Silas
06-04-06, 05:02 PM
((solo))
It was a beautiful evening as Silas made his way out of a small town on the other side of the island. They had been dodging gaurds for a few days, and it seemed that Scara Brae's finest had all but given up now. While his partners in crime were making camp in the woods, Silas was visiting a locksmith. He felt that maybe, just maybe, he had been too hard on Acellya, and decided to get her something to show his appreciation for saving him from prison.
Of course, he was not buying her flowers, or even anything she really wanted or needed. Why was he visiting a locksmith for this gift? It was related to his show. She had showed some skill at escaping danger and imprisonment, so an idea struck him. He was going to ask her to become an escape artist.
The previous traveling show he had been a part of had plenty of other entertainment besides the product demonstration. There were strong-men, illusionists, freaks, and even an escape artist. It was a big draw, and after the entertainment, people would stay for the demonstration. All the salesmen in that show made very good money. As it was now, the show was barely making any real profit. He was making enough to sustain himself and pay his new employees. Maybe if he added an act such as this to his show, it would increase his profits as well.
It wasn't long before he got what he wanted. That was a very good thing, since it was getting dark and he thought he saw a gaurd look at him funny. On his way out of town, he also purchased an eyepatch. He thought it would make his bodygaurd look more intimidating. No eye-contact was made with the gaurd as he left the gates.
As the alchemist walked along the side of the dirt road, he looked at the trinket he bought. It was shaped like a multiple function pocket knife, but this device was not made for some survivalist that needs a corkscrew at all times. All of the tools were made for picking locks. It was like a whole professional set of lockpicks, shoved into this compact package. Most of the tools could be detached from the frame for more delicate work. She could keep a few hidden in her mouth, and after stepping into the box to do her work, would slip the needed tools from her mouth, pop the lock, and everyone would applaud in amazement. He might have to work with her on the acting a bit, but he figured she'd be alright.
Silas looked to the sky with a bit of worry in his eyes. He knew these roads weren't safe at night, with the Scourge about. Why hadn't he brought Striker? Well, he couldn't just leave Acellya alone, either. She was good with a sword, but if she was outnumbered by men with a variety of weapons including spears, things likely would not end well. And he couldn't bring her along, because it would ruin the surprise. He wanted it to be a surprise so that he could at least pretend to be nice to her for a change. So, Silas had to go alone, under the ruse that he was meeting with a man that could take them off this damned island by boat. Which he also did while he was out. That was, in fact, why he was late in returning to camp.
The camp was quite a hike away from the town, since they were fugitives trying to avoid detection. It was strange seeing an artists rendering of your face pasted onto any surface that could hold the poster. The Scara Brae gaurd unit had put up wanted signs for his merry band of escapees in every settlement on the island. They really seemed to want that reward. To avoid detection, Silas wore glasses and had slapped some of his green thumb tonic on his face to grow a long, full beard. It worked very well, though he'd have to shave more than usual for the next few days. He sighed, knowing that the walk to his impromtu home would be a long one.
There were worse things than a long walk. Detection by a passer-by, for instance, was worse, for that would mean gaurds would be called and wrists would be manacled, and he would be hauled off to that stinking, shoddily built jailhouse again. Another thing that was worse than a long walk would be getting shot by a hunter's stray arrow. What actually happened to him was a combination of the two.
He didn't even hear someone creeping up on him until a twing snapped. The alchemist turned around to look at his pursuer, and found his attention drawn away quickly from the man standing there with a bow to the arrow that peirced his shoulder. His mouth opened to scream, but a painful, choked squeel came out instead. The next thing he knew, the scuffle of footsteps was once again behind him, and before he could turn around to face yet another threat, a wooden club struck the back of his head, and his body dropped like a sack of potatoes.
When he returned to the land of the living from his trip to dark unconciousness, he could tell that time had passed. He was on his back, looking up into the starry sky. His head throbbed as if an elephant herd was stampeeding through the space between his ears, and his arrow wound stung horribly. It had, however, been cleaned and wrapped by someone while he was out, so it was not the worst possible situation he could be in and still be alive. It was probably the second worst. Maybe the third, since he did still have his legs and arms attached to his body and in perfect working order. Since his kidneys still seemed to be in place and he wasn't in a tub of ice, it just may be the fourth worst situation he could be in. At least it was no worse.
He lifted his head to look around. The world took a few moments to come back into focus, but once everything cleared up he could see a campfire with people sitting around it. Had he been rescured by Striker and Acellya? No, that couldn't be it. There was a group of tents set up on the other side. All of the figures around the fire seemed to be raggedly dressed, poorly washed men with little care for personal hygiene. Another hint that he had not been saved were the rusty iron manacles around his wrists, which were attached to the rope binding his legs. He reconsidered the ranking of this situation, dropping it back down to third worst. The men that captured him were the men he feared would find him on that road. His captors were members of the Scara Scourge.
It was a beautiful evening as Silas made his way out of a small town on the other side of the island. They had been dodging gaurds for a few days, and it seemed that Scara Brae's finest had all but given up now. While his partners in crime were making camp in the woods, Silas was visiting a locksmith. He felt that maybe, just maybe, he had been too hard on Acellya, and decided to get her something to show his appreciation for saving him from prison.
Of course, he was not buying her flowers, or even anything she really wanted or needed. Why was he visiting a locksmith for this gift? It was related to his show. She had showed some skill at escaping danger and imprisonment, so an idea struck him. He was going to ask her to become an escape artist.
The previous traveling show he had been a part of had plenty of other entertainment besides the product demonstration. There were strong-men, illusionists, freaks, and even an escape artist. It was a big draw, and after the entertainment, people would stay for the demonstration. All the salesmen in that show made very good money. As it was now, the show was barely making any real profit. He was making enough to sustain himself and pay his new employees. Maybe if he added an act such as this to his show, it would increase his profits as well.
It wasn't long before he got what he wanted. That was a very good thing, since it was getting dark and he thought he saw a gaurd look at him funny. On his way out of town, he also purchased an eyepatch. He thought it would make his bodygaurd look more intimidating. No eye-contact was made with the gaurd as he left the gates.
As the alchemist walked along the side of the dirt road, he looked at the trinket he bought. It was shaped like a multiple function pocket knife, but this device was not made for some survivalist that needs a corkscrew at all times. All of the tools were made for picking locks. It was like a whole professional set of lockpicks, shoved into this compact package. Most of the tools could be detached from the frame for more delicate work. She could keep a few hidden in her mouth, and after stepping into the box to do her work, would slip the needed tools from her mouth, pop the lock, and everyone would applaud in amazement. He might have to work with her on the acting a bit, but he figured she'd be alright.
Silas looked to the sky with a bit of worry in his eyes. He knew these roads weren't safe at night, with the Scourge about. Why hadn't he brought Striker? Well, he couldn't just leave Acellya alone, either. She was good with a sword, but if she was outnumbered by men with a variety of weapons including spears, things likely would not end well. And he couldn't bring her along, because it would ruin the surprise. He wanted it to be a surprise so that he could at least pretend to be nice to her for a change. So, Silas had to go alone, under the ruse that he was meeting with a man that could take them off this damned island by boat. Which he also did while he was out. That was, in fact, why he was late in returning to camp.
The camp was quite a hike away from the town, since they were fugitives trying to avoid detection. It was strange seeing an artists rendering of your face pasted onto any surface that could hold the poster. The Scara Brae gaurd unit had put up wanted signs for his merry band of escapees in every settlement on the island. They really seemed to want that reward. To avoid detection, Silas wore glasses and had slapped some of his green thumb tonic on his face to grow a long, full beard. It worked very well, though he'd have to shave more than usual for the next few days. He sighed, knowing that the walk to his impromtu home would be a long one.
There were worse things than a long walk. Detection by a passer-by, for instance, was worse, for that would mean gaurds would be called and wrists would be manacled, and he would be hauled off to that stinking, shoddily built jailhouse again. Another thing that was worse than a long walk would be getting shot by a hunter's stray arrow. What actually happened to him was a combination of the two.
He didn't even hear someone creeping up on him until a twing snapped. The alchemist turned around to look at his pursuer, and found his attention drawn away quickly from the man standing there with a bow to the arrow that peirced his shoulder. His mouth opened to scream, but a painful, choked squeel came out instead. The next thing he knew, the scuffle of footsteps was once again behind him, and before he could turn around to face yet another threat, a wooden club struck the back of his head, and his body dropped like a sack of potatoes.
When he returned to the land of the living from his trip to dark unconciousness, he could tell that time had passed. He was on his back, looking up into the starry sky. His head throbbed as if an elephant herd was stampeeding through the space between his ears, and his arrow wound stung horribly. It had, however, been cleaned and wrapped by someone while he was out, so it was not the worst possible situation he could be in and still be alive. It was probably the second worst. Maybe the third, since he did still have his legs and arms attached to his body and in perfect working order. Since his kidneys still seemed to be in place and he wasn't in a tub of ice, it just may be the fourth worst situation he could be in. At least it was no worse.
He lifted his head to look around. The world took a few moments to come back into focus, but once everything cleared up he could see a campfire with people sitting around it. Had he been rescured by Striker and Acellya? No, that couldn't be it. There was a group of tents set up on the other side. All of the figures around the fire seemed to be raggedly dressed, poorly washed men with little care for personal hygiene. Another hint that he had not been saved were the rusty iron manacles around his wrists, which were attached to the rope binding his legs. He reconsidered the ranking of this situation, dropping it back down to third worst. The men that captured him were the men he feared would find him on that road. His captors were members of the Scara Scourge.