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tides of shadow

 
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Erim Bru



Joined: 16 Jun 2004
Posts: 3

 PostPosted: Wed Jun 16, 2004 1:13 am    Post subject: tides of shadow Reply with quote Back to top

Erim looked down over the town, nestled between the towering cliffs of the dawn. The town had been there almost as long as the pass of dawn had been known, and it controlled the trade from Endor and Tescon. A very important place in the world, very valuable to any army, very profitable to any lord. And yet, Erim pondered, it had never been held by a military force, and had remained independent for its entire history.

Erim shook his head, by the winds the people of this land were strange, in Dutnar, this place would be under constant siege, and be free of nothing to do with politics save the farmers guild. ‘But that,’ he thought bitterly ‘is not why I’m here.’

Slowly, reluctantly, and with a great heaved sigh, he started down into the pass of dawn, if he had to be this far from his home, he might as well get it over with and return to where opportunities were not wasted.

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Shilan Tumail stepped out from under overhanging upper floor of the Inn of the Broken Night, and scanned the street of Guilds. It was, for the most part, empty, but here and there, a staggering drunk, or a lady of the night stood out in the moonlight. She grimaced, not really understanding why, it was like this all the time, never changing. In the day, this street was a bustle with the comings and goings of guild members, or those wishing help from one guild or another. But at night, this place was as bad as the Gigone.

With a weary glance at the shadows, she began a steady, confidant stride down the street, northward, toward the towering cliff of the sun. She did not feel half as confidant as she looked, but she knew that on this street, appearances kept you as safe as you could be.

Once, as she passed a dark, seemingly empty alleyway, she distinctly heard the schwick schwick schwick of a knife being sharpened, and a constrained whimper from the darkness. She walked on, minding ones own business was a good practice in this town as well. Several times she thought she heard a footfall behind her, but every time when she whirled, throwing knife held high, the street was empty.

Once she reached the heavily lit main street, the spirit of the town instantly changed. The taverns and inns burst to the seems with merriment and song. Men and women danced in the streets. She gave a start at the festivities, then gave her self a shake. Her earlier conversation had stripped the day of the sun from her mind.

As she thought back on that conversation, she grimaced, not one she would have had had she had a choice in the matter. But old debts had to be paid, lest they come back at an even more inopportune moment to bight you in the ass. She thought back to the mans last words, “tell no one, say nothing, do as you have been told, and your father’s debt will be held fulfilled.” Her skin shivered, and she wanted to scream.

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The gentle schwick schwick schwick of the knife in his hands relaxed Bartu, he felt at home with the blade and stone, complete. He’d grown up with one of these seemingly always in his hands, and as long as you had one, you might as well use it. He grinned the grin that had set men on their heals and put fear in their eyes for years before even his voice had changed.

The man across from him, secured firmly hand and foot, gave a small whimper at that grin, and began to struggle against the bonds. Bartu snarled, baring his teeth in a way that only amplified the terror his grin had brought, and the man stopped moving, indeed, he stopped breathing, he hardly dared to blink as he stared wide eyed at the man who held his life in hands of stone.

Bartu’s eyes left the man, began to wander the alley, looking at all the places a body could be hidden from the guard. It was secod- no, first nature to him now, looking for a hiding place. More places were already taken by people he had killed, that by now that he could not properly recall all of them.

Why, there had been one just last week, how that one had squealed. He started giggling, his sides heaved at the memory, his knees began to weaken at the mirth of it all. In minutes, he was laying on the ground, rolling, roaring at the humor of the squeals. It went on for a good long while, until he noticed the bound man again, staring wide eyed at the madman in front of him.

Bartu stopped his laughter, studied the man. His blue eyes burned with fear, his brow was soaked with sweat. What had he been doing a minute ago? Oh yes, laughing. Why had he been laughing? What did you laugh at? Ah yes, jokes, you laughed at jokes. He must have made a funny joke, and laughed.

He was on the verge of laughing again when total rage enveloped his mind. He had made a joke! A very funny joke by how he had laughed, and the man there was not laughing at all! How dare the man not think him funny? How dare he! He let out a grating growl as he moved closer to the man. “Do you not think me funny!?” the man looked at him in total surprise, and absolute terror, “am I not funny enough for you to laugh?” the man started shaking his head, then nodding it wildly, his eyes frantic, but it was too late. Oh yes, too late for this man, who thought him unfunny. With a scream of primal rage, he plunged the knife into the man’s breast, and twisted.

As the man fell, a tortured scream ripping through the cloth gag in his mouth, Bartu took his knife and sheathed it, turning to discover where the scream had come from. As he looked back, he noticed a corpse that hadn’t been there before. Looking around for the man who had produced the body, he found no one. He sighed, people were always leaving the bodies of the dead around, for him to take care of. It had to end. He shook an admonishing finger at the corpse. “I was busy you know,” and with an abuses sigh, set about the task of hiding the corpse, someone owed him big time for hiding it too.
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Erim Bru



Joined: 16 Jun 2004
Posts: 3

 PostPosted: Thu Jun 17, 2004 10:53 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote Back to top

Slowly, methodicly, Erim made his way through the gateway city. All around him dingy, rundown buildings lined the Walk of Ages, a rather ill area of the rundown section known as the Gigone. He’d been in and out of five taverns already, all nameless, marked only by a badly painted green door.

Scowling, he moved aside as a horse nearly plowed right over him, its rider looking too drunk to see. Erim considered killing the man, and discarded the notion. The people here may not be fit for the fields of Nodition, but he’d already found the civil watch in this city to be quite rough with outlanders, and locals, for that matter.

The scowl still on his face, he walked on, glaring at all who passed him by. He was in a foul temper, as a few unfortunate cutpurses had already discovered. One was lying in an alley somewhere, nursing a cracked head and a bruised ego, the other was no doubt still whimpering under the cart where he’d left him. His mood was due to the unsuccessful day he was having. All day and most of the night before he’d been looking, searching, for his contact.

The man was supposed to have met him at the city gates at sundown. Erim had waited a full two hours before leaving in disgust. He had started at the inns, asking after the man. He sniffed, Shevan Toal, what a ridiculous name.

He soon found that the man was known around the more shady people as a revolting drunk, hardly worth the coin spent for his services. When he had asked which place the man frequented the most, he got laughs, Shevan Toal, apparently, frequented every establishment that would still serve him, which was most of the taverns in town.

And so, he had gone door to door, searching for the drunk that he must depend on in this sorry excuse for a city. Still thinking on how hard he was going to beat the man when he found him, he walked into his sixth tavern since sunrise, and nearly fell down in shock.
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Erim Bru



Joined: 16 Jun 2004
Posts: 3

 PostPosted: Wed Sep 29, 2004 9:51 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote Back to top

Sitting at the bar, taking a huge gulp of ale, was the largest, most furry being he had ever laid eyes upon. It was gigantic, at least half again as tall as he, and it had shoulders to match.

Recovering quickly, regaining his composure, he moved up to the bar, and took a seat. “what’ll it be?” the scarred barkeep asked in a rough, grating voice.

Erim looked him up and down, sizing him up, a hard look came into his eyes. “Answers,” he said in a voice of iron, “and if you give them, a peaceful night for you.” He stared into the eyes of the barkeep, who had gone still, and was reaching behind him.

Quick as thought, Erim had a knife out, pressed to the mans throat. It froze the barkeep, and he slowly withdrew his hand, “what do you want to know?” he said in a shaky voice, his eyes glued to Erims.

He slowly withdrew the knife, and slid it home in its sheath. “what I want to know,” he said dangerously, “is the whereabouts of Shevan Toal.”

He wasn’t ready for what happened next. One thing he knew he was standing there, hand on knife, the next, flying across the room into the wall. He hit with a sickening thud, his head was a ringing church bell, his vision doubled. A hulking form came over him, and pulled him to his feat, he was backed up against the wall, a giant hand to his throat. “What,” came a growling voice, “do you want, with Shevan Toal?”
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