Date: 11/29/1999 12:04 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
It was night again, and Tareth was wandering the streets. The walls variegated from brick to wood, steel to tile… the walkway from cement to grass and back. Scents of fire and static would give way to breaths of heather in the moonlight as he passed from the shadow of a soot-streaked inn to a bamboo building, he couldn't help but grin to himself. This was RhyDin proper, his town, where the Nexxus fed peoples from
every corner of the known planes, and it was here that all met and made their decision on what to do with their newfound circumstances. He passed many figures walking, hardly any of them human… and watched a few fly overhead in their cowls and robes. These were the times where he could remember who he was and what he was about, when he could relish in what this place meant to him.
He had no aim in specific tonight, only his chattering thoughts to keep him busy. The loss of his home and treasure remained like a healing bruise in his mind, and he prodded it with mental fingers, enjoying the dull hurt that followed with some perverted pleasure. It had been a while since he'd had an adventure like that. In his progressing years they were coming fewer between, and welcome to that. Looking back he could only laugh secretly at
how he had managed to handle his own bullheaded stupidity through his past.
Stuffing his hands deep into the long jacket's pockets at his waist, he settled into a convenient lean against one of the lampposts in front of the Medieval Tavern. A glance shifted to his side caught the diminutive white cloud from the end of a burning cigarette drifting up to join the rest of the congregation above his leaning partner's head. With a quick nod, he greeted the other in typical man fashion. The nod returned as the smaller,
better-dressed one finished his smoke. He ground the remains out with a polished boot before heading off into the darkness outside their little cone of lamplight. Comparatively, Tareth looked wild and mysterious with his face cast into shadow by the wide brim of his hat. As if to drive home the vast variety present here, a violet gargoyle strode from the double doors and through the circle of light, with barely a grunt to the loitering Tareth.
Yes, it was indeed a good time to be alive and in RhyDin. Perhaps later he might take his newfound carpet out for a ride over the country, maybe even find a new place to start a new home… for surely he wasn't going to be staying in the Outback forever. His tastes ran a bit more toward the extravagant.
It's said that the balance will not be denied. As Tareth wound his way down the main thoroughfare toward the Red Dragon, the small hairs at the base of his neck began to tingle. He turned, striding backward now, to look behind for the reason… and met empty street. Pausing, beribboned fingers paw at his waist through the coat, checking for the location of the weapons tucked into his belt. Move your hands, Tareth… they don't do you much good
trapped in your pockets.
His fingers just cleared the cloth edges of his pockets when something began to define itself out of air and shadow around him, and clamped around each of his wrists.
----------=Thorn=----------
Late Night Lessons (Tareth)
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Re: Late Night Lessons (Tareth)
Date: 11/29/1999 12:05 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
There were three of them, two females and a male… one of the women obviously in charge. The other woman was at Tareth's right, the man at his left, each holding his hands well clear of his coat. All of them were dressed similarly to him, in long black coats… though theirs were of a much finer quality cloth and cut than his own.
She was a pale blonde, and wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail high on her head. Her skin was drawn but flawless, and looked nearly blue by the slivered moonlight. It was an odd contrast to her slender throat and dark red lips. Tareth could immediately recognize the genre, though he couldn't tell her alignment just yet. She stepped forward and pulled at the front brim of his hat, sliding it off to reveal the spiked hair below.
"That's him." Her voice was oddly low and powerful for one of her smaller stature, but the highly pointed bicuspids revealed when she talked confirmed his suspicion. Vampires.
The redhead at his right grinned, revealing her teeth as well... obviously pleased with something. "You sure? Shouldn't he dissolve into smoke or something?" As if to prove her point, she gripped harder on his wrist. It was true what everyone said of the kindred and their strength. Tareth winced.
"What did you expect? He's a mortal, despite his reputation." There was straightforward distaste in the word for the man, though he passively stared at the side of Tareth's head with colorless, dead eyes set into his own ponytail of raven hair.
The leader, however, was busy with her efforts of relieving Tareth of his weapons. She knew just where to look too, gathering the lightsaber and dagger from his belt, the Walter from his boot, even the small glass marble explosives from the hidden pockets dispersed across his gi. Once done, she glanced up with her icy blue eyes.
"Mikhail wants to see you."
The last thing he saw was the butt end of his own gun smashed into his forehead.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
There were three of them, two females and a male… one of the women obviously in charge. The other woman was at Tareth's right, the man at his left, each holding his hands well clear of his coat. All of them were dressed similarly to him, in long black coats… though theirs were of a much finer quality cloth and cut than his own.
She was a pale blonde, and wore her hair pulled back into a ponytail high on her head. Her skin was drawn but flawless, and looked nearly blue by the slivered moonlight. It was an odd contrast to her slender throat and dark red lips. Tareth could immediately recognize the genre, though he couldn't tell her alignment just yet. She stepped forward and pulled at the front brim of his hat, sliding it off to reveal the spiked hair below.
"That's him." Her voice was oddly low and powerful for one of her smaller stature, but the highly pointed bicuspids revealed when she talked confirmed his suspicion. Vampires.
The redhead at his right grinned, revealing her teeth as well... obviously pleased with something. "You sure? Shouldn't he dissolve into smoke or something?" As if to prove her point, she gripped harder on his wrist. It was true what everyone said of the kindred and their strength. Tareth winced.
"What did you expect? He's a mortal, despite his reputation." There was straightforward distaste in the word for the man, though he passively stared at the side of Tareth's head with colorless, dead eyes set into his own ponytail of raven hair.
The leader, however, was busy with her efforts of relieving Tareth of his weapons. She knew just where to look too, gathering the lightsaber and dagger from his belt, the Walter from his boot, even the small glass marble explosives from the hidden pockets dispersed across his gi. Once done, she glanced up with her icy blue eyes.
"Mikhail wants to see you."
The last thing he saw was the butt end of his own gun smashed into his forehead.
----------=Thorn=----------
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Re: Late Night Lessons (Tareth)
Date: 11/29/1999 12:08 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
It was simple rope, but effective enough.
He was bound to a moldy stone wall, the knots around each wrist running to rings driven deep into the rock behind. The rings were some distance away, he couldn't stretch to reach them… he couldn't even drop his arms more than an inch or so, there wasn't any slack in the line and they were bound spread so far apart. They'd put mittens over his balled fists before he was bound, so that even his fingers were useless… obviously they'd heard of the
last time someone tried this trick. His legs were crossed into each other as he sat on the barren floor, and his ankles wrapped to one another with the same rope.
Getting his bearing took a moment, but the dungeon layout was fairly standard. Dank cell, barred door and tiny window, yadda yadda so on and so forth. God, this scene was getting older every time he saw it.
As time passed, he could already begin to feel how badly his arms were going to fare after this ordeal. Shoulders are mobile things; they don't take well to being forced into one position for so long a time. He tested the strength of the rope, but it was quite sturdy, and after all… he was only mortal. It was nearly shocking to remember how easily he could be caught or broken in this world, where nearly everyone was stronger, faster, bigger or
otherwise more physically powerful than he. It used to be a great concern of his… but then again he was also doing much more foolish things in those days. It looked like the past had caught up to him.
He was just beginning to feel the cold creeping up through the stone floor into his spine when the door finally opened. The familiar blonde came in first, followed by a very large man in a dark fur-lined cloak.
"Mikhail, I'd think you of all people would hardly be afraid of me." Tareth gestured with a look to the ropes as he spoke, and the blonde came over to check the bonds. It was clear they didn't trust him as far as they could throw the room he was in.
"Ah Tareth, I'm glad we finally get a chance to meet." Mikhail's command of the English language was loose at best, heavily accented with something akin to a Slavic tilt. He moved his considerable size to the wall perpendicular to where Tareth sat, narrowing his dark eyes and bushy eyebrows to slits as he examined his prize. "I thought you'd be bigger. Ah, no matter," he dismissed the thought and threw an inky ponytail over his shoulder… it
seemed a requirement around here to have one. "Do you know how close you come to being snack for Derian here?" One slab of a hand waved to the blonde, who now stood close by Tareth and refused to take her eyes from his shoulders.
"I know you're still pissed about your slave, but you know how it is. Families don't like their daughters taken to be served as hours'd'oevours at your parties, Mikhail. Especially ones as rich as Elyssa's." It was so tempting to just… swing his legs around into the waiting Derian, but that would serve little purpose just now.
"Gives you no right to steal her, t'ief."
"Get to the point, Mikhail."
The big one chuckled just then. "You are just as brash as dey all say. I'd like you more if you not steal from me. No matter now. I would have you killed on the street, or give you to Derian or Saundra for plaything, if not I hear something better. Someone else want you t'ief, and will pay much for you whole, enough to make up for stealing as many slaves as even you have." He pushed off the wall to come closer; there was still some small rage
left in him. As soon as he pulls even with Tareth, he brings his palm across Tareth's face in a hard slap, and again with the back of his hand on the opposite cheek. "That was for the value of slaves. This… is for daring to steal from me."
Mikhail drew back far, and his hamhock fist connected solidly with Tareth's jaw. The force of the blow slammed his head into the wall behind, and his head rolled bonelessly down in unconsciousness.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
It was simple rope, but effective enough.
He was bound to a moldy stone wall, the knots around each wrist running to rings driven deep into the rock behind. The rings were some distance away, he couldn't stretch to reach them… he couldn't even drop his arms more than an inch or so, there wasn't any slack in the line and they were bound spread so far apart. They'd put mittens over his balled fists before he was bound, so that even his fingers were useless… obviously they'd heard of the
last time someone tried this trick. His legs were crossed into each other as he sat on the barren floor, and his ankles wrapped to one another with the same rope.
Getting his bearing took a moment, but the dungeon layout was fairly standard. Dank cell, barred door and tiny window, yadda yadda so on and so forth. God, this scene was getting older every time he saw it.
As time passed, he could already begin to feel how badly his arms were going to fare after this ordeal. Shoulders are mobile things; they don't take well to being forced into one position for so long a time. He tested the strength of the rope, but it was quite sturdy, and after all… he was only mortal. It was nearly shocking to remember how easily he could be caught or broken in this world, where nearly everyone was stronger, faster, bigger or
otherwise more physically powerful than he. It used to be a great concern of his… but then again he was also doing much more foolish things in those days. It looked like the past had caught up to him.
He was just beginning to feel the cold creeping up through the stone floor into his spine when the door finally opened. The familiar blonde came in first, followed by a very large man in a dark fur-lined cloak.
"Mikhail, I'd think you of all people would hardly be afraid of me." Tareth gestured with a look to the ropes as he spoke, and the blonde came over to check the bonds. It was clear they didn't trust him as far as they could throw the room he was in.
"Ah Tareth, I'm glad we finally get a chance to meet." Mikhail's command of the English language was loose at best, heavily accented with something akin to a Slavic tilt. He moved his considerable size to the wall perpendicular to where Tareth sat, narrowing his dark eyes and bushy eyebrows to slits as he examined his prize. "I thought you'd be bigger. Ah, no matter," he dismissed the thought and threw an inky ponytail over his shoulder… it
seemed a requirement around here to have one. "Do you know how close you come to being snack for Derian here?" One slab of a hand waved to the blonde, who now stood close by Tareth and refused to take her eyes from his shoulders.
"I know you're still pissed about your slave, but you know how it is. Families don't like their daughters taken to be served as hours'd'oevours at your parties, Mikhail. Especially ones as rich as Elyssa's." It was so tempting to just… swing his legs around into the waiting Derian, but that would serve little purpose just now.
"Gives you no right to steal her, t'ief."
"Get to the point, Mikhail."
The big one chuckled just then. "You are just as brash as dey all say. I'd like you more if you not steal from me. No matter now. I would have you killed on the street, or give you to Derian or Saundra for plaything, if not I hear something better. Someone else want you t'ief, and will pay much for you whole, enough to make up for stealing as many slaves as even you have." He pushed off the wall to come closer; there was still some small rage
left in him. As soon as he pulls even with Tareth, he brings his palm across Tareth's face in a hard slap, and again with the back of his hand on the opposite cheek. "That was for the value of slaves. This… is for daring to steal from me."
Mikhail drew back far, and his hamhock fist connected solidly with Tareth's jaw. The force of the blow slammed his head into the wall behind, and his head rolled bonelessly down in unconsciousness.
----------=Thorn=----------
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Re: Late Night Lessons (Tareth)
Date: 11/29/1999 12:09 AM Central Daylight Time
From: TarethThrn
He awoke sometime later to the sound of birdsong and running water. Sitting up too quickly proved costly, though there was a strong hand to guide his head back down to the pillow.
"Sometimes you amaze even this old elf, Tareth."
It was Rousse's voice that spoke, and immediately took all the concern from Tareth's sore body. He was in his favorite room of Rousse's house, the woody sitting room… that much he knew without even having to open his eyes… though he did grin. The light of the dawn was filtering down through the trees surrounding this little alcove, his long night was over.
"I often wondered to myself why in the world you wanted me to put a bounty out on my own thief so many years ago. When that big fellow crated you in here this morning, it finally made sense."
Tareth's grin only spread. It was that simple, really. In such a world where nearly everyone else had a physical advantage over him, he just had to be smarter than everyone else is.
----------=Thorn=----------
From: TarethThrn
He awoke sometime later to the sound of birdsong and running water. Sitting up too quickly proved costly, though there was a strong hand to guide his head back down to the pillow.
"Sometimes you amaze even this old elf, Tareth."
It was Rousse's voice that spoke, and immediately took all the concern from Tareth's sore body. He was in his favorite room of Rousse's house, the woody sitting room… that much he knew without even having to open his eyes… though he did grin. The light of the dawn was filtering down through the trees surrounding this little alcove, his long night was over.
"I often wondered to myself why in the world you wanted me to put a bounty out on my own thief so many years ago. When that big fellow crated you in here this morning, it finally made sense."
Tareth's grin only spread. It was that simple, really. In such a world where nearly everyone else had a physical advantage over him, he just had to be smarter than everyone else is.
----------=Thorn=----------