and inattentive strides that did little to reveal the true circumspection that lay at some level beneath the man's exterior. Sure one could've assumed him rather apathetic at first sight, and in most respects he honestly was, but that didn't mean that he couldn't change himself should the need arise.
Each footfall atop cobblestone delivered another memory to mind, each stone bearing its own special place and tale for the man whose family built it so. Ryske gave his head a quick apple to the side and took a scan of which establishments were seeing their usual late-night fill. Taverns weren't just pastime in Clypsion. They were a veritable way of life, and none received more renown than those in the city of Clyps. Of course they'd get a little rowdy and it wouldn't be anything rare to see a few drunkards squaring off in a side alley or the middle of the square, but all that just added to the atmosphere which drew a few types of people.
Of course, there were the rampant thieves, each looking to make their move in the shadow of evening and ransack the closest peddler without his hand gripping tightly around whatever little pouch of meager wealth he had. No worries there however. What had Ryske upon him behind a history, a name, and a couple of blades? Nothing at all, in reality. A bandit would be wasting his time trying a target so worthless.
Beyond the thieves one couldn't help but take notice of the nightly street performers which set the town's heart fluttering at such a myriad of spectacles. Some sang, some performed dramas, others merely performed feats of athletic skill, but they all carried in common the incomparable desire to entertain, to set faces aglow in rapture even if just for a minute or two.
But there was perpetually one group which Clyps earned its infamy and whatever prestige could be found there. The adventurers, of course, the swashbuckling opportunists which took their time for a pint at the tavern before whisking off into the wilderness with some hunt or bounty in mind. The ones looking for a nice business venture to invest in and strike it rich before ultimately packing their bags for Salistro instead. Some of them utterly raped the land itself while others gained all the fulfillment they needed simply by chancing that one of those thieves or criminals should accost them in the dead of night. Bellicose were a few, but that can never be helped. If anything, it just made the nights more exciting.
Ryske virtually glided along the streets on his feet, the route they took of their own accord based upon familiarity leading directly to nothing less than an established inn and tavern adjoined. Sleep and quality drink? Who could pass up that kind of night?
He stepped in, those blades on his back making enough rattle to give indication that he had arrived to the boisterous lot that already had the place cheering and singing chorus lines in unison.
Despite the apathy which so often pervaded that man, he could barely keep hidden the smile which the sight brought to his lips. He tosses his head back, removing a few absent strands of auburn from before his eyes and caught an open stool.
"That's a little bit more like it."
Drak merely continued his tread down that cobblestone pathway, those same familiar crimson optics glancing around through the area, looking for something to do. Those annoying street performers to be quite honest, he wanted to slaughter them and beat them relentlessly to a bloody pulp.
His frantic cursing, will to break laws, break into houses and overall be his own anarchist had earned him a title as "Town-Wrecker"; He held the name proud despite how low it brought his reputation down.
A sign lingered above in the air, dangling off a simple building, immediately catching the man's attention. "S'pose I could use a drink, get drunk, maybe bone a girl here or there." Thus he took off in a sprinting fashion, hopping over food-stands, kicking off walls in order to avoid swarms of crowds congregating in the alleys.
He had to reach his destination in time, it was reaching nine O'clock, figuring if he didn't make it by then, all the inn's rooms would be filled up. "Gotta, get there, gotta, get drunk. GOTTA HAVE SEX WITH A HOT FEMALE!"
Immediately his rambunctious ways, caused him to extend his right arm outwards, latching onto a handle of one of the many food-stands. Using it as a means of pole vaulting himself into the bar.
What else could he do?
Drak was a man who loved to do something stupid whenever possible. And in this case, if he didn't watch what he was doing, he'd end up flinging himself right into that bastard Ryske.
Ah! What chance Ryske was fortuned with. Still standing within' the tavern's entrance, a glint caught the eye from below and if it turned out to be coinage, there would be little time to pass up the opportunity. Ryske's drink might've well just paid for itself. But where the man's fortune became apparent was when the descending feet, and eventually entire body of some rambunctious miscreant sailed directly overhead while he bent down to examine.
"Hrm. Excellent. This'll do me just fine."
A sudden crash and his head snapped back up to attention immediately, fingertips grasping those coins like they were the last he'd ever see. Ryske glanced about and amidst all the calamity the tavern was already seeing at this time of night, it was a little more than difficult to tell really what had caused that sort of occurrence at all. Shrugging, he merely strode over to that open stool he spotted and took it for his own, fingertips immediately coming to tap down on the countertop, his nonverbal order for a little something nice, but not too hard, to start his evening.
It was obvious Ryske had seen a few hardships during his time away, and the barkeeps in Clypsion always knew the best remedy for a little bit of fatigue. With the little time offered to wait, he swiveled around on his seat and inspected the whole interior of the place, yawning a bit while those auburn hues settled beneath the crackling flames of whatever was providing them all heat throughout the night. He always caught a few eyes, but there wasn't a lass in the place that he'd touch with a bargepole. Well, not in his current rest-deprived state, at least.
Arms suddenly stretched skywards, exercising his joints before he turned back around and rested himself against the countertop, all manner of sights and sounds throughout the establishment losing their effectiveness to his own thoughts of being back home again.
I wonder how everybody's doing.. and did they ever catch the..?
It wouldn't take long being back in his country again before whatever worries might be there were refreshed in his mind. He had left with a bounty placed on his head after all, and a whole host of lunatics wanting his life for some reason or another. "Can't I ever get a break?"
By that time a little scuffle broke out no more than two stools down before he could even finish his sentence. Some drunks throwing some punches and a surrounding throng cheering them on, the usual Clyps entertainment.
Ryske's barkeep came back with a drink and before it was even placed down before him, Ryske cut in.
"Errr.. can you make that two drinks?"
Drak almost felt overjoyed when he caught the familiar sight of that alabaster scarf draping around the other males neck, although he wanted to smash into him by instinct as soon as gazed upon - he was disappointed. However not every fact of his life was a shamble and absolute bullshit.
He was still able to make that grand entrance nonetheless. .
The momentum Drak used in flinging himself was of such an immensity, allowing his body to literally land on the counter, of course with such speed added onto this, something was bound to happen. That's where athleticism came into play. Utilizing the velocity and power, it made it relatively easy for Drak to execute a simple back-flip, ironically enough it wasn't by choice. If he did try to just stand there he'd probably fall behind the countertop and seriously injure himself.
The opportunity was upon itself, and Drak almost obliterated it completely if not for those two men fighting at their bar-stools. Feet extended outwards, kicking one man in the face with a right boot and another with his left, launching both of them off their seats and leaving Drak to stand there, concurrently as Ryske was sitting down in front of him.
Drak spun around on one stool, still keeping the momentum going until finally coming to a halt, extending his left leg back onto another stool, while keeping his right positioned in front of him, in a sort of bow to the man before him.
"Well, well, well. Looks like we meet again, Douche bag! Give me something fruitful bar tender.." Immediately Drak delved into his pocket tossing a few sickels onto the countertop for the barkeeper to take.
"What's the matter? - Can't say hello to your buddy, Drak?"
Realization of a familiarly unwanted voice that now seated themselves aside Ryske was heard and his heart sank. .
". . Can't say hello to your buddy, Drak?" Ryske repeated slowly to himself in disbelief.
Ryske slapped a hand to his head and sighed, muttering beneath his breath to himself while all those thoughts he was so earlier focused on were lost to that annoying and unforgettable tone. "Father, save us all.."
A few thoughts did seep back into his musing however, a bit of nostalgia that the sudden arrival spawned in Ryske. The stage of his mind played images of battles across rooftops and the acrobatics which ensued, and images of blades drawn in the daytime, standing amidst a square prepared to duel against his will with some kid that couldn't keep his voice down in public. And having his entire room torn apart the last time he stayed at an inn in Clypsion? The sudden attack launched from virtually nowhere during Ryskes' escape to Salistro? The squealing Ryske heard after dropping from his windowsill and taking off?
Yeah, this was definitely the one.
At once, Ryske stood and reached over the table to grab the barkeep's attention again, turning him back around and muttering something just audible enough for the captured man to hear, but spoken with enough urgency to make sure he got it right and delivered as ordered.
"Actually, make that three drinks. Or four. Sorry for the hassle."
At this moment in time, the world seemed an endless abyss of preternatural darkness; caliginous tendrils wrapped around a new body and kept the rest of reality at bay. There was peace; no, not quite. There was only silence. It was not the happy beatitude that one reaches when a nation has finally ceased a war - it was more isolation. Eternally alone.
Suddenly, a sable screen that once kept reality at bay shattered, and this new being plunged headfirst back into the world. All forms of images and scents flooded the strangers perception. Scent alone told everything. The grainy wood, the rank aroma of rum and sin that gave this tavern a "homely" smell. Gifted with sight, our stranger quickly discerned that this particular tavern wasn't the safest; after all, a fight ensued no more than a couple of feet away. Still, even in the depths of the cretins own mind, as to how he had made it here was still unknown.
In the depths that thought will remain as eyes settled upon a brazen, belligerent, individual. Whom, in all actuality, was the reason that glassed-wall that protected our new-found-friend-or-foe from reality.
Eyes? Well, not quite. The entire countenance was completely enshrouded by an alabaster mask; more so, it seemed that the indentations which represented eyes turned and honed in on that specific individual.
And he rose, walking forth with a serenity about him that seemed surreal. Our rogue walked with such calmness that he seemed to move in slow motion or that the world was in a frenzy around him. Reality ablaze, yet he were as tranquil as water itself.
"There's really no need for that type of language, is there?" Quite clear who the message was directed at.
Ryske just couldn't get a break.
"..."
Ryske canted his head aside and blinked. The absolute last thing he wanted upon returning home was to capture any attention again, especially considering the still-unknown status of that bounty thrust upon his head. It was such terrible fortune to that the first who recognized him would have to be Drak, that shameless attention-grabber. Already it seemed he forced another sudden visitor their way with that obnoxious nature.
The new arrival however seemed a tad different. That atmosphere which pervaded this.. rogues' very essence felt.. unusual. There could be no other word for it. Of course one as apathetic as Ryske would eventually pay it no heed, but for that instant following the sudden intervention, the masked image ingrained itself in his thoughts in an absolute permanence. Ryske wouldn't forget it, but whether that was more to his favor or misfortune was still something none could predict.
"Err.. thanks." A mumble it was, at best. he was still trying to detract the attention which could follow. Hopefully this one Ryske had never come upon before, as more recognition at this point probably wouldn't have ended well for any of the lot.
Another guest would require another order, and so yet a fourth time he called upon the barkeep and this time stuck his hand upwards, fingers outspread, one representing each drink. This was starting to become bothersome, but he should've expected this sort of hustle-and-bustle at night time in Clyps of all places.
"Terribly sorry. Could you make that five?"
Who would guess what that night would entail. Set against a backdrop of brash melodies sung in terrible discord by drunken daredevils accompanied by halfhearted free-for-all scraps breaking out at arbitrary interval, nothing could've been more normal. As much as he hated to admit to his normal disposition, the prospect of seeing a little action himself just wouldn't leave his thoughts.
As usual Drak just had to be the rambunctious bastard that he was, a spirit indominatable often times lead to his downfall in every situation that he was placed in.
"Bar owner, might want to make that six if you're including the money I just gave ya'!"
Drak erected his body straight upwards before leaping down onto the wooden floor. Stretching his body out completely, cracking the joints in his back, pulling up his legs allowing heart-wrenching fluids popping in and out of sockets to be heard throughout that section of the bar. "Oh... yeah... That's the stuff right there."
Eyes canted up and down, seemingly wondering what the hell to do next. Drak wasn't much of a follow up in situations like these which lead to yet another downfall as portrayed earlier in his lifetime when he forgot to follow Ryske to Salistro along with that Ka - whatever that guys last name was. Now definitely wasn't the time for the energetic fellow to be reminiscing about the other things besides that one male in front of him.
"You goin' to say hello to me or what? I hope you haven't forgotten our friendship!"
Of course Drak was just being his regular routine smart heehaw, blurting-sarcastic-remarks-loving-self.
Yeah.. the moron never even noticed the threatening rogue.
Just that sound of that annoying--Ryske really couldn't compare it to much beyond a screech, a screech right aside his ear. However, Ryske wasn't much for musing on the vocal tendencies of someone he wasn't going to bother paying much attention to either way, and before he could offer whatever response he thought would make the uninvited "old friend" vanish, drink already arrived.
That man had never downed a glass that quick, and that's not even to mention he wasn't much of one for drinking at all, but being back in Clyps again like this always made him a little bit strange, especially when nights struck. And those lasses sitting over at a nice table and enjoying their night were starting to look just a little bit more appealing already. Ryske could be a gentleman when it was called for, although most of the time apathy did the job enough.
"What am I thinking? Why am I acting like this?" He asked himself inwardly, barely breathing out the words while he stared down a clouded reflection through a chilled glass.
Muscles relaxing a bit, frame sinking down onto that stool and getting comfortable for what he knew would be a long night to come. Finally turning to that boisterous intruder from memory and eyed him a bit, that glint crossing auburn hues sending more message than his words would.
"Uh.. do I know you?"
Trying to antagonize again, no doubt. If there was one thing he remembered about that lunatic, it was Draks' short fuse and propensity to respond with outrageous outbursts at the slightest bit of nothing. In all reality, Ryske was just a little bored and a little tired, and that was the last thing he could've expected being around Clypsion again.
Our Rogue's job was done before it had even begun. The one man who had caught his interest by using vulgarity seemed to calm himself now that the promise of a drink was on its way and engaged in riveting conversation with a "friend". A careful note taken of the drink being ordered in conjunction with his arrival; logical deduction led to a simple place
Little did the people inhabiting the tavern on this particular night know what awaited them. .
Perched atop the roof of a towering building beside the tavern stooped an equally showing figure; eyeing the inn and all its activity with malicious intent. It was no surprise that all the strong-looking-brutes appealed to this shadow; what with a males ego and trying to be the best by beating the best. If a shadow could ever have a heart, then this ones was racing with adrenaline.
"Appease this appetite, Morsels!" This undefined figure roared, bending the knees, coming to a crouch.
The positioning was perfect, as was the launch that soon ensued. An entire body free-falled from that neighboring building right into the one of the side walls of the tavern. Normally, crashing into a wall would result in the body crashing on the outside rather than the inside. Normally, the wall would not crumble. Normally. .
A noisy entrance that outdid itself, and probably, if the being stayed around long enough, would remove the title "Town-Wrecker" from Drak. Other than the few seconds granted for our new, muscle bound-brute, 7'8" dark-headed-green-eyed-Torin-Tack-Crush-with-only-brownkneelength-shorts-and-noshirt-grrr to summon a monstrous axe, none was given. Call it black magic, the Devils works, or a drunken illusion, but distortion in the air occurred before the brute. Slowly the distortion in airwaves solidified into hazy orbs, consisting of violets, reds, and black; all twisting and contorting to this two-handed axe.
"The last name you all will ever hear before you die is Turin Tack!" He shouted, gripping the wooden base of his might axe, right-hand dominant.
"Now! who wants to Die?!" This beast inquired, hefting the axe up over-head, striking down on the bar. Fortunately, a ways down at the opposite end of our triad.
"If that drink is for me, I must respectfully decline. Alcohol has never really been much of a penchant for a pr-? All too suddenly, the rogue's words were cut short as another entity, one much more balefully inclined than current company, suddenly introduced itself into the current environ.
Rogue merely stood there, shocked and horrified at the actions taken by the stranger. Flabbergasted, to say the least, to be in the presence of someone who truly thought that it was in his power, that it was his right to snuff out the flame of one's life. Beneath the alabaster mask which did so well to hide his emotion, a visage twisted and contorted in an unseen expression of rage. Though around him, however, would not need this facial conformation of such anger. The air around Rogue settled and twisted his mien into such austere manner that it left no other possibility than the most apparent.
A voice boomed.
"So, you've come here looking for death, have you? Well, thank whatever God it is you follow, you have found it." A frigid demeanor about Rogue as he walked forth.
Right hand came to the side, fingers splayed and tense as if grasping some invisible sphere; unseen to the eyes of mortal, arcane tendrils of cobalt energy began to wrap themselves around his right hand, splaying outwards as if it would strike anything, yet was sure not to stray too far from Rogue's welcoming grasp.
Turin let out a bellowing laugh, "I follow no God, nor man!" persisting to shout over the common indoor voice. "No being can control me!" The way he towered over Rogues frame; still, Rogue stood his ground.
"You are but a fool who thinks they can take on the likes of me! Little man, I will squash you like the ant you are!" Turin spurted, gripping that heavy-some axe in the left hand, digits getting a bit too comfortable along that spiral base: brute strength alone hefted the monstrosity of a weapon just above head, and with a simple flick of the wrist, the means in which that axe came down - No intent of slicing said ant in two, but rather, smashing it with the flat side.
The indentations which served to represent Rogue's eyes stared, unwaveringly, up to the behemoth of a man that stood before him. Beneath the mask, and of no accordance to the mask itself, Rogue's countenance showed no tinge or taint of fear. He was David, this man was Goliath, and the story would unfold much as it had before. With fluidity that could only be described with the grace of water, his feet shuffled along the grunge and grime of the trampled wooden floors, who had been host to many a muddy foot in their lives. That axe would be met with no resistance as it passed through nothing but air.
A right hand extended nonchalantly, as though holding a gift out to the stranger. My, how conflicting the natures of his actions seemed so peaceful in sight, so lethal in faculty.
The tendrils of puissance unfurled from Rogue's arm and blossomed outwards in a semblance of an azure flower spreading its petals. Ozone filled the air, the sharp, clean scent was quick to pervade and flood every nook and cranny of the establishment.
A moment had lapsed before power exploded from his hand in a glaring display of light and sizzling heat. A lightning bolt of arcane origins streaked forth, boring the distance between the two entities in the flash of a seconds breadth, and meant to impact his foe dead-center in the chest. It was meant to incapacitate Turin, perhaps render him unconscious, though in this world where titans walk amongst mortals, this was unlikely. At the very least, however, it would send Turin flying through the very hole he had created with his entrance and out into the open wilds.
Electrical slivers split from that one bolt that sent Turin to the Tavern's floor, flat on his back. Electrical energy danced about the flooring, causing onlookers to scuttle frantically out of their reach. The deed should have been done. Goliath smitten, but Goliath proved a challenge to David himself, as is the second round.
Blood was now rapidly coursing through Turins' body. A plausible cause would be from the immense electrical power that wailed his chest - perhaps if he were human. Instead, our bolt split into several concurrent bolts that eventually lost polarity and dissipated. Rogue did however, leave his mark upon Goliath. An adrenaline rush bringing Turin to slowly rise.
"That's it. ." a hoarse, snake-like tone spoke, slowly craning its body erect with the use of an overly-sized axe.
"Lets see that power once more, Tiny!" Turin crowed, crossing the axe over his chest, wielded in the left hand only and brought across with a horizontal sweep meant to cleave. For additional length, the grip was 5" from the base, even if the blade was too long, then it's wooden structure could do just as swell.
Of course, like most egotistical people, power had to be shown not only in physical strengths, but through the paranormal. Turin was no different; as though his body didn't look chiseled enough, within' a blink of an eye, it seemed almost impenetrable. Consider it like this. That last assail on Turin left only one mark and that was there only because of the racing tension of particles rubbing amongst his chest. Besides, one would have to be a fool not to see the trailing red aura that the axe was producing, a foreboding thing.
Rogue, to say the least, was surprised when the giant barely budged from its spot. It seemed as though Turin was rooted to the ground but, who would know better how to tear someone from the ground than a man whose life revolved around worship of it? David also took note of the fact that his would-be assailant had a tendency to talk a lot. A show of arrogance that would leave him open for attacks later on in this skirmish; this was stuffed into the back of his mind, though he was sure not to discard such a kernel of information.
The axe-blade, once again, passed through the air where Rogue's head had once existed. He was genuflected, hand pressing against the ground as his body shot its way forward like a bullet shot from a gun. The ground rippled beneath his form. Given the size of the man and, consequently the size of the axe, Turin would be too troubled with the momentum he invested within his swing to be able to properly defend against the counter attack.
Strength borne from the earth, or perhaps from a preternatural tempering, his hands came to crash against the hips of Goliath's form and push away while simultaneously pushing upwards. Turin would not be able to simply shrug the attack off - the body could not bend any further than the midpoint (which is what Rogue would be pushing away), so mere flexibility would not save him. Grounding himself would also prove ineffective, seeing as Rogue was pushing from the bottom up; it gave Rogue a distinct advantage in this tug of war.
Against his will, Turin was flung into the outer world of the Tavern by an average sized humanoid whom. . had supernatural powers. . Another hole now dotting the Tavern's wall, or space for two more doors. People of the streets gasped, staring, though some thought it witty to play Turin as a sort of means to build a name or entertainment. Concern for the folks was not at the top of Turin's list, so he wasn't bashful to slap a few entertainers who dared get close enough. Eyes ablaze, they pierced Rogue, whom was proving to be this Goliath's David.
The might-axe levitated no longer than a 3 seconds before its structure was completely destroyed. Those previous spheres now returning, rapidly racing around Turins entity. .
A sigh, exaggerated through lips as Ryskes' drink was interrupted with a more-than-animated intrusion that started tossing themselves around like they owned the place.
"Another night, another mess. Clyps, will you ever change?" He shook his head and took another sip, refusing to be removed from his quiet contemplation for at least one drink's worth of time. And beside that point, it seemed that man in the mask had already taken it upon himself to answer the challenger's opening bouts. Well, potentionally it's only bouts one could predict.
Of course Ryske couldn't deny the fact that somewhere within his consciousness, he desired some kind of action, something to force him alert and awake after such monotonous travels. But couldn’t a beast have the common courtesy to spare him at least one beverage before deciding to wreak unholy havoc upon that poor little tavern? This one was nothin' like the beasts of old, that much was for sure. Those ones at least gave a little time, not to mention they threw in a lot more substance. This one liked to talk a lot. Drak's intolerable screeching on nothing paired with that obnoxious bellow? Were people trying to irritate him?
Ryske turned over his shoulder while the creature hacked out something about finishing fast, making what would probably be his only attempt at verbal reasoning.
"Could you keep it quiet over there? Some of us are trying to drink!"
Back to the stool and to the glass, but for considerably less time than he had hoped. The beast's bellows were quieted momentarily as the man at the bar stool caught sight of some sudden flashing spectacle overhead. Ryske couldn't be bothered much to turn around and see, that apathetic nature kicking in, but at least it was quieter for a bit.
Until of course, tranquility was needlessly shattered once more by something that just refused to keep itself silent, or at least lowered in tone a little. No respect at all. Something about power, being unstoppable, the usual sort of oration he'd come to expect from the type. At least this one wasn't trying to steal his money or something. Seeking some kind of reprieve from the madness, Ryske at last made it through his first glass and onto the second. It seemed like with every passing moment the scene was setting itself up more and more for this. Maybe he could drown his sorrows and wake up flat on his back atop cobblestone at sunrise again, if he were lucky. Or if he were an even more fortunate man, he could wake up flat atop some comfortable bed with a female companion by his side thanking him for the pleasant evening.
Ryske was never very lucky.
Rogue stepped through the gaping hole that Turin had forced into the side of the tavern upon leaving; hand came to gently rest on the splintering edge as his bare feet touched upon the ground once more. Instantly, Rogue felt more at peace than he had moments ago. He had returned to the earth, to the place where he knew his power to be grand and terrifying. Truly, may all take pity on the man before him.
"You know. You talk too mu-" The sentence was cut short and irony settled its mighty hand upon the scenario. Rogue had become a victim of his own advice.
He had gotten far too cocky and it seemed that he had underestimated this foe. With a speed unlike one to be expected from the sheer size of the Goliath at his forefront, the other launched their assault.
Rogue had to think on his feet. Or rather, fight on them. He understood all too suddenly what needed to be done, and that he would not be able to leave this skirmish completely unscathed.
His body leaned forth and legs flexed; he lofted skywards as an arm came to strike from below. It, however, was met with Rogues' own left foot, which bent at the knee to absorb the impact. Arms rose too late as Rogue turned his side and the second fist, impacting with the force of a boulder, impacted against the junction of his arms.
Like a rag doll, Rogue was tossed aside, touching ground then sliding against it and forming a rather deep trench as his body continued to dig upon the surface. Breath had been forced from his lungs from the force of impact, and it returned to him in the form of a handful of struggling gasps. Unsteadily, dazed even, Rogue rose and stood as though drunk. .
"Hm. Sounds like things are pickin' up a little bit."
Catching the noise of another bellow followed by a sudden crash and smash into the tavern's floor, Ryske could only assume that the one in the mask and the one with the mouth were getting a little intense. Usually the scuffles 'round Clypsion taverns lasted a minute or two before both participants either offered one another a drink, or one of the two collapsed from too much alcohol consumption.
And speaking of passing out, second drink was finished already and he wasn't going to waste much time before venturing on the third, although before he got to it, a cascade of splinters descended upon the length of the bar, cluttering the countertop and his head. And unfortunately for just about everybody, a few just so happened to find their home landing in his drinks too.
"..You've got to be kidding me. How am I supposed to drink this now?"
Ryske was a mite bit irritated before, of course, but what was coursing through him now seemed to have surpassed that considerably. There were a few things that could transcend his general apathy, but under the correct circumstances, none could do it better than anger. Digits merely curled around his entire glass and gripped it tightly a moment, trembling with that moment of infuriation.
"Someone better be paying for this.." He forced the words out through gritted teeth in frustration. First night back, and he could barely make it through two drinks before someone had to spoil it.
As natural as it felt, Ryske pressed his hands atop the counter with an exaggerated sight of exasperation and gripped that glass again, turning about in enough time to catch that monstrosity with the mouth standing in the middle of a gaping hole in the wall, no doubt where the splinters had to have come from.
A single word muttered, his arm cocked back, and without hesitation he tossed the drinking glass with as much force as he could muster at the thing's head, the projectile traversing air with an unbelievable velocity for one so fatigued and having already consumed a few beverage. One strike against the creature's skull would've been enough satisfaction, for now at least.
"Bastard."
It wasn't long before Drak had risen the glass to his lips, sipping that fresh everlasting welcoming euphoria, coursing through his systems, perking up the senses and giving him an overall buzz. To Drak, dreams were made of liquor. However, this was reality and not a dream.
Some dreams come true..
He was enjoying that blissful drink, that sweet aromatic smell, lighting those tiny prickles and strands. A malevolent presence soon would come to the occasion.. A lust and craving for battle, yearning to fight whenever possible. Drak was like Ryske in some ways. Enjoying the unfathomable pleasures of competition, watching blood seep all around the entirety of their own body.
But still, most people just couldn't put their finger on it. Drak didn't fight to win some conformable prize, wealth and riches that would turn into some avaristic nutcase; Not that he wasn't.
It was the thrill of battle that intrigued him, that adrenaline rush that enthused the body, fusing Drak with an unmatched will to go on. Endure punishment, survive even the harshest of blows that he took to his body.
So.. he stood up. Gave a brief couple of seconds to look down at Ryske, "I don't know about you, but I'm feelin' pretty stupid.. and crazy tonight." A brow quirked up and alerted Drak's conscience to what he just said. "Wait, I'm like that every night. WHAT THE HELL WAS IN THAT DRINK?!"
Now that he had riled himself up, the time to begin the battle was upon himself. Tilting his neck to the side, Drak allowed the joints to pop, letting out a sickening crack. He reached down with his left hand and grabbed the bar stool, leaping off rather abruptly.
A few seconds passed by and the sheathe of Drak's high frequency blade held no sword. If one were to look down, they'd see it reflecting the light, angling it just enough to cause a small glare.
"HEY YOU LITTLE BITCH FACES!"
The stool was grasped and then slung towards the two combatants, and whatever happened next..
Well, lets just say the bar was scheduled to a crimson paint job.
Turin's eyes widened at the sight of a new combatant and a malicious grin grew at this. Never before had Turin had this much fun. Salistro was a sorry bore compared to Clypsion. With each passing minute he got even more riled up within this fight. Even a lazy fool who looked fatigued had the audacity to throw a glass and offer their two-cents. The glass did nothing but shatter in the wake of a rising hand that soon swept downwards to crush that ever-soaring stool.
"Pitiful!" One of the last things Turin would say tonight.
Actually. . the very last word. .
The whole bloody place was getting riled up by that point. Drunks littering the floors, women screaming, thieves rushing about in a furor trying to pocket whomever they could and escape through one of the newly crafted gaping-holes-in-the-walls which didn't do much for decoration, but they were practical enough for a bandit's route. Ryske couldn't even get himself back down on his seat before some inebriated idiot tossed a boot against the back of his head.
"You can't be serious." He absent-mindedly rubbed the back of his head where the shoe had struck, grimacing momentarily, more so from the mental frustration than the less-than-effective physical assault.
It was becoming all out calamity, chaos, a riot of the rowdiest kind with a bunch of cavalier-wannabes trying to prove themselves before the few ladies that still inhabited the establishment, obviously not looking to leave with a frail man by their arms. The barkeep rushed about in absolute hysteria meanwhile, trying to maintain order.
"I haven't seen a tavern frenzy this wild since Vlad blew viceSity's place to Eden." Ryske shook his head and tried his best to regain his bearings while the beastly creature-thing that was seemingly materializing weapons from the air spoke a single word that unsurprising Ryske had no qualms in agreeing with, at least for most of the tavern's inhabitants.
"Yeah, pitiful lot, aren't they?" He grinned and grabbed another of his glasses, smashing it down atop the counter and quickly sweeping up a cluster of the jagged fragments into his right hand.
It came so quick after that. The accuracy was almost unreal. Six quick shards flicked from the one hand using his two foremost fingers and thumb, one directed towards each limb, another for the face, and a final for the dead-center of his chest. He wasn't much one for spectacles or things of that nature. In fact, all he was really trying to do was get the thing to quiet down enough to let him finish a damn drink in peace without a bunch of splinters falling in it or a fight going on behind the back of his head. Maybe if he'd gotten that he'd be able to give a halfway decent bout if the thing so wanted it.
But as for now Turin had to settle. Those six shards let fly, Ryske swept back around towards his stool and reached out to grab the dust-laden barkeep, pulling him in momentarily.
"Kindly replace my drinks sir. I think it's gonna be a long night."
Unknown to anyone, not even Turin himself, lower appendages bent and to the sky he went. A shock of what was happening not of his own accord swept through him. Flailing around, Turin managed to ransack the tavern's wall and a few less-than-fortunate bystanders, and though he was yelling, nothing was heard. All was mute.
The sequence of events unfolded so quickly that not even Rogue was hard pressed to keep up with the unfolding pages of destiny's book. First, one of the men from the bar seemed to have personal qualms with the monster he was currently facing. A glass, then shards, were unloaded into the air with every intent of piercing whatever one could call the flesh covering Turin's form.
The gentleman with less than palatable language seemed to want to join into the fray as well, slinging a barstool at them. How juvenile. It passed through Rogue's space once more, as he took it upon himself to duck and sidle to the side, leaving the creature to crush it with a downward swipe; whom seemed to be the bane of al of their nights. Then, all at once, things took a turn for the worst. As a gaggle of mortals took it upon themselves to seize their nights back.
To the human eye, and several steps above, it would seem as if Turin simply disappeared. Existence reached out with its mighty maw and swallowed him whole. The beast struck his back, which housed more than one mortal upon it, against the stone wall in an effort to relieve himself of only Existence's hold. Any eyes that fell upon that stone wall would find a great dent upon it, one too great to be caused my merely slamming against it, and one would find Rogue's form within, hugging the bodies of the men close to his form. They were unconscious, but they were alive, Rogue had seen to that himself. The walls now sandy composition filtered to the floor.
Rogue rose, the grit of the wall steadily shifting back into its proper place and filling in the dent. Back to a bulwark of defense it had become, and he turned to face the escaping monster. The alabaster mask, stoic, merely stared. While underneath, machinations ran swiftly; Turin would never escape the unrelenting wrath of Gaia and whether it be today, tomorrow, or years from now - that beast would meet its end by Rogue's hands.
Rogue merely stood there, as if in waiting. .
--------------------
The Blind Man
--------------------
A flash of light seemed to fill his vision, brighter than looking at the suns of his home world. A terrible feeling filled his mind. What was happening? Why was all of this taking place? He had no answers to these questions, and doubted that he would receive any.
It seemed an eternity that he was surrounded by the most foreboding light. An eternity of near panic. Somehow he knew that things would be different from this moment. But different to what exactly? He could remember nothing but the light, nothing prior to that, a mind void of memories.
He was sure that, for an instant, he was moving, although he had no way at all to confirm this suspicions.
In an instant, the eternity of pure white light ended, and left him in a darkness that was as vast as the brightness, all encompassing.
Consciousness seemed to fade with the light, and he slid into a deep sleep, dreamless and ironically, full of emptiness. He did not know how much time had passed in slumber, but slowly, began to become aware once more.
Laid on his back, sure of that much. And wherever laid, it was wet and cold, but at the same time, soft. He didn't know where he was at all, but somehow he was unafraid. At this exact moment, it did not matter.
He felt the muscles in his face beginning to move to open the lids of his eyes, but he could still see nothing but a blur. A mere thought of it being early evening, although he could not confirm it.
Slowly, the body came to stand, feeling weakened due to the mental ordeal he had just gone through. Stumbling slightly, it took a few steps for him to regain a small amount of strength in his legs. In the distance, he could hear the sounds of a city, but all that filled his vision was a dark blur, nothing seemed to be in focus.
A slight panic filled his mind again, as he realized that his eyes were not functioning correctly. Perhaps the problem would resolve itself in time, he hoped that it would do so.
What was that weight on his left hip? A hand moved to feel a sword, the metal of the hilt was cold and yet felt natural to the fingers and they wrapped around the long hilt. Why do I have a sword?
Panic once more.
So many questions that needed to be answered, but would they be found? Would the answers be sufficient enough for him to build some sort of understanding? Would the blade honestly need to be used? Sincerely, he hoped not, because at this moment, he had not the slightest clue as to how to use it. Irrespective of this apparent blindness, he could not muster the skills he should have had, having a sword at his hip like this.
For the man, all he could do was follow the sounds that seemed to lead to a city. Stumbling along, slowly regaining the strength in those tired legs, he blindly walked along the soft surface that had been laying on only a few moments before.
Unaware of any observers, but should there have been, they would see a black clad man, heavy boots on feet, trousers and round necked tunic of the same hue, a long cape that fell to his ankles. Also they would note the shoulder length, straight and perfectly smooth hair that fell to heavily built shoulders.
Indeed, despite the momentary weakness, the man was a six foot tall figure, who was wrapped in heavy muscles, but even as he struggled to walk, his manner spoke of a grace and agility that was hidden in the moments where consciousness was regained.
A dim light from a few feet away made it seem as though our blind-mans hair was alight, so too were eyes, orbs of sapphire emitting a small amount of light. A glowing fire seeming to be behind those now inactive sensory receptors.
For the man, he silently wondered what events would come to pass from this moment, and how his life would turn out, knowing that he could not recall anything from previously was disconcerting at the very least.
But somehow he was sure that events would turn out well. A calm seemed to blanket him. Perhaps the mind activating a self defense mechanism, or perhaps it was a sign of a previous life. The man didn't know, nor would anyone else.
At least for the time being. .
Dust settled and cleared, the immediate vicinity utterly covered in it at the absolute mess that the creature, whatever it was, had left behind in its wake. All Ryske could manage to do meanwhile was stand where he was in place, gritting his teeth prepared to smash somebody's skull into nonexistence. Yeah, not only had he not gotten his fill of liquor, not only had his favorite tavern been met with utter ruin for nothing more than what appeared a whim, but he had just wasted two perfectly fine drinking glasses and had nothing to show for it. He was a little more than just miffed at such wanton destruction. He was downright infuriated now.
"The thing comes in, destroys half the place, doesn't even bother putting up a decent fight, and then takes off? I swear, someone ought'a have their skull ripped off their bloody shoulders for this." He smashed a fist down into the countertop and tossed a bit of coinage out towards the barkeep, enough to pay for not only the drink that he didn't get to have, but for the shattered glasses as well.
Turning about on his heel, Ryske paced through the remnants of the needless demolition, hands taking no qualms in forcing away any who were foolish enough to obstruct him at that point. Stepping back onto cobblestone beneath the skyline, he drew in another breath and canted his head upwards.
"Clyps, Clyps, Clyps.. should've known you haven't changed."
----------------------------------------------------------
From Clypsion Special Forces Headquarters
----------------------------------------------------------
Ka`te swiftly dashed through the dimly lit streets of Clypsion, breath harsh and fast from sprinting clear across the city from Clypsion Special Forces Headquarters. The lanterns hanging from tavern signs were the only source of direction he could gather, but this detective had been living in this tainted city for m any years. Ka`te knew every nook and cranny like he knew the back of his hand. There was trouble at a local tavern, and rumors spread like a wildfire that the elusive Ryske was one of the participants in the chaos.
"Ryske.." Ka`te muttered a bit as the four Clypsion officers struggled to keep up with the agile detective. The white cloak filtered in the wind behind him as his black locks of beautiful silk hair bounced while in sprint. Unnatural crimson orbs were always focused on the objective at hand, and the objective was to catch Ryske and bring him into custody along with the other troublemakers.
Ka`te reached the tavern after almost colliding into a figure walking away from the tavern. He had no time to deal with questioning citizens, and continued to walk inside.
"They match the descriptions.." Ka`te muttered as the heavily armed soldiers filtered in behind him. The detective sharply glared at both Drak and Rogue.
"Head inspector Ka`te of the Clypsion Special Forces. You are both under arrest for disturbing the peace, property damage, and assault" He said in a formal fashion, his right hand snaking across and gripping the hilt of his own blade.
Charisma was always something Ka`te prided himself on, and he maintained constant control of his voice and the fluency in which he delivered his stern ultimatum.
"The choice is yours."
Drak arched an eyebrow at the comment made by the law enforcer or whoever the hell he was. Drak could care less about his inferior little mission to catch Ryske and bring him into custody. His own motives were to simply catch up with the man and fight Ryske once more.
"Do I look like a damn tracking device to you?!"
A spontaneous swing of Drak's blade merely continued to display his obnoxious behavior, clearly portraying the signs of bewilderment and rage at what was going on around him. He could've used his brain for once, but he had to think in order to even figure out something like that.
"Oh.. and one more thing. Try to arrest me and I'll kill all four of your pansy guards. Taking out two of them at the police station a while back was like a walk in the park. Maybe this time I might have to jog.."
In that moment, his left hand coiled around another bar stool and slung it straight at all four guards, simultaneously, raising that high frequency blade upwards in front of the stool so that it would be cut up into multiple fragments, giving Drak an easy escape route as he jumped up onto the bar countertop and kicked off the shelf, grabbing onto the edge and merely climbing up top of the roof.
"Catch me if you can, you shit heads!"
Ka`te sighed with annoyance, "Why do they always run? Why? I think I'm quite fair compared to some of the other officers in this division, but nooo! They always fucking run!" He groaned, and they quickly ran from the tavern.
"Split up. Surround the building on all sides. I'll go to the roof and try to head him off!" Ka`te commanded, and the elite guards quickly complied.
The detective swiftly ran into the alley of the tavern, quickly leaping to one wall and then bounding to the next. He gracefully used this method to launch himself unto the roof of the tavern where Drak was attempting to make his escape.
Ka`te swiftly drew his long sword, pointing it at the back of Drak. "Hold it! You are completely surrounded! We will NOT hesitate to kill you! Now come peacefully!" He commanded, those crimson orbs burning with a fierceness only a hardened warrior could bring about.
Due to the arrogant males actions, all that was once a threat was no longer, and all hostility aimed on just one singular individual, leaving for a clean escape for. .
Rogue's head was wrenched from the sky, from the trajectory that a cowardly opponent had decided to use as an escape route, and allowed his masked countenance to turn and indifferently stare at the obvious officer of the law.
Rogue was on the verge of responding with a simple "I don't know" and would go through the necessary lengths to prove to the law-bringer that he had no idea nor clue as to who he could possibly be referring to; Rogue was new in town and hadn't bothered to ask for names.
Whereas Rogue took the road of pace, of compliance with the rules of this town and common courtesy, the one whom he had noted must have been a bit-dull in the head and took it upon himself to bring even more discord upon an already shattered night. Rogue sighed gently and allowed a right hand to press against the mask, as if a simple motion could even fathom the notion of staving the tides of the headache which lingered at the very edge of perception.
When that hand fell, and his head rose, he found himself alone; one man had fled and the others followed. Once more, Rogue was alone.
"An Unnatural could walk about so freely and kill as many people as he wished. No one, besides myself, rose to stop him. One man seemed to wish to engage him, though it was obvious for personal gain. The man could care less for the safety of those around him."
A noggin' shook in slight disappointment. The edges of Rogue's robe fluttered out as he began to walk down the road. No real objective lay in mind. Merely walking.
"The night is streaked with blood, how unfortunate. The others wont be too pleased to hear what I've to tell them. ."
Vanished
With the wind.
A light grunt emanated from Drak's lips as the man rather easily caught up to him, lips curled at the meaningless threat that was thrown at him. A relatively simple hand gesture displayed his current emotions, a sort of pseudo wave towards Ka`te.
Drak swiftly kicked against the roof top, multiple times until finally performing a daring back flip directly off the roof, landing on top of one of the many merchant stands nearby, canting his head down to stare at Ryske, wondering what the hell that moron was up to this time.
"You do realize those fuck heads after both me and you, don't ya?!"
Leaping off the top of the stand and walking around in front of Ryske for a few brief seconds wondering what the hell was up next, until he finally used common sense and peaked around, noticing that there were guards stationed in all four sections of the surrounding area. There was nowhere left to run and simply the only option was to fight.
"I suggest you draw your blade, because me and you are most likely going to be in one hell of a night filled with BULLSHIT!"
"Ugh." Ryske sighed inwardly to himself and slapped a hand to his forehead. All he wanted that night was just a little peace and quiet. Just a little time for himself, a time to repose and regain himself, but it seemed that everything tonight was trying to spoil his tranquility. Man couldn't even get himself a snack without someone leaping down off a rooftop and scaring the hell out of him.
"What are you doing?" Ryske's hand reacted while the dust-covered annoyance from the bar paced in front of him, smacking immediately against the back of his head without much remorse. He was already infuriated beyond belief and this guy wasn't helping.
He wouldn't wait much for the response, kicking about on heels while the sting of the blow still should've lingered, his eyes closing while hands fell into pockets and legs fell into a quick stride around the corner and into absolute darkness. No intentions of sticking around for another scuffle, especially after so narrowly escaping the first. Clypsion was becoming more of a hassle than it had ever been towards Ryske before. His favorite tavern ruined and his favorite inn within it, there wasn't much left in that area of the city.
"Guess it'll be another night beneath the stars, Eh, that ain't so bad." Fingertips twitched about in anticipation while he walked and spoke, at the ready to rend his blade directly from the sheath should it be necessary with the sort of ilk trouncing about the streets tonight. Not to mention the obnoxious one who was probably a lot drunker and of course a lot happier than he was.
"Maybe it's getting to that time in my life where I should settle down. Mother always told me that around now was the ripe age when I should be out looking for a nice girl to settle with."
Well, so Drak wasn't the only one drunk tonight.
One of the guards surrounding the tavern spotted Drak quite easily, and a shrill whistle echoed around the area. The other three guards soon arrived, and three patrol guards heard the call and advanced towards Drak, armed with crossbows. They each fired three arrows at the criminal, the shots non-lethal and aimed to disable the legs beneath him.
Ka`te, in the meantime, wasn't forgiving. He took off at a brisk dash, gathered plenty of momentum, and leaped gracefully from the roof, descending through the air towards the unsuspecting Drak. Ryske had narrowly escaped being spotted, so the detective's only real concern now was the renegade Drak.
A relatively simple tactic needed in dodging the arrows would be to mimic the nature of that bastard Ryske. Immediately Drak spun around on one foot, allowing the rest of the arrows to harmlessly pass by, while simultaneously catching sight of the now falling Ka`te. Whom was hoping to use the arrows as a distraction so that both his feet would be the deliverance to an unsuspecting foe. Curse the belligerent one.
Drak inverted the blade in his hand for the time being, a swift kick against the ground with his previously raised foot, propelled him off to the side of the attacking Ka`te. Drak still had his own mission to accomplish and that was now seeking revenge on Ryske for just leaving him there to die, just another reason to whip his heehaw he thought.
Immediately, Drak began a wild dart straight at two of the guards who had formed the triangle like formation, clearly the bottom of the combined shape they had taken. Agility would be the key to getting around this along with an acrobatic nature. A simple kick off a chunk of wood that had been flung onto the street from the earlier explosion by the two perpetrators who had previously fought.
In doing so, Drak performed a powerful flip known as the dragon screw, thrusting his blade straight down into the shoulder of the guard on the right while simultaneously, allowing the rest of his body to fall to the left, aiming to kick the man in the forehead with his right foot, using the blade that was now stuck inside the first guard as a mean of pole vaulting his way into a spin, using the sheer momentum and speed to sling himself directly around and into the alley where Ryske was attempting to hide. This would be his undoing considering he was in the dark, and man coming at him with that exact color on his body would make for excellent camouflage, and Dark would use that as a means of re-attempting his first kick to Ryske, which had failed earlier upon his entrance. That alabaster scarf made it relatively easy for him to spot in the darkness while Drak had the advantage being concealed and all.
"Get ready.. Ryske." Drak whispered to himself.
-----------------------------
Sauntering slowly into town just after nightfall, Robert took in the beautiful sigh that was Clyps. He had been to town before, and had heard the stories. As long as he watched his coin pouch and was careful of which alleys he walked down, this town would be a blast. And with the powerful being perched on his shoulders capable of watching out for him with a second set of eyes, magical or no, there wasn't much to fear.
Upon arrival though, it was obvious they'd already missed what was likely be the bulk of the action for the night. Dust, and debris danced among the lights glowing from the city, revealing a tavern that had been, for all practical purposes, almost destroyed.
“Why don't we pick another place for the night, hmm?" Robert wondered aloud to his companion over his shoulder. Leading their horse away from the wreckage, the large warrior settled with a tavern labeled, "The Blue Boar" before dismounting and tying the hefty warhorse, Rock, to a post outside the establishment.
Tired from a long day of riding, the odd traveler stepped through the inn's doors, hoping for a soft bed and a warm room to spend the night, though he'd settle for anything with a roof over it. His entrance elicited notice from most of the bars patrons, though nothing more than a short appraising glance from all but a few. Robert was certainly unusual-looking, but they got unusual types all the time in Clyps.
The former knight himself was not unusual, dressed in a normal, tan, short-sleeved travelers tunic complemented by a brown pair of hide pants and leather riding boots, with a long sword along his side and trio of long knives sheathed on the same thigh. Visibly taller than most in the building, but nothing considerably shocking; muscular build was better than average too, which drew some attention from the women and whores, but again, was nothing out of the ordinary. Roberts face belonged to an experienced adventurer, skin darkened and hardened by the elements so frequently left exposed to-but again, this was seen frequently around town. The most outstanding feature of his face was the large, ugly scar streaking vertically down the left side of his face, through an eye, though neither hazel eyes themselves appeared unharmed. A medium-length ponytail pulling auburn hair out of eyes completed the look, leaving hair to cascade down no further than the base of Robert's neck.
No, what appeared most unusual about this man was the smaller man perched upon his shoulders, seated into the top of the back Robert carried on his back. The man was frail-looking, young in the face, but with an expression of exhaustion. Even in those eyes, there was a similar look. Settled in the harness, the young man slept, blonde hair falling into bright blue eyes. The rust-brown cloak that served as a blanket betrayed nothing as to why he was riding on this mans shoulders. He didn't look important, nor did he carry any air of being holy, save for the brief flashes of a white tunic with the blood red crest of Lain that appeared now and then beneath the blanket.
"Nice to be back isn't it?" Were the only weary words spoken.
“We'll soon find out." Robert chimed back nonchalantly as he observed the room, wary of any faces that may've been recognizable, friend or foe. Satisfied with the glance-over, Robert strode up to the bar and rapped on the table, drawing the bartender's attention.
"What can I do ya' for, stranger?"
"How much for a room and a stable for my horse for the night?" Robert inquired, pulling a coin-purse from within' the depths of his shirt.
Hearing the response, the man formerly know as Sir Axgarde laid down the exact price quoted, trading the coins for two keys- one to a room, one to a stable paddock out back- and walked outside to lead his steed towards an empty stall.
Returning to the tavern after making arrangements for Rock, Robert found an empty table and pulled his heavy pack off his shoulders, resting it on the floor next to him. Its occupant carefully pulled himself out of his harness in the top of the pack and managed to seat himself in the chair next to his companion, though not without a brief visible struggle.
It wasn't long before a blonde bar maid strode over to the table, leaning over to address the two men, revealing her impressive cleavage.
"Can I get anything for you boys tonight?" She inquired flirtatiously.
"What've you got on the dinner menu?" Robert replied, answering the second question posed to him that night in the same manner- with another question.
"Well, tonight we've got chicken, pheasant, pig, and venison available anyway you'd like it."
"I'll have a roasted chicken and my friend will have a steak of grilled venison." He replied, speaking for his friend who was still struggling to bring himself back to the world of the conscious.
"You can charge the tab to room 16." The traveler continued, holding up his key to reveal to her that their room was indeed 16, and include a pair of beers. "I'll take a quart, he'll take a pint."
Satisfied with their order, the wench left to bring their order back to the kitchen.
"So what do ya think? Is it worth sticking around a while to see what needs doing and what we can make off of it?"
The sounds of a scrape just around the corner of the establishment reached the man's ears with a loudness that ran clear over an area otherwise silent. Removed from main-Clypsion they were, obscured along a side street that ran along the backside of the tavern in which the night's episode had occurred.
Noise of a scuffle and the movement of blade were the first tip-off that he had only a few options and a moment or two to pick one before things might have gotten a little more messy. There was running, which Ryske had really been doing all day, or there was taking a blade off his back and offering some of that classing Clypsion street justice to the man who had been Ryske's bane the entire night.
An instant passed and the fingertips motioned, right arm bending over the shoulder while the palm wrapped tightly about a hilt and held it in place momentarily. Another fleeting trice and it was drawn, completely removed from casing and held forwards and braced in hand. Anticipating as always, and the man descending behind him probably could've kept himself well hidden had the remnants of dust and splinters still lingered from the bar mess not reached Ryske beforehand. Enough premonition to force legs into immediate action, a quick sidestep out of the way with enough left to catch the figures silhouette touch ground followed by the matching sound.
The blade motioned in the darkness with a precision that most certainly couldn't be learned. The tip pressed forwards in haste and stopped just against the bare flesh of Drak's exposed neck. Ryske, for one night at least, wasn't one for wasting time anymore.
"That'll be enough for one night. Get yourself home, and get cleaned up. You're an absolute mess." Yeah, a little irony apparent in the fact that they were almost entirely immured in darkness aside from the outlines of both figures against the skyline.
But that was the only reprieve offered to Drak. Enough trouble caused for one reckless night. Ryske wanted nothing more at that moment than a place for rest and a conclusion to that nonsense.
"WELL SON OF A BITCH!" Those loud utterances would not cease to exist even if Ryske had a blade up to his neck; Drak just didn't know when to quit or to give up, not having anyone to guide him during his childhood days, Drak merely continued his obnoxious and sarcastic behavior, continuing on through the night.
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"You'll have an easier time here. Already the guards are out in force. Maybe there's a bounty to be caught?" Janta yawned, moving his legs with the help of hands so they would not appear so tangled. Little pangs of soreness went through him but at this point, he was use to it. An easy price for foolishness in Janta's mind as he looked around the room.
"There's no magic(k) allowed in Clypsion, or that's what I hear. Maybe I can do some priest work for a coin or two. Tell the old stories to the kids, but I say if we find nothing after tomorrow, we get ready to leave." Janta's eyes traced around the room, nothing unusual, nothing of interest. The mage inwardly groaned, it was like the world had turned to grey and whatever action there was to take, they had missed out on.
But really, Janta silently reasoned, were the two of them ready for another battle? Jan ruffled around his pack and pulled out ink, quill and parchment. "You know, some of those plants I had you pick might be worth something here."
As the smell of chicken and venison reached his nose, Janta looked up long enough to smile at the flirty barmaid, who gave him an ample amount of cleavage to look at. Dinner was delivered as well as the beer.
This was a treat compared to the dried meat, bread, and the same cheese every night and Janta took a deep hearty drink. Three years ago he would have turned his nose up at it, now it was nearly a treat. Nearly. Janta still had memories of finer things in life.
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Ka`te swiftly tucked and rolled onto the wet stone streets of Clypsion, coming to straighten his form and stand erect. A few puzzled citizens casted curious glances to one another, but continued on their merry ways. The detective cursed under his breath as watched Drak vanish into the shadows of the alley. Ka`te knew it would be foolish to send the heavily armed guards in a linear pattern through the alley. The criminal could then simply pick them off one by one.
Of course, Ka`te had a very quick mind, and was very adept at thinking on his feet. He swiftly turned and grabbed one of the street lanterns hanging from a metal hook on the entrance to one of the numerous shops in the marketplace.
"Arm your crossbows!" Ka`te commanded, pointing his sword in the direction of the alley while holding the lantern in the other hand.
The six guards readied their crossbows, three of them taking a kneel while the other three stood behind them in a line.
The detective sprinted forward and hurled the lantern into the alley, the object smashing into the ground close enough to Drak and Ryske's position. Glass shattered, sending the flame upwards as it sought to consume the lantern oil, and would serve its purpose well by shedding a vast amount of light into the pitch black darkness of the alley.
The detective hesitated for a moment, seeing Drak pinned against the wall by another individual. Dust and chunks of wood fragments as well as their position shrouded all identification, but the detective had no time to ask questions. That time had already passed long ago.
"FIRE!" The male bellowed, and six arrows soared through the air towards Ryske and Drak.
Reaction time would need to be quick if Ryske was going to make it out of the night relatively unscathed, that much was for sure. Blade point pressed gently against Drak's neck and prepared to rend right through and into those screeching vocal chords if he attempted to make another foolish and quite frankly excessively showy move like that. Ryske stood completely at the ready, sight furtively darting about to measure the entire scene and plan whatever route of flight to take.
A voice carried across the silence of the evening, recognized almost immediately as the one who had been pursuing him ages ago, the Clypsion inspector with the succinct tongue.
"Arm your crossbows!"
That was more than enough for Ryske to hear before deciding that it was time to make an escape. But as if the verbal forewarning wasn't getting him moving fast enough, the sudden smash and roar of a flame directly aside Ryske definitely got him moving. Blade tip left the noisy fellow's neck and traveled backwards, Ryske clearly attached to it. He dove, the flame narrowly missing that dust-covered garb as it extended skywards. But the dive was not all the man attempted, becoming more brash as the night wore on. Prior to the dive, his free hand removed and balled the scarf from his crown still covered in splinters from the tavern and swept it along through the rising flame, enough to catch fire.
Landing a mere pace-and-a-half away Ryske worked himself up into a roll that concluded with a sudden twirl followed by a tossing of the flaming scarf directly for their inspector friend. There was little time to waste, and Ryske took advantage of all he could get.
Footfalls worked into a feverish pace with the conclusion of his pivot, dashing off into the Clypsion night yet again with a sigh and a wave of relief crossing his countenance.
Drak's head canted upwards from the loud shouting order that was given by the detective. Immediately as soon as Ryske removed the blade, Drak was moving concurrently, watching as the lantern began to make its descent down to the ground. Using the same tactic that Ka`te used to get up to the roof, Drak would utilize this same strategy to get out.
Spontaneously his hand shot straight through the window, using the leather glove to shield himself from any possible lacerations that may have occurred. The bar owner was still standing next to the window and Drak seized the opportunity, snatching the keeper's rag from his apron-coat pocket along with a small bottle, keeping his arm braced against the window sill. Drak used it as an anchor, quick leg movements, beating against the wall, dashing up it with such a force, that the rest of his body landed on top of the roof. A firm tug with careful precision allowed Drak to carefully pull the material upwards.
Fortunately for Drak he too knew how to act on his feet, utilizing the uproarious flames to light the rag, sticking half of it in the liquor bottle. No time could be wasted in this next maneuver. Quickly dashing across the roof, Drak aimed to intercept Ryske's positioning. Rearing an arm back just when coming within range, he slung the bottle down, allowing it to crack and burst into flames on that very same food stand. Thanks to the liquors fluid state, the explosion rose a wall of fire, racing after all trails to consume every bit of such liquor. Drak was blocking off all possible escape routes, or so he thought. .
"Next time you get a chance to kill me YOU MIGHT WANT TO FUCKING TAKE IT, DUMBASS!"
Ka`te swiftly stepped to the side, letting the balled up scarf bounce past him, but his eyes widened as the flaming ball of material rolled into several bales of dry wheat. The flames rapidly grew in size.
"Damn it!" The detective cursed loudly. The night was not going well. First Ryske eludes him, and now he has two maniacs to deal with.
While evading the flaming scarf-ball, Ka`te lost sight of the unknown perpetrator. Crimson orbs shifted up to Drak as he chunked the bottle of flaming liquor onto the cobblestone streets below. The bottle exploded, sending a shower of flames unto the sides of the building.
"This.. this is not happening.." Ka`te groaned as reinforcements started to arrive, alerted by the mere chaos Ryske and Drak were causing.
"What in Stars' name is going on here?!" A booming voice echoed loudly in the young inspectors ear. Ka`te recognized that intimidating voice as Marius Victor, Captain of the Clypsion Elite Guard.
Marius was a tall man, and very heavy set with muscular extremities that were rumored to be the most powerful in all of Clyps. His bald head would be shimmering from the flames right now if it weren't for the thick plated steel helmet covering everything save for those penetrating coal optics. About twenty guards filtered in two lines of ten behind him, the ten on his right all carrying long bows, the ten to his left carrying long pikes.
However, compared to most of Clypsion's officers, Marius was someone who Ka`te actually respected. Ka`te believed Marius would be a great ally in the conquest to rid Clypsion of its corruption and criminal activity.
"There are two criminals causing a ruckus. I have identified one as a man named Drak; whom has been causing the most problem and n-" But Ka`te was cut off by a hard shove from Marius, nearly knocking him off his feet.
"What is wrong with you?!" Ka`te spat, glaring at Marius with surprise and anger.
"ASSUME ALPHA POSITION!" Marius bellowed, the ten archers lining up next to each other and knocking an arrow unto their bows. The pike men surged forward in line, shoving any citizens aside that were unlucky enough to get in their way.
"FIRE!" Marius bellowed once more, and a barrage of arrows were launched towards Drak.
"Are you insane?! You might hit innocent citizens!" Ka`te yelled, clearly outraged by the sheer and unnecessary force Marius was using to try and subdue one man.
Drak arched a brow at the immediate shocker of seeing the young detective being pushed around by a much more superior man. The sight gave Drak a reason to giggle in his head. A mere downwards glance to the men assuming position, barking down orders like worthless every day officers.
"Great, more bullshit I have to deal with."
Almost spontaneously, Drak lept from the roof a few seconds before the arrows were fired down upon him. Landing directly atop of the burning stand, kicking at the wood that held it in place, allowing it to start rolling down hill, using the obvious wheels on the bottom as a means of doing so. Even Drak knew better than to try and fight twenty two men at once.
For an added bonus since the majority of the flames had been dispersed on the ground, this meant he had maybe a few small flames around him. Though not enough to cause much damage thanks to the leather adorned almost all over his body.
Momentarily Drak looked down on the stand, immediately noticing a drum stick that hadn't been touched and grabbed it with a greedy left hand, thrusting it into his mouth, ripping apart its meat and enjoying the everlasting taste.
"CATCH ME IF YOU CAN YA FUCK BALLS!"
He waved back, as if teasing all the guards. Especially Ka`te.
".. You can't be serious."
Twisting about while he ran, Ryske soon caught sight of the mess that was starting down the pathway he had just ran, apparently the screechy and annoying one mistaking some poor passerby for him and missing Ryske dashing off in the completely opposite direction in the obscurity of night, seemingly cause enough for Drak to set the entire area aflame.
"Great Stars, damn this mess."
While most of Ryske's thoughts might have been focused on his troubles and the absolute chaos that pervaded his entire night, there was something beating in his heart, a mite bit of actual care that rested for the land he could in all reality call his own. And even if Ryske wasn't sitting in some palace ordering around hordes of laborers, he still took it completely upon himself to at least make it presentable and a hospitable and comfortable place for people to live in.
"The people can't live in burned houses, they can't live with the fear of being burned alive, they can't sleep at night with this unbearable racket."
A change came across the man, even if only momentarily, but it was more than enough to drive him to action. Ryske sure as hell wasn't going to let his country go to waste at the fault of some rambunctious nonsense.
Fingers curled tighter about the weapon in his right hand, rotating around the hilt infuriated while his left immediately rose and withdrew the matching sinistral blade. Giving it a quick twirl into its inverted position, Ryske took off at a dead-sprint back in the opposite direction towards all the ruckus, eyes locked forwards beneath a mess of auburn strands splayed across his face.
Past the first flaming portion he rushed, interlocking his blade together and giving a quick twirl with the momentum he carried, attempting to brush aside the blocked pathway to give him enough time to continue the charge unhindered. The guard posted with the inspector were the first Ryske would force through, taking full liberties with that left blade's flat edge to shove them from obstructing his route.
Skidding along his feet to halt the momentum, Ryske turned next down the short alley beside the tavern, blades still clutched tightly in palm. Ryske had to work hastily to apply the same technique of before to allow passage, although the flames roared much more heartily in this section of the street, a few minor burns here or there but nothing that wouldn't heal.
At last emerging into open Clypsion street once again, Ryske struggled a quick breath through the rising smoke that was beginning to permeate the open air.
"Dammit! Who called these guys in?" Sight immediately focused upon matching rows of security force bearing bows and firing with precision that could only be applied to once with extensive training. Then again, how hard is it to actually point and shoot?
"The elite, no doubt. Bastards."
At the same time Ryske couldn't help but have his attention turned to that fool from before gliding down the road atop a food cart without a care in the world for the absolute chaos he was causing. More motivation for his urgency if anything.
Ryske gripped his blades tightly and without another hesitation began. Motions were quick and fast, movements impeccable despite having not brandished those blades in such time. There was no visible rust in technique, at least not under what the current circumstances called for. Hilts and edges clanged and clashed against the armor of those standing guards, shoving and forcing them aside with the exigency of saving his country at priority.
Into the tavern Ryske rushed, an immediate call forced through his throat while the flames began their spread.
"Out! Now! Everybody! There's a fire! No time to waste! And get water if you can! Just do something!" It was clear that his voice was growing in its fury as many of those within the establishment were still sluggish to respond.
This wasn't going to be a fun night.
"Stay the hell out of it, Ka`te! The situation is under control!" Marius barked, glaring down at the smaller man standing next to him.
You're insane, Marius! What about the fire and the pedestrians!? Have you lost your mind?!" Ka`te bellowed, but they soon forgot about their little quarrel as the figure the detective saw earlier came barreling like a maniac through the ranks of heavily armed soldiers.
It was quite a miraculous sight as the guards were caught unaware and stumbled clumsily because of their weight. The sound of steel scraping against stone grinded into Ka`te's ears as he watched the brave - or stupid individual charge into the tavern and attempt to call out the innocents to protect them from being engulfed by the inferno.
"ARREST HIM!" Marius roared, pointing at Ryske as the troops struggled to get to their feet.
"Are you mad?! He's trying to help!" Ka`te retorted, running to aid the mysterious hero. All thoughts of capturing him for interrogation had faded from mentality. These people were in danger!
"Don't shove! Stay calm but hurry! Any able men try to get some buckets of water, we need to put the fire out before it spreads! There should be a well nearby!" Ka`te began to shout orders.
Marius growled in anger, drawing an enormous broadsword, and surged towards Ryske, bringing the blade high above his head before sending it crashing down towards the man.
Ka`te reacted quickly, leaping forward and turning his blade so the flat of it was pressed against his shoulder. Using the shoulder as a support, the broadsword crashing into his own blade and sending a shower of sparks as Marius' weapon skidded against the detective's own weapon.
He growled a bit as he struggled to hold back the massive weapon, and Captain Marius' eyes widened a bit.
"What do you think you're doing, Ka`te?!" The large man bellowed, pushing Ka`te near the flames that continued to spread across the tavern.
Several men came back with buckets of water, splashing the contents unto the flames and dousing a good portion of it.
"He.. is.. trying.. to help Marius!" Ka`te said through clenched teeth, the smoke causing his eyes to water. Heels skidded into the stone surface beneath his feet as Marius' powerful arms pushed him against the hot tavern's exterior.
"He is a criminal! All criminals resisting arrest and attacking guards must be put to death! That is the law, Ka`te!" Marius roared in return, the broadsword nearly overwhelming the detective.
"NO!" Ka`te bellowed suddenly, using all his strength to shove Marius backwards. A severe rage seemed to overtake the detective as he shouted angrily.
"That is your law! You have been blinded by your power and have become as corrupted as this city! What about protecting the innocent, Marius? You used to be so noble and strong for the good of this city! What has happened to you?!" Ka`te boldly stated, holding his sword in front of him in case Marius attempted another assault.
"This town is noisy tonight." Janta said to his companion as he sat. It was all the cripple could do with the flood of scared peasants. With dinner still on the table, Janta's hand snapped into his pack and took some tins from the bag. Grabbing dinner, he shoved it into the containers before dropping it into the sack. It wouldn't stop the meat from spoiling but Gods be damned that Janta was going to miss a mean with real meat in it.
The flames were licking up the side of the wall and it wouldn't be long before the structure would be doomed, with panicked people along with it. The air would run out, and people would start choking soon.
Janta looked to his partner. "Carry our stuff, I'll deal with the flames." Oh, "And the horse?" He added as an after thought.
Pressing hands together, Janta closed his eyes and muttered a long string of whispered commands. All around the city, the winds suddenly picked up, bringing dust and dirt into the air. Janta's hands moved as if he were the puppet master of the elements; voice never stopping as it grew stronger. The wind struck fast, throwing dust and dirt on the fire, blowing some of the fire out while packing what the wind carried on hard to reach flames.
Hands changed positions, dirt where the flames were burning now churned, suffocating the fire. But this was not to ignore the efforts made by the guard to put out some of the fire. Janta raised his right hand, and imaged the water into the air, spilling on the flames he could feel. The mage's voice went soft, his work was complete as palms met, ending the prayer.
Sitting in the smothering room, the crippled smiled to himself.
Whatever relief could be found in the smoldering remnants of one tavern corner almost razed to nonexistence gripped Ryske and slightly set him back at ease for the meanwhile, a sigh of relief followed with the re-sheathing of both blades. He had seriously thought for a moment there that the capital city of his entire country was going to end up a flaming mess because one pyromaniac rogue couldn't keep his mouth closed and hands to himself.
Sight converged on the one whose efforts seemed to offer greatest contribution to the extinguishing and consequent rescuing effort. The male looked a little odd, especially for one so capable, but Ryske was never one to pay much heed to appearance, especially considering the circumstances.
"Hey. Uh.. Thanks." Ryske had to be terse with his words, especially if he was still making that near-futile effort to conceal his identity by that point.
A moment or two spared to check whomever was still inside after the episode, quick scans through patrons to make sure there were no considerable injuries to deal with.
... Wait a minute. Was that actually a heart peeking through?
Maybe for just a little bit. Kicking about on heels, Ryske made his way out through the tavern entrance and into the streets of Clypsion yet again. But in the midst of all the mess and wreckage, guards and onlookers scattered about wondering just what was happening, the man with the auburn hair and the dual blades gave his head a nonchalant swing back to remove the strands from vision and did probably the last thing he would have expected to do that night.
Ryske approached Ka`te.
The night could have gone much worse, and thankfully Ka`te had put a stop to Marius before he managed to destroy the entire city with his brute force. But at what cost? Defying the Captain of the Guard would surely put him in a very bad position. Might even be fired.
The detective sheathed his sword and turned as Ryske emerged from the tavern, his eyes widening a bit in shock.
"You're..!" He began, but then Ryske actually approached and spoke first.
"I suggest you and your men get your act in gear. Those costumes are dreadful, those bows are weak, and you nearly burned the entire city to the ground."
Ryske reached down a hand to his dangling cloak and tore off a sizable portion of it, bringing it up to wipe the dust and grime from his face before shaking it clean again. He placed it atop his crown and formed a nice scarf, more-than-identifiable at that point before turning and starting his walk away down Clypsion's main street yet again.
"And keep my country clean. Jerk."
Ka`te seemed agitated at the rude demeanor and words Ryske presented to him, and as he walked away, the detective spoke.
"The guard is not mine to command nor do I have the authority to attempt to clean this city up. If you're looking for someone to blame, perhaps you should look in a mirror, Feldyn Dreinhart III," The detective retorted, walking towards Ryske.
"Head inspector is not just a title. I do my job very well, your grace, but no one will listen to a nobody who can only conjure pretty words. Why don't you take back this city? Why don't you clean this city up?" He added, stopping a few feet away from Ryske.
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