Post by Iona on Aug 12, 2014 1:46:36 GMT -6
The sleazy slimmest grin of the moon barely illuminated Clock Town as it slept through the darkest hours of the night. The bars have been hours closed, the drunks sleeping off their drink, occasionally calling out. Everything was already covered slick by the predawn dew, or rather, the stifling summer humidity. Very few braved the deep darkness; only those brave souls tiredly and warily stumbling to open shop early or leaving the night shift early to their homes, their lanterns' meager light providing less comfort than the knife they tightly clutched ready in their sweaty palms.
This was both a sacred and profane time. Any night guard would say that this was time of the least activity, and yet, also the same time the most heinous and vicious crimes to date were committed. An entire family once had been killed down to the most distant relative, at just an hour to spare before the dawn, a grim but true story every citizen knew and took to heart before trekking out after sunset. And yet, nothing disturbed the still of the night, not a cat, a rat...nothing. One could hear for blocks, catching the sounds of unfaithful couples in the throes of their scandalous passion, a baby crying, the sobs of those who put on a brave face in the day and the occasional hysterical laughter of individuals high in brief, sweet and very expensive artificial bliss.
Pale clouds, thin and long, slid over the stars oily. In a less fortunate part of town, where the cobbles were broken and cracked here and there from good, hardworking people moving carriages of their honest wares, there was a dank space between two sagging buildings, hardly an alley at all. It nasty, empty space save for the usual alley litter of discarded crates, overflowing trash bins and collected filth slowly changing into indistinguishable disease-ridden compost. A mange riddled cat stared balefully at the group of at least ten strong gathered in it's hard-won territory.
It licked at its paw, half closing its one good eye but suddenly started back as a stream of warm liquid nearly hit it, puddling uncomfortably close to its tail. Looking up at the source, it spat and hissed. "Ah, shut up, idiot creature," a tall man said, gazing down at the cat. The cat yowled quietly and the man flicked his hips in that direction, putting the cat in his line of fire and directly hitting the mangy feline. With a disgruntled cry, the cat shot out of the alley. The man chuckled and placed his thinly rolled cigarette back between his thin, badly chapped lips.
A sigh sounded from one of his companions behind him. "Whaatt??" He complained with an annoyed tisk and a roll of his eyes. "Piece of shit didn't have to give goddamned attitude. I drank a lot at the bar!" He explained with his cigarette between his teeth as he fumbled with his pants. The man was only about 5'7", appearing to be anywhere between his late twenties to his forties from being tanned and weathered by the sun. He was scarred along his arms and his perfectly shaven head. A curious scar ran exactly from his left temple and above but following his prominent jawline down to his squarish chin. A small triangle slave brand was burnt in the middle of his cheek. He was handsome in a rugged way in features alone, but his numerous scars and garish ways spelled out a very rough life.
"You're a fool, Glen," the leader of the group grumbled. Built and nearly as tall as a mountain, Tavros towered over his men; the tallest one among them, a gangly thug, was well over six feet tall and he towered over him. Glen immediately stopped fumbling with his pants and let them drop to his boots, turned around to face the leader, his gods-given bare for all to see. Most in the group groaned and shook their heads in disgust.
Putting his hands behind his head, Glen started to shimmy, humming a seductive tune, winking at Tavros. The giant man rolled his eyes and reached for the equally colossal axe across his back. With a single barking laugh, Glen quickly pulled his pants up and carefully tucked in his shirt.
"Save it for some fun we'll pluck off the streets later," Tavros said with a scowl."But for a formal high ranking military man and a mercenary, you have a disturbing lack of discipline in your behavior. You've only made it this far with my men because your set of skills. You claim the new-blood is ready. Is it worthy, though?" Tavros ventured coolly in his gravelly voice.
"It's progeny of The Flamekeeper. Him and his brother are like roaches; they don't die. It's of some crazy shit, Tavros, I wouldn't even mess with it, not with a stick, or a spoon." The mercenary said and adjusted the sword belt slung across his chest. Dressed in a sharp khaki shirt with the sleeves perfectly pressed a precise number of inches above the elbow, Glen was surprisingly well dressed, militantly so. His shirt was tucked into his wrinkle-less dark brown pants into darker brown boots that although were filthy, seemed to have a prideful sheen, as if he had tried to scrub some layers off. He pulled deeply on his cigarette and puffed out thoughtfully, as if in a moment of doubt.
Tavros measured Glen's expression carefully, his bovine face giving nothing away. "Whatever the outcome of your contract is, I promise your pay. I only ask--" "Ehhh...no."Glen interrupted and tilted his head to aside and tapped the black intricate mandala tattoo on the side of his neck. In the center of the complicated and expertly detailed circular design was a sun, its rays separate from the pattern of the rest of the tattoo. Tavros fell silent. "But of course," he rumbled,and seemed disappointed. "They call you The Hurricane for a reason. The offer remains should you--"
Footsteps sounded on the cobblestones, soft but constant. "Fun time, boys," Tavros said to his men and they scattered into the shadows soundlessly. Glen threw down his cigarette and stepped on it. He undid the clasp to one of the pockets on his sword belt and took out a small pouch. Emptying the pouch's contents into his hand, he carefully held the sewing needle between his thumb and forefinger and waited. The footsteps sounded close and a figure appear at the mouth of the alley. Tavros moved forward with surprisingly speed.
...................................................
She made quick time down the block, keeping her head forward and her gaze straight ahead. It was dangerous to be out this late for anybody on this part of the town, but for a young girl, it meant certain death and worse. She was all too conscious of that fact, the dagger clenched in both of her hands shaking. But it was clear she had no intention of turning back, even though twice she had stopped and nearly did just that.
Looking like a fish out of water, she was dressed in a moderately expensive riding/travelling hooded cape of dark blue, something nobody in this part of Clock Town would have. Her outfit was similar to that; a light blue blouse with light brown leather chest armor and a navy blue pleated skirt that stopped a hand before her knee. Her light brown riding boots rose to just past her knees. She appeared to be seventeen at the most, her light brown/dark blonde wavy hair flowing to the middle of her back, a lock loosely braided at held back by light blue ribbon.Her thick bangs ending at her eyebrows softened her face more. Her dark eyes were big and round to begin with but were wide with fear, giving her the appearance to be years younger than she clearly was. A gold locket hung at her neck, the only piece of jewelry on her. Modest brown leather finger-less gloves reached near her elbows. She looked like a higher middle-class girl having just ridden into town. She looked to be a ripe specimen for robbing. And she knew it.
Ahead of her she could see that the block was soon to end. Relieved, she started to walk a little faster, knowing she'll be coming to a more populated part of the city. There were safety in numbers, she figured. She could also see a nook between two buildings that was a little too wide and dark for her liking. Wiping her brow and taking a deep breath of the greasy, humid air, she knew she had to get away from it She was about to cross the road to avoid it when a surprisingly strong grip seized her ankle.
"Where are you going?!" A dirty, cloaked man as he sat up from lying down on the cobbles. Screaming, she swiftly kicked him and started to run but mighty force lineback-ed her into the road and her head slammed into the cobblestones, cutting off her cry.
.....................................
Half a second later, she found herself being dragged towards the alley. Screams and whimpers, high animalistic sounds, were escaping from her before she knew she was making them. She bit and kicked and clawed at her captors, but there were too many and they were too strong even though all 5'8" and a half of her struggled. The the dimness of the street gave way to the deeper darkness of the alley, she threw herself at her captors and struggled with all she had, biting at the hand that covered her mouth. She shut her eyes, willing with all her might that this wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening, it happens to girls in stories, not her...
A massive hand grabbed her chin, wet with tears and snot and set it straight and immovable. Her eyes snapped open and her screams started anew. "Little girl, you're ours!" The giant boomed at her and the vile men around her, countless in numbers to her howled in their delight. Hands forced her down on the alley's slime covered stones and on her side as more hands and fingers fumbled with her skirt band, her armor clasps, her blouse. Hands ran up and down her legs, petted her hair, struggled with pulling her blouse from being tucked in her skirt.
She continued to scream and plead, but her voice was hoarse. "Please, no," she begged as one man, a bald man with green eyes kneeled down and looked at her for a second with sympathetic eyes. Her mind locked in on that second of empathy and she reached out for him. "Sir, help me, please, please! Don't let them--" His eyes steeled over as they were before that moment and his hand moved forward. Something horribly sharp stabbed her neck and she howled as blood trickled down her neck but immediately she knew something was wrong. Suddenly, her body gave away and she couldn't move, only think. One hand ventured too far up her leg but the bald man knocked the other man's hand away. The thug pulled out his knife and launched at the bald man to fight, but bald, green eyed man pushed him down roughly."Not yet! Save it until Tarvos is done." The men became louder in response and started to drag her deeper into the alley as a carriage rode by, its rider giving a pitying stare, but not stopping.
Her eyes remained on the bald, scarred man that had shone her a shred of sympathy, of hope. He looked at her in the eyes again, his eyes cold, but then they looked forward, past her. She followed his eyes when they looked past the alley, momentarily curious as to what would hold his gaze for a second more. Across the street, or above--somewhere... She saw somebody staring right back at her, she wasn't sure of a gender, it was too dark, but somebody. There was hope. Maybe
"Help me..." She whispered, whatever poison the needle had almost draining her ability to speak. Tears ran down towards her hair as she was pulled deeper into the alley.
This was both a sacred and profane time. Any night guard would say that this was time of the least activity, and yet, also the same time the most heinous and vicious crimes to date were committed. An entire family once had been killed down to the most distant relative, at just an hour to spare before the dawn, a grim but true story every citizen knew and took to heart before trekking out after sunset. And yet, nothing disturbed the still of the night, not a cat, a rat...nothing. One could hear for blocks, catching the sounds of unfaithful couples in the throes of their scandalous passion, a baby crying, the sobs of those who put on a brave face in the day and the occasional hysterical laughter of individuals high in brief, sweet and very expensive artificial bliss.
Pale clouds, thin and long, slid over the stars oily. In a less fortunate part of town, where the cobbles were broken and cracked here and there from good, hardworking people moving carriages of their honest wares, there was a dank space between two sagging buildings, hardly an alley at all. It nasty, empty space save for the usual alley litter of discarded crates, overflowing trash bins and collected filth slowly changing into indistinguishable disease-ridden compost. A mange riddled cat stared balefully at the group of at least ten strong gathered in it's hard-won territory.
It licked at its paw, half closing its one good eye but suddenly started back as a stream of warm liquid nearly hit it, puddling uncomfortably close to its tail. Looking up at the source, it spat and hissed. "Ah, shut up, idiot creature," a tall man said, gazing down at the cat. The cat yowled quietly and the man flicked his hips in that direction, putting the cat in his line of fire and directly hitting the mangy feline. With a disgruntled cry, the cat shot out of the alley. The man chuckled and placed his thinly rolled cigarette back between his thin, badly chapped lips.
A sigh sounded from one of his companions behind him. "Whaatt??" He complained with an annoyed tisk and a roll of his eyes. "Piece of shit didn't have to give goddamned attitude. I drank a lot at the bar!" He explained with his cigarette between his teeth as he fumbled with his pants. The man was only about 5'7", appearing to be anywhere between his late twenties to his forties from being tanned and weathered by the sun. He was scarred along his arms and his perfectly shaven head. A curious scar ran exactly from his left temple and above but following his prominent jawline down to his squarish chin. A small triangle slave brand was burnt in the middle of his cheek. He was handsome in a rugged way in features alone, but his numerous scars and garish ways spelled out a very rough life.
"You're a fool, Glen," the leader of the group grumbled. Built and nearly as tall as a mountain, Tavros towered over his men; the tallest one among them, a gangly thug, was well over six feet tall and he towered over him. Glen immediately stopped fumbling with his pants and let them drop to his boots, turned around to face the leader, his gods-given bare for all to see. Most in the group groaned and shook their heads in disgust.
Putting his hands behind his head, Glen started to shimmy, humming a seductive tune, winking at Tavros. The giant man rolled his eyes and reached for the equally colossal axe across his back. With a single barking laugh, Glen quickly pulled his pants up and carefully tucked in his shirt.
"Save it for some fun we'll pluck off the streets later," Tavros said with a scowl."But for a formal high ranking military man and a mercenary, you have a disturbing lack of discipline in your behavior. You've only made it this far with my men because your set of skills. You claim the new-blood is ready. Is it worthy, though?" Tavros ventured coolly in his gravelly voice.
"It's progeny of The Flamekeeper. Him and his brother are like roaches; they don't die. It's of some crazy shit, Tavros, I wouldn't even mess with it, not with a stick, or a spoon." The mercenary said and adjusted the sword belt slung across his chest. Dressed in a sharp khaki shirt with the sleeves perfectly pressed a precise number of inches above the elbow, Glen was surprisingly well dressed, militantly so. His shirt was tucked into his wrinkle-less dark brown pants into darker brown boots that although were filthy, seemed to have a prideful sheen, as if he had tried to scrub some layers off. He pulled deeply on his cigarette and puffed out thoughtfully, as if in a moment of doubt.
Tavros measured Glen's expression carefully, his bovine face giving nothing away. "Whatever the outcome of your contract is, I promise your pay. I only ask--" "Ehhh...no."Glen interrupted and tilted his head to aside and tapped the black intricate mandala tattoo on the side of his neck. In the center of the complicated and expertly detailed circular design was a sun, its rays separate from the pattern of the rest of the tattoo. Tavros fell silent. "But of course," he rumbled,and seemed disappointed. "They call you The Hurricane for a reason. The offer remains should you--"
Footsteps sounded on the cobblestones, soft but constant. "Fun time, boys," Tavros said to his men and they scattered into the shadows soundlessly. Glen threw down his cigarette and stepped on it. He undid the clasp to one of the pockets on his sword belt and took out a small pouch. Emptying the pouch's contents into his hand, he carefully held the sewing needle between his thumb and forefinger and waited. The footsteps sounded close and a figure appear at the mouth of the alley. Tavros moved forward with surprisingly speed.
...................................................
She made quick time down the block, keeping her head forward and her gaze straight ahead. It was dangerous to be out this late for anybody on this part of the town, but for a young girl, it meant certain death and worse. She was all too conscious of that fact, the dagger clenched in both of her hands shaking. But it was clear she had no intention of turning back, even though twice she had stopped and nearly did just that.
Looking like a fish out of water, she was dressed in a moderately expensive riding/travelling hooded cape of dark blue, something nobody in this part of Clock Town would have. Her outfit was similar to that; a light blue blouse with light brown leather chest armor and a navy blue pleated skirt that stopped a hand before her knee. Her light brown riding boots rose to just past her knees. She appeared to be seventeen at the most, her light brown/dark blonde wavy hair flowing to the middle of her back, a lock loosely braided at held back by light blue ribbon.Her thick bangs ending at her eyebrows softened her face more. Her dark eyes were big and round to begin with but were wide with fear, giving her the appearance to be years younger than she clearly was. A gold locket hung at her neck, the only piece of jewelry on her. Modest brown leather finger-less gloves reached near her elbows. She looked like a higher middle-class girl having just ridden into town. She looked to be a ripe specimen for robbing. And she knew it.
Ahead of her she could see that the block was soon to end. Relieved, she started to walk a little faster, knowing she'll be coming to a more populated part of the city. There were safety in numbers, she figured. She could also see a nook between two buildings that was a little too wide and dark for her liking. Wiping her brow and taking a deep breath of the greasy, humid air, she knew she had to get away from it She was about to cross the road to avoid it when a surprisingly strong grip seized her ankle.
"Where are you going?!" A dirty, cloaked man as he sat up from lying down on the cobbles. Screaming, she swiftly kicked him and started to run but mighty force lineback-ed her into the road and her head slammed into the cobblestones, cutting off her cry.
.....................................
Half a second later, she found herself being dragged towards the alley. Screams and whimpers, high animalistic sounds, were escaping from her before she knew she was making them. She bit and kicked and clawed at her captors, but there were too many and they were too strong even though all 5'8" and a half of her struggled. The the dimness of the street gave way to the deeper darkness of the alley, she threw herself at her captors and struggled with all she had, biting at the hand that covered her mouth. She shut her eyes, willing with all her might that this wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening, it happens to girls in stories, not her...
A massive hand grabbed her chin, wet with tears and snot and set it straight and immovable. Her eyes snapped open and her screams started anew. "Little girl, you're ours!" The giant boomed at her and the vile men around her, countless in numbers to her howled in their delight. Hands forced her down on the alley's slime covered stones and on her side as more hands and fingers fumbled with her skirt band, her armor clasps, her blouse. Hands ran up and down her legs, petted her hair, struggled with pulling her blouse from being tucked in her skirt.
She continued to scream and plead, but her voice was hoarse. "Please, no," she begged as one man, a bald man with green eyes kneeled down and looked at her for a second with sympathetic eyes. Her mind locked in on that second of empathy and she reached out for him. "Sir, help me, please, please! Don't let them--" His eyes steeled over as they were before that moment and his hand moved forward. Something horribly sharp stabbed her neck and she howled as blood trickled down her neck but immediately she knew something was wrong. Suddenly, her body gave away and she couldn't move, only think. One hand ventured too far up her leg but the bald man knocked the other man's hand away. The thug pulled out his knife and launched at the bald man to fight, but bald, green eyed man pushed him down roughly."Not yet! Save it until Tarvos is done." The men became louder in response and started to drag her deeper into the alley as a carriage rode by, its rider giving a pitying stare, but not stopping.
Her eyes remained on the bald, scarred man that had shone her a shred of sympathy, of hope. He looked at her in the eyes again, his eyes cold, but then they looked forward, past her. She followed his eyes when they looked past the alley, momentarily curious as to what would hold his gaze for a second more. Across the street, or above--somewhere... She saw somebody staring right back at her, she wasn't sure of a gender, it was too dark, but somebody. There was hope. Maybe
"Help me..." She whispered, whatever poison the needle had almost draining her ability to speak. Tears ran down towards her hair as she was pulled deeper into the alley.